#the hatred is always there just sitting in my chest anyway

[harryhandstan]

.

[joelscurls]

I wanna show you off

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 4.1k

summary: The women who live in your building aren't subtle in their hatred for you — or their affection for your boyfriend, Joel. You decide to set them straight.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, porn with plot, no outbreak, established relationship, implied age gap, horrible neighbors, general cattiness, all the ladies want Joel, alcohol consumption, fluff, explicit smut, possessive!reader, exhibitionism, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), facefucking, unprotected piv, creampie, one (1) spank, use of pet names (baby, angel, darlin', etc.), I think that's all? lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: idk what happened. I saw one too many tiktok edits set to the song agora hills by doja cat and blacked out. anyway, enjoy!

If it weren’t for your rent-controlled apartment with a perfect view of the downtown skyline, you would’ve moved out of your building by now.

Your neighbors don’t like you. You’re certain of it. You can tell by the way the ladies stick their noses up at you in the elevator and whisper to each other the second they think you’re out of earshot.

It had started, you suspect, because of your age. You’re a lot younger than all of the other residents here, your apartment left to you by your grandmother after she passed away.

The building is prime real estate, situated in the heart of one of the city’s most desirable neighborhoods. Most of the people who live here have done so for ten, twenty, even thirty years. And it seems that time has festered a sort of social hierarchy: one which places you at the very bottom.

You shouldn’t care. And you hadn’t, for a while. But their eyes have started to feel like daggers, pointed directly at you at all times, and you feel as if you can’t even enter the building without judgment.

You’re not a bad neighbor. You’re not. You’d learned through living in a dormitory in college how thin shared walls can be, and, as a result, the proper volume at which to keep your music; how you should always be cautious to not let your door slam closed on the way in; that you should never vacuum after eight pm or before eight am.

You never leave trash in the hallway, and you park your car only in your allotted spot, despite the fact that it’s the farthest away from the building.

Even so, the lack of weathering in your face makes them look at you like you’re less, like you’re a greedy little thing who has taken something she isn’t worthy of.

It’s the same way they look at you when they see you with your boyfriend, Joel, for the first time.

They leer when you walk into the foyer, hand-in-hand with an older man. He’s handsome, rugged, something out of Nicholas Sparks novel. And you’re you.

Joel thinks you’re being paranoid at first, says they couldn’t possibly hate such a sweet, friendly girl. The girl he loves so damn much. But it doesn’t take long for him to notice it too: the glares, the scoffs, the misplaced judgment — never set in his direction, only ever yours.

One Sunday afternoon, as he sits on your couch watching the Cowboys game with a sweating bottle of beer in his hand, you step out to grab your mail. You’re close to tears when you return, flinging the door open, envelopes slipping from your trembling fingers. 

He leaps up as soon as he catches sight of your face. Your expression is stuck somewhere between sadness and rage, bottom lip tucked between your teeth so firmly he worries you’ll draw blood.

��I hate them,” you sob as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his broad chest. You’re wetting his shirt, the one he just bought the other day. But he won’t let you lift your head. If anything, he holds you tighter.

“Wanna tell me what happened, darlin?” he asks, leading you toward the couch. You sit down together, your body still wrapped in his, and you groan.

“It’s stupid.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. He loosens his grip on you only enough to let you turn your face. “I was getting my mail, and they were down in the lobby,” you sniff. “The woman who lives right next door – the one with the outdated perm, and the one across the hall with the yippy little dog.”

“Mhm,” Joel soothes, running his thumb gently along the tense line of your jaw. “Did they say somethin’ to you?”

You huff. “No, not to me. They didn’t see me there.”

Their hushed voices still ring in your head like a fire alarm in need of new batteries: relentless, infuriating.

Don’t know what in the world a handsome gentleman like that is doing with a little girl like her. You’re tellin’ me. What a shame. Such a young thing – she can’t possibly know how to handle a man like that. He needs a woman his own age!

“They said I’m not good for you,” you weep. “That I’m too young. That I — I c-can’t be what you need.”

“Darlin,” Joel drawls. He fishes the tv remote off of the coffee table and flicks the screen off. Drops it somewhere next to him on the cushion. The apartment is noticeably quiet now, apart from your shaky breaths and the dull drone of an idling truck engine from the street below.

“You know I love you, right?” 

You sniff again. Nod. 

“I don’t give a shit if people think you’re too young for me,” he huffs. “You’re a grown woman. You give me everything I could possibly need and then some.”

“Yeah?” you squeak. You know deep down that Joel wouldn’t stay with you if he had any reservations about any aspect of your relationship. But after months of no reprieve from stinging glares and brash insults, you feel as if you’ve been broken down, reduced to an anxious, overwrought version of yourself. 

Joel repositions himself, sprawling back on the couch and pulling you with him so that you’re laying against him. “Yeah,” he repeats, stroking your hair. He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, away from your glassy eyes. “Those ladies can get their asses in line.” 

You laugh, then — a real, genuine laugh — the kind that Joel can somehow always pull out of you, even in the most inopportune of times.

You’re so grateful for him, for his innate ability to calm you down when it feels like the world is crumbling below your feet. Grateful that he’s yours.

You lift your head. Prop yourself up by the elbow on Joel’s thigh. Wipe away the lingering wet on your cheeks with a deep, settling breath. 

“Does it stroke your ego, having a fan club of women who wanna fuck you?”

He smirks. Pulls you closer to him with a hand cradling your face. 

“Maybe a little,” he whispers, his lips ghosting yours. “Does it stroke your ego, bein’ the only one who gets to fuck me?” 

And in truth, it does. You’re the only one who knows where he likes to be kissed, how he likes his cock stroked, how to make him cum embarrassingly quick with just your mouth.

You’ve learned him intimately, every inch of him.  Ruined him for any other woman.

So in a fucked up kind of way — it does.

“Yeah,” you admit. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, silently reveling in the way he immediately moans, the way he bends to you.

“These all mine?” You bring a finger to his lips, sputter on a shaky exhale when he unexpectedly parts them and sucks the digit into his mouth.

“Mhm,” he hums around you, takes your free hand in his and guides it down his body, across the expanse of his torso, the plush of his belly, pausing when you reach his crotch. 

Your pulse quickens, then, a dull throb forming at the base of your neck. You extricate your finger from his mouth with a gentle pop.

“This too,” he whispers, canting his hips up toward the flat of your palm.

He’s half-hard, his clothed bulge pleading for attention. But he pulls your hand away quickly, not letting himself get carried away at the feeling of your fingers grazing him through denim. 

Instead, he re-situates it against his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat where it hammers under skin, against flesh and bone. “This is all yours too,” he says, voice so low it reverberates in your skull. 

“All of it — all of me. Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head with anythin’ anyone else has to say about the matter. Got it?”

His words are spoken with so much conviction that you have no choice but to believe them, to let them stick in your brain like anchors in sand: deep and immovable.

Yours, yours, yours. 

And nobody else’s.

“Yeah,” you smile into the column of his neck, inhaling his scent: mostly him, but with notes of you. 

“Got it.”

It’s two weeks later when she makes a move on him: the woman with the perm. Joel is taken aback by her boldness, with you just a few feet away, digging your key into the lock of your mailbox. 

“You must work with your hands,” she purrs, grabbing one of his wrists and examining his calloused fingers with such little integrity, his mouth actually slips open at the unabashedness of it all. 

“Uh-”

“I’m Sheila,” she hums, raking her fingers through tight, blonde curls. “And you are?”

“Joel,” he grunts noncommittally. Wrenches his arm back. He doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows twitch in offense. 

But she’s insatiable, this woman. She bounces back like a rubber band, not-so-subtly pushing her breasts together, the zip of her sweatshirt slipping down an inch and her mouth curving into a salacious grin.

You just about stop dead in your tracks when you round the corner to the lobby, junk mail in hand, and see her, her body turned towards Joel’s, chest pushed out and hip popped. She has a bedazzled tote bag full of groceries slung over her shoulder, a head of leafy greens poking out the top.

“Hi neighbor!” she smiles mockingly at you, all lipstick-stained teeth, when you sidle up to Joel. “I was just telling your friend here what nice, strong arms he has.” She’s not looking at you, eyes locked firmly on Joel’s biceps, nearly drooling at the sight of him. 

Heat spools behind your ears, red-hot.

“Not her friend,” Joel corrects before you can. “‘M her boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she says. “Boyfriend.” Her lips wrap loosely around the word, like it’s some fanciful thing. “You’re too old to be someone’s boyfriend.” 

Joel takes a step away from her, closer to you, and splays a steadying hand across your back. “Man-friend, then.” 

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because this entire conversation is fucking awkward. 

Sheila pays you no attention.

“Well,” she sighs, overtly staring at the exposed skin of Joel’s chest, where the top two buttons of his flannel are undone, “Joel, if you’re ever lookin’ for a good meal, I’m just next door.” She flits her eyes up to his and smirks. “Know a big man like you has gotta eat.”

Your vision blurs scarlet. 

Joel is equally as infuriated. The disrespect of this woman, to so openly flirt with him in front of you. His fists ball tightly at his sides. 

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he gruffs. “Anyway, nice to meet ya ma��am-“

“Sheila,” she reminds him. 

“Sheila,” he repeats, only to appease her. He turns to you, squeezing your waist affectionately. “We should probably get goin’, right sweetheart?”

You’re still fuming, barely able to register Joel’s voice next to you through the thick haze of pure fury clouding your mind, but you manage to nod, spit out a hurried yeah.

And with that, Joel is turning on his heels, pulling you with him toward the elevators. You don’t dare look back at her, but you can feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of your head. 

Her footfall fades into the mailroom and you breathe a minuscule sigh of relief. At least she’s out of your sight.

“Please just move in with me,” Joel begs when you’re finally behind closed metal doors, the inspection plaque situated above the buttons suddenly extremely interesting as you try to focus on not thinking about setting this woman’s apartment on fire.

You’ve talked about living together a few times. It’s just — you’ve never considered it so seriously until right now. 

“I can’t let them win,” you mutter, agitated. 

You hate how they’ve made you feel, like you’re some helpless animal tucked in the corner, hiding from them. Just waiting for the next ambush. 

With the passing of each floor, your anger simmers, bubbles into a silent rage in your stomach, one which threatens to boil over at the next underestimation of Joel’s devotion to you. You need to make it known, once and for all, that he’s yours. 

Words from your grandmother play on a loop in your head, ones she repeated to you often when you were a child: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. 

And then you have a thought — a devious thought — maybe you don’t have to say anything to get your point across. Not to them, anyway.

Your mouth is on Joel the second you’re back inside the four walls of your own apartment, slotting against his pulse point and sucking a desperate bruise there.

He’s not expecting it — why would he be? You’ve just been seething the entire elevator ride up to your floor, the entire walk down the long, winding hallway to your unit. He’d practically been able to see the steam billowing from your ears. 

So the switch-up is more than a bit dizzying, to say the least.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he pants, his large hands draping over your shoulders. “What are you-”

“Joel.” Your voice is stern; it demands his attention. “Do you trust me?” 

Your hand trails down his body languidly, in a straight line to the waistband of his jeans. And fuck, of course he trusts you — more than anyone. But this is wrong, fucked up, for you to make him feel good when you’ve been made to feel so small these past few minutes. 

Still, his cock doesn’t get the memo, twitching in his jeans as you place another open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, your fingers beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle. 

You give him no choice with the way you’re touching him, the way you’re looking at him when you pull back, all pleading eyes and parted mouth, but to resign all protest. He’ll give you the world, and if right now you want to use his body to blow off some steam, who is he to complain about it?

“Yeah baby, of course,” he breathes. “What do you need?”

You smirk at him audaciously, tongue smoothing over your teeth. “Need you to be loud,” you purr. Your voice is so innocent in juxtaposition to the words you spew. It sends a chill down the column of his spine. “Let them know who makes you feel good.” 

He nearly cums in his pants untouched, grasps at the fabric of your shirt with clumsy hands and nods. “Fuck, okay.”

His belt falls to the floor with a clang.

He lets you take control, then. Lets you mark him with your tongue and your teeth, lets you back him to the door with deft fingers working his shirt buttons open before sinking to your knees in front of him, freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers.

It’s already weeping for you when you pull it out, precum beading at the tip. He’s so big, growing heavier in your hand with each passing second, and you lose yourself for a moment, hypnotized by him.

“Always so eager to please me, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Joel’s voice pulls you back to earth, soft and adoring.

“Louder,” you remind him. Plant a kiss right over top of his leaking slit.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. One of his hands flies to the crown of your head, anchoring himself with fingers in your hair. “Dirty fucking girl.” 

His voice fills the entranceway, confident and filthy. 

“Mmm,” you hum approvingly.

“Yeah? You want me to tell ‘em? Tell ‘em you’re making my cock drool for you? That nobody — shit-” You enclose your lips around his tip, suckling on it as your fingers wrap around the base of his length and you begin to stroke him lazily. “-that nobody has ever made me feel this good?” 

Footsteps echo down the hallway and the sound makes you reflexively pause, your hand stiling on Joel’s cock. It’s followed by the jingling of metal, the click of a key in a lock, the opening and closing of a door — all close enough that you can pinpoint the source, can tell where exactly it’s coming from. 

Sheila is home. 

Perfect.

It’s probably worrying how excited it makes you, the prospect of her hearing, of her sitting alone in her apartment, at her empty dining table, and listening to Joel fall apart at your hands. Maybe they’ve driven you to and over the edge of sanity with their words, her most of all. Regardless, you can’t help the way it makes your cunt flutter around nothing. 

You lick a slow stripe up the underside of Joel’s cock, starting just above his balls and dragging the flat of your tongue up, up, up to his tip. His breath shudders, his grip on your hair tightening, and the subtle sting at the center of your scalp gives you another idea. 

“Do you wanna fuck my face, Joel?” 

“Do I wanna — fuck — you’re gonna kill me, angel.” 

“Go ahead,” you encourage, unhinging your jaw as wide as it can go, letting your tongue droop over your bottom lip. 

Saliva pools in your waiting mouth and Joel groans at the sight of you, so malleable for him, begging to be used. 

“You sure?” 

It’s not that he doesn’t think you can handle it. He knows you can. You’ve taken him down your throat more times than he can count. Always so fucking eager to please him, you are — just one of the many reasons he feels so goddamn lucky, so infuriated that anyone would think otherwise. 

But still, he can’t help but worry that he’ll hurt you. 

You nod, eyes locked on him, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want this. He nods back, beginning to feed his cock into your mouth, easing it in slowly and halting when his head hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

You don’t pull away, don’t show any indication of displeasure. In fact, you dig your fingers into the meat of his thighs, bearing down on him as you push forward. Mascara tears stain your cheeks as you choke on him, laser-focused on relaxing your throat so that you can accommodate more of his length. 

Joel pulls back, retreating entirely before pushing in again. He slowly increases his pace, your eyes hooded, so doelike and innocent, as his cockhead bruises your larynx. 

The sounds he’s pulling from your mouth are absurdly lewd: muffled gags and frantic inhales of breath. And then there’s him, moaning wildly, not sure if he’d be able to shut up even if he needed to be quiet. Your mouth is good, too fucking good and he’s going to — fuck, he’s going to cum if you don’t stop. 

He pulls out abruptly, a string of drool and precum tethering the tip of his cock to your swollen bottom lip. You’re panting, coughing, still bracing yourself against his legs when you fucking smile up at him. 

“Christ,” he says. “Fuckin’ angel, you are. Mouth feels like goddamn heaven.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I need to cum in that perfect little cunt,” he breathes, pulling a strangled moan from the back of your rawed throat. 

He helps you up, spins you around to face the door. You brace both hands on the wood, humming as he pulls your pants down to your knees. His breath is on the back of your neck, trailing up to the shell of your ear with one whisper just for you, because he can’t help it. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?” 

You shiver, responding with a tilt of your head, inviting him in with a needy little mewl. He cradles your face in one of his large hands, the other rubbing over the curve of your ass as he kisses you passionately, tasting himself on your tongue.

The hand on your ass trails lower as he deepens the kiss, two fingers pressing against your clothed seam. You’ve all but soaked through the fabric, wet cotton molding to his knuckles as he caresses them along your pussy before pulling your panties down in one swift motion.

You whine into the kiss, desperate and dripping for him. “Please,” you breathe against his lips. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”

“Know you will,” he coos, mouth parting from yours as he straightens out and lines himself up with your entrance. You arch your back, rocking onto the balls of your feet as he teases you with the tip.

His cock is so thick when it finally notches into you. It’s always so devastatingly thick, no matter how wet you are for him. The stretch stings, a jolt of warm pain coursing through your walls as he stills halfway in. 

“You okay?” he asks, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other on your hip, fingers gripping to you only tight enough to hold you in place.

“Yes, fuck — yes,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me, Joel.”

“I’m goin’ to baby, don’t worry,” 'he promises, pushing in another splitting inch. “Pussy’s so goddamn tight, ‘ts suckin’ me right in.”

It feels like hours pass with Joel’s cock motionless inside your aching cunt, his warm breath fanning across your back as he focuses on not cumming. You’re whimpering, begging under the weight of his body, to please just fucking move.

When he finally obliges you, pulling all the way out and then bottoming out in one deep thrust, it nearly punches the air out of your chest. You scrabble for purchase on the door, fingernails scraping against chipped paint. “F-uucckk,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head as he sets a dizzying pace.

The sound of his balls slapping against the back of your thighs is enough to attract attention on its own, the loud smacksmacksmack going straight to your cunt. Joel growls behind you, driving into you even harder, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot. 

“Oh, shit,” you cry. Your pussy inadvertently squeezes him and he curses at your back, low and deep. 

“Not going to last if you keep doin’ that,” he warns. “Cunt is too fuckin’ good. Best I’ve ever — uuuhh — had.”

He’s not just saying it for show. It’s true. You know it is, too. He’s told you before, both under the influence of your pussy and not. Waited too many goddamn years to feel like this, he’d said once.

“It’s — fuck, it’s fine Joel,” you mutter. “I’m close too, just keep going, right there.”

A door across the hall creaks open. A pair of footsteps patter across tile. 

Do you hear that?  Yeah; what is that noise?

Joel laughs darkly behind you, snaps his hips up, forcing a guttural moan out of you. 

“Think they caught us, darlin’,” he says. “Caught you takin’ my cock like you’re fuckin’ made to.”

Oh my word!

Joel is unrelenting, pounding into you despite the voices right outside your apartment, and you fear for a moment that you’ve created a monster. One of his hands leaves its place on your waist, cracks down on the center of your asscheek with a slap, the flesh recoiling under his palm and you gasp. 

The feeling travels between your legs, straight to your neglected clit. It pulsates under the hood with every pass of Joel’s cock over your g-spot, and you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge dangerously fast. 

If these people don’t leave, they’re going to hear you cum. Do you want them to hear you cum? Yeah, you think, clit jumping again at the thought, I think I fucking do.

“Joel, fuck-”

“You gonna cum?” he goads. “Yeah, can feel you squeezin’ me — you’re gonna cum, aren’t ya?”

This is vulgar!  We should file a noise complaint. C’mon.

His hand snakes around your front then, finds your throbbing bud, and with a few passes of his calloused fingertips, you’re gone, vision whiting out and all noise around you muted. 

Joel keeps you upright between him and the door, his grip on you tightening as your muscles slacken. He follows closely behind, cumming inside you with a carnal noise from the back of his throat, rope after rope of his spend filling your cunt. 

