#they bring me so much joy and inspiration like I cannot stop smiling looking at a them I am so happy

[onlyoneofsideblogtrashheep]

I love onlyoneof so freaking much

[helloaugustmoon]

this is so classic wattpad plot but I literally do not care

Michael Jackson x she/her!reader

·˚ ◌༘͙[Keep The Faith] ! ˊ

Fishing has been one of Michael’s favorite hobbies for some time. Not in the traditional sense - he cannot sit still for long enough to actually go fishing - but rather by his own definition. Whether it be peering at the faces in the crowd at a concert, seeing faces pressed against the windows of cars and buildings he’s in, fishing is a term that Michael dedicates to peacefully viewing pretty creatures that appear just to see him when he’s passing through. In no way is it dehumanizing; he views it as comparing people to other beautiful things in nature, and in a comical sense too, of course. By now, his team is well aware of his traditions when it comes to fishing, only laughing along and agreeing with his comments pertaining to ‘nice fish’, all in jest and never something he’d consider seriously pursuing; he’d feel he had too much power over a fan that it wouldn’t be fair or just, it would be taking advantage, and that’s not something that sits well with him.

That is, until your face catches his eye.

Fan after fan came and went, greeting Michael and taking pictures while he signed their copies of ‘Bad’ and gifted him their most sincere praises. It was certainly lovely, never something he takes for granted, but to an extent, the social scale of the event can become quite tiring. He’s grateful the line is nearing its end, hoping that soon enough, he’ll be able to rest. But when Michael lifts his gaze from the table in front of him and his eyes meet yours, when he sees your smile- he swears to every holy thing he’s ever known, his heart stops. You aren’t screaming or hyperventilating, but you are trembling in a way that stirs the gentleman in him, wishing the circumstances would allow for him to perhaps offer his jacket to you. The smile on your face as you look at Michael is reflected right back at you, and his previous idea of having any power over a fan is single handedly erased by the existence of you. In that moment, had you wished it, he’d have dropped to one knee and ripped his own heart out to offer it to you. One word from you, and he’d do anything for you. All you had to do, was-

“Hi, Michael.”

And he’s yours.

Your voice is the sweetest melody he’s ever heard, and he already knows it’ll inspire more songs than anything ever has before. You are the siren to lull him to sleep, to guide him to the pearly gates of heaven someday, and he is nothing if not a devout worshiper at the altar that is you.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time, you’ve already been here so long- but, I just wanted to thank you for the music you make and the message of love that-“

Is now and has only ever been meant for you, he realizes.

Words continue to fall from your lips like a steady stream, a peaceful and thought-out poem that touches every part of Michael’s very soul. And he sits there, smiling up at you as you stand before him, in absolute awe of you. The stars of the night couldn’t hope to hold a candle to the ones in your eyes.

“You don’t need to thank me, it’s my pleasure. It brings me joy to know that my music brings you joy, too.” He answers, his own voice softer than he’s ever heard it.

Your smile turns shy, then, and Michael wishes he had the kind of magic to seal this moment in a bottle, or lock it away in a drawer, so that on the lonely nights he foresees in his future he might gaze upon this moment again. You.

“What’s your name?” He asks you, the question feeling more like a desperate plea than a general curiosity, and when you do tell him your name, it’s immediately stitched into the very fabric of his being.

He wants to compliment your name for how pretty it sounds, how well it suits you, how he’ll close his eyes and whisper it to the sky before he falls asleep and wishes for you without being capable of waiting for a shooting star to do so. He wants to, more than anything. But for risk of seeming too forward, Michael only allows his smile to widen, tells you it was wonderful meeting you, that he hopes you’ll have a pleasant rest of your day, and then passes you back your copy of his album - signed with his name and a kiss that he simply couldn’t resist leaving for you.

Michael’s team exchange glances when his eyes linger on you, watching you leave until you are completely out of sight. At which time, he releases a sigh that is impossible to mistake as anything other than a swoon. With his longing being so obvious, a member of Michael’s team steps forward.

“Would you like us to ensure tickets for tomorrow night’s show, Sir?” The security guard offers, and is surprised when Michael only shakes his head, not offering a verbal answer as he turns his attention to the next person in line.

That night, Michael is ringing up an impressive phone bill from his hotel room, rambling to Janet about every shade in your eyes, every intricacy of you, every cadence you spoke in. After an hour, he finally leaves enough time for his sister to actually respond.

“So you made certain she’ll be at the show tomorrow, right?” It almost sounds rhetorical, not to mention sarcastic, coming from Janet - not that either would surprise Michael.

“No, no,” He shakes his head, leaning against the wall as he holds the phone to his ear, careful not to step too far from the cord. “I don’t want to enforce or engineer anything- that’s not love, that’s a script. If I’m meant to see her again, I will.”

Janet sighs at this, knowing Michael’s mind is set and that means he’ll be too stubborn to consider any alternative; his views on love and fairytales are so absolute, he’d rather spend a lifetime waiting for you and loving you anyway, than use the powers at his disposal to set up a meeting that could lead to a love story.

That said, Janet also knows that for you to have captured Michael’s attention so, you must be some girl. Women have thrown themselves at him from the moment he entered the spotlight - for him to not only notice one amongst the rest, but yearn for you so obviously and without any trace of hesitance, you must be something special. For that, Janet can only pray alongside Michael that somehow, some way, you will find your way back to him.

