#that's why i settled on the tattoo of his wings; no matter what distance from the character i might get

[autistic-shaiapouf]

You know, the funniest thing I can say on Pouf's birthday is that I'm much more open about the fact that I had a fictive of him for at least 2 years

[akittyboy]

Another Life (part 7): Hyunsu

Sweet Home FF | Hyunsu x Eunhyuk

Once the imminent danger is out of the way without any serious causalities, they never talk about the kiss. Of what use would it be? There's no time for such feeble things when merely staying alive, being able to wake up the very next day, is already a novelty. Nonetheless, Eunhyuk always makes sure to be on watch in the camera room whenever Hyunsu goes off on supply runs thereafter, keenly following his progress from across the wall of flickering silver screens.

.

.

.

The white film leaves Hyunsu's eyes as he snaps back to the present. It hurts. So fucking much. He didn't tap into Eunhyuk's mind earlier. All of these were his own memories — repressed and buried under a layer of guilt, of wanting something for himself. Closeness. A new family. Affection. His expression contorts into an ugly grimace of grief and heartbreak. He's too greedy. He should know by now that he's not allowed to wish anything nice for himself.

Everyone he cares about dies.

They always die.

The monster doesn't disagree.

Without giving it a second thought, Hyunsu draws his arm back — clusters of spikes sprouting violently down its whole length — only to slice through the air with his monstrous wing, effectively driving Eunhyuk away.

Caught in the strange moment, Eunhyuk doesn't have enough presence of mind to react in time so he slides and falls back on his ass from the inhuman force, dust and debris raining over him. Although he's fast to get back on his feet, somber apprehension marring his otherwise placid features. Without even sparing it a glance, he wipes a stray tickle of blood that runs down his left temple, all the while staring stonily ahead, all attention focused on Hyunsu's tense form. 

The younger man is like a caged, wild animal, ready to fight for his life. Eunhyuk's thin lips press into a tight line at the strangely vulnerable sight as he tries not to feel anything in particular over Hyunsu's violent reaction to the kiss. What he feels doesn't matter. He wouldn't understand it anyway — wouldn't know what to do with it, or so they say.

"Are you joking?" Hyunsu spits, ice-blue seeping into his eyes just as tendrils of black branch out around his eyes like ghastly tattoos, like dark cracks in the armor of glass he wears to protect himself — to protect his heart. His hair is a mess, standing on end like a crown of thorns around his head.

With the way Hyunsu sometimes hunches into himself, wanting to disappear from every interaction he's faced with, it's not always evident how big he actually is. But right now, even though it's physically impossible, his bulky silhouette seems to grow larger, shoulders unfurling, widening, where he towers against the vivid sky, resentful energy radiating off of him in waves. It shouldn't, but it does take Eunhyuk's breath away. A strange feeling settles in the crevice of his chest, so he clenches his jaw harder, trying to stop his heart from racing. This is clearly not the time. He's in the wrong here by overstepping a boundary that Hyunsu wasn't ready to breach. It shouldn't feel as exhilarating. Yet he can't help the incessant burn in the pit of his stomach. 

Hurried steps in the distance break through the loaded moment, scattering across the desolate space. Someone's vigorously climbing up the metal staircase on the side of the building, causing the railing to vibrate with each step. Eunyu must've caught the last of their altercation, Eunhyuk thinks fleetingly before his attention is once again drawn back to the monster looming before him.

"After all this time, that's what you decide to do? Should've fucking left it alone. Let it rot. Why are you bringing this back when there's no use for it anymore?" Not-quite-Hyunsu grits out with tears glistening in his eerie eyes as he stares pleadingly at Eunhyuk, voice hoarse, words bitter, as if he bears the whole weight of humanity on his trembling shoulders. "This is not the world I wanted to live in..."

In fact, he didn't want to live at all. He didn't ask for any of it. He didn't ask to fall in—

Hyunsu smashes his bristling wing against the paved ground furiously, sending clattering pieces of debris shooting through the air and over the ledge of the partially collapsed building. The whole structure quakes alarmingly beneath their feet, forcing Eunhyuk to recalibrate his balance when his feet falter.

Still, standing close to the very edge, Eunhyuk can't help but to glance down at the drop with a small frown, his sharp mind whirring away with numerous what ifs and their possible counter measurements. They're fifteen floors above the ground. A chilly breeze surges up, ruffling through his silky bangs as he stares detached at the miniatures of the world below. There's an empty playground next to the building and what looks to be a broken shopping cart abandoned in the middle of the street. A fall from this hight might hurt him, but it definitely won't kill him. 

Okay. So far, so good then.

"Are you the reason he doesn't remember?" Eunhyuk asks calmly once he straightens up and turns to face Hyunsu's monster again, all the while schooling his features into a neutral mask. His eyes are hard, almost dull with the way they don't seem to reflect any light. "What is he so afraid of? What filthy lies have you told him?"

After their misguided kiss in the arcade Hyunsu had been rather skittish around Eunhyuk, even more so than normal, knocking into things and stumbling over his feet, timidly avoiding Eunhyuk's sharp gaze whenever everyone gathered in the entrance hall for their daily doomsday briefings. However, once the outlaws had crashed straight into their shelter, murdering most of their group in cold blood and Hyunsu's raging monster had to be subdued at the cost of Han Dusik's life there was... nothing. Just a hollow shell of a human being. Hyunsu had gone completely catatonic, withdrawing deep into his mind.

Yet, there had been a spark of something wild and raw when they clung to each other amongst the ruins of Green Home as everything fell apart around them for what should've been their last time. Even as a human, Eunhyuk wasn't easily shaken, so for him to still remember this moment, even after rebirth, it must've meant something. Something he can't quite grasp a hold of. Something shimmering and bright, and right out of his reach.

It has always been like this — perhaps in some parts due to lack of social empathy or purely because he didn't have enough patience nor interest for any superficial interactions — but Eunhyuk rarely acted on his feelings. And on the rare occasions that he did, even as child, he relied heavily on textbooks and logic, so much so that his mother was occasionally called to school because of his unusual behavior, when the cold rationality of his actions trespassed into a moral gray zone, verging on cruel. 

It has always been easier with Eunyu around. She could read him like an open book, scoffing openly at Eunhyuk when he acted aloof and stiff around her friends or whenever he criticized her bad habits a bit too much, on a deeper level understanding that he only had her best in mind even if she didn't wholly agree with him. And it's even harder now, when the lucidity of his empathy comes and goes, throwing him for a head-spinning loop, when there's no Eunyu with an intuitive perception to translate his convoluted emotions to the outside world.

And so, Eunhyuk might be good at planning and strategizing, reaching whatever goals by milestones, but he doesn't know how to bring up something as soft and fragile as human emotions.

Feelings — they scare him, like an untamed monster in their own right, growing like an evil flower inside of every person. 

It's even worse now, when Eunhyuk isn't human anymore, but he so achingly wishes to be — for Hyunsu.

The monster grins at Eunhyuk without any mirth through the silvery tears streaking down his cheeks, ferociously showing off a row of white, even teeth. He doesn't even look like Hyunsu anymore. There's a sharp, dangerous edge to him, causing the air to buzz with a loaded charge in the space between them.

"Why does everything always has to be my fault?" The monster hisses bitterly. "Hasn't it occurred to you there might be a reason why Hyunsu simply doesn't want to remember anything that has to do with you?"

Eunhyuk's stomach clenches. The familiar sense of failure bats at the backwaters of his mind. He's done it again. 

The monster tilts his head to the side as he stalks closer, dragging the cumbersome wing with him through piles of debris and a maze of old, abandoned furniture, snagging corners and forcing a stack of plastic boxes to pivot on their side. The meaty wing is bent at a strange angle where it touches the ground, the razor-sharp bones snapping and rattling ominously amongst themselves. He's so frighteningly alike Uimyeong in that moment that Eunhyuk has to do a double take, to make sure he hasn't been fooled, that a devil hasn't been shamelessly wearing Hyunsu's face during all this time.

But then a stray teardrop slips along the curve of Hyunsu's jaw, dripping onto his wing with a hiss, and the monster staggers begrudgingly to a halt to wipe at his damp face in annoyance, and Eunhyuk inherently knows. This is Hyunsu. His emotions are seeping through.

The monster glances down at the palm of his hand in mild bewilderment, as if surprised to find that those tears actually belong to him and makes a grimace, looking away with a tsk. But then, he snaps his burning gaze back to Eunhyuk with renewed force.

"See?" He thrusts his hand out, the tanned skin glistening with a smear of tears. Eunhyuk almost expects it to shine an iridescent blue. "He's such a weakling. You think he would've kept it together, knowing that you've been stringing him along for all this time? Using him like everyone else and then abandoning him without any remorse? What makes you so special now?" He sneers, glaring at Eunhyuk. "You don't deserve him. None of you stupid humans do! This whole damn world can go straight to hell!"

The monster shows off his teeth ferociously while breathing harshly through his mouth, broad chest rising and falling sharply beneath the scraps of his sweater.

Eunhyuk sighs, almost wishfully. 

"Well... you got one thing wrong — I'm not human," He replies evenly with a rise of his brow, as if that much should be obvious. "Although I admit, it did take me a while longer to find my way back, but I'm here now. I came back. Isn't that proof enough?"

The monster frowns, an unreadable expression passing over his face, the defiance in his stance simmering down somewhat and Eunhyuk steps cautiously forward, testing the waters. After all, it's been recurrently established that Hyunsu's monster isn't vey fond of him.

"How about you let Hyunsu decide what he wants?" He asks gently, surprised at his own tone. Hyunsu seems to bring out a different side to him that Eunhyuk isn't quite ready to discern. "I want to speak with him."

"Yeah? Are you sure about that?" The monster leers impishly, eyes blazing blue. The black cracks on his face creep rapidly further down his cheeks, as if he's bleeding ink straight out of his eyes. His toothy grin widens when Eunhyuk remains firm in his request, simply waiting for the change to happen. The monster huffs sardonically. "Then go ahead. Try it. See if he can handle it without crashing completely. Who knows, I might even thank you for it."

He blinks and this time, when he opens his eyes, they are a deep, dark brown. The black markings recede immediately back into his clammy skin like ink on paper. Hyunsu's lower lip trembles when he's left to stare in pure confusion at Eunhyuk, stripped bare without the monster shielding him. And in that particular moment he looks so much younger, so insecure and vulnerable, like he did back then, in the stuffy arcade room of Green Home apartments right before Eunhyuk kissed him.

An uncomfortable feeling slithers inside of Eunhyuk, weighting him down.

He recognizes it as guilt.

Is it really so selfish of him to push? To want this suffocating knot of feelings inside his chest to untangle? His past self can't seem to let go, clinging to them as the very last source of his humanity. He's never told anyone, but the fleeting kiss he shared with Hyunsu is one of those memories that shine the brightest inside his mind. Together with the photograph of his family, Eunhyuk has been holding onto it like a mad man through the crazy hell he's been forced to endure while fighting his way back. For him, Hyunsu embodies everything that's good and bad with the world. He's like an anchor, keeping Eunhyuk grounded to a shard of his real self.

At first, Eunhyuk thought that the bizarre emotions stirring inside of him were envy over Hyunsu's resistance against the curse. Because shouldn't that be Eunhyuk, with his ice-cold logic and ability not to get swayed by emotions? But then he saw the way Hyunsu quietly took care of the orphaned kids, the way he shrunk into himself and tried so seem as unthreatening as possible whenever any of the other residents got spooked by his looming presence, the way his dark eyes gleamed both wishful and sad when no one dared to sit next to him or when he was brazenly talked about like he wasn't even there in the room with them. And slowly, Eunhyuk's attention evolved into something more than pure envy, far beyond the distrustful wariness of being in the presence of an infectee — he saw past all of that, until he saw the real Hyunsu, someone who's been hurt and betrayed many times but was still caring and gentle in his own way.

When their parents died everything in Eunhyuk's life had revolved solely around Eunyu, but then and he doesn't know when, it became about Hyunsu too. Even now, Eunhyuk can't get him out of his head. Every glance and every low murmur of hesitant words exchanged has been imprinted into his mind like a tattoo. He remembers every—single—thing. While Eunhyuk might not always understand it all, but these memories are always there for him to analyze every night until they drive him mad, leaving him sleepless.

"H-hyung? What's going on?" Hyunsu asks anxiously as he tries not to fold under the force of the smoldering wing where it trashes uncontrollably at his side like a trapped animal. It pulls sideways at his body, smashing into anything and everything, swiping dangerously close to Eunhyuk's head. He claps his hand down onto the base of his right shoulder to keep the wild thing in control, plush mouth opening and closing several times until he finally stammers, "I— Why did you—?" His brows knit together. "It doesn't make any sense. How long—?"

But before any of them can do anything, the volatile force of his bristling wing brings Hyunsu down to his knees with a loud crash. His normal hand shoots out for support, bracing against hard concrete and there's a loud snap when a bone cracks in his forearm, forcing a shout out of Hyunsu that echoes deep inside of Eunhyuk like a knee-jerk.

Hyunsu's chest constricts, lungs seizing as he tries to breathe through the pain, heart thundering inside his ears. He's feeling so much all at once that it makes his head spin and that's when Hyunsu notices it; the tips of his numb fingers have started to darken, turning gray like ash. His skin cracks along the whole length of his forearm as his body gradually turns into stone. Eyes wide with fear as he stares in pure panic at his own hand, Hyunsu can't help but to hyperventilate, air wheezing in and out of his heavy lungs. His whole body convulses. Fuck. Is he reaching his final monster form, or is he finally dying after all this time? He can't tell what's worse.

Fat tears drip down from Hyunsu's wide-open eyes, off the tip of his nose, from the swell of his parted lips as he gags for air when his throat clamps up. The pitter-patter of his hot tears dot the gray concrete a darker shade with each second. Just when he thought that everything was finally over—

But then it hits him, when he hears debris crunch beneath a pair booths through the roar inside his ears. Eunhyuk. Eunhyk dying would be the worst thing to ever happen. It would destroy him completely. He's not sure whether he could ever come back from that.

"Please... get away from me. Before something happens," Hyunsu manages to wheeze through the harsh breaths that rip through his body, his voice raw and cracked. He cranes his head upwards through the striking pain that pushes his body down, down, down, looking pleadingly up at Eunhyuk's tall figure that towers over him as if he's some sort savior, with the blue sky spinning like a halo above his head. His split nails drag through the debris at Eunhyuk's feet as he whimpers. "Please, I don't want to kill you too."

If Hyunsu lets him in any closer, then he's surely bound to lead Eunhyuk to his death. It's already a miracle that the three of them got to spend some peaceful time together like this. He really shouldn't wish for more. Because when things are good, that's when the universe takes it all away from him.

Eunhyuk understands now, or he thinks he does. It's not the monster. It's Hyunsu who keeps building these high barriers around himself. He's the one who's unable to let it go, to let himself live for once.

"Don't you think you've punished yourself enough?" Eunhyuk asks as he crouches next to Hyunsu, unbothered by the unrestrained wing as it swishes past him in a wide arc, stirring up dust, briefly covering the sun. He reaches out to catch Hyunsu's stoned shoulder as he starts tipping forward, gravitation pulling him down. "I thought that you had already come to terms with your inner monster, and whatever that's the root of your desire. Why are you still fighting against it?" He tries gently, feeling Hyunsu's body crumbling under his fingertips, tiny pieces of stone skittering to the ground. "Embrace the change. Won't it be much easier? Both of you seem to be struggling."

"I'm afraid," Hyunsu whispers, gray lips barely moving, messy bangs shadowing his dark eyes. "It's too much. I don't know if I'll hurt anyone, if I'll come back at all—"

"He's a part of you," Eunhyuk reasons, trying not to stare too much at the ashen cracks branching out across Hyunsu's cheek. "He is you. The monster already knows what you want deep down the most, but despite it, he has still been protecting you. He's been protecting all of us in his own way. He's not the real danger here."

"I can't. I— I always fuck everything up. With mom and dad, my sister... with Seo Yikyeong and Yisu, Eunyu..." A harsh sob lodges in Hyunsu's throat and he drops his head, shoulders shaking rigidly. More tears drip from his clumped lashes onto the dusty ground. It had been one disaster after another until everything went finally straight to hell, turning into a freaky nightmare. This too, will turn into his personal hell soon enough.

"It's not your fault. You've done everything in your power to help them, but you can't take the blame for their choices. That's not on you. It will never be your fault." Eunhyuk shuffles closer, lifting his other hand to cradle Hyunsu's cold, hard cheek. "Don't you think it's time to let go of all these ghosts?"

"What are you saying?" Hyunsu gasps, blinking rapidly. It's getting harder to talk, to keep his eyes open, his body growing stiff, becoming one with the cement beneath him. Even his wing has stopped trashing, laying limp and heavy next to him like a mauled over roadkill. "Should I turn... like you and Eunyu?"

After all, the first step to rebirth is to let go of everything, to become one with the world. 

No desire.

No sense of self. 

Eunhyuk entertains that thought for half a second, before cold grips his heart. No. Not Hyunsu. He needs to stay human, even if it's just a small part of him.

"If that's what you want," Eunhyuk says diplomatically nonetheless, his smooth expression giving nothing away. "But what I meant was — find new a reason to live. You think I don't know that your bravery comes from a wish of dying? That you agreed to help us protect Green Home only because you hoped that one of these monsters would kill you one day? And now, what, you're helping turn monsters into humans? You really think I don't know why you're doing this?" Eunhyuk huffs mirthlessly, fingers curling tighter around Hyunsu's stone-hard shoulder. "So how does it feel to be alive then? To survive the end of the world?"

"I don't know," Hyunsu whimpers, breathing harshly. He clutches at his head in despair with his right hand, now that the wing has morphed back into his body without either of them taking any notice of it. "Shit. I don't know anything anymore." He grits his teeth with a pained noise. 

Eunhyuk places his hand on top of Hyunsu's to stop him from hurting himself. He's done enough of that already.

"You know, you're allowed to want things for yourself," he says matter of factly while tightening his grip on Hyunsu's hand. "It's safe, for now at least. You can take it slow. Do whatever you want. Why don't you let me help you this time?"

When Hyunsu remains quiet, Eunhyuk adds, "I can leave, if that's what you truly want. Your monster said—"

"No!"

Hyunsu's hand shoots out, cold fingers curling in a vice grip around Eunhyuk's wrist. He swallows the hard lump in his throat, eyes wet and wide, irises shining bright blue as he stares intensely at Eunhyuk, yet Eunhyuk can't see anything else stir beyond his gaze. It's just Hyunsu. Immense relief floods through him.

"You..." Hyunsu breathes and his face regains more of its warmth and color. "I want you and Eunyu... and Yisu. All together."

As a family.

Eunhyuk's insides twist, a hot flush creeping up his neck. It's so simple, yet somehow bigger than any of them. After all, isn't it what they all want? A home. Someone to return to.

"Okay," Eunhyuk agrees as he pulls Hyunsu harshly into his embrace by the back of his neck, forcing him to crawl awkwardly forward through the debris on his hands and knees. And when Hyunsu's feverish forehead finally hits against his shoulder, it feels like it has always belonged there. "Okay. We can do that," he whispers into his hair while holding him close, feeling Hyunsu shake in his arms as he clings to him, hands fisted in the flimsy fabric of Eunhyuk's windbreaker. "Let's start with that."

There's a faint noise and Eunhyuk glances up sharply past the crown of Hyunsu's head, body instantly on alert in case of danger, but it's just Eunyu. The chilly spring breeze tosses her hair around her stoic face. She stands still on the other side of the rooftop like a statue, looking blankly at them like she's dissecting the whole situation inside her head, trying to piece it together like an unconventional puzzle. Eunhyuk recognizes that gaze, he's seen it in the mirror too many times.

With a huff of bleak relief, he gestures for her to come over with a jerk of his head and as soon as she's within reach, Eunhyuk grabs at her arm and pulls her down into their embrace. Eunyu kneels stiffly in the dirt with a confused expression, awkwardly putting her arms around Hyunsu's strange body, his left side still cold and hard like stone. But then she notices a watery glimmer in Eunhyuk's eyes and quickly looks away, letting them have this moment together with her, whatever it is.

The very next day, all of them are up early, heading down the road in the direction of the ruins of the glimmering city ahead. 

Eunyu side-eyes Eunhyuk flatly as she walks past him while putting headphones over her ears. His neck tingles but he doesn't let her judging stare get to him. She's been avoiding both him and Hyunsu all night after their little stint on the rooftop, keeping as much distance from them as possible. 

A sturdy shoulder bumps into Eunhyuk's, bringing him out of his thoughts when Hyunsu sides up next to him. His brown eyes are alight with warmth as he looks at Eunhyuk, the back of his hand swiping against Eunhyuk's as they walk. Eunhyuk watches him back amusedly, thin lips curving faintly and Hyunsu's own smile widens in response, showing a bit of teeth. Somehow, it's brighter than the sun and even more exhilarating than the chilly spring breeze piercing through the mismatched layers of their scavenged clothes.

Together, they set off into the bleak distance of a new tomorrow.

<< previous part | FIN

[shysneeze]

missed smiles (draco malfoy x reader)

missed smiles (draco malfoy x fem!reader)

request: could you do a Draco imagine where the reader gets injured somehow (like falls down the stairs) after a fight (angst) and then he gets all protective (fluff)? tysm!

Warnings: kind hints towards depression but it’s minor.  half blood prince level draco angst because I'm in one of those moods mentions of war,  family pressures etc, fighting and injury. 

Authors note: I skimped so hard on the fluff this is basically just angst pls forgive me. 

..

The late November snow crunches aggressively underfoot as (Y/N) storms back towards the castle, Draco's footsteps echoing her own not far behind her as he calls after her. She lets out a harsh breath, not daring to look back in case her anger slips into something else and the tightness in her throat gives way to the sob she's been holding back.

"(Y/N), please." He pleads. "Let me explain."

She comes to a stop, breath shaking as it leaves her lips and forming wispy streams of condensation as it meets the cool air. She knows she needs to turn around, but she can't look at him right now, she can't look at him without seeing it again on his arm, the inky mark of the wizarding world's dark past and looming future.

It was revealed after what was a perfect date. She was so happy to see him smiling, that grin that was becoming so rare these days, she was sure it was the start of better things for this school year. Then she saw it, seeping through a wet patch on his shirt when he peeled off his coat to layer on top of her own due to the aftermath of an impromptu snowball fight. Ominous and taunting, the dark mark stared back at her.

Now, she finds herself turning slowly to face him, glad momentarily to find he's covered the incriminating tattoo, that she can't see it directly, with all its cruel implications. However, the knowledge of it has engraved itself in the centre of her thoughts, torturous and vile.

"How do you even begin to explain that, Draco?" She demands through gritted teeth. "How?"

He gulps under her harsh look despite knowing it's a quickly crumbling façade, watching her bottom lip tremble and her eyes well with reluctant tears. Words tumble out so quickly he's not even sure they make sense, a panicked onslaught of barely coherent apologies as he steps closer.

"No, Draco." She whimpers, stepping back. "No."

Her eyes clench shut and forces the escape of reluctant tears that she lifts her shaking hand to hide. The logical bit of her, the bit that tells her he doesn't want this, that knows him well enough to know his hand must have been forced in the matter, is hidden behind the bitterly betrayed part of her conscience.

"I can't do this right now." She exhales shakily.

His jaw slackens in defeat, explanations left hanging on the tip of his tongue while he watches her leave, ascending the steps to the castle. The weight of it all settles once again on his chest as it has all year, heavy on his lungs until he's forced to breathe manually under the pressure. He watches her go, convinced that's it, that his one perfect thing is gone for good.

His eyes cast downwards with shame and he's about to turn to walk away himself, to find somewhere to think everything through when he hears her yelp. He's too late in turning to help, instead staring wide-eyed and her crumbled figure at the bottom of the icy steps.

"(Y/N)!"

.

(Y/N) groans softly as she struggles to open her eyes, frown fixing itself on her face at the her unfamiliar surroundings. She doesn't register herself as being in the hospital wing until she hears the gentle tut of Madam Pomfrey from the foot of her bed.

"Miss (Y/L/N)." She greets. "Finally awake I see."

"Finally?"

Her voice is hoarse and quiet, forcing her to wonder just how long she's been out for. Madam Pomfrey gives her an understanding look and gives her a sympathetic smile. The older woman steps around her bed to (Y/N)'s side and gently pushes her into an upright position in order to manoeuvre the pillows in her aid.

"You had quite a tumble down the stairs, my dear." She informs. "Quite the concussion I'm afraid, so don't worry if it takes a moment to remember- I'm sure Mr Malfoy will be able to help once he wakes up too."

The nurse gesture with a slight smirk towards the head of blonde hair resting face down on the edge of the mattress, just by (Y/N)'s legs. The sight of him is enough to have the memories flooding back, heart aching at the memory.

"I'll be back to check on you in a few." Madam Pomfrey informs.

"Thanks." (Y/N) gulps.

Once the older woman is gone, footsteps placing her well in the distance, (Y/N) turns back to the sleeping boy by her side. He looks small here, curled by her side, so sweet it's hard to believe what he's hiding underneath his cool façade and long sleeves. She finds herself reaching a hand out tiredly for his hair, curling her fingers in it gently and watching him stir.

He wakes as groggily as she did, with the same confused frown. Then, eyes meeting hers, they widen and a sigh of sheer relief escapes his lips. He looks exhausted, with ashy grey circles hanging under his eyes, although she's sure they've been like that for months now.