He pulls out with a grunt, immediately collapsing on the floor. Without his support, you topple over too, falling onto his lap with a satiated giggle. 

A banging comes from the other side of the wall then, shaking your kitchen cabinets a few feet away, the clanging of glassware jolting you.

Keep it down next time! I don’t need to hear that!

And then you’re laughing like teenagers, Joel pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, all tongues and teeth. 

“Think they’re really gonna make a noise complaint?” Joel asks when you finally come up for air. 

“I dunno,” you smile. “Does your offer still stand — for me to move in with you?” 

“Always,” he vows, forehead resting against yours.

end notes: ty for reading! pls consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed <3

[butchcarmy]

Idk if you've written this but can you write about carmy and the reader arguing and he makes her cry? Idk I just feel like thatd be good angst fluff lol

AHH I got carried away as per usual. anyway this is good stuff. wrote a bunch. enjoy!!

word count: 1.3k

tags: traumatized carmy, mentally ill carmy and reader, arguing, language, HURT/COMFORT, ANGST/FLUFF, carmy being a sweetie

Hm…i'm spending a lot of time thinking about the set-up for this. Carmy is a very careful person when it comes to those he’s romantically involved in, but at the same time, he has a hard time controlling his temper when he's in the darkness, as i'll put it. 

here's something awful i think about that i wanna write about. carmy's stressed about work, because of course he is. he's carmy. his head is whirring, spinning with anxiety and self-hatred. i think you're just like him. mentally ill for mentally ill if you will. you're also in a bad mood, and he comes home from The Bear exhausted and keyed up.

“I hate when you push me away like this,” you admit. You've been trying to get him to talk to you since he's been home. Maybe he just needs space, but separation makes you anxious. Especially when he shuts down. 

“I'm sorry that it's so hard for you,” he spits, finally snapping and turning to face you. You've followed him into the dark bedroom, lit only by the harsh moonlight through the window. You flinch. You never quite get used to seeing him like this. 

“I—I just—“ you feel pressure beginning in the back of your eyes. You will it away. “How can I help you if you don’t talk to me?”

“Why do you care so much? Does it make you feel better to take care of someone more fucked up than you?” He snaps, voice raised. His words go down bitter, leaving an awful taste in your mouth. Something in you shatters.

“How could you ask me that?” Your vision’s gone hot and blurry. “I’m your partner. I love you, that’s why I care, you asshole!” You’re stifling sobs. You hate crying in fights like this, but it hurts. You can’t help it.

“Fuck,” Carmy mutters under his breath. He’s gone still in your blurred vision. “Baby, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that—“

“That was so fucked up, Carmy.” You move to sit on the bed, trying to wipe your tears away, but they keep coming. “What’s your problem?”

“You know what my problem is.” His remorse has swept away the anger, leaving him quiet before you. He leans down at your knees, hands on your thighs. “I shouldn’t have said that. Any of that.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Carmy nods quickly, and he raises a hand to your wet cheeks. “Fuckin’ asshole.”

“I know.” He takes your pain, your anger in its entirety. His other hand brings your knuckles to his lips. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.“

“Sure sounded like you meant it.” Anger flares up in your chest, hurt and betrayed, but you tamp it down, leaning into his hand cradling his face. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. “Damnit, Carmy.”

“I know. I know.” He’s still kissing your hand. “You’re too good for me. I don’t deserve you.” You hate it when he talks like this, because you can tell he really believes it.

“Don’t say that. Please.” 

“But it’s true.” You look down at him in the moonlight, at his sad blue eyes. “I always find ways to hurt you. I…”

“That’s what being in a relationship is, Carm.” You pat the space next to you. “Sit with me?”

“I keep having to remind myself of that.” He sinks into the bed next to you. “I’m so sorry for talking about you like that. Like you’re only doing this out of…I don’t know. Obligation.” He drags a hand across his tired face. “You don’t deserve that. I’m sorry. I just, I just think that—that I’m—fuck—“

“Slow down, Carm,” you say quietly. “It’s okay. You don’t need to force it. I’m listening.” He smiles bitterly at you, and you recognize the love in it easily. He takes in a deep breath before continuing. 

“I still have a hard time believing that anyone cares about me. I can’t even believe that you—love me.” You can practically see the shame rolling off of him in waves. “And it makes me scared.”

“Love is scary, isn’t it?” You say softly. He just nods. “It scares me, too. That’s why I kept pestering you when you got home. I…” You blink quickly. You don’t wanna cry again. “It scares me when I don’t know what you’re thinking. Because…I dunno. It just does.”

“Yeah?” You nod. He has this thoughtful expression that he holds for a moment as he stews on your words. “I didn’t think about it like that. I’m sorry. I think…I think when you kept asking me if I was okay, it…” he sighs, scratches at his temples. “I felt like I was…getting back into a corner. I think.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” You take his hand in yours. “I can see how that must’ve felt really bad.”

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault that I’m like this. I think—I think it just reminded me of my mom. We would always ask her if she was okay, because she’s fucking crazy, yknow? We didn’t wanna step on her toes. But it turns out we did anyway. And the way I acted just now, I was just like…” He can’t even get the words out. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, voice choked with emotion. “I love you. So much. You know that, right?”

“You tell me everyday. How could I not?” You pull him into a hug, tight and warm, and he instantly wraps his arms around you. “You’re not your mom, Carm. You're nothing like her. Okay?” 

“I don’t wanna be like her,” he whispers. “I don’t wanna be like her.”

“You’re not,” you remind him softly. “And you won’t be.”

Carmy leans back to look at you, but he remains close. His expression is knotted with pain. You run your thumb over his furrowed brow, and it makes his mouth curve upwards in a smile. It’s fleeting, but it was there. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I’ll try to open up more. Let you know what I’m thinking.”

Suddenly, you think about when you first started dating Carmy. He was so scared to open up to you emotionally, but with gentle prodding, he fell apart instantly. There was a hunger in him to be known by others, to be seen by you, and it scared him to death. You see that same fear in him now, but you also see how much he’s grown since then. You doubt you would’ve been able to have this conversation at all in the first couple months. 

That makes you happy in a way you’re not quite able to word properly.

“Thank you. But I hope you also know I don’t want to force you. I just wanna help. And…” You measure your words carefully. “I’ll try not to let it freak me out so much. Because if you’re not in the mood to talk, I want you to know that’s okay. Okay?”

“Okay. I’d like that. If I don’t want to talk, I’ll just tell you. Instead of…blowing a fuse.” He laughs dryly. 

“I’d like that too.” You let out an exhale of relief you didn’t realize you were holding. “Wow, Carm. Look at us. Communicating!”

“I know.” That makes him laugh for real this time, and you’re laughing too. “I couldn’t do it without you.”

“I think you could. But I certainly like doing it with you.” His smiles grows wider at that, brimming with affection. 

“Let me make this up to you, baby.” He pulls you in for a kiss, slow and deep. You let out a little noise when his lips meet yours. 

“Make it up to me?” Carmy’s tongue is on your neck now. Oh. “Aren’t you tired? You—you have work tomorrow—?”

“Don’t care.” You fall back onto the bed, and the blankets deflate under you. You stare up at Carmy, his curls hanging by his face. “You’re more important.”

“Well, if you insist…” You giggle, and your giggles get louder when Carmy pulls up your shirt to blow raspberries against your stomach. “Carmy, quit it—oh—!”

He makes it up to you in full and more by keeping his head between your legs for the rest of the night. By the end of it you can't remember what you were mad about in the first place.

[theogmiemiew]

Tomura showing a rare vulnerability after comforting, or at least trying to comfort you about your insecurities <3

He was passing by your room to get some water when he heard sobbing, walking in and finding you laying in your bed, covered by your blanket up to your head. "You crying?" He rasped, seemingly unbothered by it, just curious.

You snap your head up, eyes widening slightly at seeing Shigaraki stand in front or your bed, nonchalantly staring you down. "No.. I'm not, I'm okay" you stated, wiping away your tears and knowing he wouldn't care about your reasons anyway. He never did, not when you were displaying any kind of emotions that were irritating for him, to say the least.

"I'm not blind. Neither dumb." He mutters, kneeling down to get a better look at your teary, puffy eyes. "Why are you crying?"

You blinked at him in confusion, the fact that he insisted on details unusual to his coldness. With a sigh, you decide to give in and justify your tears "I was... feeling insecure.." you mumbled, eyes looking away from his.

"Of what? Go on, finish your thought" he urged you on, gaze intensely focused on you, crimson eyes making you feel intimidated.

"Of my looks.. I'm not pretty enough, never am." You felt tears gathering up in your eyes once again as the words slipped past your lips, feeling utterly unworthy of anyone's attention or love. "I don't have a model face... my body's ugly, nothing is special about my looks-"

"Dumbass..." Shigaraki scoffed, standing up only to sit right beside you on the bed, pulling you up by your wrist forcefully and wrapping his arms around you, making you melt at his touch and gasp in surprise.

"I'm not good at this stuff, you know it perfectly. Yet you still make me have to comfort you because you're too naive to see past banalities..." His voice rumbled through his chest, fingers tracing through your hair unexpectedly softly. "You're pretty, I think you're pretty."

"So... don't cry, please" he adds, quiet plea warming your heart up, hands clinging to his body with eagerness while you nuzzled your face in his strong chest, feeling it raise up and fall down with each of his breaths "you know I mean it when I say something like this"

"...m'kay.. I won't" you sighed softly as you calmed down, wiping away any remaining tears as you stared into his eyes adoringly. "How come someone who wishes to destroy the world is able of being so gentle and wholesome..?"

"You bring out a softer side of me..." He leans in, pressing his lip against your forehead as he whispers into your ear "You make me vulnerable... and I'm not used to that..."

"Are you scared of that?.." you asked softly, looking up at him as your fingers trace patters on the back of his waist.

"...a little" he replies after a silent moment "I hate how vulnerable you make me feel... you have a way of making me forget myself... forget my mission. forget my hatred... forget the world..."

"And sometimes it terrifies me" his confession thickened the air, Shigaraki becoming visually awkward and tense despite admitting some of his most sensitive fears himself.

You lean in to kiss his cheek, brushing a strand of hair out of his face and simply holding his gaze with care, heart longing to make him feel loved "you know I love you, Tenko"

His arms tighten up around your waist at your words and he buries his face in the crook of your neck "Don't say that.. I don't do the whole 'love thing', you're aware of that"

And yet his words sounded way too bare, way too raw with the emotion pooling admist his denial of your feelings. "I don't want to feel that disgust with myself, don't want to end up hurting you with how harsh I can be."

You smile warmly at his words "I won't leave, if that's what you're talking about... I'll never leave, no matter how you treat me, I'll always stay here, because I love you, and I can't bring myself to leave your side." you whispered, carding fingers through his hair and gently caressing his scalp.

"And that's exactly why I'm afraid to love you..." he tightens his fingers around your waist "because if I end up losing you, my life will crumble to nothing but destruction, becoming dull again."

"Who knew you'd be such a gentle, sweet boy underneath that cruel facade you're always with on..." you mumbled, smiling against his shoulder, placing soft kisses on his dry skin "does it hurt when I touch you there, baby?" You muttered, careful with the itchy and dry skin of his neck.

He squirms slightly as you kiss his neck, his head rolling around slightly as he presses his forehead against your shoulder. "The fact that you think I actually have a kind side is laughable," his voice is thick with emotion.

His hand travels slightly down your waist and up, coming close to your hip. "As for your question, yes... yes it hurts, but it hurts so good,"' he whispers, his voice soft and tender.

"Sorry... didn't wanna make it hurt, handsome.." you said softly, lips moving to his jawline instead, tongue slowly dragging alongside on it, moaning against his skin as your kisses got hungrier, needier. "And you think you dont..? Have a kind side?" You mumbled, not minding the thought, only finding it hotter.

His body shivers at your kisses, eyes rolling back and lips parting slightly "God... I hate how much you crave my touch, I hate how much you want me and I hate the way your love makes me so soft." He grunts, voice getting raspy "Damn you for bringing this out of me"

"Can't help it" you say between sucking and lapping at his skin "I love you too much" your kisses trail down further to his throat, to his shoulders, to his chest and make his skin tingle with goosebumps.

Shigaraki groans, sighing heavily "gods damn you... gods damn you, you make me weak" a soft moan escapes him in the heat of the moment, and you cradle closer to him, indulging in the rare opportunity of seeing him like this, savoring each taste of it.

[kakashixhatakesxwhore]

A Dream From Another Universe

Pairing: Itachi x f!Reader

Summary: Itachi from the canon universe has a dream, about how things could've been if other things were different.

W/c: 1.9k

Warnings: Swearing? Lil touch of angst? Nm.

A/n: given kakashi and itachi tied and won that lil vote i did, here's this! anyway, lmk how y'all feel, it's supposed to be bittersweet.

Masterlist💿

And, suddenly, it was the early evening.

Dark oak furniture was scattered around the living room, accompanied by a mix-matched variety of sitting pieces. A purple, crushed velvet arm chair sat on one side, while a pink-green-and-white recliner resided on the other. They framed a plaid couch that faced a roaring fire. From somewhere in the room, probably from one of the overflowing bookshelves, a sickly soft piano melody drifted through the air; such a vivid sound, Itachi could nearly see the soundwaves as they came.

He didn't question the homely scene; simply, he enjoyed the warmth, and thanked every star he knew the name of.

Nightmares tortured Itachi, too horrifying and heart-wrenching for the true level of the feelings to ever be conveyed by any verbiage. They carried on to his waking hours - though his world had become a blur, the memories came back clear as day. Itachi deserved it, every terrible feeling, and he knew it well.

But, this was not a nightmare.

And Itachi hoped to imprint this scene into his mind - even if it was only a hazy dream, and he had never seen that furniture nor heard that music before in his life.

However, he wasn't entirely sure he deserved... this.

Especially when your fuzzy figure materialized in the middle of the plaid couch, your head tucked down. Glistening in the firelight's reflection, your hair curtained your face, a little longer than Itachi remembered it to have been.

His heart stuttered within his chest, clenching with the force of a thousand lonely nights.

Just as he began to begrudge you for hiding your face from him, your head turned so casually, but with such a remarkable grace that this was surely you.

"Come 'ere, Itachi," you purred, your voice just as melodic as he remembered.

Hearing his name from your lips brought him to life within the dream.

Without speaking, he swept over to you, making long strides across the foreign living room. As he moved, he drank in every feature of yours, the features that made his heart pound, those that he hadn't seen in years, but could never, ever, forget.

Stars above, you were beautiful.

So, very beautiful.

He sat on the couch, taking the cushion to your right, still silent, while a deep frown carved onto his face. You let Itachi stare at you, doing so with such a gentle smile.

As he looked into your eyes, he noticed every star he had longed to see, within them, twinkling with adoration.

Itachi's heart ached within it's prison. How badly he missed making you smile, how awfully he yearned to watch the glimmer in your eye. The slopes of your cheeks were so perfectly defined by the firelight, while it also smoothed your skin to a marble texture. You resembled a statue, a carving; something that an artist poured hundreds of hours into to render entirely perfect.

"What's the matter, sweet boy?" You chuckled after an unknown amount of time had passed.

That... cripes, Itachi felt like he could cry. He would do anything just to hear that little pet name on his conscious ear.

What a fool, Itachi was. He claimed to hate that name, way back when; but, now, he was dreaming about those words. A strange brand of self-hatred came over him, tinged with guilt. Why could he not have made more time for you? Why-

"I-ta-chi," you enunciated in a sing-song voice, bringing Itachi's eyes to your lips. "Talk to me - you seem totally spaced."

"I'm okay," he whispered. "Don't worry about me."

You shook your head and reached over your lap, grabbing the bookmark that rested on the coffee table. As you slotted it between your pages, you chuckled, "I always worry about you, my sweet, sweet boy."

Were you dreaming about him? Was that why he was having this dream?

No, Itachi thought. That sounded too hopeful. 

Besides, this could still turn into a nightmare, the other shoe could still drop.

"Are you... is it happening again?" You asked with a certain compassion in your cadence that made Itachi's shoulders relax.

He shook his head, "Is what happening again?"

With a slight huff, you heaved the book onto the coffee table, then turned yourself to face Itachi fully, crossing your legs on the couch.

"Which nocturne is playing, right now?"

The question caught him off guard.

Hesitantly, he shrugged, "The... third... nocturne?"

You sighed, and he knew he answered wrong, "What about yesterday? Do you remember what we did?"

"No," he answered honestly, but so very intrigued. "What did we do yesterday?"

"Well," you started with a smile. "You won three tickets for a baseball game, so you, Shisui, and Sasuke went to the ballpark, yesterday." As you drew breath, Itachi's lips quirked. "You hell-raisers came back here, post-game, and I made dinner. A nice okonomiyaki for everyone."

"Oh, yeah?" Itachi murmured, no edge in his voice at all, just sheer tantalization.

You grinned, capturing his eyes with yours, full of stars, "Yeah."

"Then, what happened?" Itachi asked, though he didn't even recognize the gentleness in his tone.

"Then, we played a few rounds of dice," you laughed lightly, shaking your head as if you couldn't believe Itachi was having you revise the night. "I stole the pot twice, and Shisui declared that I was cheating. I wasn't, of course, but I dropped out and came over here, anyway, until the boys left. After that-" You shrugged, "-we shared a nightcap, before we got nice and cuddled-up for the night."

Fuck, this really was a dream.

Itachi was left to merely wonder how his mind could possibly conjure up something so...

"That sounds..." He searched for the word, but the one he wished for didn't exist. Shaking his head with a small smile, Itachi sighed, "Perfect."

"I bet," you mumbled, looking over his face carefully, your gaze as light as a feather. "I think my Itachi and I have the best lives of any of us, and that's why this always happens to him. Do you speak to your me?"

What?

"I beg your pardon?" Itachi said, voice confused and almost child-like as his brain fizzed.

You just smiled, and simply told him, "It's like a gift, to you, I suppose... Sometimes, when my Itachi gets too tired, too stressed, too whatever, one of you comes to me. You, like, switch places."

Okay, now his brain was really starting to lose the plot of the dream. It was going so well-

"I'll have you, for a little while," you went on. "And you'll have me, for a little while. It's like the stars are giving you a taste of the good life - one of you called it a reprieve, I think."

"I'm sorry," Itachi huffed, a short laugh in his breath. He shook his head, "I really don't understand."

"That's quite alright, sweetheart, you don't need to. All you need to know is that I love you, and your me loves you - and an infinite number of other versions of us love each other, too."

Perhaps untrue, hopefully not - Itachi was just happy to hear you speak, and to hear such foreign words of adoration.

You grinned peacefully, "So, what do you think?"

"Think about what?" He asked.

Motioning around the living room, you laughed, "What do you think of our place? What do you think of me? How does all of this compare to you and your Y/n?"

"I think you have a lovely home," Itachi started slowly, looking around the room. "And I think... you are lovely." His eyes returned to yours and Itachi couldn't help but smile as he said, "But I can't bring myself to compare our situations."

"Probably for the best," you sighed contentedly. Then, looking at Itachi with a cocked brow, you asked, "What do you want to do, Itachi?"

A hundred- no, a thousand things flitted through his mind.

What did he want to do? With you, anything.

"I- I don't..." Fool, this is a golden opportunity. "I just... I want to hear you speak, that's all."

"What do you want me to speak about?"

"Tell me about us, about our lives, together."

"Well, tomorrow, we're..."

It was spectacular.

Itachi was amazed.