"Thank goodness you're awake, (Y/N)." He exhales. "God, I was so worried."

"How long?"

"About a day." He informs. "You hit you're head really hard-"

"Not that." She corrects in a whisper. "How long have you had t-the mark?"

The light brought to his face from her recovery dies at the question, eyes dropping instantly. She almost feels bad, but she needs to know, she needs to understand this all before she can allow herself to look at him the same.

"The summer." He admits. "Just before the start of term."

She inhales loudly, sharply as she take it in. She pulls her hand back from where he'd clutched it in relief when he first woke. The betrayal bites bitterly at her heart and tugs her brows into a disbelieving frown.

"I know." He whispers.  

She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs aloud, causing him to shift guiltily. The logical part of her is back, reminding her that she knows him, knows this is not something he would do if given the option not to.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Her words throw him off and he stares at her in disbelief. Where he expects the furrowed brows of an angry glare, he finds her expression full of concern. His confusion over her reaction manifest itself as a frown.

"I'm a- a deatheater, (Y/N)."

His voice is hushed, cautious of the fact only the thin layer of the curtain around her bed shields them from the rest of the hospital wing, from listening ears. She lets out a sigh, clenching her eyes shut and shaking her head in response.

"No you're not." She sighs, an almost desperate edge to her voice, as if she's trying to convince herself. "You're not, Draco."

"I took the mark, (Y/N)." He corrects. "I'm sorry."

"There's no way you wanted this." She argues. "This has your father written all over it. I know this isn't you-"

"How do you always do that?"

She can see him trying to keep himself together, fists clenched so tightly they shake and his eyes brimming with tears he's begging to stay put. He lets out a sharp sigh, turning away from her to hide how his mask is crumbling, how he's so quickly beginning to come undone.

"What?"

"What do you see that no one else does?"

His voice cracks. Red rimmed eyes meet (Y/N)'s, so full of raw emotion that she finds herself letting out the smallest of sniffles as her fingers reach out for his closed fists, loosening them enough to grasp his hand in hers.

"I see my boyfriend frowning more than he smiles." She begins, voice trembling. "I see him losing all motivation for his hobbies, I see him sneaking off when he thinks I'm not looking and telling me he's fine when he's not."

She squeezes his hand, begging him to understand, to understand that she's worried, she so worried for him that it hurts. She worried when his smile didn't meet his eyes on the train, and when he asked to stay curled together in his dorm room the day of the first Hogsmeade trip when they would usually go to Honeydukes together. She’s worried all year.

"I was so relieved yesterday to see you smile." She continues. "I miss your smiles so much, Draco."

He lets out an inaudible apology, fixing his tear filled eyes on their joined hands, gasping under the pressure to keep himself together. It's like she's pulled out the last thread, the one that was keeping him in one piece and as if any sudden movement will rip him apart now.

"I know you're a good person." She concludes. "I know you don't want this."

"I don't." He admits through a raspy, quiet sob. "I don't want this but I had to- I had to for my family."

"Your dad?" She asks sadly.

"Father made a mistake, but it's H-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who chose me, to amend my family's names in his eyes." He shakes his head. "It was the only decision that could be made."

"Draco..."

"You know what he did to Cedric Diggory." He explains. "I have to do this to keep us safe."

"You're just a kid, Draco." (Y/N) whimpers. "We're just kid and this isn't supposed to be our battle... I'm so sorry that it's ended up yours"

"Don't apologise to me." He pleads. "Don't., (Y/N)"

"Someone needs to, Draco." She argue. "This isn't fair on you."

Her voice finally cracks and tears rolls down her cheeks. She sighs in frustration when he looks up in concern. She's supposed to the pillar of support right now, hospital bed or not. The tears plough downward regardless though.

"Don't upset yourself." He begs.

"I'm angry, Draco!" She exclaims. "No at you- at this whole thing."

"(Y/N) please, you shouldn't stress yourself after the fall." He gulps. "You'll still have a concussion."

She's almost forgotten where they are, and why they're here in the first place. She lifts her free hand to the newly thumping pain in her head and grimaces. He shuffles closer, lifting a hand to tilt her head for inspection when she swats it away.

"No, I'm the patient so you have to listen to me."

She gives him a stubborn frown that has him sinking back like a scolded child to listen to her. She extends her bandaged arm out and pokes a finger against his chest sternly, his eyes widening at the serious look in her watery eyes.

"We're going to fix this." She states firmly. "We're going to fix this together and you and your family are going to be safe again."

"H-how?"

"I don't know but we will."

She drops her hand to find his once again, squeezing his fingers with a sigh. He stares at her in silence for so long she's worried he's angry, but then his lips twitch into the slightest of smiles and a breathless chuckles falls from his lips.

"Thought I was supposed to be looking after you." He explains softly.

"I only fell, Draco." She assures. "I'm fine."

"(Y/N), you have no idea how terrifying it was so see you on the ground like that." He shakes his head. "Not moving, not waking up, and all I could think was I drove you away and you hurt yourself."

"Draco..." She sighs. "I was surprised, I didn't know what to do when I saw that thing on your arm and  ran when I shouldn't have."

"This isn't your fault."

"It isn't yours either."

He lets out another laugh behind a poorly disguised sob, shaking his head again in surprise, perplexed again by her reactions. Always seeing the good in him, even when everyone is convinced it's not, when he himself has lost hold of it.

"I love you." He exhales.

"I love you too." She smiles sadly. "We're going to work this out, I promise."

He lift's the linked hands to his lips and kisses her knuckles gently. He believes her, something in his heart clinging to the assurance in her voice and the hope in her eyes. She's pulled that last thread, allowed him to fall apart at the seams in order to sew him back together again, gently and patiently, starting with the first stitch.

"I'm going to see that smile again."

.

Authors notes: like to think madam pomfrey is just sat outside the curtains like  👁👄👁 

[poohkeepsee]

I was going through my AO3 bookmarks, and I wanted to organize them a little bit. These are my Dean/Cas canon-ish fic recs.

season 5

canticles  by  2street2car Words: 10,311     Chapters: 1

“But you know something? If I couldn’t get you laid, at least I gave you a good first date.”feat: footsies at a Ruby Tuesday, stargazing, the recreation of an iconic "Dirty Dancing" scene (no, not that one—the other one), and practicing for When You're With A Girl.

FTBYAM MY BELOVED

post season 6

Someone Who's Feeling For Me  by  ellispark  Words: 45,876     Chapters: 1

Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight.

Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away.

Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.

post bunker

Sun Can't Set Until Nine  by  LeverDrift Words: 67,939     Chapters: 16

Cas moves into the bunker as his powers start to fail. Dean doesn’t know if the arrangement is as permanent as he wants it to be. He's also not sure why he keeps dreaming about his friend. All he knows is that he wants Cas to stay. Overall warnings: canon-typical miscommunication & Dean having self-hatred issues.

Life Skills  by  ilovehowyouletmefall           Words: 26,052     Chapters: 3

After Metatron steals Castiel's grace, and Cas comes to live in the bunker, Dean spends a lot of time with him, sharing all of his favourite things. Dean can't help it if sharing things with Cas just makes everything better. Besides, it's Dean's job as Cas' friend to introduce him to the joys of human life. To teach him how to be human.  And if one of the experiences they end up sharing is sex with women, well... that's just part of Dean's job as Cas' friend too, right? The desire is triangulated, the rituals are intricate.

Sam Stole My Boyfriend  by  sobsicles    Words: 8,445     Chapters: 1

“Dude, you’ve been staring at me a lot lately, like even enough that Sam noticed. More than usual. So, like, what’s up?” Dean pauses, purses his lips and reconsiders. “What did I do?”

Cas knows that would be a perfect time to confess to Dean what exactly happened and what he was thinking. Maybe, Dean had some insight into the situation or even some kind of comfort to offer. But, the longer that he sat there, he realized that he could not tell Dean absolutely anything. So instead, for the first time, Cas fumbled.

“Um,” Cas mutters and abruptly stands. “Freckles?”

Dean blinked up at him as Cas pivoted and left the room. There was only one remaining option he had and unfortunately, it involved Sam.

Aching in the Absence of You  by  sobsicles Words: 95,090     Chapters: 10

Brittle and battle-worn, Cas looks at him over coffee one morning and says, "I need to go," and Dean instantly knows that he's not coming back.

He's not really sure how he knows it, but he does. It settles into the pit of his stomach, curling hot and tight like something he instinctively wants to tear out with his bare hands. He takes a breath, and it gets stuck in his throat, hitching there. It hurts, hurts, hurts when he finally exhales.

"Yeah," Dean says, "of course you do," and he nods jerkily as he looks down at his phone. He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't look up from the screen when Cas gets up and leaves the room. He doesn't finish his coffee, or move for a long time.

By nightfall, Cas is gone.

'Communication'  by  JustAnotherSamlicker Words: 11,656

The same story told from two perspectives.

Dean bought a house and he and Cas fix it up.

Is Dean moving out? Is Cas moving in?

Should they just talk to each other already? (Yes they should)

Build a Home  by  domesticadventures Words: 20,102

After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them.

He doesn't

season 10

The Most Important Thing  by  NorthernSparrow Words: 94,462     Chapters: 14

Jimmy Novak remembers nothing of the last six years. Reunited with his troubled daughter Claire, he's struggling to raise her on his own. The most important thing is to make Claire happy. But why does he keep having these dreams of wings, and of two men in a black car? (Canon-divergent from S10E11, when we first met Claire again and Dean was still struggling with the Mark of Cain. Takes places several months later).

season 12

Heroes for Ghosts  by  pantheon_of_discord Words: 42,922     Chapters: 7

Canon-divergent from 12.08

After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out.

Weeks pass, Castiel’s hope dwindles, and through it all Dean prays, keeping them connected. His voice is comforting, frustrating, and occasionally annoying, but in his solitude Castiel comes to cherish it. But then one day, without warning, Dean stops praying, and Castiel is forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about his feelings.

season 13

i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees)  by  sobsicles   Words: 74,173     Chapters: 8

Dean keeps going back.

When he arrives, it's always to blooming flowers and a windmill in the background, not too far from a brook, the sun painting the plains.

He likes it there. He likes to stand in front of the makeshift urn and check that it's still where he put it, switching out the flowers when they wilt. He likes to listen to the sound of birds chirping, insects singing, the faint sound of water trickling in the distance. He likes to turn his face up and feel the sun on his skin, wondering if Cas would do the same if he were here, somehow knowing that he would.

He likes to talk.

There's never a response, but Dean feels the breeze rustle through his hair and watches the flowers bob when bees come to them and stares as the windmill keeps turning, turning, turning. And he imagines that Cas is replying—the windmill is the tilted head, the bobbing flowers are a gentle smile, the breeze is whatever words Dean wants to hear at the time.

Sometimes, it's almost like he's there.

Trial and Tribulations of Raising a Nephilim  by  Sickandtiredofyou Words: 14,910   Chapters: 6

Dean has far too much on his plate, losing his mom, his best friend and now being a single parent to a newborn nephilim.

In which Jack is an actual newborn instead of a teenager.

post season 13

dumbassery, denial, doing (the three d's to the destination)  by  sobsicles           Words:     108,427     Chapters:     4

Freedom is just one adjustment after the next.

Cas hums again. "I think you already have. It's been months since everything settled. All that's left to do is...get used to it, and perhaps—" His voice stalls out, uncharacteristically, and his gaze roams Dean's face with intensity. When he speaks next, his tone is a little raw. "Perhaps what one does with peace is...whatever they want."

"What if I don't even know what that is?" Dean grumbles, arching an eyebrow in challenge. "'Cause I know damn well you don't just mean good food and a good bed and time in Baby, not simple wants like that. You mean—ya know, the big things, the wants we didn't get to have before."

"Yes," Cas agrees. "If you're not sure, figure it out."

"Easier said than done."

Reasons to read this:

Dean reads a story that ends like despair and his reaction is FUCK THAT

Cas wears Dean's hoodie

Jack is a toddler

The Jack and Claire sibling energy we deserve

Eileen being awesome and pulling pranks with Dean while Sam thinks she's an angel

Sam knows

YOUR HONOR THEY'RE IN LOVE

First Date  by  aeli_kindara Words: 8,968    Chapters: 1

“We should go on a date. You and me.”

Castiel wishes he could see Dean’s face. He wishes he had any idea what to say.

“I’m asking you out, Cas.”

Also known as the Dean Winchester makes the first move fic.

season 14

Broken Road  by  thegeminisage Words:     109,629     Chapters:     7

A 14.13 Lebanon rewrite. When Dean uses a wish-granting pearl to try and kill the archangel Michael before he can escape the cage in Dean's head, they instead wind up with a newly-resurrected John Winchester.

It's been more than a decade since John died, and a lot has changed: Mary is alive, Sam and Dean have what passes for a proper home in the Men of Letters Bunker, and they're living with angels. John doesn't know angels are real, he doesn't know about the fragile new relationship between Dean and Castiel, and most of all, he doesn't know that Dean said yes to Michael, or that Dean's plan to defeat Michael would send him to a fate worse than death.

Now Dean must contend with both his father asking questions he can't answer, and his loved ones learning about the darker truths of his childhood, all while constantly battling the archangel trapped inside him. But Dean coming to terms with his history may be the difference between this being the beginning of a journey—or the end.

post season 15

fools and pilgrims  by  lagaudiere Words: 31,904     Chapters: 2

Claire shows up at the bunker a day before Dean was planning to leave, with her hair cut short and a fresh tattoo on her left arm under a bandage. Chuck is dead, Jack has given up his godlike powers, and Cas is back from the Empty, which doesn't make it any easier for Dean to talk to him. Suddenly finding himself in a world without monsters, supernatural forces, or any need for hunters, Dean's solution is to go on a road trip. Claire tags along.

Dean-Claire mirror fic post Despair

what's missing is found (our souls can exhale now)  by  sobsicles Words: 27,403

It's not the first time Claire has ever gone missing. It is, however, the first time Kaia panics about it. Dean's dragged into the mess, but he soon finds that it's the best thing that could have happened to him.

canon(?) au  (Hunters and Men of Letters)

Dean Winchester's Secret (Angel) Boyfriend  by  reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent Words: 11,191     Chapters: 1

Dean Winchester isn't exactly a team player. So when he starts mentioning a new Hunting partner, Ellen and Jo Harvelle aren't sure whether they should be worried or relieved.

But they're starting to get the feeling there's something important Dean's not telling them about Cas...

Shot Through The Heart  by  peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) Words: 11,191     Chapters: 1

Dean is a hunter.

Castiel is a Man of Letters.

And even though they have to work together on a regular basis, there is not much sympathy between them. Castiel thinks Dean too brash and reckless while Dean in return sees nothing more in the other man than a rude asshole with an obsessive love for books and a truly terrible fashion sense.

But fate clearly has a funny way of throwing those two together over and over again.

And somewhere along the way feelings change into something neither of them would have expected.

[thebakingqueen5]

KW 2021: Height Difference

Day 1 for Kataang Week 2021 hosted by @kataang-week with the prompt Height Difference!

Links: AO3 | FF.net

Summary: Another year, another summer, another week of prompts celebrating our favorite couple. Kataang Week 2021 Day 1: Height Difference. It’s his 14th birthday and Aang is feeling frustrated. Katara wants to help and Aang confides in her about some of his insecurities.

Word Count: 2.2K

After a long day of festivities, night had finally fallen across the Fire Nation palace, and Aang and Katara were ready to head to bed and get some well-earned rest.

The couple had just finished up at the banquet and silently walked through the dimly lit halls to Aang’s room so as to not alert Katara’s overprotective brother. Though they had merely been cuddling the last few nights before sleeping, Sokka would surely throw a fit if he knew that they were sharing a room at all, hence a bit of secrecy was needed.

At last, they arrived- the third door on the right in the central wing of the palace had been designated the Avatar’s quarters since as early as Kyoshi’s time. It was a fair distance away from the rest of the bedrooms in the west wing, and it also had far more extravagant commodities with its own mini-courtyard and balcony, giving the pair plenty of space to get away from the rest of the world and simply enjoy being with each other.

“Today was fun,” Katara sighed as they finally entered the room, taking off her shoes at the entrance and immediately going towards the inviting bed.

She let herself fall onto the soft mattress, groaning softly as her limbs were finally able to relax after a long day of dancing, cooking, and celebrating for the airbender’s 14th birthday, while Aang gently closed the door with a soft thump.

“Yeah,” Aang chuckled as he joined her on the bed. He pulled some of the thin cotton sheets over them and then curled up next to her on his side.“It sure was... something.”

The waterbender shifted slightly to allow her boyfriend to rest his head in the crook of her neck and absentmindedly traced the outline of the blue arrow on his head while he closed his eyes in contentment.

“Something?” she questioned. Katara furrowed her eyebrows, her movements faltering. “Did you not have fun, Aang?”

The airbender winced when he heard the twinge of hurt in Katara’s voice. She hadn’t been trying to make it sound that way, but she had been planning the event for weeks and naturally was a little offended by the implication of his words.

“Oh. No, sweetie, I didn’t mean it that way. The party was amazing! The food, the drinks, the music, everything was spectacular. You did an amazing job, and it means a lot to me that you care so much.”

Katara let out a quiet breath of relief, resuming her gentle touches to his tattoos.

“Of course I care, sweetie. You’re my boyfriend, and I love you. That’s why if you didn’t like it, I won’t be mad, really.”

Aang tilted his head up and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “That wasn’t it, I promise. I just… I had  a bit on my mind today.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked him tenderly.

He sighed and buried his face in her neck. “I guess... it would be nice to get it off my chest. It’s not like anyone else would get it anyways.”

The waterbender gave him a curious look, silently encouraging him to continue.

“It’s so stupid, but I heard some nobles talking when I stepped away to get us some water. They just kept going on and on about how much of a child I was and how I’m too young and too scrawny and too short for you, and, well, they’re right!”

He turned his body away from her now frowning face and pulled the blankets snug around his body like a protective cocoon.

“You’re almost 16, Tara,” Aang murmured. “A young woman in every sense of the word. Spirits, you’re of marrying age in a month! Me? I’m just a loser kid you found washed up in an iceberg. How could I ever be deserving of you?”

“Oh, Aang…”

She shifted onto her side as well and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his back and listening to the rhythm of his breathing.

“Those nobles are utterly ridiculous. First of all, it’s only two years! What difference does two years make in the long run? It doesn’t, that’s what. My parents were four years apart and were the happiest two people in the world! A gap of two years is insignificant,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Second of all, sure we’re young, but considering that we saved the world even younger, I think it’s safe to say we’ve matured beyond our years. We’re certainly old enough to know we love each other, and that’s all that matters.”

“Doesn’t change the other part though,” Aang muttered in response. “Spirits, I’m 14 and barely the same height as you. A little shorter if we’re being honest. It’s so annoying! Why can’t I just grow up already?”

“Sweetie?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t mean for this to come off the wrong way, but why do you care about that? What difference does it make?”

The airbender remained silent for a few moments and pondered her question, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“The monks had always taught me to judge people based on the content of their character, not their exterior, and to draw satisfaction from being self-assured, rather than care about what other people thought. And in most cases I feel like I do that pretty well, but…”

“But?”

A subtle pink tinted Aang’s cheeks and he took her hands in his, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

“You’re different, Katara. You’re the one I love more than anything, the one I would do anything for, the one whose opinions, thoughts, and feelings mean the world to me. You’re the most amazing person on the planet, and you deserve someone worthy of you. Look at Haru and Jet! They were both older and taller and so even something as small as noticing the height difference when we’re dancing kinda hurts. It just feels like I’m the odd one out. I know that’s silly but-”

The waterbender cut him off and shook her head.

“It’s not silly, Aang. Believe me, I’ve felt the same way more times than I’d care to admit. But, in the end, none of that matters. I love you. I chose you . You’re not just my boyfriend, you’re my best friend."

He turned back around to face her and swept her up in an embrace, mind immediately put at ease by her words.

“Plus,” she continued, “So what if you’re a little shorter than me now? You’ll grow in no time. Quite frankly, I’ll miss being taller than you when you do.”

The airbender quirked an eyebrow. “You’ll miss it?”

Katara chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to his forehead, right at the tip of his arrow.

“Yeah,” she whispered, “I will. Being able to do that, not having to look up or go on my toes trying to kiss you, I won’t be able to do all that forever. Things like kisses, hugs, they’re a lot more… accessible with our current heights.”

“Hmm,” Aang hummed. “I guess I never really thought of it like that. I still want to grow taller of course, but when you put it like that, I might miss this a little bit too.”

“Let’s not get too carried away with the future, okay?” Katara laughed. “We have our whole lives ahead of us, let’s just stay in the present- the present where I love you, and you love me, and nothing else matters.”

The airbender grinned with her, pressing his forehead gently to hers.

“I like the sound of that. Thank you, sweetie. For listening, for the reassurance, just everything. It means a lot.”

“Of course, sweetie. I’m always here.”

Katara pressed a sweet kiss to his lips and wrapped her arms around his neck as Aang returned it, pulling her closer to him. They broke apart after a few seconds and grinned like idiots at one another. There was silence, but it was comfortable. The two didn’t need words, they were just enjoying being with each other.

“It’s getting late,” the waterbender murmured after some time. “We should probably go to bed.”

“Probably,” Aang whispered back, unable to take his eyes off the angel in front of him. With a flick of his wrist, he put out the candles that had been lighting up the room and settled into his pillow as Katara drew closer to him and interlocked their fingers.

“Good night, Aang. Love you,” she said, beginning to drift off to the dream realm.

“Love you too, Tara,” the airbender yawned. “Sweet dreams.”

One year later…

“Happy birthday!” the room chorused as Aang blew out all his 15 candles.

The airbender grinned and began to cut the apple cake- an ancient recipe of the Air Nomads recreated by some of the top chefs in the Fire Nation as a gift from Zuko.

“Thanks guys!” Aang laughed. “Man, it’s crazy to think that the war has been over for a little more than two years now.”

Katara smiled and leaned up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“We’ve all done a lot of growing up. We’re older, more mature-” she gave Aang a quick look from head to toe. “ Taller .”

He chuckled, pulling her close to him and peppering kisses all over the top of her head. She was right, of course- as if triggered by their conversation that night, Aang had grown rapidly over the next year. A month later he was the same height as her, two months following he was comfortably able to rest his arm on her shoulder, and now, a year later, he towered above her with her eyebrows barely at his chin.

“Ugh,” Sokka groaned. “Give it a rest you two. The oogies are out of control! Spirits, you act like a newly wedded couple still in the honeymoon stage half the time.”

“Oh, leave them alone, Sokka,” Suki chided. “It’s his birthday! Let’s give the lovebirds some alone time. They’re just kids, they’re nowhere near that yet.”

“Yeah, haha, absolutely not,” Aang nervously laughed as the other couple exited the room. The stone pendant in his pocket began to feel like poisonous lead weighing down his vision for the hopefully not-so-distant future.

“You never know,”  the airbender heard Katara mumble, so quiet he wasn’t even sure she had actually said it. “Sometimes things will come when you least expect it.”

He stood there blankly for a moment, brain struggling to process her words and had just opened his mouth to ask her what she meant (she couldn’t possibly be talking about what he thought she was… right?) when she decided to speak up instead.

“I can’t believe you were ever nervous about staying short, sweetie,” Katara quipped, her eyebrows raised teasingly.

Aang merely blinked at the subject change, promptly concluding that the last thirty seconds were simply a figment of his imagination, and sheepishly scratched the back of his head in response to her comment.

“I guess it was kinda silly, huh,” he laughed. “Look at us now.”

The waterbender pouted, going up on the balls of her feet and craning her neck to gaze up at him. “You’re too tall for your own good. I miss when you were shorter and I didn’t have to tilt my head every time just to look at you.”

“Oh c’mon, it has its benefits.”

He gave her a quick look to warn her for what he was about to do, and with one swift motion, Katara was suddenly off the ground and in Aang’s arms bridal-style, her arms around his neck and their gazes interlocked.

The airbender touched their foreheads together and gave her a cheesy grin.

“I couldn’t do this before, now could I?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow up at her.

“No,” Katara smiled, her head tilted as she looked at him endearingly, “I suppose you couldn’t. And I certainly won’t be one to complain about you holding me more often.”

Aang laughed and carefully set her back down, hearing the growing volume of the room next to them. He quickly grabbed the two full glasses on the table and handed one to the waterbender.

“Here’s to hoping you’re the one who grows by next year so my neck isn’t always sore from looking down at you,” he said as he held his drink up.

Katara gave him a dry stare before rolling her eyes and smiling.

“Cheers.”

The two clinked their glasses and turned to face the door behind which the rest of their friends had already begun to celebrate.

“Shall we?” Aang asked as he held out his arm to her.

“We shall,” Katara responded, accepting it. “Happy birthday, Aang.”

[the-regal-warrior]

Earl Grey and Cappuccinos: Part One

Guess who’s back with a new story?? It’s me! Before I even get started with the intro, I need to say a massive thank you to @nalgenewhore - and if you like this story, then you should too - because this would not exist without her. She’s responsible for like 75% of the things that happen here, because her ideas are the best and I would be lost without her. Even as I’m typing this, she’s on the doc adding even more wonderful ideas to my outline. She wanted a coffee shop AU, and I wanted them to be rival tattoo artists, and this is what happened.

Summary: It’s a Coffee Shop AU meets Rival Tattoo Artists AU meets Elorcan - do I even need to say anything else?

Warnings: Pretty sure it’s just language for now, friends.

.

Lorcan was scrolling through his appointments on his phone when he heard the barista rattle off someone’s completed order followed by his own. “Cappuccino for Elide and an Earl Grey for Lorcan!”

Busy with checking the mock-ups he had to work on for a client later in the week - a full-bodied silhouette of Hellas, the God of Death - he barely paid attention as he reached for the cup she’d set on the counter. He was several steps away from the counter by the time he’d lifted the cup to his mouth, aiming for a vacant table in the back of the room where he could spread out with his sketchbooks to work.

Taking a sip from his cup, he almost choked on the liquid that coated his tongue - which was definitely not his tea. 

Swallowing around the bitter taste of coffee in his mouth, he looked down at the cup in his hands, groaning when he realized he hadn’t actually grabbed his drink at all. The name scrawled on the cup said Elide, and apparently he’d just taken a sip of her cappuccino.

He turned back to the counter in hopes of catching the rightful owner of the drink in his hands, only to find the owner of the only other tattoo shop in town standing right behind him. “Lochan,” he grumbled, nodding once as he realized the coffee in his hands was actually hers. “I think I picked up your coffee by mistake.”

“Yeah, no shit,” she quipped, snatching it from his hands and handing over his tea. “Thankfully I looked at the side of the cup before I let any of your weak leaf-water into my mouth.”

Lorcan just shook his head at her, turning once more for the table in the back. The woman behind him had always been able to get a rise out of him, and he had too much to do over his lunch break to deal with her.

“I know you don’t think you’re going to claim the only empty table after you stole my coffee, Salvaterre.”

“Stole your coffee?” he cried, whirling around to face her just as he’d dropped his bag on the table. “Please, like anyone actually enjoys that nasty shit. And besides, I need this table - I’ve got sketches to do.”

“Yeah?” She raised an eyebrow at him, dropping her own bag on the floor as she spun a chair around and dropped into it, straddling the chair and propping her chin in one hand. “Well, so do I. Guess we’re sharing it then.”

He was half-tempted to argue with her, but he really did need the space. “Fine,” he grumbled, dropping into a chair and pulling his sketchbook out of his bag. “Just don’t go stealing my ideas.”

Elide snorted, her own sketchbook already open to her current project - a wyvern mid-flight, wings spread as it caught a draft. Though he would never admit it, her work was incredible. “As if I’d steal your work - I made it this far on my own, I don’t need anyone’s help now.”

Lorcan lifted his head to glare at her, but she was pulling headphones over her ears, leveling him with a cold stare as she tuned him out and picked up her pencil. Within seconds she was adding to her sketch, the pencil practically flying across the page.

He couldn’t help but watch her work, amazed at the way she was so sure in all of her movements. She barely paused, every line precise and perfect as her hand moved across the paper. It was like the image was already created, and Elide was just its vessel. He knew he was staring, but Lorcan was in awe of her - he rarely sketched anything so quickly or with so much ease. 

Most likely feeling his gaze on her, she looked up at him from under her eyelashes, a questioning look in her eyes. She furrowed her brow when she realized he was just staring at her, narrowing her eyes at whatever she saw in his expression.

He felt heat blooming over his face, and the smirk she offered him only made his blush grow. He shook his head once, grabbing his pencil and flipping his sketchbook open to a blank page. 

The tip of his pencil had just touched the page when he realized Elide had started humming. When he realized she was listening to Bad Reputation by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts as she worked, the barest hint of a smile crept over his face.

As he started working on his own mock-up, he realized that this lunch might be more enjoyable than he’d thought.

~*^*~

Elide chewed on her pencil, slotting it between her teeth as she stared down at the half-formed image on the page in front of her. She’d finished the mock-up of the wyvern fairly quickly, since it was almost done when she’d sat down. Knowing she had another design to finish up by the end of the week, she’d flipped to a new page and started on that. It was for a girl around her age that wanted a chandelier tattoo that incorporated the cycle of the moon, and when she’d seen Elide’s own chest piece, she’d reached out immediately.

She’d started sketching the rough outline of the image, and she was quite pleased with how it was turning out. The phases of the moon would be under the girl’s breasts, linked and curving along a curling wire to follow the natural lines of the body, with filigree chains and delicate lace patterns linking the moons to the thicker chain that would run down her sternum. Those same chains extended below the moons as well, creating the desired chandelier effect. 

She sighed, the breath ruffling a stray piece of hair that had escaped her bun and fallen into her face as she worked, and the world came back into focus. When she worked on a new design, the world tended to fade away until it was just her and the lines on the page in front of her. She always listened to music while she worked, though she supposed it wouldn’t matter if she didn’t since she never heard anything beyond the first song.

Chuckling to herself as she realized that she was listening to Cherry Bomb by The Runaways, and that she was humming despite not even realizing the song was playing, Elide dropped her pencil on the table and looked over to her unexpected lunch partner.

Only to find that he was staring at her with one eyebrow arched and a smirk on his lips.

“Something amusing to you, Salvaterre?” 

Lorcan just rolled his eyes as he pushed his chair back from the table. “You hum while you work, did you know that?” 

“Music helps me think,” she replied, lifting her head to meet his gaze as he stood. “If you have a problem with it, you can always find another table.” Waving a hand across the very packed coffee shop, she merely smirked when he narrowed his eyes at her. She even thought a small growl echoed from the back of his throat at the look she gave him.

“Why would I want to sit anywhere else when I can sit here and listen to you and your fake punk music?”

Elide gasped and tossed her pencil at him. “I suppose you’d rather listen to the Ramones and only the Ramones for the rest of your life?”

“It would be a start.” He was striding away before she could even think of a biting comment, but that didn’t stop her from flipping him off anyway. 

She reached down to grab her pencil from where it had landed after it bounced off Lorcan’s very solid, very defined chest. The white t-shirt he was wearing did little to hide how muscular he was, and even though he irritated the hell out of her, Elide couldn’t help but notice how incredibly attractive the man was. 

Though she had every intention of returning to her sketch, she found her eyes drifting to him without even a thought. He was wearing dark wash skinny jeans, and they were doing wonderful things to his frankly spectacular ass. She couldn’t help but admire the lines of ink drifting over his arms, though between his shirt and the distance she couldn’t tell what they were - just that they were incredibly intricate and beautifully done. Having seen plenty of his work over the years, she was more than sure he’d drawn them himself, but whoever had done them was also an amazing tattoo artist. She found her eyes fixating on the ink that clearly drifted up his entire right arm and slid toward his neck, which were only bared to her gaze because he’d pulled his long dark hair into a messy bun. 

Elide was so caught up in admiring the man that she didn’t realize he’d walked back over to their table until he set a plate in front of her. She barely even looked at it before turning to give him a confused look. “Erm, did you just get me food?”

Settling back into his chair with his own plate of food, Lorcan just shot her a look. “Obviously.” When she continued to stare at him, he added, “I could literally hear your stomach grumbling from across the table and it was distracting me.”

She felt the blush spread over her cheeks. “Oh. I get pretty distracted by my work sometimes - I didn’t even realize I was hungry.” Glancing down at her food then, she smiled when she realized he’d somehow managed to bring her one of her favorite orders - a bagel with extra cream cheese and a bowl with yogurt topped with so much fruit it was spilling over the side. “Thank you - I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” he muttered, waving a hand in her direction. “That design you’re working on is quite amazing, by the way.”

Elide blinked in shock for a moment before her lips shifted into a coy smile. “Was that a genuine compliment from Lorcan Salvaterre?”

He chuckled at that, and she couldn’t help but laugh along with him. She realized that their laughter sounded good together.

“Yes, ma’am. But you have to promise you won’t tell anyone - I have a reputation to uphold. And if you’re going to insult me, I won’t make a habit out of it.”

Elide chucked a grape at him, though they both wound up laughing again when he caught it between his teeth. “I wouldn’t want you to change for me, babes. And besides, your work is amazing too.”

She found herself looking forward to his response, and to the conversation in general, and she realized that this impromptu lunch date might not be so bad after all. 

~*^*~

He was surprised to admit it, but Lorcan found himself enjoying lunch with Elide. Though she had always been exceptionally good at getting under his skin, he’d realized that she had this charm about her he’d never noticed before. Their witty back-and-forth was second nature to him, and he found himself smiling with her more easily than he ever had with anyone before. 

Even when they were arguing about music, he couldn’t help but smile. “Seriously, how can you be a fan of punk and not like the Ramones?”

She shot him an exasperated look, rolling her eyes dramatically. “When did I say I didn’t like them? I fucking love them - I just appreciate other punk bands, too.”

“Is that so?” Lorcan raised an eyebrow, disbelief seeping into his tone. 

“It is!” Elide laughed, the sound pure and happy, and he found himself wanting to hear it again. “In fact, I have their lyrics tattooed on my ribs.”

“No fucking way.”

She nodded, running her hand over the right side of her ribs. “Right here - ‘sitting in my room, humming a sickening tune.’”

“No fucking way,” he said again. When she looked ready to protest, he added, “No, it’s just - I have one too.” He motioned to his left hip. “‘I can’t control my fingers, I can’t control my toes.’”

Elide snorted, pushing out of her chair. “Typical - and very fitting for you.” Rounding the table until she was standing next to him, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to grab another coffee quick.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek, her lips lingering for a moment before she was walking away from him.

He opened his mouth to ask what exactly it had been for, but he found himself distracted by the swing of her hips as she walked. Her legs were encased in light skinny jeans so tight that he would have thought they were painted on if he didn’t know any better. Plus the heels on her combat boots helped add to the natural swing. 

Shaking his head, his eyes ran over the loose cropped tank she was wearing - and stopped on the portrait that was tattooed on her back. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, and he only broke his stare when she turned and walked back toward him. 

He barely noticed that she was carrying two drinks and two bags - that’s how distracted he was by what he was fairly certain was some kind of sign. 

“I got you another tea - Earl Grey, right?” He registered her voice talking to him, but he couldn’t put any meaning to the words. When he didn’t reply, she reached out and touched his shoulder. “Lorcan?”

He managed to find his voice. “Can you turn around for a second?”

Lorcan registered the confusion that drifted across her face, but something in his expression must have kept her from asking, since she simply turned around. Reaching out, he traced his fingers over the ink that drifted across her entire back, following the lines until he could trace the woman’s lips.

Anneith - she had a portrait of Anneith on her back. 

“You have Anneith on your back?” he questioned, one finger skimming her jaw as she turned around to face him again. “I have Hellas on mine.”

Elide twined her fingers with his, turning her head and nipping lightly at the one that lingered on her jaw before she met his gaze with her deep, gorgeous eyes. “We must be connected then.”

“Why don’t you let me take you out sometime and we’ll see?” The question left his lips with a confidence he didn’t possess, and Lorcan realized he’d never been more nervous.

Elide grinned up at him - a wide, joyous smile - and he felt his heart leap in his chest. “I’d love that.”

Offering her a smile of his own, he leaned down to press his lips to her forehead. “Me too,” he whispered, his lips brushing her skin with every word. “Oh, and thanks for the tea, love.”

.

Tags: @highqueenofelfhame @city-of-fae @musicmaam @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @tacmc @tangledraysofsunshine @lordof-bloodshed @how-to-be-a-bad-ass-be-me @nalgenewhore @bookrebelwordwarrior @sleeping-and-books @froggy-waddles @photofeesh @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @belamoonbeam @mis-lil-red @julemmaes

I used the tags I have for my ToG/ACOTAR list, so if I’ve tagged you in something else and you don’t see yourself here, that’s why! As always, if you want to be added to or removed from my tags, just let me know! And let me know what you thought!

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Distance Series-Epilogue

Thanks again to everyone that suggested ideas for this series! It was a joy to collaborate with you all! We’ll have to do this again sometime. 

Here’s my Main Masterlist

Here’s the Distance Series Masterlist

“Look who it is, Duke,” Calum coos, lifting the dog into the frame. “Look who it is.” Duke flicks his gaze at the camera, just for a second before turning his head back towards Calum. She laughs, adjusting her headphones on her head. She double checks, she has her printed out tentative schedule with the release of her album and the upcoming tour dates. Some haven’t been confirmed yet just because she hasn’t talked to Calum yet. “Duke, I’m not who you’re supposed to be looking at.”

“Oh, the man’s old just in love with his pops. It’s understandable,” she returns, grinning. 

Calum nods, settling Duke into his lap for the time being. “I’m shocked you’re home still.” It’s nine in the morning his time, which is about noon for her. He expected her to at least be at the studio space for rehearsals by now, sneaking off for lunch and to take his call. Not for her to still be dressed in her pj’s curled up in the high chairs at her kitchen table. 

“Self care day that I needed to take.”

“What’s going on? Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Mostly just fitting time in to see you is my biggest concern.” With her album heading out for the world, she knows the whirlwind that waits for her. Prior to now things were a tad easier, Calum’s touring was packed kind of tight but she wasn’t traveling. Her brand deals were all complete and the album just waiting in the wings, already finished. So she could hop on a plane when he had a couple days off. Now things are gearing up to be tight for her and Calum’s schedule has slowed down. Though she knows most of his time now will be album focused. 

“We could’ve moved this up a day or two if you needed.”

“It’s a little too late for that, but it wasn’t as bad as before. I know things are gonna be better scheduled now. It’s okay.”

She’s right about it being too late now. But he’s still a little ticked that she didn’t say anything sooner. And she can see it. He raises that left eyebrow at her and before he can open her mouth, she’s already talking. “I know, I know. Communication! At this point, I need it tattooed to my fucking forehead. I didn’t want you to freak out or try to squeeze it in sooner into our schedules when the talk was already going to happen.”

He nods. She’s aware. Which is better than nothing. But he still doesn’t like the fact she holds some stuff in. Maybe in a way, that’s a thing he has to learn to love. But at the same time, he doesn’t want it to be the thing that consistently causes them issues. It would obviously be easy if she moved to LA, or closer to his side of the coast at the very least. But they’ve learned to make it work. Extra flights out when they both have a pocket of time to really enjoy each other’s company. “I just worry about you that’s all. You can get in your own head. But I’m here for you.”

“I know, I really do. I just hate to be a burden, ya know? When there’s like 8 billion other things to worry about. I’m sorry.”

He nods, fingers working over the top of Duke’s head. “I am glad you took the day off though. It’s good that you saw you needed a break and didn’t let it continue to bubble and lead to something bad. I’m proud.”

A tiny grin dances across her face. “Thanks. I’m working on it.”

“I can see the progress.” Duke stands, head pointed to the floor and Calum lowers him back to the floor. He only goes a couple feet to snuggle up with his favorite dinosaur toy on his dog bed. There’s practically one in every part of the house. Even if Calum tries not to spoil the old man, he can’t help it.

“There’s a writing retreat,” Calum starts once they start discussing plans in October. Not a huge touring season but he knows he has some time off. “It’s like three weeks long, up in Malibu. And I know like it’s not the mountains, but if you have time off, I would love to bring you along.”

“Wouldn’t you be working? I don’t want to interrupt, baby.”

Her genuine concern is endearing but he knows she’s not quite picking up what he meant. With a quick smile, Calum shakes his head. “No, I mean like, I want you to come write with us. Or like maybe we could work on something together, if you want. The producers we’re linking up with I think would be a great fit for you and your work. And like, spending time with my girl and possibly getting a song or two done seems like a great compromise.”

“Oh. What are the dates?” Calum lists them off. The first week is a bit of a wash because she has studio time booked but the last two weeks are completely open for her. “So I guess I’ll be seeing you in your element,” she teases. 

“Oh, it’s not that impressive, really.”

“No, you’re pretty impressive if you ask me. Or Duke. But I think we might be biased.”

His giggles echo in her headphones and he hides himself by kissing the top of Duke’s head. He picked the dog back up halfway through their conversation and Duke seems content to sit right there in his pops arms too. “You’re gonna make me blush,” he squeaks out. 

“Oh, your cheeks have already told on you, my dear. They have already told on you.”

__________________________________________

The bus lurks beneath her, riding from one festival to the next. She knows she could’ve flown. But she likes the bus. Once they hit the highway, it just glides and she doesn’t have to think too much. She has exactly 66 more days until she’s home again. Which puts her at 71 more days until she flies out to see Calum. He’s still in LA with a glance to her phone, she tries to calculate the time, her own mind a little foggy. If he’s asleep, he just won’t answer. That’s fine. His voicemail has the sound of his own voice and that’s really all she needs right now. 

Tucked under her sheets, as rocking with the motion of the bus again, she raises her phone to her ear, listening as it rings. It rings and then rings and rings. Finally Calum’s voice kicks in from his voicemail. “Sorry I can’t reach the phone. Please leave a message and I’ll get back as soon as I can.”

The phone’s silent just a moment and there’s a beep. “I’m sorry to do this right now. Just needed to hear your voice. It sucks being away. I’m excited for the retreat though. Can’t wait to squish your cheeks. Can’t wait to kiss you. Yeah, just had to get that off my chest, I guess. I should be sleeping. I’m on the bus at the moment and my body is tired. Mind was just heavy. I hope you had a good day, or having a good day, or a great night. I don’t remember the time difference anymore.” Her soft laughter interupts her. “That’s sad isn’t it? The only thing keeping me sane right now are your daily updates. And well, the pictures of my dog from my friend. So two things. Wait, no, Duke. That’s three. Ah, what does it matter to know how to count right now? I love you.” She pauses. They haven’t said that to each other yet. And the moment feels a little ruined because it’s not even to his face. But it’s so true, she does love him. She worries if he’s eating alright and worried he’s sleeping okay. “I’m blessed to have you in my life. And I really hope we get years and years together. Uh, tell the guys I said hi. Give Duke kisses from me. Talk to you later.”

When Calum gets to his phone, up way too late and thumping over a bassline and general anxiety, he spies the voicemail. He grins, knowing it’s better to wait until after his shower and after he’s gotten comfortable in the bed. He plugs his phone into the charger, behind his bedside table and rests on his side. Her voice is soft as he listens to the playback. Like she had her cheeks smashed into the pillows. It makes him a little sad that he missed her call, knowing that she just needed to talk to him. 

It’s been an hour since she called. And maybe she’s still awake. He contemplates stopping the playback and just giving her a ring but then, quietly he hears her say, “I love you.” And his heart stops. His fingers tremble resting against his chest. Her confession continues and Calum can feel his eyes welling with tears. He sniffles once, listening as the voicemail ends. He plays it back one more time, skipping ahead to her statement. 

And before his fingers can stop him, before he can over rationalize that she’s sleeping and needs her rest. Her phone rings. His heart thunders. “Is everything okay?” she rushes out. Her voice is grovely, like she just woke up. 

“I love you,” he whispers. “I’m sorry if I woke you. But I didn’t want to wait a second more to tell you that in return. And I’m not saying it just because you said, I mean it. It’s why I’m like so on you about taking care of your mental health.”

And their breathing crackles through their receivers. “Not being able to kiss you right now should honestly be a crime,” she returns, the first one to say anything. 

Calum exhales his laughter. “Not being able to kiss you is a crime.”

“You cannot just one up me like that, Hood. That’s so not fair!”

_______________________________

Poised at the piano, she lets her fingers brush over the keys but doesn’t press down into them. Her fingertips are aching. They want to get something out, but her brain’s not computing it, it’s not able to output it correctly. Slender fingers slide in from her peripheral, and slowly get closer before covering her eyes. “Guess who?” Calum whispers next to her ear. It sends a shiver down her spine. 

“You’re supposed to be getting food,” she laughs, fingers still resting on the keys. 

“I did. But clearly you don’t want to leave this piano.”

Reclining his chest, she presses down. The sound swells and it’s grating but never of them care too much, laughing as she lifts her digits and slides out from the bench. When they join the rest of the retreat in the kitchen, they linger against the counter, plates in hand, shoulder to shoulder. After snagging one of her fries, Calum grins and kisses her. “My team and I are looking at some different options,” she starts, placing the spoon into her bowl of soup. 

“Different options?”

“I love New York. I really do. But we’re looking at the fact that a lot of the producers that want to work with me and that I want to work with are pulling more from LA.  And I could continue to live in New York and fly out. But it’s a hassle. And it puts me closer to you, so I’ve been looking at some places. I can’t quite afford a place on my own just yet, but--”

“You could stay with me. And like, if you really, really, want your own space, I absolutely understand. But if you need to lay low for a little bit before then, my door’s always open.”

She rests her head on his shoulder. “I figured you’d say that. I have a place in mind but the bassist in my band needs a place too. Our drummer has her girlfriend so I agreed that she could crash with me. It’s nothing against you.”

Calum places his meal down and lifts her chin. “No, I get it. Gives your space, allows you to get acclimated without the pressure of me around. It’s smart.”

“But, I will absolutely be bugging the shit out of you to take Duke out on walks and hikes.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”  

When they return to the room, she settles ready to help the boys with the latest song. But in the back of my mind, she can feel the notes twitching her fingers. So she stands, tip toeing into  the other room, and settles back down at the piano. She takes her phone and opens it up to record. Whatever is brewing in her brain she wants to get it recorded. She plucks at the keys, eyes closing to keep herself from thinking too hard. 

Soon, she can hear a rumble. She knows it’s Calum. They’ve been working on the melody all morning. But now it seems to be coming together. He hums. She’s been working on more experimental/instrumental work. Less about lyrics, though sometimes a refrain comes to mine and they sing. It’s more about the feeling, allowing the notes to express the emotions that are just below the surface, that are trying to break through the surface. 

Calum listened to the first couple of tracks she’s produced since the beginning of the week and he suggested she play something on the piano. She thought it would be a long shot. But now, as she listens to the twinkling keyes hugged up against the throaty bass, she’s pretty impressed. There’s nothing heavily prescribed and it’s nice to just make noise. It’s nice to know even if it sounds bad it’s just for fun. It’s just to see what they can do with the tools at their disposal. They play for what feels like just a blimp in time, hardly a blink, and she thinks her fingers might be cramping too. But she carries onto the end, letting everything out. 

And with a slight echo Calum finishes a beat or two behind her. They pause but she can see on his face that he’s not quite done so she nods, wanting him to continue. He almost doesn’t, almost tells her it’s her project but there’s something still on his chest, so he keeps plucking at the strings. She listens to him, eyes closing and grins at the sounds he’s able to produce just off the top of his head. 

It’s another minute or two he finishes and she pauses the recording on her phone. The mic on her phone probably won’t do it justice, but she plays it back, at full volume, setting her phone on the table between them. The playback is a little soft and the piano almost sounds like it’s peaking. She almost wishes she had someone else to set up the room to record, but it all happened so fast. 

“Sounds really good,” Calum returns. 

“Not too bad,” she jokes, taking her phone once it’s done.

“I really think this project is really cool. I don’t know if you’ll ever put it or anything. But I really think you’ve got something special.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re on the project.” If it weren’t for the bass in Calum’s hand, she would’ve playfully shoved him. Calum glowers at her, just for a moment and she giggles running down the hallway. 

“I’m going to remember that tonight!”

She stops, jaw dropping. “You gotta put me out the room, Calum? Make me sleep on the sofa?”

“I just might,” he returns. 

“You don’t have the gall. Gonna cuddle Michael in the place of me?”

Calum cracks open the door, slowly. “Don’t go give me any ideas. He’s not mean to me.”

She holds the door open, allowing Calum to get back into the room without nicking the instrument. “Well, I hope he keeps you warm.”

The group turns to them. But Calum’s facing her. Her upturned nose, arms folded across her chest. There’s a playful twinkle in her eyes. “Michael, I’m bunking in your room tonight.”

“That just means I get the whole mattress to myself,” she returns. 

“O-okay,” Michael returns just as Calum calls out, “Never mind, Michael. I can’t let her win.”

She laughs, wrapping her arms around his torso, pressing her face into his back. “It’s about compromise and communication.” A famous phrase with Calum and he knows it. His fingers wrap around her wrist. For a moment, it’s just them in the room. Her listening to his heart beating and him feeling the rise and fall of her chest before he speaks. 

“So we just put together something amazing.”

“If this is how you announce a baby,” Ashton teases. “I’ll be disappointed at that phrasing but very happy to be an uncle. I think I’ve got great potential.”

“Hmm, does a song count as a baby in this context?” Calum asks, giggling at Ashton’s comment. 

“Not quite what I was hoping for, but I’ll take it.” 

[istgimamess]

Moodboard Ship(s): NCT and TXT...

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

"...hiii my love !! how are you ? i hope you're well ashaja it is now my turn to threaten so yes you better be well or else 🔪 aahha.

may i get a moodboard ship with nct and txt please ? if not two then either of them is fine love !! thank you so muchh you're absolutely an angel and im so happy to have you as a friend. we need to talk more truly..."

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

In NCT I ship you with...

Jaehyun!

Your moodboard:

“Why do I get the feeling our relationship is backwards?” he asks as he wanders into your room, shrugs his jacket off, and hangs it over the back of your desk chair. You stare at his back, perplexed. Why was he here? “Isn’t it usually the girl who always wants to talk about feelings and the guy who bottles everything up inside?” he continues, his words finally catching up to you. Relationship? Feelings?

“I don’t bottle things up,” you shoot back, unable to clearly process the deeper meaning behind his words. Well, there is an imaginary box you like to hide things in, but that’s different—you think, in afterthought. “Right.” he responds, concurring. You can practically taste the sarcasm, his usual honey-like voice dripping with it. 