He doubted the overall verity of the situation, as one should - but, there was no doubt in his mind that this was the most splendid gift he had ever received. If there were other universes, with other Itachi's and other Y/n's, he was glad that at least some of them seemed to be living the way he wished. Not everything in every universe could be a bowl of peaches and cream, but it was a real motherfucker that this Itachi had to go through the muck and back, and to still be one of the ones who lost you along the way.

For what felt like both six hours, and six minutes, you verbally illustrated the grand adventures the two of you had gone on, and about the adventures you had planned.

It truly was everything he had dreamed about, and a strange jealousy had crept it's way up Itachi's neck.

"And, guess what," you prompted, legs stretched out over Itachi's lap as you spoke on and on.

"What?" He acquiesced, his fingers lightly drawing obscure shapes on the thin skin of your shin, letting his eyes trace every line in your smile.

With an extension of your left hand, Itachi ripped his eyes away from your face to see a rather large, diamond ring on your fourth finger. It glimmered and shone, seemingly polished to the exact standard of blinding reflection. Upon your hand, the ring almost seemed heavy, and numbers started flying through Itachi's mind as he assessed the piece of jewelry, pondering the monetary and karat worth of the rock alone.

"We're getting married in the Autumn," you told him as he gently took your hand in his to get an even closer look at the ring. "You proposed here, at home - then, we went on a proposal tour."

Allowing himself to laugh lightly, Itachi repeated, "Proposal tour?"

"Yeah," you beamed. "We went around to our favourite places and you proposed to me again and again. We got a bunch of free desserts out of it, and a lots of our favourite shopkeepers are regularly giving us discounts, now."

"Who thought that up?" He asked, letting the lopsided smile rest on his face.

Taking your hand back, you motioned to yourself from head to toe and claimed, "Yours truly."

Itachi laughed again, though the vibrations almost felt as foreign as this living room. You smiled, eyes dancing around his face like he was the one who possessed a priceless beauty. The two of you stayed like that for a little while, yet - merely staring at each other, with gentle grins plastered on both of your faces.

Until...

"You have to wake up, now, Itachi," you hummed, sitting up properly as you looked at him with such a gorgeous, bittersweet smile. He never wanted to forget your smile, nor the way your lips wrapped around his name so softly, again, "Itachi."

"Why?" He asked, forlorn.

Meekly, you giggled and told him, "I miss my Itachi."

"I don't want to leave you," he said, almost petulant, but with a candied voice, thick with a heavy array of emotion. "I don't... I don't even see my Y/n, I just... I miss her."

You chuckled warmly, "I wish you had more time with her, sweet boy."

"Me too," he murmured in defeat. "I love you."

"I'm sure I love you, too."

Before he could offer any further farewell, his vision went white, then suddenly black.

He could smell a wet metallic tinge in the air, and he sighed quietly as he laid in the cave, not wanting to open his eyes, for fear of losing the image of you that was seared into the insides of his eyelids.

Itachi missed you terribly.

[rizsu]

to you, my woman al haitham + kaveh.

sum. royalty au, not with genshin lore, and a COMPLETE brainfart omg i just needed to get this out

i. first impressions always count | 3.4k words

the lies and the truths: two terms that bind together to make balance. the reflection of the water in the basin mimics you. the wavering ripples and droplets that yelp each time your hand moves in it. a cold morning is what it is. eyebags that couldn't have been more protruding, a frown that holds every unspoken emotion, eyes that rid themselves of numbness — a sickening morning. you're alone, thankfully. amidst the sun's warming beams holds a dull you.

the day you've loathed has come. at the last supper, where a few envoys from the land of the righteous, sumeru, had arrived on the queen's note to deliver her qwords. it was but a slight favour on your side; hidden in her handwritten letter, she offered a deal: marry your daughter to my son. such can benefit both, if you permit. the answer lay in your palms ��� choose wisely, king.

her offer — or rather, her threat—held her attitude throughout. compared to your father, she's someone to worship. like a fool to a tyrant, your father had no choice. each day by the hour, does your blood seethe with hatred. annoyance for your family, hatred for your greed-ridden father, revulsion for everything that dawns in this damned kingdom. 

from the second you were born, they've placed their wants on you. praising you, forcing you, making you their pure goddess. within enevis's dome was the saying "she who borns shall become she who reigns." it's derived directly from the gods that once served these grounds day and night. sitting boldly at the temple's front, the transcript reads words that were shed from the mighty himself to the new goddess. ever since that moment, to her people who live, each time a woman has been blessed into the royalty, she shall be called 'the goddess' descent.' 

just pure tomfoolery. what is a deity to a man? a nobel to a peasant? a dream to a non-believer? you've been dragged on as a saintess all your life. controlled like a puppet by its master. a sing-song tale of marionette to her box; she's stuck in a neverending loop, unable to grasp free no matter the attempts. almost like you, who once tried marriage to set yourself free. at the very least, you loved him.

he wasn't anyone special — an average man, is what he was. compared to your status as enevis's sole princess, he was a pedestrian, at least. a farmer on the outskirts of town, producing homegrown crops for the capital's people (not that he earned much anyway). the first time you laid your eyes on him was when you snuck out through the window. it was idiotic, truly, but alas, it gave you a sense of peace. you had to pay off the guards that stood at their posts. one could only pray that your gold was enough for them.

nights of sneaking out turned into marriage. a marriage that wasn't approved of, no matter the pleas. nevertheless, you were a grown woman. you made your choice, even if it angered your mother.

parallel to euphoria, a six-month run was well lived. you couldn't quite clear your status as a princess, but you could've lived with him. a husband and his wife, both living quietly at their home. it wasn't the extravagance you were shaped into, but it felt comfortable. such dreams can only last a minute, unfortunately.

had you known. had you only known that your father wasn't going to let you wander off through his grip. He was enraged at your marriage. "was your vacation enough?" he asked, using your husband's chest as his sword's stand. your father looked at the victim in disgust; he never expected your vision to be so low. so vile, so impure. a shame is what you've become. running around with this peasant while holding the royal name was something the king wouldn't tolerate.

he lacked care for you — hell be damned, he never cared for you. the words write a she but a he is what your father craved. a son, a copy of himself. listening to his wife's words, he believed the sour dream of you becoming him. but alas, you showed him that a vulnerable woman will never be fit for the throne. your father did not a care for you. he didn't bother to retrieve his sword, nor did he bother to comfort you. if you wish to grieve and weep for some random, then so be it. as long as you were back by the moon's descent, he didn't care for your horrors.

quite pitiful, really. it's been hardly a week since that occurred. you weren't given time to grieve — after all, royalty never crumbles. your so-called wedding with al-haitham is due the following week. preparations will take a week. from enevis to sumeru takes roughly two days, granted that the sea is gracious. lost in your train of thought, you mindlessly sink your gaze into the mirror, hoping that soon you'll regain everything.

"my lady, have you completed your morning?" three knocks on the door awaken you. behind the porcelain door stood your lady-in-waiting, adila. aside from your nanny, she was your closest person in the entire palace. 

"just a moment, adila," answering her, you scatter across the room to wear your robe. truth be revealed, you didn't do anything but splash some water around.

you walk towards the door, paying close attention not to just give up and run back to your bed. oh, how tempting giving up sounds! turning the knob, you open the door until it reaches your shoulder, preferring to just peek your head out. such actions were totally not done to observe if any of the other maids were nearby. confirming adila's sole presence, you wrap a hand around hers, pulling her into your room before locking the door.

"must i really go to the dining room? seeing their old heads will fill me with nothing but rage!" you immediately begin your complaints. although it is true that you were in slumber, you cannot deny that you overhead the maids talking about new guests that came to dine.

adila softly laughs. to her, she enjoys moments where you spew words of anger day to night. it's not often you get to speak with such freedom — even your maids are ears for your father. your every movement will be recorded. he cannot afford another shameful action from you.

"it must be done, my lady. what can we do against his majesty's order?" maneuvering across your chamber, she attends to your bed, working her hands to smoothen the silk sheets.

"to hell with him!" 

───

throughout the silent hall, your heels clacked with each step, producing some sort of sound in the deafening silence. at both sides stood two maids — you don't know them. you've avoided learning of any maid the second you learned of spies planted in your palace. sickening and vile. you lack even a sense of comfort in your own wing. the stifling feeling never left; it's as if there's a constant hand pushing down your throat, preventing any particle of air from entering.

slowing your steps, you stop at your palace's entrance. they don't need to follow me. you turn your head to the maid on the right. raising your hand, you notify them both, "you need not follow me any longer. carry on somewhere else." 

"but princess —"

"you need not."

"we understand," bowing slightly, they made their exit. you don't care enough to look where they're going — to hell with him and to hell with them.

mindlessly strolling through your garden, you allow your hand to glide through the rose bushes, not caring about the thorns that pierce your skin. if you were deemed impure then who would give care? 

the walk from your palace to the main palace took roughly ten minutes. you can only wish that it lasted longer. entering the palace, a nauseous feeling grabs hold of you. you've only touched a centimeter in yet it's still disgusting. memories never leave — to be more exact, those memories never leave.  

"are you okay, princess?" a worker, who you couldn't be bothered to learn his position, questioned about your wellbeing. his eyes observed your physical appearance. you were standing upright, like a true royalty, however the evidence of negativity dawned. your unfocused eyes tell more than your words.

"do not worry about me, i am fine," giving him an answer, you focus your vision on him. is he a chef? you wonder. his suit varied from the other male staff: a simple marine blue suit, a lengthy coat that ran down to his mid-calves, white velvet gloves that stopped at his elbows, and a chef's cart standing in front of him. from the dishes standing in it, it seems as though he's going to the same destination you share.

"are these for the morning dine? with the envoys?" you inquire. if it's the truth, you'll enter with him.

"ah, yes, it's the appetizers as the main brunch has yet to finish," he gestures to the top dish before he continues, "would you like to join me to the room, princess?"

"that'll be appreciated," nodding, you both continue on to path that leads south. hopefully one angers the gods and they send two lightning strikes down as a lesson, if that'll ever happen.

arriving at the door, the guards announce your entrance as it opens from the inside. 

too bright, you think.  

small, hesitant steps were taken as you tried hard to focus on your practiced emotions. you did not suffer atrocious lessons to falter at the sight of a damned family. 

"good morning, all. may her rays shine gold," you greet everyone at the table. prefering to not say another sentence until it's over.

"have you slept well?" your mother asked, placing two extra breadsticks on your plate.

"i did. thank you for asking, mother," you replied, opting to not look at her or anyone.

resting his palms flat on the table, your father interrupts to begin the brunch, "let us begin the feast."

───

quite some time has passed, judging from the multi-colored clouds that decorates the sky's canvas. you're all in the main garden, discussing the final actions that'll take place in enevis. well, that excludes you. you fear that you've long blurred out their conversation — it's uninteresting and draining. 

another thirty minutes has passed and yet they've failed to finish their conversation. if you're not given freedom anytime soon, you're going to start malfunctioning.

"it's been decided then. y/n, you'll travel to sumeru today," your father speaks, signing off his signature on the scroll.

"pardon me? today?" you're taken by surprise. maybe you should've kept up with at least the schedule. looking around, you begin to worry about your luggage, "and about my belongings? i don't believe they're bagged already."

"they are."

"oh, alright then," sighing, you sit back into the chair. since when did they do that? you think. 

───

two days have gone since you've left enevis for sumeru. the sea was graceful, thankfully, but it didn't cease the sea sickness.

sumeru is a beautiful kingdom — you cannot deny. it's laced with greenery and architecture that symbolizes its history. unfortunately, leisure time is what you lack. preparations for the wedding will swallow every millisecond of your time. even in your slumber it'll haunt you. the carriage ride to the central city was quiet. you only took your lady-in-waiting to this trip as you do not need more eyes to lurk on you.

you don't remember much from the journey — in all honesty, you blanked out. heavens be cursed you don't even know how you got in this room. it appears to be his office. the ornaments and funiture deprive it from being named a relaxing room. his desk was the messiest of all; multiple layers of scrapped paper, crumbled balls of different colored paper, pens and pencils alike scattered across and last but not least, him. he isn't your soon-to-be husband, but he seems like someone important.

his aura is soft. aside from his shirt having the top three buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his forearm, his coat long abandoned to the side couch, hair tied in a messy bun — is that a straw? well, it looks like someone has been sleeping out in their office.

"please, forgive the mess. i've been slaving for the new building," he speaks up, hands moving with pace to make him and his desk presentable.

"do not worry. take your time, sir," reassuring him, you gift him a genuine smile. at the very least you can be at ease in sumeru.

a smile dawns his face as his shoulders relax. seems like he swore you would've been a rude individual. finishing his... routine... he reaches a hand out to you as he greets himself, "call me kaveh. i'm the marquess of sumeru, head of the architect ministry."

accepting his hand, you follow suit, "i am y/n l/n, first princess of enevis, second to the throne."

"forgive me if i offend but are you not supposed to be the first to the throne?" kaveh asks, his confusion is more than obvious.

"i would've, however, i do not care for the throne. the archduchess is in lead for it," you explain the throne-tree to him. your answer was only half the truth — while it's not a lie that you do not care, it's also the fact that you're too lazy to rule an entire kingdom (but no one needs this knowledge).

kaveh's mouth shapes into an 'O', he nods at your answer as he sits back down. offering you some cookies, he begins once again, "whenever you are ready we can head over to his highness."

"i understand," your curiosity about the prince was immediately quelled without having to say a word. bringing a cookie to your mouth, you hold a hand under your chin for any fallen crumbs.

"heavens, these are delightful!" complimenting the cookies, you hum at the sweet taste.

"they truly are! collei made them. she's a student at the ministry of agriculture and medicine but she's an amazing baker," kaveh rambles. he's quite happy that you truly aren't a "stuck up" princess.

after some time relaxing and listening to kaveh's rambles, you've decided that you'd go to see his highness. don't get it wrong — you adore kaveh and his voice is soothing but you also wish to see your husband.

on the path to al-haitham's wing of the palace, your sense of joy return as your conversations with kaveh never ends. he's a comfortable energy to be around. much different from the sour ecstacy that drowns your home. he's a talker and you're a listener — a combination crafted by the heavens, if you will.

the stroll hadn't past more than fifteen minutes — that itself isn't the accurate time... due to kaveh's excitement to plaster your attention on the details of each pillar. according to his sources, he spent eons delicately crafting every design, paying heed to incorporate historical transcripts and symbols. you both were content with your conversations but to your dismay, all things must come to an end. that and your soon-to-be husband awaits your arrival allegedly.

"we're here! i'll escort you up to his office. he should be there alone," he speaks, holding one hand out to guide you along the staircase.

his hands are soft.

accepting his offer, you gift another smile, "thank you, sir kaveh."

"just kaveh is fine, princess."

"then so be it. call me by my given name as well."

oh, kaveh thinks. to say he's captured by surprise would be a hellish understatement. times like these are where he wishes biology never worked the way it did. the soft pink overlay at the tip of his ears surely didn't go unnoticed.

deciding to refuse, kaveh stumbles on his sentence, "i — i cannot do that, princess."

an expected reaction. you must allow him this, it's only fair as he allowed you.

"please do, kaveh. it is only fair."

fuck, he swears that he isn't this easily flustered. a simple sentence — nothing about it should be this heart-racing. is it because you said it? maybe he needs to visit the nearest hospital.

covering the lower half of his face with the back of his free hand, kaveh continues to escort you to his highness' office. unfortunately for him, he'll have to leave right after. being a marquess and a minister is not an easy job.

───

tense, awkward, and boring. what an uninteresting individual is he. you will not deny, he's quite the eye-catcher, however, he lacks the personality. the minute you entered his office, he greeted you and went back to his paper work. you cannot say he's rude — you were technically disrupting him but is it hard to give you two minutes of his time?! well, the conversation-starter lays in your palms.

"your highness, would you like a cup of tea?"

"no."

okay, rude.

clicking your tongue, you decided it'll be best to leave it in his hands... not.

it's been hours. if another minute passes, you'll give into the urges and slouch. a princess must never lose her composure but this princess might just! the time you've spent observing and making mental analogies of this prince, it is safe to assume that you hate his guts.

a princess that despises awkward situations and a stoic prince. it'll end well, right..?

"accept my apologies, i prefered to finish my documents before attending to you," al-haitham speaks, finally arising from behind his desk and to you.

"it is all right, prince," you lied.

al-haitham walks around his desk, adjusting his cuffs while he made his way to you. compared to kaveh, his energy is dull; he seems as if the light of life had been vacuumed out of his body. you keep your gaze on his figure — he's lean, to say the least. as he sits, you dash your eyes to look somewhere else.

such eyes are too intimidating — it reminds you of your father. al-haitham on the other hand, he calls for a maid to bring in delicacies and such. he will not tolerate leaving his guests deprived of food.

"would you like to discuss the wedding? everything else such as the coronations have been handled prior," he speaks up, educating you on the details you've missed.

"i don't see a reason not to," you replied, smiling at the maids as you whispered a "thank you" to them.

al-haitham leans forward to the coffee table, raising the tea cup to blow the steam.

"well, i'd first say that i will not be bedding you the first night."

"that is quite all — excuse me?" your automatic answer was cut short. just how high is his audacity? how rude to think you'd bed a man like him!

"please, take no offense. i would rather not bed anyone. it is not you, princess," clearing you from any suspicion, he continues to not pay you any mind.

"that is not — anyway, prince, i believe we should set some boundaries?" you suggested, trying your best to calm the twitching vein under your right eye.

"i'll see it done. is a written contract okay with you?" he replies. better than hearing you speak. he may be rude but at least he's tolerable. hopefully.

"yes, i do not mind." with your answer finishing the marriage conversation, you two continue on with casual topics. he's a talker, all right. it seems like he's the person to continue on once you've introduced a topic of his liking.

fortunately, all bad things come to an end. as the moon illuminates, al-haitham decided to end it here. though, before you make your leave, there are a few words he must say.

"i'll see you at the banquet. my staff will send over a gown — it matches with my suit. please do wear it," notifying you about his absolute god-sent kindess (he was forced to.)

al-haitham walks with you to the exit. a blessing of relief washes over him once his eyes landed on someone that appears to be your lady-in-waiting.

"my lady!" adila's steps fasten towards you. she smiles and then stops. who is this peculiar individual? deciding the give a bow of respect, she greets al-haitham, "goodnight, sir who i do not know of."

a chuckle was heard at the right of al-haitham's side. it appears to him that you find this amusing.

"just 'prince' is fine."

"yes — PRINCE?!" adila's eyes display her exact thought process. it's evident that she's thinking something along the lines of "dear heavens, i hope they don't behead me."

"pardon my intrusion, i will leave now. see you at the banquet, prince," you interrupted their conversation — knowing adila, she'd stumble on her words and unleash a train of apologies.

"oh, yes. let us go, my lady!"

ii. banquets, fake impressions and hateful actions | 1.1k words

it's alluring. a gown parallel to the morning sky, diamonds littered around its collar. silver accents adorn its front, reaching down to its very center. ruffled patterns accentuate the back, creating more volume than you could ever ask for. perhaps al-haitham has more to him than a robotic personality.

you're in awe. of course, you've had beautiful gowns before but this — this is just gorgeous. the reflection in the mirror captivated you like no other. your hands slid down the front, adoring the way it complimented your body.

"you look wonderful, my lady. sure to be most explenditurefous!" adila complimented. she busies herself with dusting off your heels as she's the only maid left in your chamber.

"explenditurefous?" you asked, rather confused about the sudden unknown word.