“Why—” you clear your throat, “Why are you here?” There’s a brief pause—not too long, but still long enough for your palms to begin to garner sweat. “Give me the setting sun, and I’ll be a richer man than most.” his voice is soft, almost as if he’s whispering. His hand reaches back in a swift motion, and he’s pulling off his shirt. As pure reflex you lower your gaze, but not before catching sight of his wings. They flutter momentarily, the sheer pink reflection catching in the setting sun. “For never have I seen gold like that which glows above the earth. Give me the night sky, and I’ll be the richest man for sure. For never have I seen diamonds like those that dance beside the moon.” he continues, back still facing you. You just barely recognize the scripture, fae are an ancient breed who take tradition very seriously. They have scriptures for everything—some more important than others. Your gut tells you this specific scripture is important. You begin to panic, wracking your brain for any clue as to what he’s saying to you—what he means.

And that’s when you see it, tucked beneath his left shoulder blade, almost hidden by his wing. A tattoo. Tattoos, to fae specifically, are much more than body art. They’re not meant for fun, they’re a declaration. A promise. A vow. You swallow your shock, narrowing your eyes to get a better look at the art. It’s small, delicate—but it also sticks out amongst his smooth, wide back.  You open your mouth to question him but your words die in place, your tongue suddenly feels thick, heavy in your mouth. It’s your name—the intricate design, the complex lines. This was more than a friend showing another friend some body art. This was a confession of the highest degree. A confession a fae of royalty should not be making to a simple human.

 “That’s incredible, Jaehyun. It is. But—" you swallow loudly in the quiet room, your heart jumping erratically in your chest.

“No." He turns around. "No buts. You think I'm going to hurt you? You think I'm going to get bored and run off with some undergrounder, some fairy, the first chance I get?” his eyes are piercing, dark with frustration. “You obviously have no idea how amazing you are. You are incredible, and I want you.” you take a step back, suddenly overwhelmed by his proximity, what he’s saying. “Every part of you. I want your stubbornness and your sarcasm and your competitive spirit. I want you challenging me and fighting beside me.” His large hands settle around your shoulders, pulling you closer. You resist—holding your hand on his chest—keeping him at a distance. What if one of the guards saw? “I want to hold you and kiss you and so much more because there's no one else in the world who knows me like you do. You have always been the one for me, even when we couldn't stand each other.” he lowers his voice, and suddenly everything becomes much more intimate. “You're beautiful, and you're more intelligent than any fairy I've met. It just feels right when you're beside me. It feel like I've been lost in the desert for years, and...I've finally come home.” he finishes, winded like he’s ran a marathon.

His dark eyes trace your features, gently removing your hand from his chest, closing the distance between you slowly. And, instead of fighting it like you should, you close your eyes and let yourself go. You feel the muscles of his shoulder beneath your hand. The frame his arms create is strong, secure, but you want those arms tighter around you. You want there to be no space at all between you.

As if reading your mind, he closes the distance. Tilting your chin up—his lips drawing you in—your breath becoming one. You want him so badly. You want to kiss him, laugh with him, cry with him, share every waking moment of your life with him because no matter how many awful things he's done in the past, you can't shake the undeniable feeling that when his arms are around you, you’re home.

🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿🌿

In TXT I ship you with...

Beomgyu!

Your moodboard:

“I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trelon. I have spent the night with the Duke of Death and left with both my sanity and my life.” he’s ranting now, his wide eyes holding you in place, hands frantically waving about. “I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during the day. I have talked to gods, slept with sirens, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.” you cock your eyebrow, patiently waiting for him to get to the point. 

“You have to have heard of me.” he balks at your impassive expression. 

“Your highness,” you resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I know who you are, I just don’t care.” The absolute shock that momentarily paints his handsome features has you holding back a laugh. “But—” now you do roll your eyes, already bored with the conversation. 

“Your highness, I’m here to teach you—not indulge your ego. You’re going to be king soon—” he cuts you off, abruptly. “I do not wish to be king.” there’s an edge to his voice, a hard set to his jaw. You take a deep breath. “That doesn’t change the fact that you will be.” There’s a dark, forlorn and almost heartbreaking look in his eyes—it’s sudden and it’s gone as fast as it appeared—but it’s enough to stop you in your tracks. You swallow down the insult that was steadily making its way up your throat and you look at him, really look. Despite all of his accomplishments, if you wish to call sharing a chamber with a siren an accomplishment, he still just a kid. And suddenly your heart hurts for him,

“I once knew a troll who was heir to the throne of a great kingdom, he lived as a ranger and fought his destiny to sit on a throne but in his blood he was a king.” you say offhandedly, gazing out the large window to the east woodlands. You can feel the snap of his gaze on you. “I also knew a fae who was the king of a small kingdom, it was very small and his throne very humble.” you smile to yourself, remembering how delighted you were to meet such a respectable court. “He and his people were all brave and worthy conquerors.”

He takes a step towards you, you feel his eyes settle on your own—but you keep your gaze resolutely out the window. “And I knew a vampire who sat on a magnificent throne of a big and majestic kingdom, but he was not a king at all, he was only a cowardly steward.” you confessed quietly, suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of such a cruel ruler. Your eyes must reflect your feelings on the matter because the prince steps in front of you, cutting off your line of sight to the great woods.  “Why are you telling me this?” he questions, his tone lowered to match yours. 

You finally concede, looking up and catching his eyes. “Because I want you to know. You will be the king of a great kingdom, human or not—whether you want it or not—you will be the king, even if you live in naivety.”  His gaze darkens as you turn around and reach for a book on the 9 woodland kingdoms, the kingdoms you’re meant to teach the prince about, thoroughly; the book is old and worn, it smells like burnt leaves.  “My lady, I did not think you could answer it.” his voice cuts through the sudden silence. You tilt your head in his direction, for the first time, curious. “Answer what?” you voice, confusion etched in your features.

“Your calling, of course. When my father took you from your home without your leave—and set value only on your gift—I questioned your knowledge on the subject matter at hand.” he rounds the table, holding your gaze hostage. “But I am answered truly. You have given fair return for insult thrice over and set your worth: higher than my life and all my kingdom and all who live therein.”

He comes to a stop in front of you, yet again, this time much closer than before. “And though you can send my people to the fire, I can claim no debt to repay. It would be justly done.” his whispered words catch you off guard—the implication, the suggestion of a confession. You drop the book you’re holding, the noise echoing through the barren halls. 

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@urirealvibekiller​ omggg you're sooo sweet 😍😭 I'm going to cryyy. But also? That knife threat sENT ME hahhahaa 😂

And no, YOUR an absolute angel! I can't get over how pretty you areeeee! Teach me your ways! 🥺

Lol I hope you like your moodboard ship(s) — It started out one way, and then I randomly got inspired by a fantasy cottage-core advertisement lmfaoooo sorry! 🥰

[eternalstrigoii]

Natural

Guess I’m gonna die captain of this ship, huh? Set during M:MoE / Your Own, whatever canon you prefer.

Conall x (reader!)Maleficent

            It was not the first time you’d slept against him.

Nodding off at his side while you sat before your peoples’ fire was different than being plucked, half-drowned, from the sea (though the memory of how he’d cradled your head, the warmth of his body against yours while your heat-thickened blood coated both of your skin, cropped up as soon as you woke – cold and soaked and wholly limp, as close to tucked against his body as he could get you).

It took you a moment to realize that you were in his bed. That you were wrapped in your own, separate furs, independent from his.

And yet, at some point in the night, whatever respectful distance you’d gone to bed with had evaporated between you. You did not need one another for warmth, but your bodies’ sought the other all the same. One of his broad, dark wings lay beneath you – curled, in part, around your hip. Your head rested on his arm, closer to his shoulder than you imagined you would get, and your hands…

You held his hand in both of yours. Only one of them, for the curl of his arm aided the down beneath his head, and it gave you a moment’s pause to behold the top half of him.

Conall was handsome, without question. You had only known him to be gentle, empathetic, and kind. The way his hand fit in yours wrung your insides like wet cloth; you fixated on the thought that he had very nice fingers even as you studied what must’ve been an old iron-cut on the back of his hand. You’d seen another stripe of shiny flesh on his bicep – the one you were curled against – when you stood together upon the Phoenix’s grounds.

You shouldn’t feel like this. You shouldn’t enjoy holding his hand like this. It shouldn’t be so pleasant to be pressed against him, even when neither of you made the active choice to be that way. (It was as though your instincts understood something you did not, and the prospect of it frightened you – because you could love him, if you stayed here, in the Nest, with them. You feared you were already starting to, though if you were honest with yourself, you did. Good men were a rare kind in the world beyond Paradise – for their exile was still your waking dream; you spent so long alone that this, lying there with him, fooled your heart into pretending that everything would be alright. Three days would pass like no time at all, and when the dust settled…you could take his hand again.)

You ran your fingers lightly up the inside of his forearm. He was well-decorated with tattoos; how fierce of a warrior had he been, once, only to give it up. Why would you give it up? How could you trust anyone with your life that way?

As easily as breathing, though you did not acknowledge that thought. Trust was a different concept when it was a matter of trusting him. He had no business marrying love and concern in his eyes the way he did when he looked at you. When he looked at you, he saw nothing of cruel, wild tales or your legacy of thorns – you did not want to fathom what he saw, even if it made you feel seen.

When you were tired the night before, he gathered you into his arms like you were already his wife. It should not have been so easy for you to wrap your arm around his neck, press your face into his shoulder. You shouldn’t have trusted him. The last time you lay near a man who was not also a bird (as though you could truly make that distinction)…

Your stomach tightened at the thought. At even the faintest flicker of memory. Drugged wine and iron knives, sagging, exhausted, against Stefan. You were asleep before he lay you down, asleep through the whole of the grueling process, asleep until the pain awoke you—

Conall’s fingers laced through yours. He gently squeezed your hand as he stirred, the sound of your racing pulse awakening him before he truly knew what had.

You should’ve taken more time to admire him while he slept. Trace the wonderful sharpness of his cheekbones without being caught. Understand the patterns on his chest. You should have done that instead of let your thoughts wander, instead of trying to half-remember how nice it was to be laid in a bed of down so familiarly like your own, bundled in furs for warmth by hands truly contentious of your wings. You were asleep, again, before he joined you, and the recoil of your thoughts hit you so hard it nearly made you flinch – have you learned nothing?

When he first opened his eyes, and the green of spring met yours, there was no concern in them. They were soft, tender, kind. You stepped pointedly around the phrase that popped into mind lest it make the tightness in your chest worse.

Then he blinked, and you supposed your posture and your face gave him good reason to be concerned. He sat up, only noticing, as you did, that you clung to his hand when he moved it to touch the covered bandages on your side. “Are you in pain?”

Yes. “No.” Not that manner of pain. You trusted Diaval and no one else and now you trusted him and the fear of betrayal consumed you.

He did not let go of your hand, but he also did not believe you. The one he’d slept on pressed, gently, to your side. It hurt – of course it hurt, it hadn’t been a whole three days since you were injured – but not badly. Their healers knew how to treat even the most severe of iron burns.

“May I?” the brightness of his eyes returned to yours.

You nodded, even though, for another moment, it was too much. This, lying there with him, touching him, being touched – being touched kindly.

He hesitated to release your hand, as though you might come untethered. He clasped it gently between his as he rose, as his fur blankets fell away and you breathed out in relief at the ever-so-familiar sight of his unfurled wings as they stretched. Wings like yours, restored to you. By Aurora, who had also betrayed you.

You shouldn’t do this, you shouldn’t trust him, you shouldn’t still be surprised when it happened, and yet, it was hard for you to release him as well, though he resettled near you. Though his touch was gentle and you only flinched away from him a little.

“Maleficent.” His hand lifted to touch your face. “I will not cause you pain.”

You half-laughed under your breath – not a real one; there was no humor in the biting, passing thought of everyone does.

“You are safe here.” He followed your eyes when they refused to meet his until his movement in your periphery drew them back. “I promise.”

Promise. Even in the rhythm of his lovely, softened voice, you wanted to disbelieve that word. No one upholds their promises.

No one but men with wings, perhaps. Men who are also, in some ways, a bird.

You drew in a deep, slow breath. Held it until the nagging tug of fear began to release, and then sat back on your palms as though you’d ever been truly in conversation about the wound on your side.

It was enough a gesture of trust that you nearly forgot about the placement of his hand, or how nice it felt against your skin. Your eyelids lowered when his thumb brushed your cheekbone, and you reigned in your disappointment when his touch withdrew.

“Did you sleep well?” Conall was not Diaval, and would not force you to confront anything you were not prepared to. You were grateful for it; it eased the tension in your shoulders.

“I did. Though I’ll have to apologize,” you let the phrase linger until he met your eyes, and your lips quirked at his gentle confusion, “I believe I held on to you all night.”

There was a flicker of warmth in his gaze and in the quirk of his mouth that betrayed him just as much as you betrayed yourself. The thought was not unpleasant. Maybe even welcome. “You sleep best with company.”

Your feathers fluffed, and you quirked your head.

He checked your wound and re-wrapped your bandages; it must have been doing well. It also might have been an excuse not to hold your eyes, for a change. “You were soaked to the skin in the healer’s nest. At first, you were bruised as though you had fallen from a height.”

You had. You plunged into Ulstead’s river and ended up in the sea. If the bullet hadn’t killed you, if drowning hadn’t killed you, the falls should’ve. You were beginning to suspect your power was not tampered as much as it was diverted; you were lucky to be alive.

“You’ll have to forgive me in return.” His eyes lifted, and the depth of their warmth promised that there was nothing you would truly need to forgive. “I held you while you were shivering.”

Your instincts sought him for comfort for a reason, then. You almost smiled, though you did rest a hand over his. “Thank you.”

“Always.” You did not think his eyes could warm further, but they did. They were so bright you could plunge into them like the canopy, become wholly and truly lost.

Your instincts sought him for comfort, and when he held your eyes – when he kept holding your eyes the way he did, kept imbuing love into you freely – they also encouraged you to seek other things.

Foolish. Senseless. You don’t know him. (He’s made his intentions quite clear; however roundabout, it’s your happiness he seeks. He wants nothing from you but a clear head.) You tell yourself fairytales to justify your indecision. (He protested Borra’s advances. He protected you, and you were a stranger to him. You proved the point the other made, and his regard of you never changed.)

He waited to touch you until it was clear, to you, that he would. There was no good reason for him to cradle your face like he did, cradle your body against him. It’s because you are of Phoenix blood, that cold and cutting little voice pressed.

“You do not have to say anything you do not wish to,” though he did, consistently, seek your eyes and you knew how well eyes conveyed thoughts that you would not give voice to. “Will you tell me if there is anything you need?”

You did not need to go back in time and erase Stefan from your life, but you wished to. You wished that your people had known about your parents; that you had not grown alone. You wished that there was a version of your life where the child version of yourself and the child version of the people you knew now had fledged together, flown through the trees and the peaks and skimmed your fingers along the crisp water at the heart of the moors. You wished, in this alternate version of your life, that the young warrior Conall must’ve been when he was sixteen gave the girl that you were True Love’s Kiss.

You wished for it more than you understood. You wished that you could just feel things without having to fight yourself for why you should not.

You did not ask him to stay out loud, though he did. He moved into the nest with you as though if he moved too quickly, the tender wound on your side might start to bleed freely again. You hated that he saw weakness in you – you hated that he recognized when you felt fragile. You were so used to keeping that part of yourself covered, like your horns. (It was only natural that, there, with him, while your hair was loose and your horns uncovered for longer than they had been since Aurora was born, your feelings might be as well.)

“The last time I lay with a man, he stole my wings.”

It came out of you quickly, like tearing a blood-soaked bandage from skin. You did not mean for it to sound so harsh and so abrupt; you did not owe him that, or anything, but he had given to you so freely that you felt – aside from the part of you that jabbed the belly of your distrust – he deserved to know what opposed his kindness.

Your legs folded the way they had in the healer’s nest when his fingertips lightly brushed the down around their joints. He could feel the scars half-covered by feathers – scars like they had been hacked off and gouged out at once. You did not know how they were removed or how they’d been kept, only that they lived independently of you because of the magic in your blood.

But there was no talk of that. No mention of the Phoenix, or your bloodline, or what it could have meant for the whole of your people.

Conall engulfed you in one of his wings. You shifted – just to accommodate him at first, and then to press yourself into his side.

You did not allow yourself to be a creature in need of comfort. Yet, if it was offered to you freely, what use was there in shying away?

The unfurling of your body against his was gradual; you had to press yourself against him first, soak in the warmth of his skin for a moment. He did not continue to touch your scars, but embraced you with his hand upon your side. Your horns were nearly pressed against his. You wrapped your arms around him slowly, easing closer, your chin on his shoulder, his arms, both, around you, and the warmth of his wings around yours was all-encompassing.

You could stay like this. For three days, until you healed, indefinitely.

“Thank you for saving me,” you murmured near his ear, and his arms around you became a full embrace, so tight you could feel the rhythm of his heart.

“You have nothing to thank me for.” He cradled the back of your head again, and your thoughts – of course I do, you had no reason to risk your life for me; you could have abandoned me and justified it as protecting your people just as you justified saving me for the same – silenced with your breath.

You had barely looked at him when you flew through paradise at his side. You had not grasped the depth or the breadth of the warmth or the love in his eyes until you were hovering together like hummingbirds in the network of narrow caverns where your peoples’ fledglings practiced flight, and it had frightened you. Paradise, children, love, peace. You preferred direct confrontation to the peril of trust.

You did not have to do what you did. Your desire to do so was enough, for the moment, to silence the flame-flicker of your fear.

You pressed your fingers to his jaw. You shouldn’t have been surprised that his beard was down-soft despite being hair rather than feathers. It made your lips quirk before you pressed them to his jaw.

He was still against you for a moment, letting you do whatever it was you wished. When you withdrew, though it wasn’t far, he reclaimed your eyes.

You did not know that he meant to gently press foreheads with you, nudge his horns against your own. You presumed that one kiss was adequate permission, so when he shifted toward you, you did in return, and your lips pressed to his without provocation.

That wasn’t his intent. He could’ve kissed you, could’ve kept you close, but he withdrew nearly as quickly as you initiated to ensure it was yours. “Maleficent?”

You are a pawn in a game that no side will win; he is kind to you for the same reason Borra hopes you will join him in war – you are the Phoenix. You are a weapon, a token, nothing more—

The softness of his fingers through your hair told you differently. The hot flush of shame that diverted your gaze soothed at his temperate touch. His horns were like yours, his wings like yours, his nest like yours, his eyes, brighter than yours but the essence is the same. He was closer to you than the smoldering bones in the cliffside – no fear conjured by your thoughts could change that.

“Are you certain?”

Of all the things you had not yet decided, all the conclusions you had not yet reached, your desire to kiss him was not up for question.

You nodded. Held his jaw in both of your hands. You were not a child anymore, you did not believe in true love – Diaval was to be the closest to it you ever knew. His beautiful eyes held yours; his arms around you only loosened to give you control.

If Conall, who asked for your permission, who cared for you without asking anything of you in return, not even peace if you were not prepared to embrace it, was not true love, then he was very, very close.

When you kissed him, it was soft and slow. Sweet and savoring. Your lips pressed to his and nothing more, at first; then you sought to feel their softness better. Their warmth. You never imagined someone could kiss patiently, but he did; you were in control. Whatever you chose to do was your decision alone – to kiss him, to press yourself closer, to part your lips against his so you might feel the light, exploratory brush of his tongue against yours.

Slowly, oh so slowly, did you encourage that kiss to deepen. You were intimately aware of every move the other made – he did not run his hands over your back until your arms encircled his neck. You kissed him like you had never kissed someone before – and, in many regards, it was almost true; it had been twenty-odd years since you had last, and you had never kissed another of your own.

“Is this alright?” you asked in a whisper when you inevitably settled astride his legs. Inevitably, as though you belonged there.

“Whatever you are comfortable with.” His eyes were half-lidded, and it gave you an unreasonable spark of pleasure to know that it was because you had kissed him.

“Will you tell me if you are uncomfortable?”

The smile that crossed his lips was like sunlight. He traced his thumb over a swath of your spine as he nodded. “Only if you do.”

You did not quiet your smile, then. You did not pause to consider how long it had been since you allowed another person to touch you like this – Aurora did not count. Aurora was a tactile child, a comfort-seeker by nature. Your utter repulsion toward touch ebbed with her head upon your shoulder, and it was almost comical that her actions, regardless of how direct or indirect they were, placed you in the arms of a man who you did not want to stop touching you.

You broke your second kiss to indulge your impulses. You ran your hands over his shoulders and down his strong arms. He had a warrior’s muscles even if he did not still train; you smiled entirely to yourself as you traced the patterns of the tattoos on his arm with your thumb.

Conall did not ask outright why you smiled, though it was infectious. He palmed your sides gently, careful of your still-healing wound. Your eyes darkened; your touch softened. You shifted the covering of his wrap to admire the patterns upon his chest. Traced them with your fingers, after a moment’s hesitation.

“Continue only when you wish to.” He caught your hand when it lingered on his chest and pressed a kiss to your palm. “If you wish to.”

“I wish to.” Though you still struggled to say it out loud, the notion of open and enthusiastic consent weakened the storm of your thoughts like a temperate wind. “I would like to continue as far as you are willing.”

You could only dance around words and phrases for so long; his bright eyes glinted as he stroked your fingers. “Whatever you wish.”

You wished for many things. The most attainable of them was parting the wrap he’d worn for a shirt overnight to trace the patterns on his chest in full.

“What do they mean?” You thumbed the one at the hollow of his throat.

“Different things.” His wings shifted when the tip of one of your talons caressed one’s curve in the wake of your fingertips. “They tell a story.”

“Yours?”

He nodded. Your fingers found a scar among them – small, well-hidden, but there all the same. He was a warrior just as fierce as the rest of them, once. You thought of the emotion in his voice when he spoke of transformation, of love in the midst of pain, and you bent to kiss it.

It was not the time to contemplate how this story would end. Your lips lingered as you traced his tattoos, traced your own patterns over them. You kissed his chest, his collarbone, his throat. His hand rested upon the back of your head as though he longed to keep you close.

You kissed him again in place of explicit permission. You did not think you would ever tire of kissing him.

The wrap around his shoulders came off in full with the shifting of his wings. Yours perked in response, unfurled in pleasure at the soft, questioning touch he gave the neck-fasten of your borrowed dress.

It was your turn to nod. You sat back a bit, pretended not to notice what you learned from shifting your weight against him (his legs were, in fact, as strong as his arms, and your softness, your lingering, was not unpleasant to him at all).

He met your eyes again. This time, you smiled more broadly than you had in an age, “Would you prefer I tell you out loud?”

“That would be helpful,” he teased. The humor in his tone robbed nothing of the kindness from his eyes, and it warmed you in ways you did not think making love – or the preparation leading up to it – was supposed to.

“I enjoy being touched by you.” You were clear and deliberate with your words, as usual.

His smile grew, though he shook his head fondly. “And I enjoy being touched by you, but that is not consent.” He did not even kiss you while he toyed with your hair, though his forehead did rest against yours once more. “I will not be with you if you’re not ready.”

“I am,” you pressed, trying to end the conversation before it ventured into dark and stormy places.

“Permission is not the same as pleasure.” His thumb stroked the back of your neck. “Making love to you is not the same as being permitted to take pleasure from you. I want to make love to you, Maleficent.”

It should have frightened you how easily you knew you wanted to be made love to. You should have had to fight the reminders of pleasure taken long ago. Even in the warmth and the safety of his arms, acknowledgement of your place in relation to love had always been too much. Being with him should not have been so different.

You pressed foreheads with him gently. Your eyelids did not lower, your gaze did not fall. “I want you to make love to me, Conall.”

You trusted him to.

His touch was gentle. He untied the knot of your borrowed dress at the back of your neck and eased the fabric lower. Not off, not yet – at first, only low enough to return the kisses you’d pressed to his collarbone and his throat. The brush of his beard against your bare skin felt lovely, and your fingers linked through his hair to encourage him to stay there. You were still learning what he needed from you, and a little sound of pleasure when your dress began to slip and his fingers brushed your ribs still made you blush when he withdrew to ensure that the sound was, in fact, pleasure.

“Why do you quiet yourself?” he asked.

For the same reason you did not want to see the glimmer of sadness in his eyes as though he knew before he asked. You did not give your feelings freely. It was as much a part of why you covered your horns as why you kept your pleasure to yourself and pretended you did not see the love in Diaval’s eyes.

“You are the third person I’ve trusted in a very long time.” That was not an answer, though you wanted to leave it at that. You just wanted him to kiss you, kiss you and let you lose your thoughts and your sense in him. “This…telling you how I feel, even when it should be simple…” It is vulnerable, and you are not vulnerable to anyone anymore. Not even the people you love.

“Will you try to?” You could see in his eyes that he could not believe you were not only giving permission if you did not.

You nodded. And then, just to prove that you would, you murmured, “I already am.”

You did not think someone could want you when he looked at you the way he did. He had seen the wall of thorns around your heart and thought the ascent worthwhile, but you were a daunting undertaking for a reason – you were not meant to be loved.

But that was all you saw in his eyes. Concern, sadness, kindness, warmth, love. Why would he do this to himself? Why would he let you believe that anyone could love you as you were?

He pressed his lips over your heart, and the whole of you nearly came apart at the seams. He did it once, let his lips linger, and did it again. He should not love you, but he did. And you folded your arms around him, held him against you, savored in the warmth of his breath against your skin until you were both ready to continue.

You explored him bit by bit, falling in love with his shoulders and his chest and his arms and his hands. His angles were softer than yours – all of theirs were, though you did not linger on the thought. He traced a map of your body with his hands as though he needed to be shown how quickly gooseflesh would rise in his wake. You stifled a giggle when his talons brushed your ribs, and the suddenness of your hand going over your mouth, your little sound and the widening of your eyes gave him pause again.

Oh, you blushed like a fledgling. “That tickled.”

“I’m sorry,” he said just as gravely as if you’d said you hadn’t liked it.

“For what?” Your heart was light; you held his hand there in gratitude.

“Even that should have your consent.”

Your heart was so light, and you shook your head as though your hair wouldn’t fall over your shoulders in cascades. No man is like this. No man could ever be like this. “It does now.”

He gathered you gently into his arms, kissed you from your ribs to your waist. Your wings fluffed in pleasure, half-folded in on themselves when your skirt finally puddled away.

That exploration was slow and gentle, too, and it required no reminder that he preferred outward, readily-offered, and enthusiastic consent.

Gods both mortal and ancestral, the combination of his fingers and his tongue gave you more pleasure than you’d ever hoped for. You most assuredly were not his first, though it certainly felt like he was yours. He knew to kiss and stroke places that you imagined only you would know about – and then another you hadn’t known was there. You were trembling, your knees pressed into the down, and your talons were embedded in your tightly-woven bed.

“Wait,” you whispered, and you anticipated saying it a few more times – you were so close it was as though you were in a haze.

He stopped, and, after a moment, withdrew to resettle you in his arms where you belonged. He, too, breathed hard, and you kissed the heel of his palm when he cupped your cheek.

“I’m fine.” You rested your hand over his for good measure. “I would like it to happen when you and I are together, not…” Not like that, even though it was incredible.

His eyes glinted, though he kissed you all the same. “You are encouraged to finish as often as you want.”

“Oh.” It was supposed to be a little, half-hearted joke, but he still recognized it for what it was.

He pressed his lips to yours again. “Would you still like to?”

The throb of your pulse returned where he’d been stroking. “Yes,” You said against his mouth, “very much.”

His fingers returned to that sweet place inside of you that only he could find, and his thumb resettled at your bundled nerves. Your hips moved with his touch, your breath against his lips was rough, and you shivered when you saw the unabashed love in his face as he watched yours.

Your eyes locked with his, and you came so hard you couldn’t even make a sound. It felt like your muscles locked – you were plunging into the warmth of a different sea, the certainty of your wings swept right out from under you. They unfurled sharply, fanned out on either side of you as though in defense.

“Oh, Conall,” you whispered in a tone you never imagined you possessed.

“Easy,” he murmured, his lips at your throat. “Take your time.”

You were well and thoroughly boneless; there would be no arguing with him on that.

He brought you to settle astride him once more, deliberately placing your weight over his thighs rather than over where the union of your bodies might follow. His fingers withdrew slowly, giving you time to breathe first, to make peace with their retreat.

You had to rest your hands on his chest for support. Your nerves tingled all throughout the whole of your body, even in your wings, which were embarrassingly close to sagging.

“May I still have you?” you murmured, though you felt selfish asking. You had the clarity of mind to imagine you’d feel selfish no matter what you asked, so you might as well.

“When you’re ready.” He pressed yet another gentle kiss to the spot on your forehead where you met when you were bunting horns. You tried to make a mental note to ask about what significance that had, later, but you knew you wouldn’t remember.

You did not even protest. He most certainly was ready, and so you gave yourself time to emerge from your afterglow – for the warmth of love to pool low in your belly once again at his soft, wandering touch. You placed kisses to his shoulders and traced the patterns on his chest, the valleys of his muscles and stroked the downy curls of his beard. You did not need to work up any courage about letting your touch wander, though you did meet his eyes first as he so often did with you.

He nodded.

Your lips quirked, and you couldn’t keep yourself from being horribly childish. “Is that consent, or permission?”

He did not even try to soften his smile. It brightened his whole face, as though you needed yet another aspect of him to fall in love with. “Consent. You have my consent to continue, if you desire to.”

“I desire to,” you repeated, laying your head on his shoulder and fitting your body against his side. “Very much so.”

You took him in your palm. At first, you marveled at him, at his weight, his warmth. You flushed with pleasure at the nest of soft down between his thighs and how lovely its darkness complimented his skin. You ran your thumb over the length of him, caressed him open-handed, and the small, strangled sound that left him gave you the urge to be childish again.

Until your eyes lifted to his face, and the sight of him with his lips parted, his eyes half-lowered as though your hands were the most pleasurable act he’d ever known, made the places his fingers discovered quake.

“Conall?” you asked without an ounce of self-restraint.

“If you’re ready,” he repeated, breathless. He still met your eyes when you climbed over him, when you asked with your own if this position would be uncomfortable for his wings.

You eased yourself into union with him in increments. There was a reason you had wanted to wait rather than indulge yourself on his tongue and his fingers – you felt as though you might see stars just from lowering yourself astride him. You had to rest both of your hands on his chest to keep yourself up, and he placed his over yours.

You could feel the steady tempo of his heart. It made yours clench so hard it physically skipped a beat. Of course being with him would be intimate, there was no other way you could ever be intimate again, but the depth and the severity of your feelings for him still hit you like an unanticipated branch to the face.

You loved him. You were in love with him, and not because he felt so good inside of you that you couldn’t have resisted moaning aloud even if you wanted to. This was right, being with him – being joined with him, being held by him, kissing him, loving him – it was as though everything in all the fabric of the universe and the tangled threads of time interwove just so to land you there, with him, as naked as you’d ever been. Emotionally and otherwise.

“Stop.” He sat up quickly, took your face in his hands. “Maleficent-?”

You pressed your face into his hands. Your heart was full, full to bursting, and you held him there as you eased the rest of the way down. The tears that leaked from your eyes had nothing to do with pain, though you’d been completely ignoring the wound on your side. Your heart beat so hard it strangled your breath, and his thumbs brushed the dampness from your cheeks. “Stop. Look at me.”

You did. You held his hands to your cheeks and practically begged him with your eyes to stay there – just stay right there.

“Are you alright?”

You nodded.

“Do you mean that? Truly? I will not be upset if it’s not the right time.”

You kissed his palms. His wrists. “Stay,” you whispered, and it was all you could manage. No give me a moment, no let me feel, you could manage one word in place of three others.

He did, though it was more intimate than you anticipated. He did not just let you keep yourself where you were, he brought you closer, folded you in his arms and his wings so that nearly the whole of your body was covered with his. Your wings folded neatly behind his, your body fit perfectly in his arms, perfectly in his grasp, as though you were meant to be there with him.

“Please, stay with me,” you whispered with a wholly different meaning.

You were not alone. There was no fear in the thought anymore – you were not alone, you were with him, in Paradise; his arms were safety and you wanted them to be your home.

He pressed you against him as though you weren’t already united, as though you could get any closer to one another than you already were. You clung to his shoulders, buried your fingers in his hair and your cheek against his jaw. “There is nowhere you could go where I cannot follow.”

You held on to him until the weight of your love was not so crushing. He brushed his thumb over your cheek, rubbing away the dampness that remained, and, slowly, you shifted. Your forehead pressed with his, you bunted with him gently, and you guided him to settle on top of you. Your talons caught the tightly-woven wall of his nest-bed, and slipped free once you’d settled comfortably on your fanned-out wings. “I trust you.”

He still studied your face until he was certain that you were, and that your tears had not come from the dull ache in your side or your union with him. Your heart’s even tempo and the softness of your lowered guard expressed consent rather than permission.

As soon as his lips parted to remind you, you touched them lightly with your finger. “I will tell you if I want you to stop.”

He kissed your palm as you had kissed his, then rested his weight in the gaps between your body and your wings. It made your eyes flutter and hips adjust – you wanted to be as close to him as your bodies would allow.

The slow roll of his hips was deliberate. He eased into union with you, giving you time to adjust as much as he savored the warmth of your body in return – the caress of your hands, the soft, breathless sound you made when you felt him move inside you. “Oh.”

He made a low half-purr of agreement. His marvelous hips moved like the current; every retreat was to be followed momentarily by the reunion of the shore with the waves. You guided his palm away from bracing your side, and the pleasure of his caress over the plains of your stomach, his hand fit to your curves, made your spread wings twitch in pleasure.

“Yes,” you whispered, “Just like that…”

He kissed you in soft, sweet punctuations. You could not get enough of him nor he, of you. He had to shift to press his hand to your lower back to support you as you arched off the down, and the other lifted above you to grip the side of his nest-bed as you had. His eyes were so bright you could dive into them like the canopy from the clouds.

“Like this?” he stoked that sweet place inside of you and you did not resist slotting your thighs over his hips to get closer. Your lower belly quivered.

“Conall,” you breathed. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.

The sound of his name and the warmth of your half-lowered gaze gave him chills. All of him was beautiful, even his groan. It made you dig your heels into the down and try to press closer, as if you could. As if you could accomplish anything but lightly bucking your hips.

His steady rhythm faltered.

You moved against him in return, letting your hips guide the ease of your natural pace. He moved closer to you, flexed his fingers in the twigs in place of grasping you. You felt your calves tightening, tension gather against his hand on your back. You curled your toes and let your instincts guide you.

He said your name in place of a proper warning. The tight circles you’d started to draw with your hips started to dissolve. You clung to him with your knees, begging him to stay right where he was.

He did. And the half-wild sound he made as he gripped your hips caused something in the fabric of your very essence to snap.

Spring-green fire surged from you like a collision’s epicenter. The whole of the forest blossomed with new life; the felled branches that made up Conall’s nest as well as others’ grew flush and heady again with flowing sap and new-budded leaves. A carpet of moss crept over the unturned stones, and the flowers – those precious, native few that thrived despite few pollinators – bloomed.

They even felt you in the other biomes. A trickle of rain fell from the high peaks into the desert; the sun brightened over the jungle and dimmed in the tundra so their self-made borealis shone more readily.

Conall, buried to the hilt within you, did not notice. Then again, neither did you.

His lips traced the leaf of your ear, hand lingered at your wounded side. “You’re in no pain?”

“None whatsoever.” Your breath was still heavy, but there was no tension in your body to encourage pain. You’d passed boneless. Had you not been under him, you would’ve been as limp in his arms as you were the night he found you.

He moved to withdraw, and you clung to him stubbornly. You were not ready to let go of him, not ready to give up even if the thought of rolling over and going right back to sleep was no longer out of the question.

He settled over you, instead, resting his forearms against the nest to keep his weight from pinning down your wings. You brought him close, curled your arms around his, and lightly thumbed the down at their joints. The whole of your body thrummed with pleasure.

“We can stop now,” you muttered, just to make good on your promises.

He chuckled, but resisted teasing far better than you did. He propped his weight on one arm to draw some of his furs over you both, and you snuggled into his chest. Snuggled. You.

“May I tell you something entirely unreasonable?” you murmured because you were tired enough, in your afterglow, to have the resolve.

“It may not be as unreasonable as you think,” he replied. He did not have to search your eyes. He did not even have to wait long to gather you into his arms and shift so it was him lying under you with his wings curled loosely around you as though the blankets were insufficient on their own.

“I’m rather in love with you.” You did not leave it at that; you did not even want to. “Quite in love with you, actually.”

His talons carded gently through your hair, then dipped along the rise of your hollow wing-bone. “Hardly unreasonable.”

Your lips quirked.

“You truly are magnificent, Maleficent. And I am rather in love with you as well.” He did not leave it at that, either, though you supposed he should’ve. Could’ve. Whatever. “Quite in love with you, actually.”

You play-pushed his shoulder.

He caught your hand, laced his fingers through yours, and held it there. “These marks,” below where your joined hands rested, “are the entirety of my story. One day soon, they will include you.”

“What will they say?” you murmured, though your eyes were heavy. The rhythm of his heart against yours was a beautiful sound against your shallow, sleep-seeking breath.

His thumb brushed your knuckles. You were so close that your breath fanned his chest, and he would’ve done anything you’d asked to keep you there. “Whatever you wish.”

                                         ---------------------------

Tag List: @deathonyourtongue, @swim-reaper, @thetempleofthemasaigoddess, @mor-ranr, @blacksirenswolf, @spiritaed-kth, @faro-en-la-distancia

[illshowyourhurricanes]

Mississippi Delta Magic

Here’s another filled request, and it’s about our traveling music man with a heart of gold, soul of fire, and fingers of a true virtuoso-- none other than Ryan Brenner. And what a life he has to write about! This was requested by the lovely @witchygagirl​ as follows: 

This one is actually unrelated to A Familiar Face or my other related one-shots, so it’s a stand-alone piece! Thank you for reading, as always, and enjoy!

Image prompt 11: Ryan Brenner x reader

Rating: PG for fluff and more fluff, with a side of fluff. 

Word count: 1879

Tag list: @obscurilicious​ @the-blind-assassin-12​ @something-tofightfor​ @logan-deloss​ @lexxierave​ @madamrogers​ @yannii04​ @gollyderek​ @carlaangel86​ @bicevans​ @maydayfigment​ @thisisparadisemylove​ @malionnes​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @crushed-pink-petals-writes​ @delos-destinations​ @luminex3​ @tenhargreeves​ @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes​ @fific7

As always, if you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list, just shoot me an ask or DM.

Special thanks to @something-tofightfor​ for beta reading!

“I went to the depot, looked up at the stars. Cried, some train don’t come, there’ll be some walkin’ done.”

When Ryan strummed his guitar, it was magic. The music floated through the air in D and A minor, an arpeggio of time that was broken down and descended. If you closed your eyes, you were sitting outside in Mississippi on a balmy summer night, dewy grass dampening your skirt as you watched fireflies blink out of time while you drank homemade moonshine. It was 1931 and Prohibition was in full swing, but your daddy didn’t care and neither did his backwoods friends. 

Ryan’s smooth-as-silk voice and long fingers dancing and picking guitar strings was your backdrop, and you’d always find your eyes fluttering shut during that one particular song, fully invested in your daydream. A small smile would tug at the corners of your lips, and Ryan knew why. You’d told him about your little fantasy late one night after too much Bayou Teche. You’d gotten it shipped to chill inside the refrigerator until Ryan arrived, and by the time he was gone, each of you had halved the beer until all you had left was empty,  brown glass bottles. 

The Geeshie Wiley tune was one of Ryan’s standards when he was off busking between hopping freight trains to his next destination. He played covers mostly, and most people seemed to recognize Last Kind Words, even with a male voice singing the lyrics.  You’d heard him play it dozens of times, whether out on the street surrounded by a small audience or the comfort of your front porch steps. No matter how many times, you were always transported back in time. 

It had been a humid, cloudy night in May, spring melting into summer as you sat next to Ryan on your old wooden porch swing, hung by rusted wooden chains. Your eyes were heavy; you were drowsy and instead of Ryan’s guitar in his lap, it was a small black book and a old, chewed up PaperMate pen— no frills, clear plastic showing an ink cartridge that was two-thirds used up, cap off and stuck on the pen’s end. 

Your eyes had drifted shut, your head resting on Ryan’s right shoulder. Almost asleep, you felt Ryan’s weight shift and the swing beneath you sway out of time. Eyelids popping open, you lifted your head as Ryan sat back upright, a scrap of sheet music pinned between his thumb and long, tattooed index finger. You saw that the paper was singed at the edges and just a partial page— less than half, the ink beginning to fade. Always learning about Ryan, you smiled softly as he tucked it back between two blank pages of his book. 

“I didn’t know you could read sheet music,” you spoke, Ryan’s head turning to look at you. 

“A little… sorry I woke you up, Y/N.” The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile as he looked at you with those eyes a few shades darker than chestnut. Reaching up, he softly brushed wayward hair behind your ear. 

Drowsy eyes meeting his own, you shook your head. “I didn’t realize I fell asleep… what’s the song?”

Ryan closed his book, capped his pen, and the swing tilted as he set his notebook on the stained wooden planks of the porch. When he was upright again, he shifted in order to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pull you closer. You breathed in deeply, always trying to memorize his scent-- the organic smell of the outdoors, tinged with soap from his shower. He kissed the crown of your head before answering.

“ ‘S one that you know,” he spoke softly, in a low voice. The music of night-- the chirping of crickets, croaking of frogs, screeching of owls and rustles of leaves under the tiny feet of rodents all went unnoticed when he spoke. It was no matter that his voice was barely above a whisper. “I’d be bold enough to say it’s even a favorite… might be a favorite of mine if I was forced to pick.” 

You thought for a moment, a small furrow settling in your brow. “That’s pretty general, Brenner. You sing Happy Birthday, and it would be my favorite.” 

Ryan only responded with a chuckle; he was really playing this game. With a slight squeeze of your shoulder, he finally spoke, but only to set one ground rule: “Only yes or no questions, Y/N.”

The smile he’d put on your face grew into a grin; there was an infinite list of things you loved about Ryan Brenner, and his moments of playfulness were high up there. They accompanied your love for his introspective nature, the fearless lifestyle he lived with a streak of adventure, how his overgrown hair tended to fall over his forehead in the same spot, how his voice transported you to another time… another time.

“Last Kind Words,” you guessed, putting just enough distance between the two of you to look up at his face and gauge a reaction. Ryan’s lips quirked, and his brow raised slightly in appreciation. 

“I didn’t know you read sheet music,” he joked lightly, punctuating the recycling of your words with a wink. 

It was the littlest of things that still uncaged the butterflies in your stomach, the familiar fluttering of their painted wings flickering in your abdomen. All it took was an unconscious hum, or a quick meeting of your eyes with his… a wink to make you feel like you could fly.

“Do I win a performance?” Catching his eyes with yours, you knew he would see the ‘I love you’ there without words. Ryan was in tune with everything he was presented, attentive and never distracted. You paused, the look in your eyes changing from one of pride and internal laughter to a slight curiousness. 

“You know the song,” you thought aloud, obviously introspective, “What��s a little scrap of its sheet music for? Burned at the ends, at that.”

Ryan hummed, and for one beat of time, you saw a faraway nostalgia in his eyes. “Somthin’ I’ve been carryin’ with me since I left Virginia.” Ryan never referred to home as anything other than Virginia. “Used to be a full sheet, too.” 

You knew that there was a significance; a story. How much Ryan would reveal was the only mystery, and something you’d grown to appreciate. He expressed closeness and intimacy in his own, unique ways that you had learned to understand. And Ryan continued. 

“When I was… let’s say, younger than ten, my grampa found me hidin’ in the garage strummin’ on his guitar. I was already figurin’ I was  gettin’ the belt, but he just came an’ he sat down. ‘You don’t learn chords, boy, you don’t bother touchin’ it, ya hear?’ Later that night, he gave me this sheet, just part of the song, didn’t say nothin’.” He’d averted his eyes, found a thread in his jeans to pick at. “An’ when I was older, I started learnin’ chords.” 

The nightsong began to get louder, you thought, as Ryan finished his story. Male crickets were getting more desperate for mates; so were the frogs; nocturnal predators were getting anxious for their prey. 

“I’d hopped a train, got past the point of anyone findin’ me and it was the dead of winter. I was makin’ a fire, or tryin’, but the wind was howlin’, I was throwin’ things in the tin I was usin’ to keep that fire goin’ an’ I grabbed that along with a bunch’a stuff that didn’t matter. That’s the rest of the story.”

Finally, Ryan abandoned that loose thread from his denim jeans. Head still ducked, he lifted his gaze to meet yours. You offered him a shadow of a smile, searching his warm brown eyes. 

Then, you took his hand, and with both of yours, turned it around. You surveyed his palm calloused from hopping trains, fingertips rough from guitar strings. You traced the lines of his palm— first the head line, located in the center, then his life line, and finally his heart line. Glancing up at him, your eyes landed on his lips, the small and almost undetectable smile of wonder crooking the corners of his mouth upward. His smile was contagious. 

Turning his palm over to look at the back of his hand, you redirected your attention to his long fingers— tattooed horizontal lines just below his top knuckles, vertical ones inked between the bottom two. You brushed the pad of your thumb over  the length of his index finger before lifting his hand to your lips and gently peppering tiny kisses over each of his fingertips.

In response, he gently took his hand back to use his index finger in lifting your chin. Everything I’ll ever need, he thought to himself in absolute certainty. She’s everything. Ryan drank in the color of your eyes, the slight slope of your nose, the shape and curve of your mouth. His eyes lingered there for a moment, and he used his finger to lift your chin higher. 

Without hesitation, his mouth was on yours, passion and tenderness combined in the way your lips met. Ryan coaxed your mouth open with his tongue and a small, satisfied noise tumbled from your mouth into his, your heart rate skyrocketing. When he pulled back to catch his breath, he kissed the tip of your nose and then your temple, feeling the slight, rhythmic beating of your heart against his lips. 

“We should go inside,” he suggested with a slight nod to the door. Tongue darting out to wet his lips, he gave your shoulders one last squeeze before sliding his arm from around your shoulders. “I have a craving, Y/N.” Your eyes widened in anticipation as Ryan paused, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “For a root beer float.”

Laughter spilled from your mouth, Ryan following suit with chuckling of his own. “Ryan Brenner.” You attempted saying his name in a firm tone, but failed. “You’ll get that root beer float, but not without payment first. You owe me a song for being such a damn good guesser, if I remember correctly.” It was your turn to smirk back at him, raising your eyebrows in faux haughtiness. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied readily, nodding as he did so. “Guitar’s inside.” 

You stood from the swing and held out your hand. Ryan stood too, black notebook holding a memory in one hand,  and in sliding his fingers between yours, love held in the other. The two of you made the few steps to the door as you sang lines of the song he’d be trading for ice cream. 

“The Mississippi River, you know it’s deep and wide. I can stand right here, see my babe from the other side.” 

Your voice didn’t transport you to the riverbank in the way his did, but you knew Ryan would guide you in your journey through space and time just as soon as he held his guitar in his lap and slid on his fingerpick. As always, you were ready, imagining the flickering of fireflies reflecting off the river, anticipating the antiseptic taste of unlawful moonshine, and waiting for the magic to begin.

[pretty-thoughts-and-a-pen]

Dark Feathered, (1)

A boy, a demon and a mystery box left on his doorstep with a cool surface and an aura of mystery. Such is how the stories of Cyan Archer begin.

Demons were majestic, alluring creatures that appeared in your living room at the call of a symbol and finished off your plate of cookies. As Cyan watched the darkness spread and thicken under the flickering lights of the room, he was reminded once again of how he did not ask for any of this.

An inky black cloud hovered over the red circle painted on the floor, with two lines slashed through it making a cross. No, it was not blood, simply red paint. Cyan didn't know why he bothered. It was impossible to scrub off afterwards, and it wasn't like demons demanded the summoning symbol look like it was drawn in blood - they could make do with chalk, no problem. But Cyan could be whimsical that way, and whatever little things he could take pleasure in from time to time, he wasn't going to give up so very easily.

A shape started to form in the mystical cloud that was only getting more and more compressed. A vaguely humanoid figure could soon be discerned, and when the lights stopped flickering, the sound of two feet gently tapping onto the floor followed the image. Cyan blinked and rubbed his eyes. It was easy to get caught up and disoriented during the summoning. Nevertheless, he quickly clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head, training his gaze onto the pointed, black shoes that stood on the edge of the circle.

He kept his tone low and respectful. "I, Cyan Archer, welcome you into this home-"

The shoes were gone.

Cyan's head snapped up. Against the backdrop of his white ceiling, two large, feathered wings, black and shining as if they were a piece of the midnight itself, fluttered away in the direction of the kitchen. A moment later, a crashing sound indicated the box on the counter had been knocked off. Cyan's body relaxed then, and a suffering sigh ripped from his throat. It wasn't one of the higher ups then - the more dangerous ones that required Cyan's full submission. No, it was HIM.

Good news...mostly.

He jogged over to the kitchen and there he was. Lounging on the counter with his back against the wall, the young man could've been mistaken for a normal teenager, if not for the wings that protruded from his inhumanely pale skin, so intensely dark they seemed to absorb the brightness around them. The rest of him - small, brown eyes, hair that was just a slightly darker shade of brown, and a fit, tall stature- was incongruently ordinary when put together with demon wings. Even the symbols and words that adorned his neck, chest, and arms in swirling, dizzying patterns, could've been mistaken for tattoos by someone who didn't know better.

But Cyan was not fazed by the abnormal, and instead focused on the fresh batch of cookies he had left out, which were being devoured. He had seen it coming; he had known Alistair Shade long enough to not be surprised. And annoying as that was, he would take one of the friendliest of the demons he knew over the other, less amiable, members of his species any day.

"Ally." He strode forward and tried to hop onto the counter across from him. Alistair, however, quickly stretched his legs out over the whole thing and flippantly kicked him off. "Hey, what the hell?"

The demon smirked. "No space on my throne for people who call me 'Ally'."

He took several seconds, then, to chew two cookies at once. Cyan huffed. Filling up the time, though, he bent over and picked up the box from the floor. The rectangular-shaped piece of polished wood was no bigger than his average school textbook, and no heavier either. As he dusted it off, a familiar prickling feeling arose in the back of his neck. He could've sworn the wood got colder under his fingertips the longer he held them there. Its gleaming surface reflected his face, but not correctly. Distortedly. Cyan knew a thing or two about having his worldview turned upside down, bent and distorted beyond belief, and it had made him forget who he was before his mother and sister had decided to change everything. He did not appreciate a bent image of him staring up from a box that probably contained nightmares inside.