"no word can describe your beauty, so i made my own!" she cleared.

earning a smile from you, you softly laugh at her logic. adila's truly someone you can't live without.

"thank you, adila."

───

the banquet.. is definitely a banquet..! you're not sure if it's because you're in a different kingdom, but they sure do things different to enevis. for the past hour you've held your stance to the side; more comfortable with the option to sit back and lurk rather than to be the main attraction — which is foolish. you, a kingdom's princess, can never hide. your gown matches with that of sumeru's crown prince. only a fool can miss that sign.

swirling your champagne glass, you hum at the difference in people that decorate the banquet's room. they all look beautiful — especially kaveh. looks like he knows how to appear alive when he isn't cooped up in his office.

the music changed? you wonder, carefully listening to the soft, sensual rhythm crafted by the chior.

"my lady, would you care to do me this dance?" someone asks, bowing slightly as he holds out his hand for yours. you don't know him — it's also rather unfortunate that he isn't your type.

"oh, my ap—"

"move along. do not try to dance with her."

well excuse me, you think. it's obvious by his tone who the voice belongs to. a stoic voice for a stoic man, sumeru's crown prince, al-haitham.

he towers over the stranger, eyes oozing of annoyance and authority. al-haitham himself doesn't know why he's so irritated by someone trying to dance with you. is it not basic etiquette? dances shared with others are nothing but a noble's etiquette. nothing more, nothing less. so why must be seethe with rage at the image of you dancing with someone else at the center of the room?

"you, come with me," sliding his hand to your lower back, al-haitham guides you to a deserted room. whether you like it or not, he has business with you.

"heaven forbid! must we walk so fast?!" complaining, you came to a complete stop.

somewhere in the building's balcony, you two stand. the moon's light rains a soft, dim light across both. there's a soft wind that blesses the night. it's romantic — if you weren't stuck with him. you're annoyed that he takes action without — at the very least — talking to you.

and al-haitham? he's lost. physically, he looks bored. mentally, he's panicking. curse his mother for summoning such a breathtaking woman, really.

"you've been blatantly ignoring me ever since the universe was shaped," frowning at him, you poke at his chest. you'll do whatever it takes to show him your annoyance.

"have you any idea how sickening that is —"

huh — why is he — what's going on?

you, him, and a kiss. al-haitham's hand moves from its position at your lower back to your waist. one hand busies itself playing with your gown's jewellry as the other focuses on resting on your cheek. not that you are complaining — actually it's quite the opposite; contrast to your hatred for his attitude, you do not mind getting physical with him. he is, indeed, quite the appetizer.

pulling away, al-haitham's eyes remain in yours. it takes him a few seconds to recollect himself before speaking, "my apologies."

at times like these do you wish adila was here. you're completely out of any sensible answers. fiddling with your fingers, you decide it's to keep it short, "it's fine — but were you not the one who said "no physical contact" prince?"

fuck, forgot about that, cursing himself in his mind, he refutes with a "smart" reply, "think less of it. simply consider it practice for our wedding."

was he not — okay.

"you're a funny guy, you know," succeeding in preventing yourself from malfunctioning, you continue, "a horrible liar too."

"refrain from such assumptions."

"no!"

───

making your grand entrance at the banquet's room, you immediately shuffle away from al-haitham. the buffet calls for you — he can practice patience. sneaking to the buffet, you mentally drool at the sight of different desserts gracing your view. so many to eat, so many to taste. if the goddess permits, you can plan a robbery with adila and send her to your chamber with hidden desserts.

"what're you doing, y/n?" another familiar voice speaks, slightly scaring you in the process.

"who — oh, kaveh!" you beam at him. you've noticed that every time kaveh comes into the picture, your energy immediately restores. perhaps it's just his default power.

engulfing you in a small hug, kaveh snickers at the hidden yet loaded plate that sits behind you. using the clues, he can tell you were having the time of your life.

"you look magnificent," he compliments, completely taken by your appearance.

"you, too! your suit makes you look quite appealing, if i must," returning his compliment, you can feel yourself get giddy over his words. unlike al-haitham, kaveh's somewhat a sweet-talker. but what he lacks is what al-haitham has: boldness. contrast to him, al-haitham's quick with his actions. he acts on command but lacks to verbal confidence.

kaveh clears his throat. as sumeru's marquess, he mustn't show any signs of blushing — especially when he can feel al-haitham's stare digging two holes behind his skull. kaveh, more than anyone, knows sumeru's prince. having grown up with him, he can tell that the intense one-sided eye contact either means 1) get away from her or 2) find yourself here now. and to kaveh, he believes both options hold the same amount of truth.

"well, i have to go before he shoves me to the underworld. i'll see you around, y/n," saying his goodbyes, kaveh hurriedly shuffles through the crowd.

unable to speak due to the cupcake occupying your mouth, you wave at his running figure before returning your attention to the food.

looks like it's going to be a rather rough time being stuck between a prince and a marquess.

[hongjoongscafe]

Bloody Love...

Chapter: III -Touch-

♠︎Pairing: yandere!king!jungkookxoc(coronis)

♠︎Genre: angst, smut, yandere, gore, dark romance, horror, creepy (dark fantasy).

♠︎Summary: "you happen to be in a world where wrong is right and right is wrong."

♠︎Word count: 4k+

♠︎Warning: murder, physical abuse, slight stalking, 69, fingering.

♠︎Note: lemme know if you wanna be added to the permanent or specific taglist!

♠︎Masterpost

♠︎Serieslist

The silence. It was intense. The heartbeats could be heard out of the chest. The chaos in the village was parroting around as a reminder of the terrors that suffocated them just enough to make them suffer and kill them slowly, making them feel every single pain possible. To make sure that they felt it in all two hundred and six bones.

Was living even worth it in this world? In the end, everyone is supposed to die anyway. And being a slave and knowing there is no out, was it worth a try to live?

For so long, all the commoners, with little humanity left, lived with the hope to see a pretty sunrise and pink and purple sunsets. But all they got was grey-blue mornings and the darkest of the nights. Was there any day that the sun shone warmth? No. There wasn't. Just like King's heart, the sun was cold too.

The hatred in everyone's eyes was screaming red and bloody murder. Just one touch and your head could be gone flying in the air, away from your body.

No one was allowed to breathe without permission. Whoever was alive, wasn't because they kept themselves alive… It was because the King still hasn't written about their deaths.

Would it be too bad to wish for the King to write about their deaths soon? Death was easier than the torture they put everyone through every day.

Would the king be the one writing his own death? Or will someone else write it for him? Is he even supposed to die? Was he going to live forever?

What if the king died? Would the sun become warmer and bring warmth to people's cold hearts?

“Circe,” Coronis weakly started as she was sitting on the chair and her little sister was sitting on the floor by the hearth, to warm her hands. The evenings were getting even colder. “Why would you leave my side, especially when I told you not to?”

Circe's lips frowned downwards, “I saw a tiny puppy that was running away,” she said nonchalantly. “I just wanted to play with it,” her shoulders shrugged.

Coronis sighed and left for the kitchenette. She had no vitality to deal with Circe. How many times was she supposed to repeat one thing again and again? It was tiring for her.

Circe has always been the one to not listen. She always thought that whatever her sister and the rest of the family were saying was just a bunch of foolery just to keep her from going outside and keep her from the merriment outside.

Coronis was just four years old when she first witnessed a heartless, gruesome execution. That time, she didn't eat food for a week and kept vomiting out anything she put in her mouth. The reason was that the family wasn't able to produce enough material for the King's wife and son. The Assassin pulled all of them out on the gravely path and stabbed them in the face again and again. His partner started decapitating the bodies like a chicken.

The parts of the bodies were hung around the village to show the power and punishment. The young children were slaughtered and left to decay in the shack they lived in. A few nights later the shack was burnt with all the unfortunate members.

The picture of the incident was pasted in Coronis's brain.

Every detail of them was still fresh and very much alive in her. The trauma she survived. Just at the age of four, she understood that she was living in hell and had to obey to live.

From that day, she saw many heartless assassinations. She saw the path covered in pools of blood and flesh. Now a beheading was just a simple thing for her just like killing a chicken without any remorse.

When Circe was born, Coronis saw her smiling. She was still a child and seeing another human made her maternally emotional even though Circe was her sister.

That day she promised herself that no matter what, she was going to protect that raw, and genuine smile. Her younger self cried in silence and cursed at her parents for bringing another little human to life just to make her suffer this unjust too.

Every day she lived with a fear of losing her. The little bit of trust was gone and she became paranoid just for her sister.

But her heart kept hurting and breaking. Circe started growing up, wanting to go out and see the world. However, that world was not made for her. No matter how much Coronis scolded her, she would not listen and do what she wanted. She did not want her little sister to witness any assassination or straight-up lose her sister.

She did that today too. And as much as she wanted to go easy on her sister, she knew the lesson was still left. Circe's demeanour was enough to make the older realise that the younger was still not capturing the air.

Coronis took a wooden spatula and stood in front of Circe, gesturing to her to stand up. Her heart was squeezing inside her chest. Her body shook with rage and fear. Again and again and again and yet her little sister won't take her seriously. Her life flashed in front of her eyes when she saw her in the hands of the patrolman. “Bring your hands out.”

“Why do y—”

“I. Said. Bring. Your. Hands. Out, Circe!” she screamed.

Circe quickly brought her hands out and showed her. She gasped when Coronis whipped the spatula on her hand. “You make me want to kill myself, Circe!” she kept on hitting her hands. “Why do you not listen to me?!” Coronis's voice started to go higher. It was the first time she ever hit her. “Why the fuck do you have to be so nonchalant?! Are you so dumb?”

Coronis had lost her mind. She let out her inner fears and acted however she wanted. As much as her heart was aching, the pleasure was lessening the burden she carries.

Circe screamed and tried to pull her hands away but her older sister held them tightly and kept whipping them. “It hurt!”

“Shut up!” she threw the spatula away and held her by her hair. “Shut up! Why do you want to die so badly? Tell me, I'll kill you, happily! You do realize that you were going to die!” Coronis slapped her across the face once… Twice… Thrice… again and again. “When will you realize that the world is not for you? You do not belong outside of this shack! If not those men from the castle, the people here will kill you. They will fucking fuck you and leave you to die. No one is forgiving Circe, no one!”

Circe tried to save herself from her sister. At that moment, she felt like she lost her older sister. A fear sat deep inside her. She regretted not listening to her sister, brother, and parents. Even though she knew they wanted the best, she let her heart overpower her actions.

“I won't do it again!” the girl cried. “I will never go out or see outside without your permission, Coronis! Please, let me go!”

“Shut up! Shut up! Please, Circe, for the love of God, shut up! Do not make hollow promises!” Coronis's eyes were swollen from crying. “Please, stop hurting me, Circe. You do not have any idea of how much your actions hurt me. Who am I supposed to cry out to? I feel suffocated and you just close my nose with your non-seriousness. Is it that easy for you to pretend to be scared?” her hands fell on her sides. “Just… Just don't show me your face, okay? Stay here but do not come in the slot, I beg you.”

…

The light in the sky was gone. The slot was cold and dark, just how Coronis felt. Her hands were burning from hitting the little girl. Her eyes were dried. But her mind was empty of thoughts. There was not a spec of thought that she thought of.

The emptiness was needed for her to think straight. What worse could have happened today? Circe could have been beheaded. Was Coronis supposed to bring her head home? Was she allowed to mourn? Wasn't she already mourning in her own way… at her own pace?

The little light was flickering from the outside. She looked out and saw a pair of eyes looking straight into hers. They weren't hard to recognize from far away. She knew them by heart now.

This time, there was no fear in her heart, just emptiness. She looked into those eyes, thinking that if it wasn't for him, she would have been gone. Two hundred sixty-eight would have been her number.

As much as Coronis was thankful, she still didn't forgive him. What he did was utterly disgusting to her. That too, rightfully. But, was her forgiveness even mattered? Not at all. He was someone who held power over her. She wasn't to forgive him, he was to forgive her even though she had done nothing wrong. But isn't that the whole point? Wrong is always right.

Coronis touched the locket she had. It made her horrified, chills ran down her spine. Her heartbeat picked up the pace, pulling her out of her daze and realising what was happening.

She turned around and tried to calm herself. The door opened, making her flinch. In the dark room, her mother stepped in with a candle and a bowl. “Coronis?”

Coronis sighed and faced away from her mother. “Please, leave.”

Martha chuckled and sat beside her. She was a motherly mother. Whenever she was around, Coronis felt at peace. In the chaos, only she was the calm afternoon in summer.

“You know when Circe was born, I knew I did not need to be concerned about her as much. You were already there, taking care of her more than I ever could. It always felt like she was your daughter. You taught her how to speak, walk, read and so much more. You took care of her like a guardian angel. I have never seen you so protective over anything or anyone ever. It was as if you forgot about the whole world and yourself just to protect Circe from those demons who lurked around and hunted down people,” said Martha as she lit the lantern in the slot. The bowl of soup was in front of Coronis. “When Circe started to grow older, she became ignorant and brought troubles endless times. You know what I'm worried about?” Coronis shook her head. “I'm more worried about you than Circe.”

At her mother's words, she looked at her, speechless. Why would she even be worried about her when her younger daughter has always been laid with danger?

But Martha continued. “Because… I don't want to lose my older daughter to her silly ignorance. I feel how you feel. And I know if something happens to her, I will lose you,” she looked at her daughter with soaked eyes and smiled sadly. “I know this was not the right answer… But sometimes what is wrong is what we need to do just to make things right,” with that said, she got up and walked towards the door with her candle. “Eat something, you need it.”

Coronis was left alone with her thoughts. The orange of the lantern reflected on her features, making her look like a night goddess with a screwed-up mind.

…

It was early in the morning. Everyone was busy with their work. Draco had gone with the cattle to the meadows. Martha took Circe out so that Coronis could have the house to herself and work without worrying about anything.

Coronis had bought the yeast yesterday and was in the pocket of her gown. But the dry fruits from Nori's shop were left behind. She was too anxious about her sister to worry about those dry fruits. She was ordered to bake a dry fruit cake for the King. But later she remembered that she had forgotten them there. And now she was left with only ingredients for the bread. She made a mental note to stop by Nori's shop.

Coronis had removed the locket when she went to take a bath and had hidden it in her stack of clothes. Her mind felt lighter the moment she removed it. It felt like she could breathe properly.

She felt like it brought bad luck to her. Her heart felt heavier thinking about it. The swollen face of crying Circe was rolling in front of her eyes. It was her fault that Circe left her in the first place. Only if she could have held her hand and kept an eye on her instead of losing herself in her thoughts.

Never in her eighteen years had she thought about beating Circe. She felt like she had gone crazy. The way her hands itched to hurt Circe was haunting her even when she was asleep. She had woken up earlier than before, soaking in her sweat and out of breath.

A knock on the door pulled her out of her breaking mind. She looked out of the window and saw Nori standing, looking back at her with a tiny smile.

Coronis quickly left the kitchenette and opened the door, inviting the sweet girl inside. Offering her some water, she sat beside her. “What are you doing here, Nori?”

Nori smiled, “Yesterday, you left your stuff at my shop. I thought I must give back.” She placed a cotton bag on the table. Coronis looked at her and slowly opened the bag to see the contents inside. The dry fruits.

“Nori, you didn't have to. I would have gone there,” she said. “I appreciate it… That you came all the way here to hand over these.”

“I was gonna come yesterday, but I thought you might want to have some time with Circe. Whatever happened yesterday, it was distressing. I can't imagine what you have gone through. Oh, bless that man who saved her! He was like a miracle that had never happened before,” Nori sighed and looked at Coronis's hands that were resting on her lap. Hesitantly, she held them. “I'm glad that you are okay…,” They looked into each other's eyes. Nori saw grief in them, pain that was pouring out. “Are you?”

Coronis bit her lower lip to keep herself from crying out loud. Her eyes dampened with tears. Her body shook slightly and her shoulders shivered. Slowly, her tears trickled down her cheek. A painful sob echoed in the shack. She could feel the pain rising in her heart. Has she ever cried about her pain to someone? No.

“Uh,” Nori panicked. She looked around to see what could help her to calm down Coronis. But then the crying girl held her hands and rested her forehead on them. “I'm not okay!”

Nori realized she didn't want to hear something. Coronis just wanted to let out the pain that she had been hiding behind those cold, dead stares. No one is ever so strong. Everyone falls sometimes. It is hard to keep going when life has always given pain and nothing else. What it was like to be happy anyway? What exactly was happiness? Did it feel good? Did it last forever? Was it something that stayed forever and healed the broken parts? Or was it just a creation of some people to make them feel better about themselves and maybe for a short time, forget the pain that killed them alive?

“I hit her,” Coronis choked up. “I hit her so much. Her face was swollen. Her hands were bleeding,” Nori's eyes widened but caressed her hair. “I was so scared. I was scared to lose her. She never listens to me. I was infuriated!”

“It's alright,” Nori whispered, her own eyes getting damp. “You did nothing wrong. In fact, she will never go against you ever again. It's for her own good, Coronis. Don't beat yourself up.”

Her sweet voice tingled something inside her. She looked up with her swollen eyes and asked, “Am I going to be okay?”

Nori let her tears out. Her lips frowned, trying to not burst out herself. “Yeah! Yeah, you are going to be okay,” she cried. “You and I are going to be okay. Everyone is going to be okay, yeah?” she rubbed her thumbs on Coronis's cheeks. “One day, we will see what happiness is like. One day, we both will breathe the air of love. One day, this world will fall in love with kindness.”

Coronis or Nori didn't know what it was. Was it the vulnerability of the moment or the hidden liking for each other? But they felt a pull towards one another. Their teary eyes shifted at their lips. Nori couldn't keep it more. She let her feelings win and softly took Coronis's lips. Their lips were chapped but the spark was real. Nori cupped her face and kissed her passionately. Their tongues were lapping and their teeth were clashing.

“Please, Nori,” Nori has never heard Coronis as weak as she sounded now. “Please make me forget the pain. Touch me more,” she whispered and placed the girl's hand on her clothed breasts. “Touch me like this is your first and last… Please.”

Without holding back, they stumbled into the slot and closed the door. They sat down in front of each other. They both reached out to undo each other's blouses as they hugged. Coronis littered Nori's neck and shoulder with kisses.

They were bare in front of each other in just a couple of moments. Their nipples hardened when the cold air touched their bodies. They admired, and cherished each other.

“I have never seen someone so beautiful,” Nori said as she cupped Coronis's breasts. “So soft and pretty,” Coronis pulled her in a steamy kiss.

Their hands down their bodies, trying to remember every single curve. Their lips melted together. “I want more,” Coronis whispered against her lips.

Nori quickly pushed her back and spread her legs to see her. She kissed right below her belly button and moved down. Coronis was already wet enough for Nori to put her fingers in. She rubbed her slit with her finger and slowly eased one finger in making Coronis moan.

Nori spread her pussy lips and licked a long strip. She hummed at her sweet taste. It was the moment when Nori realized how much wanted to have her. She still remembered the day they first met. They were about five or six. At first sight, she loved her. She thought it was a childish attraction. But the older they grew, she fell harder and harder.

Whenever they crossed paths, Coronis would smile at her and call her, and say sweet things to her. It made her adore her more than she already did. Coronis's smiles hide sadness yet she lets the curve of her lips go up for her, genuinely.

“Nori,” Coronis moaned. “Come here.” She gestured towards her.

“What's wrong?” Nori asked.

“Sit on my face.”

Nori looked at her with her mouth wide open. “What?”