He decided he hated it.

So, naturally, he plopped it onto Alistair's legs.

"Rude." Alistair put the plate away and ran his appraising gaze over the object. "Certainly very pretty, Cy. What's inside?"

"I'm not entirely sure I want to know." Cyan pursed his lips, and settled for glaring at the lid, so that it would come off on its own and save him the trouble. It didn't. "Kind of why I was summoning one of you guys. I thought I could get some information, or someone would just confiscate the thing. Stolen demon property, sir." He made sure to make his voice thick and ridiculous, for the impression of a certain demon named Viktor he wasn't particularly fond of.

Alistair just stared at him for a long time, his stoic expression revealing nothing. He couldve just been contemplating. And then...

"Fallen angels."

He said it matter-of-factly. Cyan just waved his hands around. "Oh, come on! Everyone says 'demons' when they see black wings, and creepy symbols, and-"

Alistair leaned forward and wrapped a hand around his mouth to shut him up. "And you're not everyone. No 'demons'. No 'Ally'. Now," he lightly tossed the box in the air and rattled it, revealing a clinking sound that indicated numerous tiny objects bumping around inside, "are you going to open this? Preferably while we're still young, please."

So Cyan took his sweet time. He pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses, wiped off his sweat multiple times, paced the kitchen a little, and shoved Alistair every time he laughed, or shook the box pointedly, or snapped his fingers and dyed Cyan's light blonde hair a horrendous shade of red. The two of them only stopped when it became clear that the box was, in fact, getting colder with every passing second.

"Is it just me," Alistair wondered, blinking, "or were those icicles not there under the lid before?"

"Not there." Cyan marched over and took the cursed thing, firmly putting it down on the counter after Alistair vacated it. The demon stood nearby, still and steady, and Cyan found himself hiding halfway behind his outstretched wings, while leaning as far away as he could from the box whose lid he was prying open.

Finally, he flicked the lid aside. Quickly, he jumped completely behind Alistair and ducked behind his back, settling for peaking over one broad shoulder. The boys waited with bated breath - for smoke, hellfire, booming laughter. Nothing.

Cyan leaned over, holding onto Alistair's shoulders for support. He looked into the box to see...

...coins?

No ordinary coins, either. The wooden hollow was brimming with intricately carved, golden coins that shone with an unearthly light. Against all expectations, that didn't seem dangerous. They were very clearly beautiful and valuable.

Cyan stepped out of hiding and reached out to take one. "Well, this isn't so bad."

Alistair grabbed his hand in mid air.

The demon's face was always pale, but now it looked sickly and etched with fear. He pushed both of Cyan's hands down and away, then, slowly and carefully, plucked something out of the box with the very tip of his fingers. Not a coin, but a note, which had been buried amidst the gold. He smoothed it out on the counter, and Cyan couldn't help but note how much distance he had suddenly put between himself and the box, where previously he had been standing directly in front of it and been the human's shield.

Only three words on the paper, written in block letter. HIDE IT, CY.

Cyan grabbed Alistair's arm as support. "Ally, what's wrong?"

Alistair threw his head back and breathed in deeply. "Those coins, with purple carvings instead of black? And creating ice out of thin air? I'm pretty sure they belong to...an Elder. And not just any one." He fixed his eyes on Cyan's face, and his usual cool and calm expression mostly returned, except for his irises getting darker and darker progressively, which ruined the image. "He is famous for conjuring ice for his work, and to enchant his property and protect it from intruders. I think," he turned to look at the dreadful treasure once more, "those belong to Lord Julius."

If there was one thing Cyan did not want to face, it was an Elder. There were demons that were considered young, who had died and turned recently, and these could be reasonable. One of these was Alistair, and he was an outlier case altogether. Cyan even knew that these young ones were called Saplings, as a result of some inside joke that had apparently lasted millennia.

A testament to how chill they could be.

But then, on the other hand, there were the Elder demons. These had been around since the dawn of time, and they were everything Cyan feared. Powerful, ill-tempered, and full of pride that you had better not wound, and on top of that these came with a variety of unique flavors of powers. Ever since his mother, Rose, and his sister, Bethany, had decided to dabble in the occult, one of the most unfortunate consequences had been this - their family's entanglement with Elder demons.

Cyan tried very hard to keep the tremble out of his voice. "So," he pretended his hand wasn't shaking as much as it was, "I'm assuming Julius didn't mail these as a nice gift, did he?"

"No." Alistair was too grim for Cyan's comfort. If he would just make another snide comment, or do something silly, the teen's world would turn slightly more right. "We might have a big problem here. Rose and Bethany..."

Seeing no escape from this predicament, Cyan chose to bury his face in Alistair's shoulder. Casting a weary look at that dreadful treasure again, he nodded.

"...they stole an Elder's gold."

[comicgeekscomicgeek]

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 60: Final Exam Part 2: Multiple Choice

Presenting the next chapter of my on-going, next-gen, My Hero Academia fic, Their Hero Academia!

All chapters can be found here

Shota took in a deep breath and let out a scream, high-pitched and powerful.  The sonic waves passed through the buildings ahead of them and then bounced back, giving him a detailed outline of everything and everyone those waves had touched. It was like seeing a picture in his head, online mostly just in sharp blue outlines.  Normally, he couldn’t get this good of a picture.  Solid objects slowed down the soundwaves and bounced them back.  But with so many of the buildings having shattered windows or other hole in them, he could get a much better picture of what was going on.

“I count four people in the buildings,” he said, pointing.  “Two there, one there, one there.   Plus three people outside it and at least four more people up past that building, but it gets fuzzy after that.”

“Good job, Shinso,” Sora Iida told him.  In her red and silver armor, combined with her height, she stood out distinctly in the morning sun.  “I can scout ahead and take the far point, while you three work on the closer rescues.”

“Who put you in charge?” Aoyama asked.  He was lit up like a small sun himself; with his arms and face exposed, his glow made him hard to even look at directly.  

“Do you have a better suggestion?” Iida asked.  It wasn’t a challenge, the way Kirishima-Bakugo might have asked it, but genuine interest.  Of course, given Iida’s scientific leanings, she would be interested in the best outcome.

“…Non,” he admitted.  His shoulders slumped and he gave his cape a flick.  “Let us do your plan then.”

“We must also be vigilant against the presence of Villains, Aoyama,” Koda said, cautiously.  She usually was the one to rein Aoyama in when he was getting an attitude or pouting.  “Iida is the fastest of us.  If anyone should be scouting ahead, it is her.”

Aoyama crossed his arms, but grumbled his assent. Shota knew he liked to show off and be the center of attention, but now really wasn’t the time for it.  Not with all of them passing or failing depending on it.   Shota was already worried enough that he was going to drag everyone down…  He’d kept it together during training since he came back to school, but this was a lot more intense.

“You are correct as always, Mademoiselle Koda,” Aoyama conceded.

The matter settled, Iida said, “Remember, we are to check in with Tos—Gravi-Might and the others in ten minutes, unless they contact us first.”  With the roar of her Jetpack, the wings of her costume snapped up and she took off, quickly speeding into the distance.

Shota, Koda, and Aoyama snapped into action as well.  None of them possessed Quirks which granted much speed, but they were all still in good enough shape for a quick jog. On the road ahead of them, a pair of cars had crashed into each other.  One had been abandoned, but the other was crushed where a downed electrical pole had landed on it.  It showed no obvious signs of still being active, but…  

“Hang on, sir!” Shota called out to the robot behind the wheel of the car.  “We’re going to get you out!”

From the robot, there was no response.  Unconscious, then?  That meant they really needed to move.

Fortunately, Koda was one step ahead of him.  From the seed pouch on her belt, she produced a handful of seeds and tossed them near the car.  Once in the ground, she applied her Quirk and they immediately started to grow, becoming vines that wrapped their way around the pole, covering each stray wire, and slowly lifting it off the car.  

“My hastily grown friends do conduct a little electricity,” she said, “but not enough to do them significant harm.  And far less harm than that would do to us.”

Aoyama stepped in next. With the car partially smashed, there was no way they were just opening the door to get the robot out.  From the mirrored wristband on his right arm, he released a small portion of his stored light, going for a concentrated blue-white laser beam that cut through the car like a hot knife going through butter, leaving an orange-hot line behind it.  When he had gone completely around the edge of the door, he took a quick step back as it fell.

“Watch the edges!” Shota said.  “They’re going to be hot!”

Aoyama shot him a dirty look.  “I know that!” he snapped.  But the look on Aoyama’s face said he didn’t.  With care, though, he extracted the robot.   “Do not worry,” he told it.  “We shall get you somewhere safe.”

Getting it a safe distance away was enough for the robot to tell them they had completed its rescue. The other rescues went just as quickly.  Shota was even able to use his Quirk to blast away some rubble, letting Koda and Aoyama finish up the rescue.  It felt good.  Even if they were robots, using his Quirk to find people, to help them, not to cause harm, was a welcome change.  Still, some small part of him still flinched at unleashing the more destructive aspects of his Quirk, even for rescue work.  He could still see the Nomu simply disintegrating under his power.  Even if it had turned out not to be alive, he hadn’t know that at the time…

With a road of jet engines, Iida returned, landing near them.  “I was able to rescue two, but I will need additional support for the others,” she said.  “But first… Loud Kid, another sonar sweep, if you would, in case the parameters have changed?”

Shota nodded. But just before he could let out another sonar pulse, a loud crack sounded, echoing off the buildings.   Something struck Aoyama in the head and he went down!

***

Isamu skidded to a stop, braking hard with a bit of reverse-thrust.  The section of Omega City his group had headed to was a wreck, looking like a tornado had hit it.  Robot civilians were running from a Villain, a muscular man with bird-like feet that ended in sharp talons, hair that turned into feathers and spread along his back, and massive wings. He wore tattered jeans and very little beyond that, with tattoos covering the space on his back between his wings. When he flapped his wings, he unleashed massive gusts of wind, blowing over everything in his path.  The tornado theory was looking pretty solid.

The Villain hadn’t noticed them yet, content in his rampage, with his back to them.  His shock momentarily halted, Isamu stood up. Already, he could feel his heart thudding in his chest.  Even if this was some Pro-Hero helping out U.A. or one of the other year teachers or something, this felt like a Villain attack.   Whoever they were, they were doing a damn good job getting into their role.

Of course, if he was a Hero, Isamu felt like he should have recognized him.  But there weren’t a lot of Pro-Heroes with wings (Hawks and Kestrel immediately came to mind, but this definitely wasn’t either of them) and this guy didn’t seem to match up to any of them.  Maybe from another country?  He wasn’t so good with those.

“That’s right!” the winged man shouted.  “Run! Run!” He flicked his wings forward again, sharply. The wave of air was more compressed this time, slicing through everything in its path.  The change in air pressure was intense. Even as far away as they were, even from behind him, Isamu could fell it.  This guy’s Quirk might make him even stronger than Gale Force…

“…I’m open to suggestions here,” Sero said.  “I mean, I could probably shoot some Tape at him, but those wings look pretty strong. I’d have to take him completely by surprise and I’m just not fast enough to wrap him up before he notices.”

“Yeah, this why I’m going into Rescue Heroics,” Ojiro added.  “I guess I could go invisible and kick him in the balls…”

“X-Ray,” Isamu said, and he had to force himself to say Sero’s Hero name, “Stick ‘Em Up… Rescue the civilians.  Amaterasu and I will get his attention and hold him off.”

Behind the clear face plate of his costume, Sero gave him an astonished look, then performed an exaggerated salute.  “It’s been nice knowing you, man.  You ready, Kimmie?”

Ojiro nodded, a gesture only visible because of the visor she wore with her eye-searingly bright costume. Sero wrapped an arm around her and in the blink of an eye, they both became invisible, shielded from view by the power of her Quirk.  Isamu heard the “thwip!” sounds of Sero firing off a strand of his Acid Tape and he knew they were on the move.

Tokoyami’s expression was more unreadable, but Isamu had known her long enough now to read some of the more subtle movements of her feathers and her eyes.  She was uneasy, but ready to fight.

Training had mostly pitted them against robots or, occasionally, each other.  And yes, they’d been allowed to engage some very minor level criminals and Villains during their Internships.  But this was something different entirely.  Who even was this guy?

“Ready?” he asked her.

“Ready,” she said.

“Could be bad,” he said. “Guy seems pretty powerful.”

“So are we,” she said. “Have confidence, Haimawari.”

She had a point.  “I’ll go low.  You go high.”

There was a small nod between them, and Isamu launched himself forward, employing his Quirk as soon as he hit the ground.   “Hey!” he shouted, pouring on the speed and trying to get the guy’s attention.  “How about picking on someone your own size, you big blowhard!”

That got the guy’s attention.  He turned quickly and Isamu could now see that he had harsh, yellow eyes like a bird as well.  “Well, well,” the guy said, a trace of a Chinese accent in his voice, “if it isn’t the brave little Heroes!”  His wings flared out and Isamu felt a massive gust of wind push against him.   He poured on the thrust, fighting against it, more grateful than ever for the goggles and bandanna protecting his eyes, mouth, and nose.  There was plenty of dust and debris in the air that could have been really nasty otherwise.

Fortunately, he was just the distraction.  With the bad guy focusing on him, he didn’t see Tokoyami’s Frog-Shadow snaking around from above.  But suddenly, Frog-Shadow swerved from her path, flying erratically through the air, until she smashed into the ground, leaving a small crater from the impact. Isamu too, suddenly saw the world spinning around him, making it impossible to tell where the street was. He swerved, hard, and saw a wall coming up right in front of him…!

***

Midoriya had one of the strongest Quirks in the class, up there with Izumi, Shinso, and Tokoyami, and he’d bounced off the Villain like a ragdoll!  He was getting back up, but it would take him a minute.  That impact looked like it was going to hurt tomorrow.

The metal man grinned in a way that vaguely reminded Chihiro of Kirishima-Bakugo, the same kind of “this is gonna be a fight and I’m gonna enjoy it” sort of smile she got before she punched someone.  It was made all the worse by the truly massive underbite the guy had.  His bottom jaw was huge, like the scoop bucket on a steam shovel.  Where the hell had U.A. found this creepazoid?  It was part of the exam, right?  It hadn’t been crashed by some real Villain, had it?   No, if that was the case, Aizawa and the other teachers would be intervening already…

“You going try and fight me like the green kid there?” the metal man asked.  Despite looking like a thug, he didn’t sound stupid or uneducated. The voice was deep, rumbling, and confident like a champion fighter.  “Nothing wrong with running.  I’ve fought plenty of Heroes before and come out on top.  I don’t like fighting girls, but if I have to….  Well, I’m not leaving without the doc.”

“Girls”? Mika repeated. She stamped a hoof on the ground and pointed an indignant finger.  “The nerve of this guy!  We’re Heroes in training!  And he’s trying to softball us?  I demand the right to be fought just like a guy!”

Anybody else, Chihiro would have thought they were babbling.  But among Mika’s many skills was provocation.  It had worked well for her during the Sports Festival and judging by the guy’s expression, it was working now.

“I mean, really,” Mika went on, “what rock did they find you under?  Haven’t you heard of women’s liberation?  Have you even talked to a woman in the last twenty years..?”

The metal man let out a roar and charged, smashing his metal fists down.  Mika dodged out of the way and his fists hit the ground.  Or rather, they hit what was on the ground: Mika’s sticky balls, the trap she’d seeded earlier.

He tried to pull his fists back but was unsuccessful, the sticky balls adhering quite well to his fists and the ground.  His eyes widened in surprise as he realized he was trapped.

“Shock-Jock!” Izumi called out.  “Now!”

Which was when Chihiro and Izumi let him have it.  Her Cords slinked down and plugging into her bracers and she brought her hands up, sending out dual blasts of electricity.  Bless Aunt Momo and Mrs. Hatsume, they did their job well, specialized circuits in the bracers and gloves directed the electricity in a straight line. Izumi, meanwhile, released some of the heat she had stored up from building the ice walls, projecting yellow-orange blasts of flame at the guy.  

Her electric attack hit first, setting the guy twitching and screaming, before Izumi’s flames washed over him, turning some of his metal body white hot.  Chihiro actually felt kind of bad.  This was still just the exam, right?  She had to take it serious, but she didn’t want to give the guy permanent nerve damage or anything.

Izumi ceased her fire attack and held up a hand.  Chihiro caught the signal and let up on her electric one.  The guy stood there, groaning, his metal skin making a slight pinging sound as it cooled.  

“That hurt,” he snarled.  “But this is going to hurt more!”   With a massive grunt, he freed his arms, not by removing Mika’s balls from them, but instead simply being strong enough to tear the sections of ground they were attached to up with them.

“…That’s new,” Mika said, quietly.

Fortunately, by this time, Midoriya had recovered.   “GRAVITY...BOOSTER!”    He shot forward like a rocket, then hit the guy with an uppercut that made her ears ring. The metal guy was in motion this time, not braced like before and went flying high into the air from the force of the blow, disappearing from sight.  

Still, Chihiro couldn’t help but stare, wide eyed.  “You sure All Might is only your step-grandpa?” she asked.  

He didn’t bother answering her question.  “See if you can get any of the other teams on the comms.  Mine got smashed when I hit the wall.”

***

Kenta had been exploring the inside of the building with Tensei Iida, looking for people to rescue, when something had taken them by surprise.  Or rather, someone: a massive, muscular woman who looked like she could snap you in half just by staring at you hard enough, the kind that Mineta would say could crush your head between her thighs. And for just a moment, Kenta had frozen, the memory of the Nomu rearing up over him playing on a continuous loop in his head.  

Iida had saved him, rushing in with his Jetpack to shove him out of the way.  The woman had hit Iida instead and seemingly forgot about Kenta. He hoped Iida was okay.  It would be really bad if he had to tell Takuma he’d gotten his boyfriend killed or put in traction.

Great.  He was making jokes at a time like this.  Takuma really was rubbing off on him.

He forced himself to get moving, heading back out the way he had come in.   Outside, he could see all three of his classmates (Iida was upright, that was good!, even if he was sporting a nasty dent on his armor!) fighting with the woman.  Her costume left a lot to be desired, being only stylized biker gear, with heavy spikes on the shoulders of her jacket.

Kirishima-Bakugo fired off a round of disks from her gauntlets, peppering the ground with a series of small explosions that kept the woman off balance, while Iida flew around behind her and snagged her with a capture-line from his gauntlet.  After they’d taken her off balance and restrained her, Shoji moved in, swinging all three of his right-side arms.

Great.  He was definitely going to fail the exam and make everyone else fail.   Because he’d frozen up like a damn coward.  Maybe one bad moment wouldn’t be enough.  But he needed to make himself useful somehow…

Shoji’s blows connected, but they didn’t rock the woman back even an inch.  Thought the bottom half of his face was covered, Kenta could see Shoji’s eyes widen in surprise.  The woman just laughed.

“No bad, kid,” she said. “That was a nice gift.  Let me return the favor!”

She flexed her arms and snapped Iida’s capture line like it was made of string, then hit the six-armed boy with a blow that sent him flying.

“Finally!” Kirishima-Bakugo shouted, throwing her head back and laughing.  “A challenge!”

She charged, lashing out at the woman with a series of close-range blows.  Every time a blow connected, she fired off an explosion.  Some kind of contact transfer from her gloves, if he remembered right.  It was hard to keep up with everyone’s costume and Support Gear updates.  Maybe he needed to invest in something if he wanted to keep up.

The woman may have been sent off balance by the explosions fired at her feet, but this time, they didn’t seem to do anything.  They didn’t even singe her skin.

Kirishima-Bakugo took a step back, fists still at the ready, bouncing on the balls of her feet.  “What the hell, lady?  What’re you made out of?!”

“Can’t stop everything by hitting it, girl,” the woman sneered.  She swung her fist in a wide arc, but Kirishima-Bakugo was lighter on her feet, dodging out of the way.  Iida swooped in, striking out at high speed.  The blow clipped the woman’s chin, knocking her back for a moment and spinning her head around, before she struck out, faster than anyone that big should be able to move, swatting Iida from the sky.

What the hell was he supposed to do against that?

Wait…  

She’d gone from being thrown off balance by Kirishima-Bakugo’s explosions to being unaffected.  She’d shrugged off blows from Shoji but gotten her head spun around by Iida.  Even with Iida putting his speed behind it, Shoji had a lot more power to his punches. What if she had to know a blow was coming to block it?  

Hang on guys, he silently pleaded.  He had an idea… he just needed her to stay in one place long enough.

He’d say this for all three of them, they kept taking her hits, but they kept getting back up again. And the huge woman gave as good as she got.  She’d called Shoji’s blow a “gift” too…

But there, a telephone pole, right across the street…

As he ran towards the telephone pole, Kenta did a little math in his head, grateful for the fact that unlike Takuma and Kimmie, he actually paid attention in class.  There was lots of math involved in baking and he was good enough at helping his dad to do some calculations on the fly. If she didn’t move too much, it would be just about right.  

CHOMP!  Kenta’s jaw muscles were strong and he could open his mouth wider than a normal person could.  Combined with the fact that his teeth were incredibly tough, he could bite through anything very quickly.  He bit, chewed, and swallowed as fast as he could, feeling like some kind of beaver as he worked his way through the wood.  He kept his eye on the fight and the woman was still in just about the right position.  In seconds, the telephone pole started to pitch forward.    “TIMBER!” he shouted, giving it a strong push to finish the job.

He saw Shoji backpedal out of the way and Iida grab Kirishima-Bakugo (who protested that she wanted to stay and fight), and the woman try ineffectually to hit them as they fled.

THUMP!

The telephone pole came down on her hard, driving her into the ground.  She’d started to turn, but hadn’t had time to fully do… whatever it was she did.  For the moment, she was trapped.

“Sato!” Kirishima-Bakugo shouted.  She looked mad.  Probably about him “stealing” her victory.  “How the hell did you do that?”  When she couldn’t was left unsaid.

He ran across the street to join the others.  “I think… I think she can absorb whatever force you throw at her.  But she has to know it’s coming.  I just got lucky.”

Kirishima-Bakugo scowled. “Yeah, okay.  …Not bad, Lips.”

“As soon as I get out of here,” the woman yelled, “you’re dead!  You hear me!  You’re all dead!”  Already, she was struggling and working her way out.

“We’ll see who’s deader, ya witch!” Kirishima-Bakugo shouted back.  “I’m gonna explode you so hard your grandkids will have burn marks!”  She brought up a gauntlet, ready to fire it.

“Ah,” Shoji began.  He put a hand on her gauntlet.

“What?” she demanded.

“Perhaps we should continue our rescue work while she’s trapped?”

“I agree,” Iida added. “She is quite capable of neutralizing our attacks and is more than ready to anticipate them.  We should rescue who we can, retreat, and fight another time.”

Kenta raised a hand slightly.

“You’re gonna agree with them, aren’t you?” Kirishima-Bakugo demanded.  Her teeth were gritted in anger, her body language tense.  She was not exactly the type of person who ran from a fight.

He gulped, then nodded. “Maybe we can get somebody like Kaminari or Todoroki or even Takuma or Minet to fight her.  Somebody more zappy or who can restrain her.”

“AAAAARRRRGH!” Kirishima-Bakugo let out a scream of frustration.  “Dammit, you’re right.  Fuck!”

She gestured off in the opposite direction they’d come.  “Iida, get eyes in the air, get on the comms and get somebody we can use.  The rest of you, move!”

***

“Aoayama!” Koda cried out. The glowing boy went down, smacking his head on the ground, before any of them could react.  But they had little time to panic.  More shots followed the fist, one several impacting into the ground, others ricocheting off the building behind them.  One even stuck Iida, making a clang where it hit her armor.

In response, Shinso screamed.  But it was not a scream of panic, instead, he directed the soundwaves outward until they formed a protective, shimmering dome around three of them.  Akaya said a small prayer that their classmate was all right. It may have only been an exam, but students had been greatly injured in training and exams before.

“Is he…?” she began, softly, bending down to examine Aoyama.

Around them, shots bounced off of the force field dome Shinso was screaming into existence.  They came quickly and from multiple directions. Was there more than one person shooting at them?  Guns were a rarity in Japan to begin with, even more so among Villains and Heroes, unless that gun augmented or worked with an existing Quirk, such as their teacher Hawkeye and her Super-Accuracy.

“Breathing,” Akaya continued, after taking his pulse.  A nasty bruise was forming along the side of his head, one she could see even through his glow.  

“Then we must move,” Iida said.  “As soon as we can.  I will distract them, while you three get to cover.”

The urgency was apparent. Shinso’s shield was already weakening. He could not sustain the scream for much longer.  He held up a shaky thumbs up to say he agreed.

Akaya scooped up Aoyama. He was a fit boy, but slender and not as muscular as Midoriya or Haimawari, let alone Shoji, and while hers was not a strength Quirk, her size and rocky countenance did make her stronger than many.   Despite his glow, his skin was not hot, but soft against her rocky one.

“Go!” Iida shouted. “Now!”

Shinso stopped screaming and the dome dropped instantly.  He took off and Akaya followed close behind, while Iida rocketed into the air.  Shots rained down around them, one narrowly missing her.

Slinging Aoyama over her shoulder instead and apologizing for the rough treatment, Akaya reached into her seed pouch with her now free hand and dropped seeds behind them, using her Quirk to make them grow rapidly.  Trees sprung up like lightning behind her, offering temporary shielding from the gunfire.

She kept her eyes on the road ahead, but she could hear the sounds of gunfire still, hear it bounce off of Iida’s armor.  

“I cannot see them!” Iida’s voice rang in her ears from their communicator headset.  “Shinso, can you pinpoint them?”

Looking around, Akaya and Shinso came to a stop, sheltering behind a car.   Shinso looked around, cautiously, then let out one of his sonar screams, casting it in various directions.  When he stopped, he made a confused face.  “I keep getting something, but it disappears as soon as I make contact.  I guess it could be a teleporter, but those kinds of Quirks are, like, super rare!  I mean, other than that kid who won the obstacle course, and we probably wouldn’t be fighting him…”

For a moment, the gunfire went quiet.  Worryingly quiet.  On her shoulder, Aoyama started to stir.  Unconscious, the arrogant boy looked much smaller and vulnerable than usual, as though he puffed himself up like a hissing cat when awake.  

She wondered sometimes why she tried so hard to be a friend to him.  He was a walking tribute to the sins of pride and envy, and just as often prone to wrath.  But there was something behind his eyes, a sadness that touched her deeply.  There was a pain he carried with him he did not share, but which fueled his vices and she wished she could ease. 

Aoyama groaned.  “I… claim this land… for France!” he exclaimed, one arm shooting straight up into the air.   “Ugh…   what hit me?”  

“Some kind of projectile,” Akaya told him, helping him get on his feet.  “Iida attempted to draw their fire while we escaped.”

Aoyama frowned.  She should tell his pride was hurt.  “Merci,” he said, simply.

Around them, the world had gone deathly silent, save for a lingering echo of Shinso’s screams.   Akaya quickly wished that she had chosen a different word to describe it than that.  But it was apt.  The strike had come out of nowhere and wasn’t even from a Quirk.  They knew less than nothing about who was attacking them.

Iida’s voice again filled their comms.  “The shooting seems to have stopped,” she said. “Like it or not, we must continue our mission.  I will try to apprise the others of the situation and then join you.”

“She wants us to go on with some maniac with a gun out there?” Aoyama hissed.  “Is she crazy?”

“We’ve… we’ve got to rescue people,” Shinso insisted.  “Even if it’s dangerous.  We’re Heroes. We can’t let everybody down.

It made sense, however dangerous it was.  Real Heroes couldn’t just huddle and hide until the danger passed.  They had to move on.  As they got up to go, something made Akaya stop.  There was the slightest of sounds, like a window shade being drawn back.  Behind them, rising up from the shadow of a building like a swimmer appearing out of the water was a woman, her features plain and ordinary, especially for this day and age.  She wore a black catsuit and carried a dangerous looking rifle.

“Then prepare to disappoint everyo—“  the woman began.

“Hey!” Shinso called out, suddenly sounding excited for some reason.  “I know you!”

[zer0pm]

No Name (Part 2/?)

Pairing: (V x Fem!Reader)

The reader brings the mysterious man back home with her. As she tries to find him some clothes, she asks questions about him. It seems with each answer he offers her, the more mysterious he appears.

.

.

.

You had a strange man in your home. A strange man you invited. A strange man who up until now was as naked as the day he was born.

The mysterious No Name.

After finding him on the streets, witnessing him scaring away some undesirables, you took him back to your place and offered him shelter...along with some clothes. You had a cozy little house atop a hill right at the edge of the city, isolated where you knew you wouldn’t be disturbed. It may seem unwise considering that the man you volunteered to help was a walking enigma and apparently capable of summoning demons at will, but you had faith in your own skills to watch out for yourself. Plus, the man didn’t seem like a threat to you despite the evidence that suggested otherwise, proven by his silent yet courteous demeanor as you two walked together. You can tell that he was considerate in keeping his distance from your person so as not to frighten you. Then again, the man hardly spoke much at all as you went along, but it didn’t feel awkward.

You were now preparing food for your new guest and then some, hearing the slight shuffling from within the restroom next to your kitchen.

You: “How are you coming along, No Name?”

No Name: “Well enough.”

By the sound of the door opening and footsteps approaching, you turn to look him over. You were relieved that the mysterious man finally had some clothes on his back. Not that he isn’t good-looking, you admit that he most certainly is, but you didn’t think you can handle engaging him in his bare state. He wore black sweats and a shortsleeve v-cut shirt that showed the impressive tattoos on his long arms as well as a bit of the printed ink on his neck and collarbone. You gathered then that the man preferred dark colors. When he made his way across the kitchen towards the small dining table you noticed the clothes were sagging a bit, revealing a bit of his skin here and there. The man subtly tries to adjust the shirt and you could not help but giggle.

You: “Sorry, they’re a little big on you.”

No Name: “It is fine. I gather your lover would not mind me borrowing his clothing for the night?”

You nearly dropped the plates when he said this, a blush creeping on your cheeks in embarrassment.

You: “A-Ah, no, no! I don’t have a boyfriend. They belonged to a friend that forgot them and never bothered to get them back.”

Your idiot friend... To this day, you were still annoyed with that particular part of your past but did not wish to bring it up if your guess didn’t ask. No Name, still so weird to refer to him as such, raises his brow curiously.

No Name: “You live here by yourself, then?”

You: “I do.”

No Name: “Hm.”

He takes a moment to take in his surroundings. His eyes skimming over the furnishings of your kitchen. You didn’t have the fanciest home in Red Grave city, but you kept it clean and maintained.

No Name: “You have a nice home.”

You laugh lightly at his attempt to be polite.

You: “Ha, thanks.”

You finish putting the food together and gather the plates in your hands before walking over to the table. One plate is set in front of No Name; the other, across from him where you would be sitting; and the last, on the tiled floor next to the table. He seemed confused at this.

You: “For your cat friend. I don’t know if it eats.”

Realization in his eyes, the man extends his arm outwards and from the ink on his exposed skin, particles of black burst forth and took shape, morphing into the familiar feline-like demon from before. The creature glances around, it appears to be searching for threats and looked puzzled when it found none.

No Name silently pats the demon on its head before pointing down at the offered food you placed before it. It nuzzles into its master’s hand then lies on its belly, dipping its head towards the plate and digging in graciously. You smile at hearing the sound of light purring from the demon panther. Pulling back your chair, you took your seat across from No Name who nodded to you.

No Name: “My thanks.”

You: “It’s nothing. Sorry, I wasn’t sure if the...the other one eats too. The rock thing.”

No Name: “Ah, that one. No.”

The man lays the back of his hand against the tabletop, his palm open upwards. Purple smoke and dusts of light gather in his hand before a small form begins to take shape. You recognize it immediately, the frightening golem, only this time it is significantly smaller. You would have mistaken it for a toy had it not started moving on its own, taking tiny steps atop the wooden surface. It was both fascinating and...kind of cute.

You carefully offer a finger towards the pint-sized demon and the creature looks upon it with its single eye. It stretches out one of its arms, touching the tip of your finger. The demon possessed surprising strength despite its size as you felt your finger move up and down in sync with its arm. It was shaking hands with you!

You: “Wow!”

No Name, who was watching your interaction, smiled slightly.

No Name: “It likes you.”

You: “You can tell?”

No Name: “No, but call it a feeling.”

???: “Hey, hey! Where’s my meal? Rude!”

The sudden sound of a loud, unfamiliar voice nearly made you jump out of your seat. Seemingly from thin air, a large blue bird appears in your kitchen. Like the panther and the golem demon, the avian creature looked imposing with glowing eyes and sharp claws and teeth.

You: “What is that now?!”

???: “What does it look like, dollface? I’m a demon, one of pretty boy’s familiars. The brains of our little group. Although, if you ask me personally, I’m more like his partner-in-crime. Ekekeke! So don’t go calling me his pet! Got it?”

The mouth on this one! You can see No Name pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed shut. It appears the man was dreading for this one to present itself and you figured that the demon did not come out by his choice.

No Name: “You’ll have to excuse Griffon. When it comes to conversation, he lacks tact.”

The feathery demon flaps his indigo wings in offense and retaliates by snatching his master’s plate in his talons before flying off to the far side of the kitchen much to your protest. Griffon, as your guest calls him, sets the food down, chuckling mischievously before devouring the food voraciously. You can hear the unattractive sound of his tongue swiping along his beak.

Griffon: “Mmm, mmm! That’s good shit!”

You: “Uhh....thanks?”

Admittedly, you were dumbfounded. How many demons does this guy have?! You have met talking demons before, but they looked...human. This was your first encounter with one that didn’t look like one, sparking your curiosity and wary. You glance over at the tattooed gentleman.

You: “Are you a demon?”

No Name: “...No.”

The mouthy bird snorts.

Griffon: “This guy? Nah, too much of a sissy to be a demon. Hell, I even bet my feathers that you can flip him over the table in a fight. Hahaha!”

You: “Uhh, that’s okay. I’ll pass on people-flipping today.”

The bird demon cackles humorously. You see that the panther demon curled itself into a ball next to No Name’s feet and the small rock-like demon was climbing up its masters arm, settling itself on his shoulder. No Name didn’t seem to mind this one bit, nor did he seem annoyed by his food being absconded away. Throwing caution to the wind, you figured now was a good a time as any for questions.

You: “So you’re a human that can summon demons?”

No Name: “Correct.”

You: “That’s not possible. How does that work?”

You almost bit your tongue, but No Name did not seem to notice this. He seems to ponder this considerably.

No Name: “It’s...complicated.”

You: “Complicated, how?”

Griffon: “Sheesh! The beak on this one.”

With a burp, the blue bird flies back over to the table, landing between you and No Name. His beady eyes leering at you as if trying to use his stare to pierce you. He stretches his feathery neck, lunging his head forward, invading your personal space. You can still see remnants of your cooking on its protruding teeth.

Griffon: “Listen, sweetie. As much as we’d like to regale you with our epic tale, we got other things to worry about. No offense, thanks for the food and looking out for the guy, but trust me when I say, the less you know, the better.”

No Name suddenly grabs the neck of his avian familiar and pulls him away from you.

No Name: “Griffon, be nice to our host.”

With a warning squeeze, the man releases the bird and the bird stretches out his neck from the pain, mumbling an apology under his breath that you almost missed.

You: “You do have a story, then?”

No Name: “Story?”

You: “Yeah. Aside from the whole demon-summoning thing, there’s no way you left wherever you came from...well...”

No Name: “Naked?”

You: “Y-Yeah.”

For some reason when he said this, a slight blush burned its way to your cheeks. It’s not like you’re a virgin, but you were trying your hardest not to focus on the image of his bare form again. Griffon must have caught sight of your expression as he whistled teasingly. You’re not sure how he did that. No Name spares another warning glance to his avian companion before answering.

No Name: “The truth of the matter is: I did.”

You: “...Why?”

No Name: “It...just turned out that way.”

That’s another rather vague and very hard to believe answer, but by the tone of his voice, you can tell there was some truth in his words. You knew the tattooed man was having a bit of difficulty trying to explain himself. His feathery friend didn’t seem prone to clarify for him either which didn’t help you much at all. He had no reason to tell you anything really, but the fact that he was speaking to you at all spoke volumes of how amicable he was with you. Still, curiosity was nagging your mind. Were they not talking because they were trying to be considerate? Or did they have malicious intent to hide? They didn’t seem like a bad group, you can tell. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have let No Name in. You shook your head. You really have to think of a better name for this guy.

You: “Sooo...you were wandering the streets looking for, what, the nearest clothing store?”

This earned a chuckle from the man. The raspy sound of the laugh in his throat sent vibrations down your spine.

No Name: “It was on my list of things to do. Pardon me for my lack of modesty at the time. It is a sight no lady should need to suffer.”

Beg to differ. You snorted unintentionally. He’s really sticking with the whole eloquent, mysterious gentleman schtick. It was endearing. Different. And it caught you off-guard.

You: “I’m not a lady.”

He looks up at you from his hooded eyes, a ghost of a smirk on the edge of his plump lips.

No Name: “Quite the contrary. You are every bit as such. And a fine one at that.”

The blush you had earlier has returned and grew hotter, rendering you unsure of how to respond. You settled with looking down at your plate and realized that he never had a chance to bite into his food before Griffon stole it from him. Playing the good hostess, you push your plate towards him, the man seemed taken aback by your gesture.

You: “I’m not that hungry. Figured I should get your room ready, anyways.”

No Name: “You’re letting me stay the night?”

The dubious tone in his voice caught the attention of companions. The bird nearly choked, the panther seemed to have woken up from its cat nap to glance up at you, and the little rock monster nearly fell from where it perched although the last one was mostly due to No Name’s sudden movement in sitting straight.

You: “Well, yeah. I invited you, it’s too late and dangerous outside right now to kick you out what with the demons running about.”

Although it was true, you knew that this man was more than capable of looking after his own given that he has three demons under his command. But he was interesting and he seemed kind and, dare you say, even lost. That alone compelled you to welcome him in.

He was gazing into your eyes intensely, searching for any foul play hidden within them and you met his stare in turn. No Name had such beautiful green eyes. It was almost unfair and you were not sure if you would have been able to look into them any longer without embarrassing yourself further. Luckily, he dropped his gaze from yours, breaking your waning daze. You felt your heartbeat slowing, not realizing that it had picked up so quickly.

No Name: “It seems my debt to you grows. You have my-”

He spares a glance over his familiars who each waited for him to continue, a silent acknowledgement between them.

No Name: “-our deepest gratitude.”

Moved by the sincerity in his voice, you smiled at him.

You: “It’s no problem.”

With that, you rise to stand from your seat and moved to prepare the guest room but a firm hold on your wrist stops you. Taken by surprise, it is the tattooed man whose long fingers wrapped around your wrist. His grip wasn’t tight, but it alarmed you all the same as it was the first real physical contact between you two aside from when his skin brushed against yours when you offered him your jacket earlier. His skin was unbelievably warm and you felt the heat crawling up your arm, caressing your neck. No Name seems to have realized the sudden invasion on your person and withdrew his hand from you, clearing his throat to divert attention away from what he did.

No Name: “The portions are too much for me. “Not that hungry” suggests there is some hunger. Do not starve yourself on my behalf. We can share.”

He wasn’t looking at you as he said this but you swore you could see a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks. You were considering telling him that it was alright but your stomach chose that moment to betray you by releasing a loud rumbling sound.

You: “W-Well, since you offered!”

You quickly return to your seat and pick up your utensils, scooping a good amount onto your fork. You take a bite. As you were chewing, you remembered something and felt yourself blushing furiously for the umpteenth time.

You: “Ah, damn! Let me get you another plate.”

He stops you again, this time not holding you to stay with his touch but instead he picks up his own fork and knife, cutting into the food and raising a small portion to his lips. No Name bites into his food, chewing graciously. His mouth was closed so you can see the way that his lips and jaw moved as he ate, the way the apple of his throat dipped as he swallowed. You found yourself gulping at the sight.

No Name: “This is delicious.”

He continues to eat from his side of the plate. This time, you did bother to hide your staring. You observed him. Intently. You do not know this man. This stranger. But you invited him into your home. And shared with him your food. Gave him clothes. He had a story, one he was not willing to tell. He was a stranger. And he was dangerous. Yet you found yourself curious about him all the same. You followed his example and digged into the food. It tasted better than you thought even though you’ve always made this particular dish the same way. As you two were eating together silently, not once did you notice that his three familiars returned to him in ink.

[thedungeonsbat]

Muggle Love (Chapter 17)

Chapter 17

A strange feeling took over you, it didn't feel right. Severus could not be a Death Eater. From what you understood they are bad men (and women) and Severus wasn't one. You just knew he wasn't.

"Isn't that- isn't that the same thing?" You said, still trying to figure out what it all meant, though it was quite clear from what he said. "You were one of them. It isn't like there are still some of them, is it?"

Severus had not expected you to ask this and he hesitated to answer, should he tell you or further hide this information. No, he wouldn't do that, one thing was clear in his head; no more secrets.

"Well, the ones who didn't end up in prison are.. inactive." He said still hesitating and unsure, absently rubbing his left arm where the dark mark was etched onto his skin.

Never in his life had he ever thought he would be sharing this piece of information about his life and past with anybody, not a muggle at least. How would you even understand all of what he was telling you, he still doubted if you got everything right. What if you misheard something he had said, which was only a thought because you followed everything. When listening closely, you never missed a bit.

"W- what do you mean, 'inactive'?" you were more scared than you were showing, you were trying hard to keep a straight face and stutter as less as possible. The only thought of dark wizards was chilling.

Many questions were swirling your head at the moment, who was this dark wizard? What did he want? Is he still alive? How dangerous is he? Is it even a 'he'? Who the hell were these Death Eater guys? How the hell are they 'inactive' as Severus says? Did the other muggles know? Did the Prime Minister know? And most importantly, why was Severus trusting you with this?

He inhaled deeply to maintain the calm in his voice. Before saying anything he waved his wand and a bottle of elf-made wine with glasses appeared floating above the table. With another gesture, he settled them down on the table.

You would surely have appreciated this if you weren't too befuddled.

He poured the blood red liquid into the glasses and offered you one. You silently took it, not really meeting his eyes. You realised how much you needed it only when you tasted it. It wasn't like the ones you had had in the past, you weren't aware it was elf-made of course.  His glass, however, remained untouched by him.

He shifted in his seat a little and spoke softly, "Y/N, there are many things happening in the wizarding community but you need not worry. I made a mistake, I paid the price and then I chose the right side.. I know it's hard to take it all in at once and it's completely up to you what decision you make after this. I didn't want to hurt you or shock you like this, it wasn't what I planned for today but I don't want to betray your trust too.."

You were clutching onto your glass rather tightly but with every word of his your grip loosened and your thinking became clearer than before. Even though you had always believed Severus could never do any wrong, you cursed yourself for doubting him even the slightest bit. All he wanted was to let you know about his past, which you've always been eager to know about, and what you did was make him feel that you were afraid of the reality, his reality.

You felt way better knowing that he was trusting you, again. You should have been ready for some surprises.

Your admiration for the man beside you raised considerably. You could not help but adore him, the man you thought least likely to trust someone trusted you. This did not help your increasing feelings for him. All the time you spent apart, your feelings only grew and you had realised how you needed him.

Severus sat in silence, giving you the time to think things over. You had but you still did not understand what he meant by the 'decision'. He was sipping on his own drink, oblivious to the fact that he was now being watched - admired - by you.

He came to his senses when you quietly called him out. For one tiny moment, you thought you saw fear in his eyes but as soon as he blinked, it was gone. You could hardly see any emotion in his eyes any longer, how he was able to conceal them so nice and quick, you would never know.

"Uh, it's... alright." You said in almost a whisper. His eyebrows seemed to have automatically shot upwards. You had been at a loss for words but it got even harder with his eyes piercing your own. "I think it's fine, you know. You said you've realised and changed and that's what matters.."

His mouth opened to say something and it took a little while for the words to finally come out. He swallowed visibly and then said, "Are you sure? I won't curse you!"

Even though he was serious, you chuckled. He was sweeter than you earlier used to think. All the confusion or fear that had overtaken you was now replaced with warmth and affection.

"Of course I am sure. And I know you won't 'curse' me. I don't know what you were thinking but I am not going to change my mind. I want to remain friends with you.." You said with a smile and the corner of his lips twitched upwards too.

You were glad but it hurt to call him a 'friend', you wanted to be more than that and you knew you were, yet it remained the unspoken truth between the two of you.

"May I see?" You hesitantly asked gesturing his arm which he had been rubbing and scratching absentmindedly. Of course, you had noticed. At first, you thought it was just some normal itch but then you suspected it wasn't.

Severus was taken aback by your request and perhaps not the time or place, he admired your intelligence (Ravenclaw quality!).

He nervously rolled up his sleeve to reveal the mark.

You almost gasped as you saw it, a snake protruding from the mouth of a skull. It looked like a tattoo but much fainter.

"Was it painful?" You asked. He instinctively backed his hand away as you were reaching for it but then held it out again. You caressed the mark, almost afraid something would happen or it would hurt.

"Not more than the consequences." He answered with his jaw clenched. You could feel how rigid and cold he was at the moment. Usually, he would loosen up but this time was different. You could almost see remorse in his eyes and it made you feel terrible.

You let go and unrolled his sleeve and once again took a deep breath.

Although he was grateful for being with you, he felt like this was Lily Potter all over again. He had fallen for someone he knew couldn't have. He had fallen for you, a muggle whom he could never have, not when he knew he would soon be fighting against the most powerful dark wizard who killed muggles for sport.

Then after a moment or two, he straightened up and reached for your hand, holding it in both of his and caressing it with his thumb, "Thank you, (Y/N). I don't think there's anything else I can say. So, thank you for all of this." He said with a ginger smile.

In a sort of comforting silence, you sat there looking deep into each other's eyes and feeling the tenderness of the touch, which you had felt often but could never get enough.

You broke apart when you heard wings flapping and Erebus, who was sleeping up to that moment, hooted.

Severus awkwardly retreated his hands and coughed while you muttered under your breath 'Damn owl!'.

You got up and approached the owl. After letting out an exasperated sigh, you opened the window and allowed him to go night hunting.

For the brief moment you had opened the window you felt a great wave of cold sent to your body and the warmth you had just felt disappeared. The silence now got slightly uncomfortable for you both didn't know what to say.

"So," You said while shifting the weight on your legs. "Um, would you like to have anything? I could just-"

"No thanks, I'm fine. Really, I don't need anything." He said before casually waving his wand once again to make the wine and glasses disappear.

"Was that a wizard wine? It was great, just different."

"Yes. Elf-made wine." He replied, satisfied that you enjoyed the drink.

"Elf-made? You have elves?!"

"Not me but some do."

"Just when I thought I couldn't be more fascinated... Wow!" Clearly, you had a very different idea of what an elf was in their world, they weren't like the ones you had seen in movies or read in books, definitely not like the ones in Lord of The Rings. And Severus didn't bother telling you, he was enjoying your reaction just like he always did.

You then glanced at the wall clock and your eyes widened a little as you saw it was almost twelve! When the hours passed by, you never realised.

"God, it's almost New Year now! Can you believe it?" You exclaimed and though Severus did not really show any sign of surprise on his face, you could tell he hadn't realized it either.

In reply, he merely shrugged but you weren't paying attention, you were hurrying to the kitchen to get some champagne to celebrate. You had saved it for something special and tonight indeed was.

Severus raised an eyebrow to your sudden enthusiasm and the bottle.

"Come on, we've got to celebrate! It's the beginning of a new and better year!" You said excitedly. You were more than happy you found a chance to replace the tense environment with a joyous one.

"Is it really?" He said in his sarcastic tone you were only too familiar with. He knew his life wouldn't change one bit after returning to Hogwarts. Well, of course, everyone knows nothing's gonna change. He never understood what all the fuss was about but it was still nice to see you happy after the not-so-pleasant conversation.

"Seriously, do you ever celebrate anything?" You asked before leaving to bring the glasses.

"Not really." He said coolly.

"Thought so." You muttered emerging from the kitchen with glasses in your hand and the champagne bottle already on the table.

One minute to twelve. You uncorked the bottle and filled the glasses and handed one to Severus. He rolled his eyes for he never did all this.

The loud fireworks in distance and the clock chiming told you it was midnight.

"Happy New Year, Severus!" You said cheerfully with a huge smile on your face.

"Happy New Year to you too." He replied with much less spirit but the small smile was sufficing.

"Here's to another magical year! Cheers!"

He answered with another quite 'cheers' and your glasses clinked.

How you longed to begin this year sharing a kiss with Severus and savouring his lips. But you didn't think it was the right time to confess. No time was right to you actually.

Undeniably, this was what Severus wanted too but he didn't want to give you any more shock this evening, not now that you were alright again. Besides, he was so convinced you would reject him and on top of all that were your differences.

The coming many minutes were fine, actually better than Severus had expected. You didn't bring up the Death Eater business (you weren't too foolish to do so of course) and he really didn't talk much at all.

All in all, the visit ended up nicely, full of your positive spirit and Severus' sarcastic comments.

At last, it was time for him to leave, again. He got up and straightened, you remained seated for a couple more moments thinking if it would be right to ask him to stay.

Finally, you got up too and just as he was reaching for his cloak, you spoke abruptly, "Do you have to go?"

He turned with the usual questioning look. "You can stay here.." You added avoiding his gaze.

"I don't wish to cause any inconvenience," said Severus.

"You won't. It's late and you really should rest rather than travel." He still didn't look convinced so you pressed further, "I insist."

"Okay then, if you insist." He said. You beamed at him as you hurried to show him to the guestroom.

The room was rarely used but well cleaned. It was small yet cozy. You just hoped it would be nice enough for Severus.

"There you go. Tell if you need anything, anything at all." You said to which he only replied you with a nod and 'thank you'.

You slept a peaceful sleep with thoughts of seeing Severus in the morning.

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@smokindoinksinthejungle @radspencerreid @princetale @a-slytherin-sin @thephenomenalkingofthebrogues394 @joscelyn02 @just-here-to-read-fics

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A/N: This took more time than I wanted it to, so I can only hope it was worth the wait. As I told you, it ended happily, it always will with these two. Looking forward to what you all think. Thanks for reading!

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[the-gedonelune-times]

Proof Of Innocence ch. 4

The final chapter is finally here. I’ve honestly had so much fun writing this small series and I hope you guys have enjoyed it! Thank you guys so much for the support for this, it makes me want to continue writing more small series in the future! 