“I want to taste you, pleasure you,” said she as she pulled Nori on her face, her face facing towards Coronis's bare body.

Nori bent down and worked her lips on her. Their moans resounded through the slot. They were desperate for the touch, and the pleasure. It was both of their first times ever touching someone willingly. Their chests heaved up and down. Their bodies were covered in sweat. The sweet scent of their arousal wrapped around them. Their tongues worked on each other seductively, pulling each other to the climax.

Nori lay down next to Coronis who was still trying to catch her breath. She admired Coronis, looking at how her chest moved, her lips were now swollen and looking luscious. Her hair was sticking to her forehead and her eyes were unfocused.

“Coronis,” She called and her face tilted toward her to look into her eyes. “I don't know what it means to you… But, you mean more than just a friend to me. Since we first met, I have always wanted to be with you. You made my day. You are the only person who I find genuine in my life in this hell hole… For so long, I looked up to you from afar,” she dumbly chuckled. “I kept on wanting to touch, hold you. I felt so dumb. Like… Like, I can't even put these feelings into words. I- I have. I don't know. Bu–”

Coronis kissed her lips to calm her down. “We have all the time in the world for you to tell me however you feel, Nori. Let's just hold each other and live this moment.”

…

The door of the shack opened, showing Martha and Circe coming in. They saw Coronis and Nori sitting by the table, drinking tea.

“Ah, Nori! What brings you here?” Martha smiled.

“Coronis forgot some of her stuff at my shop, I had come to return it. I'll be taking my leave soon,” said she.

“No, no. Love, I just came back home,” Martha sat down with them. “You should spend a little more time. The evening is still young. And I'm sure Circe would love to talk to you.”

Circe awkwardly smiled and looked at her sister who was sitting facing Nori and not once looked at her. “I'm tired… I'll go and get fresh,” she left.

“It's okay, Martha. I need to go and sit at the shop. I, um,” she chuckled shyly, looking at Coronis. “I already stayed here for the whole day… I'm sure Coronis has to do her job too.”

Coronis smiled at her, “I'll see her off,” and said to her mother.

After the final greetings, the girls walked out of the shack, Nori stopped and looked at Coronis who was standing there with a soft smile. “I hope I will see you soon?”

“I'll stop by your shop, Nori… I can help you there if you want,” She offered.

“Just sit there and be pretty,” Nori bit her lower lip. “That's all I want you to do.”

With that, they hugged one last time and Nori walked away. Coronis wanted her to stay for more. But it would have been scary for her to go back at night. She had never felt this content in her shack. The burden she was carrying was somewhat duller. With everything going on around her, the way everything was falling apart, Nori came in like a warm sun.

Coronis's thoughts were crushed when she caught the sight of those dark, viscous eyes. A chill ran down her spine, knowing he was looking right into her eyes.

As better as she felt, new trouble set in her head. She shouldn't have let it happen. What if he came to know about it? Did he already know? Her beautiful eyes widened when he raised his glass towards her.

She quickly went back inside her shack and got to her work. She poured the ingredients for the bread which was not for the king. And added some dry fruits. She could see through the window of the kitchenette as the horses went by. She looked up, her heart skipped a beat when she made eye contact with him again. This time, from much closer. He stopped there and kept on looking.

She wasn't sure if he was that captive or if it was the fear of upsetting him, she just couldn't look away.

What would happen if she did choose him over her? This lonely question made her panic. This could not happen. But was it her choice to choose? No. It was his choice. She could only hope he leaves her alone.

He was a man of his king, she thought. He must be as dominant as his King. The Lord they say.

Those eyes. They made her shiver. Oh, did she pray for him to move away. She could feel her knees weakening. Why did she drag Nori into this?

“Coronis? Where did you get that locket from, that you were wearing yesterday?”

.....

Sanaa's note:

Umm... Everything will fall in one place. Please be there with me, okay? Anyway, your feedback really helps me a lot to write more. Thank you for all the feedback. I hope you guys will keep on interacting and me know how you feel about this fiction. If you have anything to ask, ask it. I'm a nice person, trust me on that🥲. If you have any theory related to this fiction, let us all know that too! By the way, I won't be able to update this frequently. My flat is getting painted again, it will take about 20-25 days🥲. I'll try to update as soon as possible.

The behaviour of all characters is visualized.

Taglist:

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Have a nice day or night💓

[thehollowwriter]

🎞️ for a glimpse into my ocs past

For Silas!

(So you can send asks to yourself...)

*wheeze* I could've just made this a whole fic but I think it worked better for the prompt. Thanks for the anon, me!/j. Anyways *ahem* here take this quick fic of Silas being put through the ringer after Finn was born

🎞️ for a glimpse into my ocs past

Silas was in a lot of pain. Well, he was always in a lot of pain because of that damn harpoon, but this was a new pain. A different one.

There was a horrid cramping at the pit of his stomach, a stabbing pan that gave him the urge to curl into a ball and die. It hurt so much.

He was told it the pain would stop once everything was over, but doctors loved to spout nonsense, so he was unsurprised to find that it was just word fluff to get him to stay still.

Silas was sitting in the NICU, staring at an incubator. He was told he needed to lie down and rest to recover, but he ignored the nagging annoyances trying to tell him what to do. He would heal in his own time. For now, his focus was on something much more important.

The only piece of his life that he had left, his only reason for staying alive right now, lay hooked up to a ventilator and a feeding tube, so very still.

Finn. His son. His baby.

Through his translucent skin, Silas could see his heart beating steadily. The heart monitor was there too, but it didn't comfort him as much as seeing the real thing.

Silas couldn't stop thinking about what happened mere hours ago, the terror that filled his heart when he realised that Finn wasn't breathing.

"No," He had rasped out, trying to grab him from a doctor. "No no no no, he can't die, he can't die, please, please, give him to me, that's my-"

Finn didn't die. But all those tubes and the way he lay so quiet and still made Silas feel sick and guilty.

"This is your fault." Said a voice in the back of his head. "He's suffering because of you."

Silas tried to ignore it just as he tried to ignore the all too familiar feeling of grief causing pains in his chest. He tried not to think about everything that had happened barely a week before. His life had been torn to shreds. The proof of his failures had been permanently etched onto his skin. There was nothing left but his only living child that couldn't even breathe on his own.

The nurses would check on Finn and make sure the palm-sized, wrinkly little shark pup was doing alright. Every time Silas had to take in a slow breath through his gills and dig his claws into his skin to resist the urge to chase them off, kill them maybe, for getting so close.

"Don't worry, everything's going to be fine." He was told. "We're keeping a close eye on him."

All Silas could think about was his grandfather and his death in this same hospital.

"Liar," He wanted to scream at them, just as he had all those years ago. "Liar liar liar-"

But he stayed quiet and stared at the nurses, his eyes burning with distrust and hatred.

The anger and grief and guilt were all-consuming, swirling together to form a pit Silas felt he couldn't escape from. All he could do was stew in it all and obsessively watch over his son.

His tail and lower back were aching from sitting in the same position for so long, but he didn't care. As long as he could ensure Finn's safety, all was well.

Silas was finally allowed to touch Finn through the openings in the incubator.

He gently traced Finn's skin and murmured softly, letting out a gasp of amazement and relief when he saw Finn curl his hand around his claw. Finn cooed softly, and Silas repeated the noise back at him, clicking his teeth.

Something warm broke through the anguish. For the first time in days, Silas smiled.

"Hello, little one."

-End

Man I make this poor man suffer too much

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

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[morgana-artt]

Romeo x GN!Reader

Note: just a small fluff piece I came up with quickly because this man needs some love. Also smallish spoilers?? Maybe?

_________________________________________

You looked at him, silence filled the air as he was tinkering with a body part of his, you stared at his face seeing the concentrated look on it- well...as much as a puppet could make anyway.

"I want to kiss you..." You mumbled suddenly making the puppet in front of you freeze up, blue and green tinted eyes looking up at you. "Kiss me? I...I don't think it'll be very comfortable..." He said back softly, looking up at you.

You had come to flourish some feelings towards the blonde puppet in front of you, you couldn't help it, he was such a kind and hard working individual and it was tainted by the false narrative that he was the one that caused the disaster. You knew it wasn't and it fuelled hatred in you to those that spread those nasty things around. If it wasn't for him, even more hell would've unleashed on Krat!

"I don't care...I...would it be okay to..." Your voice trailed off as you became shy, "...I don't want to make you uncomfortable" you said, worrying you might've stepped too far. I mean, you don't even know if he had any feelings towards you.

The blonde puppet looked down for a second before looking back up and nodded, "you can..." You gulped before nodding and sitting closer to him, you looked at his face seeing all the cracks and chipped off paint, he looked...tired. Despite not being able to move his face you could just see how tired he actually was and it made you sad. There were times where he would just sit with his head in your lap as you stroked his hair and hummed a soft tune- you weren't good at it, far from it actually but he would always compliment you and it was probably the only time you saw him happy and content.

You took a deep breath before gently placing your hands onto his face, cupping it within your palms. You leaned in, closing your eyes as you pressed your soft warm lips against his cold harden ones. It honestly wasn't bad and you deepened it a little as much as you could with non moveable lips, you felt the coldness of his fingers gently touch your neck as he tilted his head a little, closing his own eyes. You pulled away before leaning into his chest, "..." It was quiet as you then felt him stroke your hair, wrapping his free arm around your waist and pulled you close. "I hope it wasn't too bad..." he spoke softly once again, you shook your head "no...it was perfect, Romeo..." You nuzzled closer, you got used to his cold body and grown to find comfort in the hard material, although he insisted on heating his body up just for you on colder nights which was sweet.

"Your lips are warm and soft... If only I could give you that warm feeling too..." He said, his voice faltering a little. You looked up at him, "you already do...you warm up my heart", you stared at him, "puppet or not...I love you, Romeo."

"......I love you too, (Y/N). I love you so much..." He pulled you into an embrace, burying his face into your neck as it was your turn to stroke his hair. You would always be beside him no matter what, you made a vow to that and would keep it till the day you die.

[chaotic-orphan]

A Benignant Mischief (6)

Read part one here

Continued from here

Hahahhh I finished it finally! I love my boys so much, they fill my heart with so much joy :;) @annablogsposts this obsession is all your fault! I need to make a masterpost for this... anyways, ENJOY!

*~*~*~*~*

They rode in silence back to the Kingswood as one of the soldier’s had called it. Cosimo had scrunched his nose up at that name. How can a woods be owned by a King? Nature was its own master. Besides, there wouldn’t be Elfbows there if the original inhabitants of the forest were humans. No, Cosimo had the sneaking suspicion that this was the forest Henrik had told him about in his story of Niko’s father.

Cosimo remembered his tutor, one of the Elder Elves, telling him about the histories of their people. How they would live in harmony with nature, together as one, both giving and taking in equal measures. How the humans would come like an invasive species and only ever take… upsetting the balance of the earth to build their soulless cities and castles and nature be damned. Animals be damned.

“Nothing is sacred to humans, Cosimo,” Ludwig had told him. “They are selfish creatures. They would sacrifice anything to satiate their own greed.”

Cosimo’s eyes had gone wide at Ludwig’s cautionary words. He spoke them with such hatred that was foreign coming from the teacher’s mouth. Ludwig was patient, kind, compassionate — so hearing him speak with such malice, it struck a chord within Cosimo that echoed now in his mind and his chest. Jarring, eerie and wrong.

Was he making the right choice in leading the humans to the boy that Cosimo was trying to protect? Was there any way he could possibly distract them? Sneak off and find the boy and the fox and run?

Nestor’s laugh made his chest ache, as he floated into the memory without Cosimo’s permission. Nestor and his happy-go-lucky grin. After he heard Ludwig’s take on the humans he joined the conversation, leaning down heavy on Ludwig’s shoulders. Cosimo remembers smiling as the Elder rolled his eyes.

There was only one elf who would do such a thing.

“Ah, Ludwig. You are scaring the boy.”

“I am merely teaching,” Ludwig said, the hatred gone from his voice as he straightened his spine and grabbed Nestor’s arm lifting it from around his neck. “You should know better than to interrupt.”

“Always good to be a little nosey,” Nestor said, lifting his eyes to meet Cosimo’s and winking at him. “Eh, Cosimo?”

Cosimo’s smile grew into a cheap copy of Nestor’s mischievous grin. “You should know better than to fill his head with such nonsense, Nestor. Not all elves have the freedom to be as carefree as you.”

“If he’s learning the bad he can learn the good of the humans too, no? About their music? Their art? Their love, Ludwig.”

“The boy is but a child,” Ludwig hissed, glaring at Nestor. Cosimo swallowed as Nestor’s smile fell from his face. Ludwig stood to his full height, turning his body slightly to stare at Nestor down his crooked nose. “It is better he be cautious around humans than seek them out for no good reason.”

Cosimo’s heart pounded in his skull but he couldn’t just sit by and watch Nestor be scolded. “I would never do such a thing, Ludwig.”

The two elves turned their head to look at Cosimo who was standing now too, head high, chin up, determined. “I heed your warning. You’re my teacher. I want to learn from you, and from your experiences. What reason would I have to leave court in search of humans? I have everything I need right here.”

Ludwig cocked an arched brow at Cosimo’s words, a begrudgingly proud tightness wound his jaw. “You are too smart for your age, Cosimo.”

“That’s because he has an ancient elder schooling him,” Nestor said with a cheeky laugh, slapping a hearty palm onto Ludwig’s back. “I’m heading out on a reconnaissance mission today.”

“To the humans?” Cosimo asked, ignoring the scolding glance Ludwig sent his way.

Nestor scrunched his lips up. “Sort of. More like, seeing them at a distance. If they’re close to the court we can disguise it better or hide it well, make sure the humans don’t disturb us and just walk past the court.”

“You should go do it then,” Ludwig told him. “Let me get on with my job.”

Nestor hummed sagely, nodding in agreement. “Yes. I agree. Cosimo remember to frown when he speaks so he knows you take him seriously.”

Cosimo laughed as Ludwig shoved Nestor away playfully in reply. “Get out of here.”

“I’m gone.”

Cosimo stared after Nestor who waved before disappearing from sight. Ludwig settled back down, sitting once more and gazed up at Cosimo. “What is it, boy?”

Cosimo swallowed, snapping himself out of his daze and sat back down across from Ludwig. “I just wonder what reconnaissance missions would be like.”

“If Nestor’s anything to go by, clearly it drives you mad.”

Cosimo smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I mean being that close to humans.”

Ludwig’s gaze was heavy on Cosimo’s face, studying the young elf’s features. His high cheekbones and shrewd eyes, always busy, always calculating something behind them. It wasn’t the first time Ludwig had been left out of Cosimo’s musings, but even so… he wanted to know what the boy thought. How his mind worked. But that wasn’t Ludwig’s job.

“We resume,” is all Ludwig said. Cosimo blinked and he was staring at Ludwig, focused once more. He nodded and shifted in his seat, clasping his hands together in front of him. “We resume.”

The memory left, leaving a sense of uneasiness in its wake. Maybe Ludwig was being over-cautious, sometimes he was like that.

And the humans only ever treated us with kindness, a sarcastic voice hissed in the back of Cosimo’s mind. Take off the hood and see their true colours.

Cosimo ignored the voice and focused on the task at hand. They were amongst the trees now, coming close to the camp. Maybe another twenty minute ride.

“Everything okay, Cosimo?” Henrik asked. Cosimo took a deep breath. Everything seemed too big right now. Too much for him to grasp between his fingers and wrestle under his control. All he needed to do was find the boy. Once he saw him, he would be fine. Everything will be fine.

“I just want to find my brother,” Cosimo told Henrik, careful to remember that’s what Cosimo had told the King and his right hand. A lie. He had told them a lie, and when they found out… what would they do to Cosimo then?

When they arrived at the camp Cosimo’s heart jumped into his mouth, remembering the events that happened here yesterday? Today? That brought him back here. How Henrik was the one who kicked him to the ground and kept him there. Cuffing him, bringing him to the palace… it turned Cosimo’s stomach.

Henrik climbed off Ebony behind him, and Cosimo lifted his leg over the saddle to slide down himself beside Henrik. He brushed the hood back off his head, the earth under his feet feeling like a sigh of relief. Nikolas came over to the pair as someone led Henrik’s horse away to be tied off.

“Well, Cosimo,” Nikolas said with a sweeping gesture. “Lead the way.”

Cosimo nodded, searching for the stream he had crossed. He prayed that nobody had been through here since he was. No elf, nobody who came looking. Let the boy be there.

He crossed the stream first, then looked over his shoulder to the King and his right hand. He straightened himself, shoulders pulling back, making himself taller before speaking. “Would it be okay if I went and retrieved the— my brother before I introduce him to all of you? He might be frightened.”

Nikolas tilted his head slightly, regarding Cosimo with his discerning green eyes. Nikolas pursed his lips. “No, Cosimo. I think it’s best if we find him together. What if you get lost?”

Cosimo scoffed. “I’m an elf. I can’t get lost in the forest.”

“All the same,” Nikolas said with a kind smile and a little shrug. Cosimo swallowed and faced forward again, gathering his discarded water container and walking up the slippery bank to the trail on top. He was so close… he could run, the likelihood of the humans catching him was slim. He could disappear in the trees, come out when they had given up looking for him. The boy would be safe in the Elfbow.

Unless the elves started looking for him too. The thought unsettled him more, in which case he would be better off with the humans. So Cosimo planted his feet even though he wanted so badly to run. He had to remember who he was, he wasn’t some scared boy. He had to trust his instincts, they got him this far. Everything would be fine.

“I could do with your long legs,” Nikolas said to Cosimo with an airy laugh as he climbed the bank.

“Or maybe it’s the lack of shoes,” Henrik mused, nodding at Cosimo’s bare feet. “It gives you more grip.”

“Perhaps you humans should whine less,” Cosimo said with a smirk, which only grew when the two humans full attention was on the elf. “It seems to weigh you down more, makes you slow.”

Henrik laughed his deep heart chuckle, and slapped Cosimo between his shoulder blades playfully. It was Nikolas who spoke next: “You lead the way from here, Cosimo. Hopefully we can find your brother before dark.”

Cosimo’s smile dimmed a bit at the edges as he bowed his head slightly. “Of course. This way.”

They trekked in silence back the way Cosimo came, the trees and trail familiar, the forest floor almost guiding him to where he needed to be. Cosimo prayed that the boy be okay. That he’s safe. That the elves didn’t find him and take him back to court or worse.

When the elfbow came into Cosimo’s sight he took off into a run. “There!” Henrik and the King’s footsteps thundered behind as Cosimo ran through the thick coat of leaves with ease. He craned his neck around the tree, chest heaving to see the fox in the nook, cuddled up beside the sleeping boy. Sweat soaked hair clung to the boy’s forehead and he looked far more pale than the last time Cosimo had seen him.

“Cosimo?!”

Cosimo pressed his forehead against the elfbow under his palm and closed his eyes in relief. Thank you. I’m here to take him again.

“Cosimo?” Henrik called from faraway. “Where are you?”

Cosimo’s eyes shot open. Humans couldn’t come into the sanctuary of the elder trees. Elfbows served elves and were almost sacred in their protection. After the humans started destroying forests to clear way for cities and villages, the elder trees made a pact with one of the first elves: that if the elves protected the tree then, it would serve as protector for future generations. Or so the story went.

The court elders always made a point of telling Cosimo that if he was ever lost or scared to find an elfbow and he would be safe from humans. It only occurred to him then, that he could just hide with the boy here and Henrik and Nikolas would never find them.

The humans wouldn’t find them, he reminded himself. Elfbows don’t protect elves from elves. A smaller voice, a childlike voice in the back of his mind continued: and who are you more scared of?

“I’m here,” Cosimo called back, unsure if they would be able to hear him. “He’s here, he’s alright. I’ll be just a second.”

The fox tilted her head as Cosimo entered the small nook, and watched silently as Cosimo hooked one arm under the boys neck and the other under the boys knees and lifted him from the soil and blanket of leaves. The boy was cold and covered in a thick sheen of sweat that made Cosimo’s heart race.

Surely the humans could heal him, they could fix him. Do something! They would know more. The fox chirped at Cosimo’s heel, bowed into a deep stretch her tail swishing as she stood. Black beady eyes peered up at Cosimo and he understood that she was asking: what now? Even if he wanted to, Cosimo couldn’t dissuade the fox from following and protecting the boy. Foxes were far too cunning to be tricked by a young elf.

The boy was far more lifeless than ever, his chest rising shallowly. Cosimo didn’t waste anymore time in the Elfbow’s protection. He emerged from under a sheet of leaves to see Henrik and King Nikolas with their backs turned to Cosimo.

“Here,” Cosimo rushed out, voice hitching as his feet carried him quickly across the distance to the two humans he decided to trust. Even though this could all be a farce, Cosimo was desperate. The fox pattered along behind him.

The humans turned at the sound of Cosimo’s voice, eyes drawn to the half alive boy in his arms. Henrik rushed over went to take the boy out of Cosimo’s hands but Cosimo turned at the last moment, wide panicked eyes meeting Henrik’s stunned gaze turning sympathetic.

“I have him,” Cosimo said, tone clipped. Henrik straightened, nodding.

Nikolas was the one to move them along. “We need to get him to Artzet immediately.”

“Will he be able to fix him?” Cosimo asked, following the humans back through the forest to the camp.

Henrik leaned into Nikolas and said quietly: “Niko, did you—”

“Yes,” Nikolas replied quickly, cutting Henrik off. He glanced over his shoulder at Cosimo, but the fae had his eyes and attention fixed solely on the unconscious boy in his arms, expression tight with worry. “Now’s not the time, Henrik. We can talk more once we get the boy back to Artzet.”

“Did you see the fox?”

Nikolas laughed, low and rich. “Yes. I saw.”

“Do you think it’s coming along too?”

“I don’t think we could dissuade it even if we tried.”

Cosimo was oblivious to the conversation ahead of him as he carefully stepped down the bank of the stream and hopped it effortlessly. The fox padded along beside him, not even faltering when they emerged into the humans camp.

“Come, men,” Nikolas called to the camp. “We are to be off as soon as we ready the horses.”

They didn’t need to be told twice. Soldiers milled to action. It was a smaller party than Henrik was with so within minutes they were packed and on horseback again.

Henrik stood beside Ebony and held his arms out to Cosimo. Cosimo’s sharp eyes cut into Henrik, narrow, untrusting. Henrik tried to look as reassuring as possible.

“You can’t get on the horse with him in your arms, Cosimo. Don’t worry, I’ll give him right back.”

Cosimo worried his bottom lip before nodding with a sigh. He passed the boy to Henrik’s strong arms and hesitated before releasing the boy. He quickly climbed up onto Ebony and held his arms out for the boy again.

Henrik’s smile was kind and reassuring as he passed the boy up to Cosimo before mounting the horse behind them. The fox sat in front of Ebony’s snout as she grazed, beady black eyes peering up at the elf.

“Will the fox be joining us?” Henrik asked.

Cosimo nodded. “She will walk behind. I don’t think she’ll mind the distance.”

“Still, it is a long way to go for such little legs,” Nikolas said coming to a stop beside them. “Will she let me carry her?”

Cosimo looked at the fox who tilted her head at him. A silent understanding passed between them, and Cosimo nodded.

“Yeah, she’ll let you pick her up.”

“Come on sweet thing,” Nikolas said, crouching and extending his hands to her. The fox walked towards him, sniffing his hand before plodding up to him and letting herself be lifted. “Oh, she’s so soft. I think I’ll ride with her beside you, so she can still see you both.”

Cosimo nodded. “Of course.”

Nikolas did just that and then they set off out of the king’s wood back to palace, Cosimo holding the boy tight to his chest. Henrik put the hood over Cosimo’s head before they reached the city gates, the cloak partly obscured the sleeping boy’s face, the other pressed into Cosimo’s chest.

Nikolas had one soldier ride ahead and tell Artzet to prepare a bed for the unconscious boy. They didn’t stop for chats with villagers this time, the air of urgency within their ranks must have carried outwards because no one stopped Nikolas for a catchup as they raced through the streets. Hooves clapped like thunder with steady, rhythmic beats as they passed the village to the wealthier residential area and finally the gates of the palace came into view.

“Just hold on,” Cosimo whispered, tightening his hold on the boy as they trotted to the stables. Henrik dismounted quickly, spreading his arms for the boy. Cosimo hesitated, again, but he didn’t have time to waste. This was life or death and Cosimo vowed he would keep the boy safe. They had come too far to risk it all over Cosimo’s feelings.

Cosimo had just passed the boy to Henrik when Nikolas appeared beside them, fox at his heels. Anxiety at not having the boy close crawled thick up Cosimo’s spine along with a sudden warm feeling as he jumped off Ebony. He had only begun to take a step towards Henrik when his vision swam with an impenetrable darkness. The world swayed and his body became like lead and he was falling.

A warm chest caught him before he could make contact with the ground. Cosimo let out a startled gasp, hands reaching up to hold onto the solid person that kept him upright, his body shivering as strong hands wrapped around him, reassuring.

“It’s okay, Cosimo,” Nikolas told him. “You’re okay. You’ve had a very long day.”

“The boy—” Cosimo mumbled, his tongue heavy as he tried to push his legs to work properly so he could stand on his own. An elf leaning on a human… what would the Elders think?

“We’ll get him to Artzet, as promised, dear boy. Henrik will carry him—”

“No.”

“Yes, you can barely stand. Don’t worry, you and I will head up together. Henrik and Artzet will take good care of him.”

Cosimo wanted to protest but there was no time. Instead he fought back tears as he nodded meekly. “Okay.”

Nikolas nodded at Henrik. Henrik turned on his heel and within seconds disappeared into the palace. Cosimo turned in Nikolas’s hold, one hand fisting the fabric of the King’s tunic in a stranglehold to keep standing. He only stopped when he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Nikolas. Nikolas wrapped an arm around Cosimo, the other ready to catch him if he tried to make a move.

“Easy, Cosimo.”

Cosimo risked a step forward. He would have fallen if it wasn’t for Nikolas’s strong arm holding him up. Cosimo let out a breathy curse in elvish, frustrated at his temporary weakness. He needed to get to Henrik and the boy. He needed to make sure they didn’t do anything bad to him. What if they locked him in iron cuffs? What then?

Something scratched the back of his brain but Cosimo didn’t have the energy to focus on it or give it the light of day.

“Just wait a second, Cosimo, it will pass. Your brother’s not going anywhere.”

The air around him was thick and clammy, like there was no actual oxygen getting to his lungs, as if he was inhaling tiny amounts of iron with every breath. He wouldn’t put it past Rochus to do something like that, poison the air while Cosimo was away.

Nikolas reached over to Ebony’s saddle bag and pulled Henrik’s waterskin from it. “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”

Cosimo took it from Nikolas, unscrewed the bottle and drank it down. The cool liquid was soothing and refreshing as it went down Cosimo’s throat and he found the more he drank the more he wanted to drink. He finished the container of water and opened his eyes, already feeling a ten times better than before.

Nikolas grinned. “Better?”

“Yes,” Cosimo said, handing him the empty water-skin. “Much better. Can we go to Artzet now?”

Nikolas laughed and shook his head fondly. For a short, heart-stopping moment Cosimo thought the king shaking his head side to side meant no, and Cosimo’s mind conjured up the worst.

“You are a determined boy, Cosimo.”

Cosimo felt his cheeks flush pink as he stepped forward, trying to hide his reaction from the king. Nikolas stepped with him until they got to the railing on the stairs. Cosimo let go of Nikolas’s arm and placed all his weight on the railing. He could do this. He could get to the boy. He was so close to saving them.

Once they were up the stairs Nikolas led Cosimo, arm in arm, to Artzet’s clinic. Cosimo almost cried when he saw the boy, something in his arm that connected him to a bag of water. A damp cloth over his forehead.

Myshka was sitting on one bed over, observing Artzet as he worked. Henrik greeted them. “Ah, you’re here. Good.”

“Is it serious?” Cosimo rushed out.

“No, no. Boy is good, strong, healthy of heart,” Artzet replied, smiling at Cosimo over his shoulder. “He will make full recovery.”

“He’ll be okay?” Cosimo whispered, not willing to believe his ears or eyes or anything as he walked with heavy feet to the end of the boy’s bed. The fox was laying there, curled up at the end of his bed and made a noise of recognition when Cosimo approached.

“He will be fine, boy,” Artzet said again, looking to Henrik and Nikolas with a shrug. “I thought that is what I said?”

“Cosimo’s had a long day,” Henrik said. “The two of them both need some rest.”

Cosimo didn’t dare blink in case the world would trick him and make the boy disappear. He couldn’t sleep, not until the boy woke up. He had to make sure the boy was okay. That he didn’t doom them both.

“You say boy is your brother?” Artzet asked, eyes as wide as an owls. Cosimo swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Did he catch him in a lie?

“Good,” Artzet said happily. “Then I know he will be okay. He will be as strong as his big brother, uh? Now, I set up bed beside him for you to sleep.”

Cosimo glanced up at Artzet and nodded fervently. Nikolas made a noise behind him. “Cosimo, I think a proper bed would be better. Hospital beds are uncomfortable—”

“Niko,” Henrik said softly. Nikolas sighed. Cosimo turned to look at the King. His shoulders sagged as he yielded.

“Okay. Fine, I know I won’t convince you otherwise, but Cosimo, the minute you and your brother are better you—”

Nikolas cut himself off as Cosimo crossed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around the King, squeezing tightly.

“Thank you,” Cosimo whispered. Nikolas let out a soft, shocked breath of a laugh, wrapping his arms tentatively around the elf.

“It’s my pleasure,” Nikolas replied as Cosimo stepped out of his embrace. “I will go and prepare your rooms. Artzet, I leave the boys in your capable hands.”

“Your majesty,” Artzet said with a bow.

“I’ll stay too,” Henrik said, patting Cosimo’s shoulder. “Until you’re asleep.”

“Full house!” Artzet cried, drawing the covers back on the bed beside the sleeping boy’s. Cosimo walked over to it and climbed in, thanking Artzet and Henrik as he pressed his head to the pillow. Artzet and Henrik started talking in low, hushed voices while Cosimo watched the boy’s chest rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall.

Alive and safe.

Cosimo did it. He rescued them. His eyelids suddenly grew heavy and Cosimo didn’t fight them as they slid over his eyes, darkness welcoming him like an old friend. Sleep took him somewhere far away, somewhere he didn’t have to think and worry and fret. Somewhere he didn’t betray his race and seek refuge in humans.

Henrik stayed even when he was sure the elf was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling softly. He looked so much younger when he was asleep, Henrik thought, without the hard crease between his brows. His jaw wasn't clenched, his face relaxed, no stubborn, steely gaze to contend with. He looked like a boy, a human boy around fourteen years old.

Already Henrik had developed a protective streak for the elf, wanting to comfort and care for him as much as the elf would allow. More than the elf would allow. The fondness in Henrik's chest for Cosimo wasn't the only recent feeling that had taken hold of him since he met the boy. There was something foreboding, unnatural, as if there was a presence watching him from somewhere unseen to the naked eye, and Henrik knew that Cosimo's presence here would only spell trouble. Still, he couldn't find it in himself to let the boy go now that he had met him. He still had so many questions to ask him; why he ran, who he was, will he stay?

All those questions could wait until Cosimo and his brother awoke. For now, Henrik pulled up a chair and rest his head against the backrest, content with watching over the newest residents of the palace.

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll call (zee tag-list, lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @tippytappytyping

[andithiel]

The secret language of flowers

Another contribution to the @hdcandyheartsfest for the prompt "bouquet". I was heavily inspired by the classic tumblr "fuck you" bouquet, and it's companion mentioned in the notes, the "fuck me" bouquet. As always, a massive thank you my lovely friend @crazybutgood for the beta and flailing and for making me blush 🥰

Drarry | 2,3k (!) | Teen and up for mentions of naughty things happening

“Draco, dear, stop fidgeting.”

Draco looked up at Pansy sitting across the table from him, a heap of textbooks between them. 

“I’m not fidgeting.”

“Okay. Could you then please stop this masturbation replacement and focus on our exam revision?”

He glared at her smirking face and stopped bouncing his leg up and down.

“Thank you.” Pansy smiled sweetly. “Now, could you please pass me the anatomy books?”

He handed them over with a sigh, when there was a tap on his kitchen window. A small brown owl with a flowery scarf tied around its neck sat waiting on the window sill. Draco bolted from his seat to let it in. It stuck out its leg towards him, revealing a scroll of parchment. Draco took it gently and let the bird perch on his owl stand while procuring an owl treat from his cabinet. He rolled out the parchment, chuckling in delight. “Oh dear, they really outdid themselves, this is perfect!”

“What is it?” Pansy got up from her chair and peeked over his shoulder. “A picture of a bouquet?”

He grinned. “It’s a drawn preview for a bouquet I ordered. Let me just approve it real quick and send it back with this owl. I want it delivered as soon as possible.”

He signed the form, dropped the correct amount of money into the owl’s pouch, and sent it on its way.

“Who’s the special one?” Pansy asked. “You haven’t told me you’re seeing anyone.”

“Oh, I’m not seeing anyone, it’s a bouquet of spite.” He turned to her, startling a bit at her demeanour with her arms crossed over her chest, leaning on one hip, eyes flashing. Pansy could be really fucking scary, and in any other situation, he’d be terrified now. But this time, he hadn’t done anything wrong, and she’d probably even enjoy his plan.

“A bouquet of spite?” She raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Let me guess: it’s for Potter.”

“How did you—?”

“Oh, please, as if half the class haven’t seen you eye-fucking each other since we started healer training. It was only a matter of time before you made it official.”

“We’re not— I’m not—” Draco spluttered. “This is a bouquet of spite!” He waved the parchment at her, then forced himself to calm down. Being upset would only undermine his point, even if his indignation came from being horribly misinterpreted. “Look,” he said, more calmly now. “Look at this and tell me it’s not the greatest way to send Potter the Sanctimonius Prick a heartfelt ‘fuck you’.” 

He held up the drawing of the bouquet he’d ordered the day before, thrusting it towards Pansy, but she maintained her usual resting bitch face (although Draco knew perfectly well that the bitch was never resting).

“All I see is a collection of pretty flowers. Very striking, if I may say so.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, don’t you see the symbolism?”

“What symbolism?”

“The symbolism of the flowers!” he said, suddenly feeling unsure. Was she playing stupid or was she really not familiar with the Victorian flower language? “Here, we’ve got geraniums for stupidity, foxglove for insincerity—”

“Have you met Potter? He’s the most sincere person in the world.”

“Yes, thank you, Pansy, I’ve noticed that. That’s the point,” Draco sighed. “Anyway, I also picked meadowsweet for uselessness, yellow carnations to say ‘you have disappointed me’, and finally orange lilies for hatred. Ergo: ‘fuck you’ in flowers.”

“Which secret language is this?”

“Pansy, my dear, the Victorian flower language is common knowledge, surely you know all of this already?”

Pansy was silent for long seconds, chewing the inside of her cheek, still with her arms crossed. She reminded him of a cobra waiting to strike. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“What?”

She shrugged. “Seems like an inordinate amount of money and time to spend just to tell someone you loathe them.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, sitting down again with his school books. “Let’s continue revising, shall we?”

💐💐💐

The rest of the day, Draco was in jitters. He couldn’t wait to see how Potter would react to the flowers. Would he be furious? Would he cry? Or worse, would he not care?

He got his answer later in the evening. He’d waved Pansy off and snuggled up on his sofa to read his favourite medical romance novel, when there was an urgent knock on the door. He groaned in frustration and considered disobeying his upbringing by simply pretending he wasn’t at home, but when there was another, even more persistent knock, he reluctantly left his cosy fortress and went to answer it. To his surprise, Potter was standing outside.

“Oh, Draco,” he said breathlessly, as if he was taken by surprise to see Draco and hadn’t just come over to accost him.

“Potter? What are you doing here?” 

Draco realised that Potter had probably come to fight him because of the flowers, and Draco had foolishly left his wand on the coffee table. 

“I, er… I came to thank you for the flowers, I…” Potter chuckled, looking down at his feet and then up at Draco with flushed cheeks and a glint in his eyes that Draco’d never seen before. Except when they were fighting. “Can I come in?” he said, and Draco wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or if Potter’s voice always sounded this… husky.

He was so flabbergasted by the request that it didn’t even occur to him to deny it, so he merely opened the door further and let Potter step inside. He closed it, and then Potter was so damn close, so much so that Draco could smell his aftershave and the hint of sweat underneath; it made his head spin.

“I have to admit I— I’ve thought about it, I mean, thought about us, but… I think I’ve been afraid to really think about it because I wasn’t sure if you’d feel the same,” Potter said, his lips so close to Draco’s ear that his breath tickled Draco’s skin, sending shivers down his spine.

“Sorry?” Draco squeaked. 

“The flowers,” Potter said, drawing back to look Draco in the eyes (and Merlin, this close, Potter’s eyes were mesmerising, with subtle golden hues in them that only emphasised the green). “I have to say that I was a bit angry at first, because I know the foxglove is poisonous. But then I looked into the meaning of it, and…” He chuckled again, biting his bottom lip. 

Draco’s head was spinning. It was like he’d been thrown into an alternate dimension, and he was too shocked by Potter’s behaviour to know what to say. 

“I thought that, as much as we fight with each other, you wouldn’t send me poisonous flowers just to be a dick, so I think ultimately, it was the foxglove that made me realise you were sending me a message. Which shouldn’t surprise me, you’ve always been full of layers and mystery, haven’t you? So, why not send me a message about your affection and fear of telling me outright?”

“Sorry?” Draco said again. Why were words failing him now, of all times?

Potter rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face made it look… fond. “Come on, Draco, I know you probably think I’m clueless when it comes to these things, but even if I don’t know the meaning of flowers by heart, I know how to look stuff up.”

Draco didn’t answer, he just stood frozen, gaping like a fish.

“I’ll admit I was surprised about the meadowsweet for courtship and matrimony, because it felt like maybe getting ahead of things, but—” he stepped closer again, his hands coming to cradle Draco’s waist “—the more I thought about it, the more it made sense, and… I wouldn’t want to rule it out.”

Potter was so close now that his breath ghosted over Draco’s face, and Draco’s eyelids fluttered closed. 

“Geranium for happiness,” Potter said, kissing the angle of Draco’s jaw, “foxglove and orange lilies for pride,” his lips glided along Draco’s jaw. “I shouldn’t be surprised you chose two flowers to symbolise your pride,” he chuckled, and Draco swallowed thickly, his breath quickening, heart beating wildly in his chest. “And the yellow chrysanthemums for joy and celebration were a nice way to sign the message off.” Potter’s lips had reached Draco’s chin, now.

“They weren’t—” Draco sighed.

“What?” Potter’s mouth was so close to his now that they were practically sharing the same air.