You can read the previous chapters down below:

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

“What is it you want to talk about?"

My voice was low and threatening and it ended up sounding like a growl.

"My, my, no need to show such hostility, I'm here to only talk, besides, if I wanted to fight you, you'd already be lying in a pool of your own blood by now."

I watched as he got up from his seat on the rubble and began heading in my direction. I, in turn, made sure to keep a good distance between us in case he were to try anything.

"Alright, so what is it you want to talk about."

"You, to be more precise, do you remember a man named Maximillian?"

"Of course, he's my father, but how do you know him?"

"Ah, he was a friend of mine, I've known him for a couple of years."

"Impossible. My father would never associate with the likes of you."

"Oh? Pray tell, what makes you come to that conclusion?"

"Oh please, as if I have to explain. I mean look at you, there's not a single good bone in your body, I could sense it since the day I first saw you."

"So you think your father was some kind of saint?"

"I never said that. I know my father had gotten himself into bad situations because of his past, but he would never stoop down to your level."

"See." The man inched closer. "That's where you're mistaken, young lady. Your father's past is filled with nothing but darkness. He was part of an organization I worked in and was one of the higher-ups. He only got to that position by carrying out the tasks given to him, do you even know how many people he's murdered?"

"W-What?"

"He's killed countless people and torn apart villages with the snap of his fingers. But you see, he made a mistake when he took on a mission at Graceus. He fell in love and soon he had a family, he let that get the better of him, thus, he became vulnerable. But you know something? I bet in his final seconds of life, he was happy he had a daughter to follow in his footsteps and trail down the path of darkness."

"What the hell are you blathering about?"

As I spoke, I summoned my staff and got into a defensive stance; ready to deliver a blow, should it come down to it.

"You are the only child out of his other six that even have dark magic in your veins, you reek of forbidden magic, face it, you're evil, a child born from a monster. Isn't that why the rest of your family abandoned you? Or perhaps it's the reason for your exile from Graceus?"

"Shut the hell up!"

"Oh? Can't handle the truth? Can't handle that one day that darkness will one day take over you and plunge you into nothingness? Fear not though, once it happens, we here at Hawkeye will welcome you into our organization with open arms."

"No, I just can't handle that annoying mouth of yours!"

I was furious as I lunged at him, landing a heavy attack on him which sent him flying into the air, then, in what seemed like slow motion, I conjured up chains which wrapped around his body before yanking; sending him flying into the ground below. Debris from the stone ground went flying, including dust which clouded my vision.

I was on high alert now and I tightly gripped my staff and waited for the dust to settle before making my next move.

"I gotta say, you really are something."

Just as the dust had settled, more came flying up as a large object soared into the air. When I looked up, I noticed that the man, who should have sustained injuries, was now hovering in the air with a pair of jet black wings.

"My attacks..."

"Your attacks were weak, child. Now, gaze before me, Draven and see how a real attack should be!"

I let out a scream as I dove to the ground to avoid getting hit. Draven had sent fatal wind-slice attacks my way. After having nearly dodged them, I watched as they went soaring into the cave wall on the other side, it had split many of the old pillars and stone in half like it was nothing.

"My advice? Take up my offer, or die here."

"I refuse!"

I could feel my arm burning and in the next moment, a flurry of light arrows began raining down on Draven, who of course, brushed them away like they were nothing. 

"I won't take up your damn offer, no matter what happens and I refuse to die here!" 

Besides...I made a promise to someone special to me...

Hey, come back in one piece, okay?

No promises..

This was for not only Viggo's sake, but for the sake of Gedonelune as well. If I didn't put up a fight here, then I knew the tensions between Gedonelune and Graceus would amp up and an impending war could come true!

My heart burned with desire as I sent flurries of attacks one after another. Each one had barely made a scratch on him, or they never even reached him, I was beginning to run out of options and mana,,,

"Now come on, is that all you got!"

Charging down at me, Draven managed to grab me by the neck and send me flying into a nearby pillar. The moment my back came into contact, I let out a cry before sinking to the floor in pain. In the process, my staff had gone flying elsewhere, leaving me pretty vulnerable to whatever attack was going to come next.

"Persephone Onyx."

Draven's voice echoed from above. Even though I couldn't get up, I knew he was towering over me his hand already holding a charged attack which he was probably going to use to finish me off.

"I'm going to give you one last chance. Join us or meet your fate right here in these ruins."

"Stick it up your ass Draven..."

"I see, so that's how this is going to be. Fine then. Farewell."

Just as he was about to unleash his attack, a familiar voice echoed in the ruins

"Hey, assclown. If you want a fight, then come and fight me!"

"Viggo..?"

B-But how?!

"Oh? You must be the misfit that I hear so much about. Shame I haven't really gotten to meet you until now. At least I'll have fun using you as some target practice before obliterating your friend."

Draven's attack, that was once meant for me, was now hurdling towards Viggo who stood there like nothing was going on. He smirked and grabbed out his pipe before covering the area in smoke. It was unknown if he had been hit or not, surely if he had then there would have been a verbal warning of it. 

There was one, but it wasn't from Viggo, it was from Draven who was currently getting pummeled by smoke fists in all different directions. Without being able to see, he was at the mercy of the smoke, which was playing in Viggo's favor. Even when the smoke had died down, Viggo still sent flurries of his own attacks at Draven, but not all were with magic. In fact, Viggo was pulling his weight with his own personal punches, landing one hit after another to the point where he had even sent Draven flying,

When Draven began throwing his own, they were perfectly matched in strength until...

"I've had enough of this!"

With a flap of his wings, Draven managed to send a wind-slice, much like the one he had sent at me, but at Viggo. Unlike me, however, Viggo....couldn't avoid it in time and was hit. Things moved in slow motion, one minute, Viggo was standing there and the next, he too was sent into one of the crumbling marble pillars. The only difference was that I heard a snapping sound, followed by a heart-shattering cry. 

I pushed myself up with what little strength I had and looked over at where Viggo was sent flying. All I saw was Viggo's body surrounded by rubble, while Draven looked on with a satisfied smile. 

For the first time in forever, I found myself on the verge of breaking down, my eyes were burning with tears, my chest hurt and my whole body was shaking, *No...he can't be dead...*.I kept telling myself this over and over while gripping my head and tightly shutting my eyes. Within a few moments of staying like this, I felt my hair being tugged upwards, along with my body where I came face to face with Draven.

"Have you finally given up?"

"No..."

"You've got to be kidding me."

He began to laugh loudly before dropping me back down to the ground, where I landed with a *thud*

"You see Draven..."

 I slowly began to pick myself back up once more; this time I used the remaining pillar as support to help me stand up on my own.

"I'm done with your bullshit..."

For some reason, the tattoo on my arm was beginning to burn brightly, causing my shoulder to throb with a dulled pain. Meanwhile, dark smoke began to dance around my feet until they were shrouded in the darkness itself. I could see only red at this point and as I held my hands, I began to speak an ancient incantation which made Draven's eyes go wide.

My veins were now clearly visible and were covered with thorned tattoo's that ran up my arms completely.

"Draven, my word of advice for you? Run..."

The moment I smiled, black-smoked covered spiked chains came hurtling towards him at high speeds, each one was thorn-like tipped and dug into his skin the moment they wrapped around him. He was in mid-flight when he was caught and was now desperately trying to free himself from the restraints. 

When I saw this, I quickly jumped into action and rushed over to a pile of rubble, jumping off of it and then kicking myself off of the wall right next to it, which sent me into the air backward. With perfect timing, I managed to swing my foot downwards while mid-flip, fiercely kicking him down to the ground below where he let out a groan of pain.

I hovered in the air, right above his body for a few seconds before slowly floating down to the ground, right in front of him. He was coughing and spitting out dust from his mouth. He tried lifting his head and with a swing of my hand, I sent his face back down to the ground below. 

"I'm done messing around Draven."

"So...you going to kill me now, or what?"

I had to stop and think about that question for a moment...I...I had never killed anyone before, how could I even think about killing someone now? Sure, he had tried to kill me, Viggo and quite possibly others and yet...I don't think I could bring myself to kill him.

"I knew it, you're weak!"

As he lunged at me, the chains that bounded him had begun to tear and shred his entrapped wings. I ended up grabbing his arm and twisting it before kneeing him hard in the jaw; which ended up knocking him out cold. I was breathing heavily now as I staggered backward, almost tripping on my own two feet.

I looked down at him and then, with a wave of my hand, more chains appeared and now wrapped around his wrists. I closed my eyes and felt a cool breeze wash over me as I mana drained him just a little bit. Yes, mana bending and draining were forbidden uses of magic, but...I had to do it, I had no other choice...

Once I felt a little bit more energy wash over me, I quickly ran over to the pile of rubble where Viggo had been, picking up my staff that had been previously thrown elsewhere during the fight. When I got to the rubble. I was prepared for the worst, but I was relieved to know that he was alive. He was beaten up pretty badly and was pretty much out cold. But at least he was alive.

"I wish I could do something for you.."

Right as I spoke, I noticed my shoulder was glowing, on it, two new pieces appeared; another rose petal and a thorned vine that wrapped around the incomplete markings. A shimmering light began to rain down from it and land on Viggo and I watched on with tears as he opened his eyes.

"Seph? Is that you?"

"Viggo! You're awake-- and your arm!"

Shock was plastered on my face as I looked down at his arm, it had once been broken horribly, but now...

"Huh? Did something happen to my arm?"

"Yes, wait, do you not remember anything that just happened?"

"I remember breaking out from the detention chambers because I could sense you were in danger. I asked people in town if they had seen you and some elderly man told me where you were after I told him that you were in trouble. When I came down here, I saw you in pretty bad shape and that guy...he was the one I got a glance at before, but I can't remember what happened after that."

"Well...you saved me, Viggo..." I smiled and gently touched his cheek

"Did I? Does that mean I get a kiss?"

"Not a chance, idiot."

"Worth a shot." 

Viggo let out a pained chuckle, it must have been from all the bruises. The magic may have saved his arm, but it didn't heal up the cuts and bruises.

"Oh yeah, I pulled something off that lunatic."

"Huh- wait...is that!?"

Viggo pulled out a small sphere that gave off a great deal of magical energy, probably enough magic to equal that of hundred elite magical knights at the Ministry.

"This must be the thing that was stolen from the MInistry! We have to hurry and take this to them!"

"That won't be necessary. We can go ahead and take that from you right now."

"Huh?"

When I looked back at the new voice, I saw a rather tall man with golden hair coming my way. He was being accompanied by two other ministry members.

Standing up, I faced the three new people and I held out the sphere in my hand.

"After you take us, you have to drop all charges that were put against Viggo and I. Your culprit has already been caught."

"Who said you had charges against you?"

"What...but.."

"I should have mentioned that earlier." Viggo spoke up "When I broke out of the detention chamber, the so-called ministry members that threw us in, were nothing more than fakes. They turned to smoke the minute I attacked them."

"So then that means you...and you" I pointed at Klaus and Vincent "Weren't actually around?"

"No, we and some of the prefects were busy investigating the recent spike in unstable magic, I'm sure you've seen the effects of it, through the terrible weather we've had."

"Yeah," Vincent spoke up this time. "Someone had purposefully tampered with it and we had to go out and find out who. We've all been gone for at least a few days."

"Hang on a second" I put my hands to my head and rubbed gently. "So, then that means, the Zeus, Lucious, and Hiro that I talked to?"

"Must have been fakes created to talk and act like them."

"Why go through so much trouble for all of this?"

"Must be scared of us, Sephie." Viggo laughed

"Well, I'm not sure of everything just yet, but given that the sphere in your hand is not only one of the many peace offering between Graceus and Gedonelune, but also a magic stabilizer for the land's magic. It helps maintain and protect the ancient magic in the land from spilling out."

"So if someone bad were to have used this for evil..."

"Yes, it very well may have destroyed Gedonelune and many other lands."

"Now.." Klaus cleared his throat and opened the palm of his hand. "May I please have it, so I may return it to its rightful place."

"Oh, yeah, sorry." 

I quickly handed the sphere over to Klaus who quickly but it into some magical container. 

"Now, about this culprit that you said you caught?"

"Oh yeah, he's over...there?"

When I looked over, there was no sign of Draven except blood and a few of his feathers from his wings that were torn out from the struggle.

"I swear he was right here!"

"I see. Well, then, you four over there, don't just stand there, start gathering evidence!" 

Klaus began barking orders at a few others that had come down with him, then he sighed and placed a hand to his forehead. 

"I swear, I don't get paid enough for this. Anyways, I should probably go ahead and thank you for helping us retrieve what was stolen. You've done a great service for us, so thank you, Persephone."

"I can't take all the credit, Viggo played a part to. If he hadn't shown up, then I...I might have been killed down here."

"I see. Viggo, thank you for your contribution to this case."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just don't tell anyone else about this, I'll start looking like a good guy."

I burst out laughing at his comment and afterward, Viggo and I were both escorted back onto Academy grounds and taken into the infirmary for our sustained injuries.

--------------------------------

After about a day, we were discharged and allowed to go about our days like usual, the only difference was that we had been exempted for classes for a few days after everything that had happened.

Now, after what seemed like forever, Viggo and I were out sitting by our usual spot.

"Thought you should know that the Ministry found some kind of pin lying on the ground in the ruins."

"Really?"

"Yeah, they know some more info on the guy, they just don't know his whereabouts right now. Though, considering the condition we left him in, he probably couldn't have gone far."

"I hope not. If he has, then that means more trouble."

"You seem worried."

"Yeah, worried that I'll have to do more work."

"Viggo gave a small snort. "You sound like this Day Class student I know who comes into the detention chamber sometimes."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Oh, hey Seph. There's something I wanted to ask you back there in the ruins."

"What?"

"Why are you such an idiot?"

"Seriously..."

"Yes, seriously. I get that you were doing this to clear my name and all, but you went to some serious lengths to achieve that."

"Is there something wrong with that? So what? I wanted to prove you were innocent."

"Look...you're really not making this easy for me to say."

"Well, then improve on your wording."

"Alright, you want me to be straightforward and ask then?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Fine, do you like me?"

"Well, yeah of course I do, you're probably one the coolest people here."

"Not like that, you idiot."

"Hey!"

"You're the dense one here, okay. See, I'm asking if you love me."

Oh dear gods, he actually said it. My face became hot and suddenly I was acting like those love-struck fools in the Day Class during the Love Holiday.

"Where is this coming from, exactly?"

"Well, to be honest, I had been wanting to bring this up to you for a little while. Probably around the time, I started liking you."

"Wait, hold on, you like me?"

"Yeah? Got a problem with it."

"Not at all, I like you too-"

Did....did I really just say that out loud? I felt like hiding away in a dark cave at this point and I was becoming embarrassed, so much so that I was beginning to find it hard looking into his eyes. This wasn't like me at all, normally I was cool and collected, why...why was I feeling this way? Were my true feelings for Viggo beginning to show themselves? I had a million thoughts running through my head which all came to a standstill when I felt Viggo's hand wrap around mine.

I gently squeezed his hand back as we sat in silence. I had spent so many years, wanting to feel love again and I...I felt it with Viggo. He made me feel safer than I had ever felt before. But, I'd never tell him that...probably.

"Hey! Persepho- Oho? We got a couple of lovebirds here."

"Shut up, Zeus."

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"Listen, we need you in the Headmaster's office, Schuyler wants to see you."

"The headmaster?"

Viggo and I looked at one another before getting up and following Zeus to the Headmaster's office. We didn't know what to expect and quite frankly, I was a little scared considering that I had broken quite a few rules during the recent events. I could feel my heart practically leap into my throat when Zeus knocked on the door and alerted Schuyler of our arrival. I felt even more uneasy when Viggo let go of my hand.

"Come in."

Schuyler's voice came from inside and Zeus opened the door and walked in, with us following close behind him.

"I brought her, just like you asked. But Viggo here refused to stay behind."

"Listen, if she's in trouble then don't make her have all the blame."

"No one is in trouble here. In fact, I wanted you to come and see me so I could give you a few things. I noticed that you have not worn an official Night Class uniform since you've been here. So, I'm here to provide you with one."

"That won't be necessary."

"What?"

"I have one, already/ It needs to be sewn up a little bit but it's still usable. Besides, it means a lot to me because it was given to me by someone special."

I looked over and noticed that Viggo was now looking away, avoiding any and all eye contact with me.

"I see, well then. With that uniform, I expect you to be wearing this at all times."

Schuyler pulled out a box and sat it on the desk; inside was a special Night Class pin.

"Is that..."

"Yes, this means you are an official deputy prefect for the Night Class, due to the recent incident, there was a unanimous vote to have you be a part of the prefect team. I hope to see good things from you Miss Onyx. Do try and stay out of trouble though."

"Way to go Seph, look at you climbing the ranks."

"Now that we've gotten all of this taken care of, you may be all dismissed back to your regular duties."

Schuyler shooed us out of the office and we all left. Zeus had split off from us and went on his own while Viggo and I walked down the hallway together.

"I'm proud of you, I mean hey, who knows, you might be a real prefect soon."

"Don't get your hopes up too much."

I laughed and then smiled when Viggo grabbed my hand again. 

After all the things that had just happened, I was beyond relieved to return to life here at the Academy. Things have changed since then though, I've had to take on more responsibilities, like balancing my academics and my deputy prefect duties. It was going to be a challenge, but hey, challenges are what makes life more exciting, right?

[freshneverfrozen]

One Foot in the Fairytale - Thomas Rush x Reader

Rush saved you. You’ll return the favor until you can’t.

Or, the one where you fix Ubisoft’s mistake

Rating: Sticky sweet

Your hand in his that very first time feels cataclysmic - it’s the sudden shift of your world on its axis and the reorientation of purpose and all that you’ve known. Thomas Rush pulls you to your feet before he knows your name and retrofits a lifetime of selfishness and fear into belief. Each time he pulls you from the flames, you understand the mythology of hope a little more, until, one day, you start reaching back for him.

Those are the reasons why, when they take him from you, when they take the others, you show them what it feels like to lose purpose and hope - you shake their belief in their twins with bloodied hands and gunfire.

And Rush…

When Rush looks at you, his chin lifting heavy from his chest, he looks surprised to see you standing above him. They had shoved him to his knees and spread him like an X until he was unable to fight his own fight, had tied his hands, and beat him raw and open. They hurt him thinking that you and he were somehow the same - that you were noble and civil and restrained. When there’s blood on the ground and two broken windows, you reach for Rush and for a moment, for a fleeting breath in the grand scheme of suns and moons, he leans into your hands.

He hadn’t believed you.

You untie him and the entire way back to Prosperity, neither of you speaks. Rush and the others tend their wounds as you walk on numb feet toward the showers. There’s a heat between your shoulder blades as the distance grows and you know he’s watching. He watches until you disappear.

You feel tired and dry-eyed, unable to cry as you pass the day alone. For the first time, the years you’ve spent with Rush make the hours you spend without him harder. Because he doesn’t understand you the way you understand him. You settle into the room Kim Rye has assigned to you and you close the door and turn off the lamp so that the space beneath the door shows dark to anyone who passes by; the moonlight shining in through the open window is enough for you to bandage your busted hands.

It’s well past dark, perhaps creeping into the early hours of the morning when a soft knock at your door draws your head from your pillow. You rarely sleep since the train incident, so it’s little inconvenience for you to pad across the cool wooden floor and pause to listen, your hand over the knob. It’s him - you know it with the same certainty with which you know your name. He’s come to question you why you came for him again and again, why you are so much like and so different from him when he hasn’t asked you to be, why you keep throwing yourself into the line of fire for him instead of with him. You have all those answers, but whether or not you give them to him tonight is a different matter.

Because, because, because, you’ll say instead, because you would for me.

The door knob is cool to the touch when you find the nerve to turn it, opening three inches of space so that you can half-meet Rush’s gaze in the dim light.

“Did I wake you?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head and step aside to let him in. Rush never hesitates, not with you, and he steps inside your room, asking without asking - that’s how the pair of you are, symbiotic. Until today, you remind yourself, until Rush had somehow stopped understanding.

“You look better,” you tell him, though you suspect the shadows are granting him no small amount of grace. His steps are heavy, slow and thudding as he goes to the patchwork chair in the corner and folds down onto it.

“Don’t quite feel it,” he shrugs and the ink-wings on his neck seem to flutter, “Not yet anyway.”

“You’ll get there, Rush, you always do -”

“Yeah, well maybe I wasn’t supposed to this time, Captain.”

The sharpness in his voice jars you, somehow like cold fingers across your face.

“ - did you ever think of that?” he asks. “Even once?”

It’s anger then, a bitterness that he can’t reconcile with the idea that you had surprised him. Rush’s hands flex over the arms of the chair. He wants to stand but he’s too tired and ends up sagging further into the cushions. His voice is softer when he speaks again, his face turned out toward the window.

“What would these people have done if we’d both died today?”

“Rush, I -”

But you don’t have this answer, not one you can tell him that he won’t be ashamed to hear. Because the truth is that these people are no different from any of the others these past years and none of the others have ever made a damn to you, not like they do to him. Their happiness, their lives, are a byproduct of the reason you fight.

“You’re angry with me,” you say instead, just so you can hear him admit it.

“You’re goddamn right I am.”

This time, the frustration overcomes bruised muscles and Rush gets to his feet, straining beneath borrowed clothes. He’s always the bellow to your flame, stoking the fire and fanning the heat, but tonight the sharp edges you had heard about from his youth are showing, gleaming in the moonlight with hard eyes and bared teeth.

“Stop,” he punctuates the words so that they bite, “being reckless, Captain.”

“Stop making me then!” you snap, returning fire with hands against his chest. Volatile like a star or a gas planet, you’ve never been able to temper your words like Rush can.

“I never asked -”

“You fucking didn’t have to!”

You shove without meaning to, that fire burning blue, but Rush takes the hit and holds his ground. His eyes narrow, so dark in the shadows that the blue looks inky black. Quieter now that his breath is on your cheeks, you say, “You’ll never have to.”

Whatever gives you away - maybe it’s your voice, maybe a tremble in your fingers you can’t stop - brings Rush’s mouth to a thin line, one turned down sharply at the corners. He doesn’t understand.

Right up until the moment he does.

His palm finds your arm, warm against the skin, and slides down, his fingers catching around your wrist. He says your name, not Captain, not Cap, but your name and you feel it in his chest as he repeats it. He’s inched closer, closed the distance, and his heartbeat runs away against yours.

You’ve never surrendered a fight. Since the bombs fell, you’ve fought until your bones were broken and you couldn’t get rid of the smell of blood. Even before Rush, you never let anyone know when you were beat. Why, then, your next words come so easy, you’ll never know.

Turning your hand in his grip, you catch his fingers.

“Rush...this is a bad world to love somebody in.”

The frown that knots his features hurts you; it cuts and each moment is salt in the wound. His free hand finds the back of your neck and there’s a weakness in his fingers you haven’t known before when he draws you closer to press his forehead to yours.

“Is that why you do it?” he asks. “Fight this fight?”

For me, he’s asking.

“I’m not playing hero,” you say, but you nod, and his lips part as your breath dances past.

It’s like standing in the sun too long - you’ll have burns where he’s touched soon enough. This isn’t him pulling you to your feet; he’s trying to keep you upright and the mutual effort of it charges the air.

When he kisses you, his lips opening yours, it’s a salve on open wounds. There’s a gentleness behind his tongue that you don’t expect from someone who burns as hotly as Rush does and when your mouth opens to him, you learn what surrender sounds like - it’s a groan from his belly, hungry and weak and tired, and it draws you closer to him. The hand on your wrist sets you free, traveling down to the small of your back where it presses and curves your body into his.

He’s hard against the front of your pants and you wonder how long he’d been that way. The way he swallows you, drinks in all you give him, tells you that it must have happened before. Rush pulls you into him and holds you there, the roughness of his beard leaving your jaw and throat raw as he kisses, tattooing you with words against your skin.

Like the sun, you think, or the bonfires from your youth, he’s warm and gentle against your face, and when he nips your ear and whispers your name, you press harder against him, until your name comes again, rougher, breaking like water over stone.

“It’s gotten harder,” Rush mutters, catching your face between his palms, “asking you to fix these problems.” He takes a breath and you swallow it down. “For years, it feels like, it’s been a damn trial every time I send you out.”

“I don’t mind,” your lips press against one palm, “I never have.”

Rush grins - you feel it, taste it.

“That’s the problem.”

He guides you back, your steps awkward until the backs of your thighs bump the bed, and then he’s pressing you down, bracing himself over you and leaving you to reach for him. But his hands chase yours away and snare in your hair as his lips find the column of your throat. You’ll have marks there come morning, but you’ll wear them proudly because they’re his. Above you, you feel his weight threaten to give and one hand comes to rest at the back of his head. It calms him, slows him, and when you draw him up, he finds your lips again. With a sigh and a shiver, he shifts himself off of you, towards the edge of the bed, and draws you into his chest.

“If I lose you to this fight...” his words taper off, lost in the darkness, the thought not worth finishing.

You smile and the world feels somehow lighter around you.

“Once upon a time, there were happy endings,” you say and his arm tightens around your shoulders.

“Didn’t anybody tell you?” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, sighing when your palm slides beneath his shirt to rest over his heart. “That’s what we’re doing here.”

Somewhere along the way, someone had mentioned it - you don’t remember when or how you started believing it, but it’s Rush’s doing, and your heart is easier for it.