“Nothing,” Draco said, throwing all caution to the wind and tilting his head down to capture Potter’s lips with his. 

Maybe this wasn’t the reaction he’d planned, but he was certainly not complaining about the outcome of his scheme. Especially not when Potter grabbed his arse to press himself closer, which led to Draco grabbing Potter’s hair to be able to angle his head just right, which lead to Potter eliciting the most delicious moan Draco had heard in his life, which led to Draco deciding then and there that he needed to send the florist an extra big tip.

💐💐💐

“So, it seems as if the flowers you sent really paid off.”

Normally, Draco would hate to admit to Pansy that she’d been right, but today, the day after having been snogged silly by the Prat who lived, he felt generous.

“Well, I guess one of us had to nudge the other one in the right direction.”

“I think you did more than just nudge Potter yesterday, if that love bite is anything to go by.”

Draco’s hand flew to the part of his neck where Potter had been most persistent in sucking yesterday, but was interrupted by a tapping on the window. When Draco looked up, it was an owl with the same neck bind as the one he’d received yesterday with the drawing of Potter’s bouquet, but this one was larger, and it was clutching a big brown package in its talons. Draco hastened to let it in and set the package down on the kitchen counter. He gave the owl a little bowl of water along with the owl treats—it looked a bit tired—and then proceeded to unwrap what looked like a packet of flowers.

“Oh, more flowers?” Pansy cooed. “A little thank you for your tryst yesterday?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco said, searching for a card. “And calling it a tryst makes it sound sordid, we didn’t even do anything under the belt.” Unless rutting counted, he thought, remembering with a thrill how Potter had shivered against him as he came. 

Once all the paper was gone, he admired the bouquet Potter had selected for him. It was an odd mix of colours and shapes of flowers, not as aesthetically pleasing as the one he’d sent, but one couldn’t put too much faith in Potter’s choice in beauty.

“Is that a message as well?” Pansy looked at the bouquet with a frown, as if she was personally offended by the messiness of the ensemble.

Draco snorted. “Highly unlikely, since he completely missed my message yesterday.” But out of habit, he started going through the different meanings of the flowers anyway, just to show Pansy how wrong she was. “I mean, look: this one is for “anticipation”, and this, “elope with me. Sure, he told me yesterday that he wouldn’t want to rule out—” He cut himself off, because that particular information was something he hadn’t shared with Pansy yet, because he wasn’t sure he hadn’t been dreaming the whole thing. “And this is for ‘Victory in battle’, which, okay I’ll admit that that could be a message considering how much we fight about things, but—”

He cut himself off again, because the meaning of the red poppies could not be mistaken for anything else. Pleasure. He studied the bouquet again, heat rising in his face as understanding dawned on him. “Fucking hell,” he murmured, feeling Pansy’s eyes on him. 

He fumbled for the card, which read “Hope you like them as much as I liked mine yesterday, XX Harry.”

“That fucking—” Draco crumpled the card in his hand and turned on his heel to go to his living room, where his Floo was.

“What?” Pansy said, bewildered. “What does it say?”

“It says I’ve been had,” Draco said, throwing a too big pinch of Floo powder into his hearth and spinning off to Potter’s flat.

When he stepped out, dusting himself off, Potter was leaning against the back of an armchair, arms crossed and a smug smirk on his face. 

“Did you like the flowers?”

Draco drew himself up to his fullest height, trying as best he could to stare Potter down.

“You—” 

Like yesterday, he was annoyingly at a loss for words, but this time, it was out of anger.

Potter tilted his head, eyes glittering, as if he was an innocent puppy waiting for a treat. “I, what?”

“You know of the Victorian flower language.”

Potter’s smile widened, but still with that sweetness to it. “Of course I do, it’s common knowledge.”

“So, you really sent me a bouquet telling me ‘I anticipate you to elope with me and conquer me in pleasure with much energy’?” Draco said, not sure if he should be offended or impressed.

“I was thinking more like ‘I’m anticipating you and me getting out of here so you can tackle me and enthusiastically fuck me cross-eyed,’ but, yeah, I guess your interpretation work as well.”

Draco choked on his own saliva. “So you— Yesterday— You knew— You understood what—”

“That you wanted to tell me ‘fuck you’? Yeah, I did.”

“But—”

Potter scoffed, pushing off the armchair and prowling closer. “Oh, come on, Draco. No one puts that amount of money and effort into sending an elaborate message like that to someone they loathe. Not even you.”

Draco crossed his arms as Potter stepped into his personal space and tilted his head up towards him. “Well, well, Potter. It seems like you have some Slytherin in you, after all.”

“Mmm. Though I have to say, I don’t think I have nearly enough Slytherin in me,” Potter whispered into his ear. “Care to help me change that?”

Draco nodded mutely as his cock gave a twitch.

“Good,” Potter purred. “And just so you know, you’ll call me Harry from now on.”

Following Harry into his bedroom, Draco swallowed any objection he had. “With pleasure.”

[twoidiotwriters1]

The Curse of Oenone (Leo Valdez xFem!Oc)

A/N: Welcome to Ara's most chill nightmare -Danny Words: 2,098 Series' Masterlist Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Listen to: 'Wait for Me' -by Motopony

XLII: At Peace With Myself but Now I Got Beef With the Rest of the World

I dream. I don't see much, just the open sea, a little improvised tent nearby, and a small picnic table outside with dinner all set.

"I'm cursed too, you know? Maybe they sent me here to punish my girlfriend for telling me." I see Leo standing beside a rustically made worktable. Next to him, there is a beautiful girl I've never met, but I recognize her from Percy's stories.

Calypso observes Leo reluctantly like she's sure he's joking. Maybe she hears the word 'girlfriend' and wonders who in their right mind would date Leo. That happens a lot more often than it should. 

The girl decides to take the bait and asks anyway. "You have a girlfriend?"

"You bet I do," Leo smirks, each word full of adoration. "She's gorgeous. Maybe you heard about her? Her brother was here before. Arae Jackson."

"Jackson?" The goddess tenses. "Yes, I know her. She must've grown then, the way he talked about her sounded much too childlike to be dating a young man..."

"She's big enough now, that's for sure" Leo's face flushes. He stops what he's doing and looks at Calypso with urgency. "You don't have to be nice about it, but if I have to sit here and waste my time, can I please talk to you about Ara? I need to get this off my chest."

"Get what out?" The goddess steps away. 

Leo squeezes the fabric of his shirt like he's having a heart attack. "This worry. She doesn't know I'm alive, and she's already lost too many people. I need to go back."

At first, Calypso looks like she wants to go away, and that'd be fair, but the way she looks at Leo, is a mix of anger, hurt, and softness. It tells me she's not only feeling hatred—so long she's heard this story, and I know it always brings her all kinds of memories.

"I've had several men on this island, Leo Valdez," she replies calmly. "But rarely do they sound as genuine in their anguish as you do. Most prefer to waste their time with me, if only for just a moment. I hadn't met a boy so untempted by unearthly pleasures until now."

"Well, you don't see many boys around here anyway, do you?" He blurts out without thinking.

Calypso scowls and nudges him aside, grabbing a few wires and braiding them at an impressive speed. "You want to chatter about your Arae yes or no?"

"Yes," Leo blushes, watching her weave. I don't know what he's building, but it looks intricate and borderline nonsensical, so it's gotta be something extraordinary.

"Then keep those unsympathetic comments to yourself and sit down, we have a whole day of chores."

"Chores?"

"This thing you're making might take you out of Ogygia, who knows?" A little smile tugs at the corner of her lips. "If someone like you wooed an Aphrodite, everything's possible."

Leo frowns. "I'll take the compliment, but that was out of line."

"My point is," Calypso finishes her first set and grabs another pair of wires. "You'll need supplies. There is work to be done."

"You'll help me?"

Calypso looks up at him, speaking in a cynical tone. "Well, I have nothing better to do and you fixed my fountain—The project of a madman will be entertaining enough to keep my mind busy for a while, don't you think?"

"Glad to hear my longing is making someone happy..." he says with sarcasm.

"Yes, which is not unlike others, but the level of disinterest is fascinating," she tells him playfully. "My island is meant to be irresistible for all, but you don't like it much."

"I know a better beach," Leo smiles as he gets lost in his memories. "I had my first date with Ara there. I see the appeal of this place for people who have it worse out there in the real world, but I've got my own mundane pleasures," he smirks playfully. "What punny mortals call domestic bliss."

"What?" Calypso pauses to pay attention. "And what is that?"

"Stuff that would bore you to death on a normal day: doing the dishes, cooking a meal, cleaning your room... when I do all that with my girl, that's when I'm the happiest."

Calypso thinks about it. "And talking while building a machine counts as one of those things?"

Leo stares at the scraps and touches them with his fingertips. "Yeah... we do that all the time."

"I see the appeal," Calypso gives him a polite smile. "I don't hate sitting here and talking as much as I thought I would."

Leo laughs in a friendly way, giving her a pat on the back before going back to work. The girl grimaces and looks at the stain Leo left on her dress, and I know he totally did it on purpose. "Thanks, Cal!"

The dream fades and gets replaced with a different scenario. I'm standing in the middle of a workshop I've seen before. "Not this guy," I grumble.

"Hmph, yes, that's a normal reaction," Hephaestus says. He's holding a large piece of bronze, not really looking at me while he speaks.

I get ready to be scowled. "Look, I know I haven't been up to the test and I've failed you—"

"What nonsense are you blabbering?" He scans my appearance like I've got a loose wire somewhere. "Failed me? You helped one of my sons recover the bronze dragon, then you built a grand ship."

I open my mouth and then close it. Then I open it again. "Okay. So why am I here talking to you, sir?"

Hephaestus tosses the bronze plate out the window. Not very eco-friendly. "That'll do." He nods, then looks back at me. "Your mother threatened to reorganize my workshop if I didn't help you. I think you're holding on just fine, but she thinks your nerves might be on edge."

I slowly count up to five. "Maybe. So you put that vision of Leo and Calypso in my head?"

"Yes."

"He's in Ogygia."

"Yes."

"And he can't leave unless Calypso falls for him."

"That's how it usually works," Hephaestus nods, rummaging through his blueprints. "Leo is helping me."

I speak with a strained voice. "What do you mean?"

"When the war ended, your brother Percy asked us to release Calypso. Gods cannot undo what gods do."

"You sent Leo to rescue Calypso?" I lose my cool for a moment. "Couldn't you do that like, once this war was over? This is the worst timing ever! Sir." I add as an afterthought. "My lord, sir."

The god snorts. "Don't take this personally, child, but you've never been good at looking at the whole picture."

"What?"

"This was the best timing I could manufacture," he points at the window. "The fates are lousy planners, they toss out prophecies with no exact timeline, and we have to fish for a decent moment to set them in motion. That snow goddess you and your sister fought made it easier for me."

I want to scream. Easy? Of course that'd be convenient for a god. They measure my brainpower without lifting a finger or risking personal business so later on they know exactly how much weight they can put on my shoulders without inducing cracks.

My crew and I have been stuck at the Southwind god's palace for almost a week, with our ship hanging by a thread, and he calls this easy and nothing personal. Why don't you drag your mighty ass down to earth and fix the Argo II yourself, you big chunk of—

"Your anger is unnecessary," he brushes my thoughts aside. "What's done it's done, my son will come back, so focus on the ship."

"Without Leo or the sphere, the repairs can't be completed."

"You're saying you can't do it?" He raises a brow. "I thought you were a decent mechanic."

"Don't try to manipulate me, old man!" I bite my tongue. "Lord. Sir."

He snorts again, I think that's his actual laugh. "I see why my boy likes you."

"Listen..." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm on a tight schedule here. You're saying I don't have to look for Leo, yes or no?"

"He'll be fine," the god assures me. "There is no need to worry." 

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'd be a beam of freaking sunshine if the stupid oars could stop going berserk every time I start them up!" Ara holds back from punching the control board.

"If you need to take a break—"

"Listen, Frank, if you're gonna pity me, you could at least do it while being useful," she snaps at him.

The boy blushes and clears his throat. "Sure. Sorry, General. What do you need?"

Ara points at the ropes. "Secure the sails, ask Piper to help you. Has to be done manually since most of the automatized stuff in the ship is all messed up without the Archimedes sphere." 

He looks up squinting. "You sure Piper will do? She's not fond of heights..."

"Jason is waiting for his royal jerkness to give him the time of day, and I don't know where Nico is," she crouches under the panels and crawls into them. "So unless you want little five-foot-two Hazel to climb up the topmast..."

"I'll get Piper."

"That's what I thought," Ara speaks with strain.

She has been unanimously vetoed from being their messenger since she's starting to lash out at deities a little too much. By unanimously, it means even Ara voted against herself, she's wise enough to know that to taunt their current host is to push their luck.

She retreats from under the control board, feeling a presence looming over her shoulder. "You done stalking Jason?"

"He got called in," Nico says, sounding grumpy. "He's more annoying than you ever were."

Ara smiles, knowing what he means. "He's still hung up on Croatia, huh? Yeah, he's the same with me. 'You sure you're okay, Ara? I'm here if you need to talk', man, you're a head taller than me, pick up a hammer and work," she huffs.

Nico smirks and gets closer. "What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to be the mechanic this ship needs, but I'm no Cabin Nine camper. This trireme was my best friend until it decided to go insane," she gets up rubbing her lower back. "I wanna crush it with my bare hands... I feel like such a cranky grandpa."

"Eat up, grandpa," he pulls out a granola bar from his pocket and hands it to her. Ara opens it and splits it in two, passing him a half. "You've fixed everything, you're doing fine," Nico nibbles on his half. "You just don't wanna move places without knowing you're not leaving Leo behind."

Nico knows about Leo's whereabouts because Ara told him. He's the only one that she shared this with because Piper keeps blaming herself for not knowing how snow smells and Jason is going through an identity crisis again. Right now, Nico is the only one on board with the least amount of mental setbacks, which is heavily concerning and a little bit ironic.

"This is what you wanted, right?" She teases him. "To see me alone in the world so I could get my shit together? Well, I've lost my brother, I've lost Lily and Annabeth, and now I've lost Leo. Now I just gotta lose you in a busy crowd and I'll go full eat-pray-love on Gaea."

She might be imagining things, but Ara catches what looks like the briefest grin on Nico's face before he responds. "That would be detrimental to the crew. If you want my opinion—"

"I don't."

"—You should let yourself be angry," he shrugs. "Generals shouldn't be generous."

Ara squints. "Was that a pun?"

"You should know how to keep a cool head by the time we get to the House of Hades, and you'll only learn if you allow yourself to feel. Get a good reason to kick the giant's butt. When Michael died— "

"Leo isn't dead."

"You don't act as a leader unless someone damages your favorite toys."

"Did you go to Hephaestus's school for social relations?" She frowns, taking a big bite of the granola bar. "Every word that leaves your mouth is insulting."

Nico smiles for real this time, though it's his sardonic, dark smirk. "Old habits die hard."

"Can I be honest for a second?"

"I rather you weren't," he finishes his snack and pulls out another one, this time it's a chocolate bar.

"I like my job. Heck, I love my job! Being a daughter of Olympus can be fun, but gods can ruin your day by just talking."

"That's funny, I feel the same way about you."

Ara playfully elbows Nico. A beige dusty cloud starts to make its way to them, and her smile goes away. "Please, let that be a good sentient cloud..."

Nico tilts his head and squints. "It's Jason."

Ara mimics his actions. "Doesn't that mean we're leaving?"

"Think so," Nico takes a huge bite of his chocolate and walks past her.

Next Chapter –>

Taglist.

@siriuslysirius1107 @ask-giggles1303 @asnyox-the-hoarder @im-planning-something-look @bandshirts-andbooks @coolninjapaper @thewaterlily @whenisthefall @1randomcomic @you-bloody-shank @sunflowergraves @owlalex44 @taylordaughter @typicalsolangelolover @writingmia @espressopatronum454 @slytherinnqueen @orbitingpolaris @obxstiles @ellipsisspelled @thepixiechicksh @ebony-reine-vibes

[embersofhope-if]

Okay i wrote this a while ago bc somebody requested it but now i can't find the ask💔

anyways heres a drabble of the fight Mc and Aurel got into when they were sixteen

tw for fighting, dissociation, strangulation, and theres a needle used at the end but its not explicitly stated

wordcount: 1.9k

The rain pours down onto me as I stand waiting. What I'm waiting for, I'm not entirely sure. All I know is that I need to stand here and wait until whatever is supposed to happen happens. I see the blurred figures of both children and teachers leaving the school to go start their afternoon shifts in the factories. Even if I can’t clearly see their faces, I can feel their glares, anger, and hatred hot on my skin. It’s the only thing I can feel at the moment. It’s honestly about the only thing I’ve been able to feel since the games ended. I can’t bring myself to think too deeply about what happened, or I might start drowning in every emotion imaginable, again.

I can’t let that happen. They’ll put me on so many pills I won’t be able to tell which way is up.

So, I continue to stand, waiting in the rain, having only the heat of glares keeping me warm. A bolt of lightning hits the building across the street, followed by a loud crack of thunder. The jolt of fear suddenly clears my mind of the fog that it’s been trapped in, and I realize why I’m here.

Ash

Every day without fail, Ash and I would meet up here after school. Whether we would just talk for a couple of minutes before their shift at the factory or I was walking them home, we always met up here.

All at once, everything that I haven’t been able to feel hits me so hard I almost fall over. Every feeling forms into a single thought.

I’ve got to get out of here now.

I run, fleeing from the courtyard and everything that’s happened there. That courtyard is nothing but a painful reminder that Ash is gone, and there is nothing I can do to bring them back. With the fog lifted from my brain, I can now fully feel the pain of what's happened. My heart aches as if the games happened just yesterday, and it has left my feet unsteady as I continue to run. I have no idea where I'm running to, probably somewhere equally as painful, but as long as I’m moving away from here, I don’t really care.

I shove past several people, barely hearing their angry shouts of protest, and force my way through a set of doors. I have no idea where I am or where to go. I recognize the room, but my mind refuses to focus enough to remember the name. All I can think about is how much my chest aches and how cold my hands are. My skin feels so cold it's like I’ve never felt the Sun.

I force myself to sit down before I collapse onto the floor, trying not to make any more of a scene than I already have. Exhaustion begins to replace whatever panic is left in my body.

I need to stand up. Make my way home before someone tells Father that I’ve had some type of breakdown. Explain to him that this is nothing like that.

But it is exactly like that, isn’t it? I’m not entirely sure what counts as a breakdown, but sprinting through school grounds shoving anyone out of my way in a blind panic probably counts at least as the start of one. The worry of what Father is going to do when he finds out isn’t enough to motivate my body to move again. I’m so exhausted that all I can bring myself to do is sit here and breathe.

I’m not entirely sure how long I’ve been here, but it’s long enough for me to finally realize where I’m at, the community cafeteria. I’m just thankful I didn’t barge my way into some teacher’s classroom, which means the chances of someone noticing me are significantly lower. I still haven’t been able to bring myself to stand, but I have noticed other people moving about and taking seats. These must be late-day shift workers. That means it's almost seven o’clock, and I’m supposed to be at dinner in thirty minutes. This realization finally manages to get my limbs moving again.

I’ve got to get across the city in the middle of a shift change in less than thirty minutes and then pretend that I’ve spent the last three hours in my room instead of out here trying not to lose my mind. This is going to be near impossible

I quickly stand, trying to come up with something to say to my family whenever I get back home.

Maybe I can say I went on a walk or Hope went missing and I went looking for him. Who am I kidding? Mother wouldn’t believe that for a second, and if she did, Calliope wouldn’t, and she’d have no problem with immediately calling me out on the lie.

No matter what I come up with, every excuse is worse than the last. Ultimately, I decided to just get back as fast as I could and wing it from there.

Once again, I begin shoving my way through groups of people not really caring for the looks they throw my way. I’m stopped whenever a hand grabs my collar and pulls, hard. The motion forces me to turn around, and I come face to face with Aurel Weaver. The anger in their eyes does nothing but confuse me.

I hardly know Aurel. I can’t even remember the last time I spoke to them. What could I have possibly done to make them so angry?

For a minute, we both just stare at each other, waiting for the other to speak. I take the moment to properly look at them. After the games ended, shifts at the factories began to ramp up, and Aurel ended up dropping out of school to keep up with the work they were assigned. I haven’t really seen them since then, but I can tell the work is taking a toll on them, changing them. They look about as exhausted as I feel. Their skin pale, and the bags under their eyes are worse than I've ever seen them before. But the biggest change I can see is in their eyes; beautiful hazel eyes drowning in nothing but fury and hatred, and it's all directed at me. A sharp pang runs through my chest. I may not have been best friends with Aurel, but I still considered them at the very least a friendly acquaintance. I force myself to ignore the hurt and very suddenly realize that I’ve been staring for too long and I can't afford to waste what little time I have to get home. “Sorry Aurel, I didn’t mean to run into you,” I say quickly, going to turn to leave.

I take a step away until I, once again, feel a hand grab me. Only this time, the hand is wrapped around both my collar and the chain hanging around my neck. They’re saying something to me, but all I can focus on is the chain in their hand and the fact that if they pull it’ll snap. I take a breath slightly, turning my head, forcing myself to listen to what they’re saying.

“It’s rude to not answer my questions, you know?” Aurel growls, and I can feel them getting ready to yank me back. Instead of responding, I try to move out of their grip. At the same time, they decide to pull, and I feel the chain snap.

The pendant slides down my shirt, and I watch it fall to the ground. The last precious gift that I will ever get from Ash now lays on the ground broken like it was nothing. I barely feel Aurel's presence anymore. All I can stare at is the pieces.

They grab my shoulder, tired of me apparently ignoring them, and force me to look at them. Suddenly, the nothingness I felt while looking at the broken pendant is replaced with an all-consuming rage at the sight of them standing, acting like I owe them any type of response. I glance around and notice a glass cup sitting on the table next to us.

Without a second of delay, I grab it and smash it against the side of their head. Before they manage to recover any semblance of balance, I lunge at them and knock them to the ground. One. Two. Three. I get three punches in before they get me off them. They pin me down with one hand around my throat and use the other to try and hold my hands down. I can feel their right hand around my throat, squeezing hard while I kick and scratch at them. As my vision starts to fill with black spots, I freeze and begin to realize that Aurel might just be trying to kill me.

I’m going to die on the dirty floor of the community cafeteria, and it’s nobody’s fault but mine. Broken and nothing on the ground, just like the necklace lying next to me.

I feel Aurel's grip on me loosens, and I know this is my chance to get them off me. I kick them in the side and manage to get out from under them. I throw a punch to the side of their head that knocks them into a leg of the table, hard. Disoriented and off balance, Aurel doesn’t even notice that I’m in front of them until I pin them down and begin to hit them over and over. I lose track of how many times I hit them; all I know is that they’re not fighting back anymore. I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Every emotion I’ve been trying not to feel comes out in every swing. I know I’m crying, but I can’t bring myself to care. I should be ashamed for doing this for letting my anger take control, but I’m not.

There’s a crowd around us now. I can’t hear them, but I can see them; with the show me and Aurel have been putting on, it was bound to catch some attention. If there’s a crowd, then that means there must be peacekeepers on the way. I don’t care. They can drag me away and lock me up forever, and I won’t care. I feel hands trying to pull me off Aurel, but I don’t let them.

They hurt me. Why shouldn’t I hurt them? I want to hurt them. I want to hurt all of them. Everyone in the districts and Capitol. I want to hurt them all.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice white uniforms surrounding me, and they begin grabbing me. They’re a lot better at getting me off Aurel than whoever was trying before. As I’m being pulled away, I notice the pendant still lying on the ground, a forget-me-not shattered into pieces.

Ash would hate me right now.

That thought takes any fight I had left, and I sag in the peacekeeper's arms. The last thing I see is my Father walking towards me as I feel a sharp prick on the back of my neck and fade into darkness.

[venerable-sun]

hello! If possible, I would like to request head-canons of prince Nuada with a heavily traumatized autistic reader?

specifically an autistic reader that suffered severe emotional abuse and instability as a kid? (Am I projecting the entirety of my life into a single request…maybe)

no pressure if it’s not for you! I just rlly like your writing!

thank you! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

Thank you for requesting! I'm sorry it took me so long to write this- I wanted to make sure that I'd done a lot of research so I could accurately portray everything you were asking for. Anyways, here are your headcannons!

---

~ Nuada doesn't even try to hide his distaste for humans, even after the BPRD rehabilitates him and Nuala after his battle with the Hellboy. If anything, his inability to leave the compound without supervision, his forced participation during missions, and his twin sister's increasing closeness with a certain anthropomorphic fish-man only fuel the flames of his hatred even more.

~ Everywhere he goes, people scatter before him. They are afraid of him- afraid of his wrath- and Nuada likes it that way. But there is one human in the BPRD that doesn't run from him or flinch away from his presence.

~ You.

~ He watches you from afar, trying to figure out what makes you so different from the rest of your peers that can't stand to be around him. As the BPRD's librarian, you aren't built especially strong or have much field training. When you talk, it's softly and usually with your eyes on the ground. And yet, whenever he enters the library, you remain calmly behind your desk when all others would have left.

~ Your interactions start simply with him asking for specific books or an item to examine from the archives, which you always help him find with the same demure air that you do anyone else. But slowly, the two of you begin to talk about your favorite books, history, philosophy- and Nuada starts to find that you're almost always on his mind.

~ One day, he goes to the library to find it empty. You aren't at your desk or in the stacks, and Nuada doesn't have time to register the fact that he's disappointed you aren't there when a slight noise catches his attention.

~ His keen warrior ears lead him to a small secluded corner of the library. He finds you tucked behind a cart of books, knees drawn to your chest and rocking slightly. You raise your head to look at him, and he's filled with anger at the sight of your tear-stained face.

~ "My lady, what has upset you so much?" He murmurs softly, slowly falling to his knees so that he can move closer to you. You sniffle. "Manning came by earlier. He was angry I hadn't finished cataloguing the newest influx of items. I tried to explain that I have no help, but he wouldn't listen!" You're unable to finish, burying your head in your knees once more while Nuada struggles to reign in his temper.

~ He's seen the way Manning can be when he's angry. It's no wonder the man upset you- you, who flinches at loud noises, who prefers the company of books more than other people.

~ Nuada remains sitting with you, even after you finish speaking. He tells you stories softly, stories from his childhood, myths and legends of his people. When you finally seem to calm, you shuffle close to him and place your head on his shoulder. He tenses for just a moment before relaxing and continuing his story, lulling you into a light sleep.

~ For now, he will let you rest. He makes a silent promise to you in that moment, that he will always protect you from all that could cause you harm. That you are the only human in the BPRD worth anything.

~ Soon he will realize the true extent of his feelings for you, and he will confess them between the tall stacks of books that you feel so safe in.

~ But first, he has a little meeting with Manning to schedule.

---

[rachel-of-autumnbow]

Day 10 of @fanovember: Online Dating

Vax is surprising his online girlfriend by watching her performance (and her) for the first time irl.

Vaxleth. Fucking cute i almost died writing this shit. Soft Vax. Feat Korring being the best dad. Probably grammar mistakes. Enjoy.

10. Online Dating

Vax put his phone back in his inside pocket and straightened the jacket lapels for the millionth time. He hated formal robes in general, but suits were a special kind of hatred for him. He had a comfortable set of clothes back in the motorbike chest. “Only a couple of hours,” he thought. “Then back to moving freely.” He waited until the theater doors opened and tried to sneak inside. It would have been easy, if it wasn’t for the flowers he was holding.

Kiki: im so nervous i think im gonna puke 🤮

Vax: itll be fine, its not the first time you do this

Kiki: it’s not the same today, my dad came

Vax: im sure he’ll be very proud of you

Kiki: i hope i don’t mess this up

Vax: you wont you’re a great actress

Kiki: you never saw me on stage

Kiki: or ever

Vax: yet

Kiki: anyway, i should get ready

Vax: go break a leg

Kiki: thanks babe 💚

“Hey, you, I will need your ticket, please.”

“Oh, sorry.” Vax pretended to look for his entrance ticket he didn’t have in his pockets. “I must have left it at home.”

“Sorry, sir, no entrance, no show.”

Vax nodded. “Alright, at least could you make sure to give this to Keyleth by the end of the play? Please.”

The doorman sighed. “Fine, but get out.” Vax turned around and pouted as he examined the hall for a different way to get in.

“Excuse me, young man.”

Vax looked at the man behind him, “yes, sir, I was about to leave…”

“Oh, no, it’s not that. I couldn’t help but hear you’re an admirer of my daughter?”

Vax blinked. His mind quickly showed him the pictures he had seen him in. Pictures that Keyleth had sent him or posted. “Yes, that can be said.” The man smiled in the same way Keyleth did in their facetimes. ‘I can’t believe I’ve met my girlfriend’s father in real life before even seeing her’.

“May I know your name?”

“Vax’ildan, sir.” The man stared at him for a second as they shook hands and he ended up laughing.

“Oh, so you’re that Vax! It’s a pleasure to meet you. Keyleth talks a lot about you, and now I can see why.” Vax cleared his throat and felt a hand on his shoulder. “Does she know you’re here?”

“No, sir. I had a surprise planned.”

“And you left your ticket at home.”

“Actually… The gas and the flowers took all my savings. I was going to, well…”

“Sneak in?” Vax sighed and nodded. He never felt sorry or ashamed of the things he had to do due to his lack of money, but at that moment, he would rather Kiki’s dad not know any of it. “Then consider this your lucky day, come with me.”

“Sir?” The man didn’t say anything, just went to the doorman and gave him a ticket, pointing at Vax. The guy nodded and let them both in with a gesture. Vax followed Keyleth’s father through a corridor, then up a bunch of stairs and a door that led to a box, right in front of the stage. Probably the best seats in the theater.

The man invited him to sit in one of the front seats. “I always get two tickets for Keyleth’s performances, just in case me and my wife happen to be in town to come. I could make it this time, but she didn’t.”

“Thank you, sir.” Vax sat by his side. He had never been in a box before. He could see people under him moving like a sea of heads, slowly finding their place.

Keyleth’s father, Korrin, as it happened to be his name, talked to him while they waited for the play to start. They talked about their families, friends, and how he had met Keyleth. His pocket buzzed.

Kiki: i thought they were kidding about the sold out but they werent!

“Is that her?” Korrin asked.

Vax nodded. “Yes, she’s quite anxious about today.” He was tempted to say something like ‘yeah, i can see that’, but  he didn’t want to spoil the surprise.

In that moment, the lights faded as the off voice started saying the welcoming. The play was fun, all of the actors were indeed amazing. Vax knew some of them, he had made friends with Keyleth’s circle during their relationship. He was aware, although he didn’t really care, of how dumb faced he looked when Keyleth made her first appearance.

Vax: that means there are so many people that want to see your brilliance.

Kiki: most of these are Scanlan admirers.

Vax: i refuse to believe none of them came for you

Vax: its mathematically impossible

Kiki: i thought you hated math

Vax: thats not the point

Kiki: i know 😁

Kiki: i wish you were here 😞

Vax: be careful what you wish for, it could come true

He had seen her in pictures, he had heard her in voice notes and calls, but none of that did justice to her. He imagined himself jumping out that box, running to the stage and kissing her right that moment, but he didn’t want to mess the show. He stood there, mouth half open and heart pining and longing.

Vax didn’t part eyes from the stage until the end, when the doorman entered the scene during the final bows with his bouquet. He handed it to Keyleth, who read the note and started scanning the crowd. Vax stood up and thanked Korrin for everything before heading out.

He waited in the hall for quite some time, he saw everyone go out and half an hour later, even Korrin waved at him when he was heading out. “I didn’t tell her a word. She’ll be out soon.”

Vax smiled, although he has a bundle of nerves. “Thanks.”

Ten more minutes passed and he heard steps in the hall. "Vax?" He turned around and he felt his heart splutter.

"Hey, Kiki." He could only catch her and spin around in a hug. Her hair smelled like freshly cut grass and her laughter was probably the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

"I can't believe you're here." Keyleth pulled away to look at him.

Vax put a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I told you to be careful what you wish for."

Keyleth's smile became even brighter. "Did you watch the show too?"

Vax stroked her face, unable to believe he was actually doing what he had been dreaming of for so long. "Yeah, you're amazing, you know?"

"I-I mean… you came all the way to see me."

"Yeah… I also came to do something else."

"Really? Wha—"

Vax didn't hold the kiss anymore.

[ihaveacorgi]

Zuko used to love sitting on the roof as a child. It was a way to get away from the servants and nannies, the tutors and instructors, and most of all, his father. It was his happy place, his escape, the one place in the palace where he could just… be. It was just a roof, maybe nicer than most others, but it served the same function in the end. It was just a roof, but it meant so much to Zuko. And he knew Sokka wouldn’t understand that, that he had no idea why Zuko was so nervous to bring him out here. It was just a roof, afterall.

Sokka seemed to love it too, from the awed way he looked up at the stars and out over Caldera. “This is beautiful, Zuko,” he breathed, turning his brilliant smile towards Zuko. “I bet this is how Yue sees the world. It’s incredible. She would’ve loved this,” he continues, gazing sadly up at the moon. And Zuko knew it didn’t mean anything, but he couldn’t help the spike of jealousy that flared in his chest, regardless.

Zuko stamped it down and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, though he had never met Yue and knew nothing about her. It was what was expected, so he said it.

“Thank you for showing me,” Sokka said, as he leaned over to kiss Zuko. They existed like that, in stolen, hidden moments, cloaked in shadows and darkness, unable to be open like Katara and Aang.

“Sokka, I… I wanted to tell you something.” Zuko swallowed heavily. That was the whole reason for showing Sokka this place. He wanted somewhere that he felt… safe, for this. “I… um, I wanted to tell you how I got the scar.”

“Oh,” he replied quietly, his voice lacking any hint of joking or amusement in the way it so rarely did. And Zuko was sure Sokka had probably guessed. He was smarter than the entire Fire Nation court combined, and Zuko’s father hadn’t exactly hidden his hatred of his son well, nor had Zuko been able to hide his fear of his father.

“I… I’m sure you’ve guessed, what happened. O- or someone told you, li- like Uncle Iroh, or Aang might know, but I… I wanted you t- to hear it from, you know, me,” Zuko began, haltingly, stuttering and tripping over a few words as he tried to find the right ones to say. He’d never really been good at words and sharing his unfiltered thoughts rarely ended well, but he was going to try his Agni-damned hardest, because Sokka deserved to know. He deserved to know it how it was, not some twisted-up version, told by one of the witnesses and warped by hatred or sympathy. No, Sokka should know the truth, and Zuko knew there were only two people in the world who would tell it to him. And there was no chance Aang or Zuko would let Sokka anywhere near Ozai, bending or no.

“Ok,” Sokka replied, pressing a kiss to Zuko’s temple. “You can tell me, Zuko.”

“It… well, I guess it started because I asked Uncle to let me into a war council. Or… maybe, maybe it was before that. I, uh, I was always a disappointment. My father, uh, Ozai, he used to say that Azula was born lucky, but that I was, uh, lucky to be born. And, well, you know Azula. She was a prodigy, you know? She was always better at fire bending than me, and, well, Ozai always favored her. But I tried, Sokka. I wasn’t… I wasn’t trying to slack off, or fail on purpose, or make mistakes. I did my best to make him proud, but… he just… didn’t love me. Or… maybe he never loved anyone. I don’t… I don’t know. But, uh, anyway, when I was around thirteen, I asked Uncle to let me join a war council. He told me to be quiet, not to say anything. And I, I should’ve listened, Sokka. Uncle, he’s usually right, you know? But, well, I– I didn’t listen. There was this general, uh… I don’t remember who, actually. Uncle probably knows. Anyway, he wanted to sacrifice a division of new recruits, the 49th – who were probably drafted, come to think of it. But they were young, and he wanted to send them up against part of the Earth Kingdom army as a distraction and come around the back for a completely insignificant piece of land. It was… it was dishonorable. Barbaric. We were… I was told we were better, back then. That we wouldn’t… that we weren’t like that. So, I spoke out. I thought he would be proud,” Zuko spat the word. “I thought that would make him proud, Sokka. That I would be showing him I was capable of leading, of thinking about our people the way a good Fire Lord is supposed to, but, uh, that’s not what happened. The general challenged me to an Agni Kai, a fire bending duel over honor, because, by speaking against his plan, I had insulted him.”

Sokka took one of Zuko’s hands, and he realized he was shaking. “You didn’t fight the general, did you?”

Zuko shook his head. “It… it was my father’s– it was Ozai’s war room, and I had disrespected it… disrespected him. I… I didn’t fight him, Sokka. I couldn’t fight him, and I begged. I knelt and I begged, like a coward, and he burnt me. It was his right, I forfeited, he won. His words to me were ‘you will learn respect. Suffering will be your teacher,’ and, uh, and then he banished me. He told me that I… that I could come back if I captured the Avatar. For, uh, for context, your sister didn’t get Aang out of that iceberg for another, uh, three years, give or take. He expected me… no, he hoped that I would die, first from the burn, then again in exile, but I…” Zuko laughed bitterly. “I thought he wanted me back. That he’d offered me a way home because… because deep down, that’s what he wanted. That I could… that I could finally make him proud.”

“That… that wasn’t your fault, Zuko,” Sokka replied, wiping a stray tear that Zuko hadn’t noticed.

Zuko sighed, wearily. “I know, Sokka. I was a child. A stupid one, but a child. I just, I wanted you to know.”

“Why didn’t you tell us when you tried to join Aang during the war? He would’ve understood. He’s a very forgiving person.” Sokka asked, but he looked like he knew the answer.

“I didn’t want your pity. I wanted– no, I needed to know that I could… that I could do better than Ozai. I still, sometimes I think I’ll become like him. I get so angry, sometimes, and I… I wonder if it’s just in my blood. I… I asked Aang to kill me, if I’m ever like him. I made him promise. If– if he ever tries, let him, Sokka.” Zuko’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I love you, so much, Sokka, but you can’t… you can’t let me turn into a monster.”

Sokka just pulls him closer and promises him that, if necessary, he would kill Zuko himself. It’s not what lovers are supposed to say, in these situations. Zuko knows that they’re supposed to tell each other that they’d never become that, that they’d always protect each other. But this, this promise is far more comforting, because if Zuko has to die by someone’s hand, he’d rather it be Sokka’s.

And, if Sokka spends that night crying for the childhood that Zuko lost, swearing to himself that he’ll never, never do anything to hurt the beautiful boy next to him, the broken, angry, but, above all, kind boy sharing his bed. That, no matter what Zuko did, he would never raise so much as a pinky finger against him, because there was nothing Zuko could do to end up anything like his father – even back when he was screaming about honor and trying, so hard, to be just like him – then that was between him and Yue, and no one else.