During rehearsals the following day, Michael finds himself envisioning you in front of the stage, using the idea of dancing to impress you, to woo you as his motivation for giving the performance tonight everything he’s got. No matter how bright the overhead lights of the stadium are, he can picture your smile widening when he dances around onstage, pointing at you as a means of dedicating the song to you, and you alone. He intends to do so regardless of the fact you won’t actually be there. Perhaps he’ll point at the stars, lest you see the footage and misunderstand that he’d ever point at another girl again.

The screams of the crowd do little to quiet the thoughts of you that continue to whirl around the mind of a lyrical genius, even when he runs out onstage to greet them. Breaking into the first song of the night, Michael puts his all into his performance as he always does, but can't help feeling that tonight he has a heavenly blessing in the form of your smile lingering in his thoughts, pushing him that little bit harder. It isn’t until the end of the first song that Michael stops moving for long enough to scan the faces he can actually see from where he stands, the distance from the stage to the front row being further than he’d like. Pausing only momentarily for a brief interval of fishing, Michael’s eyes trace over the front row. And then, he does a double take.

His heart must have been playing a trick on his eyes, surely.

He looks back again, feeling an irregularity in his own pulse when he struggles to find you in the sea of faces again, until whoever had been cruel enough to temporarily block the view of you happens to move just enough for Michael to see you again. Front row, clinging to the barricade like your life depends on it. And you’re smiling at him just the same.

His eyes lock with yours, the band behind him exchanging confused glances. By now, Michael should have given the cue for the second song to start, but the perfectionist has been entirely distracted by the very definition of perfect that he’s been waiting his whole life for. It takes several seconds for him to accept the reality that you really are right there, but as soon as he does, the smile on his face is so big he’s concerned it’ll split his face in half. Giving the cue for the second song to start, Michael points right at you.

“You knock me off of my feet now baby, HOO!”

Throughout ‘The Way You Make Me Feel’, Michael’s gaze connects with yours, and he doesn’t shy away from devoting the song to you in every way he can. If it weren’t for the rehearsed role of the woman onstage that he’s barely even noticing, he’d have pulled you up here with him. Instead, Michael settles for pointing at you, winking at you, and holding your gaze while singing lyrics and dancing in ways that leave no room for misinterpretation.

He continues this for the remainder of the setlist, a plan forming in his head over the course of the next few songs. Because now that divine intervention has resulted in you being right here with him again, who is he to stand and do nothing in the face of that? Of you?

With the instrumental for Liberian Girl beginning behind him, Michael sets his plan into action. Against the better judgment of his security, he jumps from the edge of the stage, making a beeline for where you stand in the front row, every face except yours blurring into his peripheral vision, the increasing volume of the screams of the crowd fading into nothing with the way your smile brightens, the closer he gets to you. Realizing how disastrous this could be, Michael’s security lunge forward to lift you over to the barrier, holding back the other fans that try to climb over with you. And then, Michael’s hand is taking yours, holding it so gently, his free hand bringing his mic back to his lips.

“Liberian girl, you came and you changed my world, a love so brand new…” He sings, eyes holding yours with reverie as he guides you by the hand until you’re standing onstage with him.

The very second there’s enough time in between lyrics, Michael lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles, and that shy smile he’s already dreamt of appears on your face again. With the gentlest movement, he pulls you closer to him, inviting you to erase the distance that he’s desperate to be without, and you’re hardly going to hesitate. You let go of his hand to instead wrap both of your arms around his neck, and Michael has never cursed not having a headset more than on the occasion that he can now only hold your waist with one arm because he’s required to use the other to hold up his microphone. Sometimes, the world is too cruel to comprehend, he thinks. Still, a man can't complain about getting to hold you in any capacity.

“More precious than any pearl…” Michael sings, his voice soft in your ear, intimate despite the scale of the concert itself that surrounds you.

Unable to resist the urge a moment longer, he starts to sway with you in time with the music, melting into the most perfect slow dance on a stage with an audience of thousands, but feeling like the only two souls in the universe.

When the song draws to a close with notes that have you ascending to an astral plane, the crowd screams with enthusiasm like never before, and Michael lowers his microphone. Wrapping both arms around your waist at long last, he leans to your ear to ensure that you can hear him.

“I prayed I’d see you again.” He tells you, his voice so sincere.

“You must be on pretty good terms with God, then.” It’s all you can do to prevent yourself from collapsing in his arms at words like the ones he just spoke.

“I think I must be.” Michael chuckles. “Now, I owe him more than ever.” His arms tighten around your waist, and your heart splutters in your chest.

Knowing that this moment is one that needs to be put on hold for now, Michael sighs, moving one hand to hold the back of your head.

“Would you mind waiting for me, backstage?” He wonders, and when you shake your head into the crook of his neck, his entire body relaxes with relief.

“See you after. Break a leg.” You wish Michael luck, surprising him with a kiss on his cheek and then stepping away from him.

His hand trails down your arm, to your wrist, and holds your hand for every microsecond he can until you slip from his grasp, but his smile is unwavering. Michael watches you leave, waiting until you’re safely situated backstage with his best security guard at your side, and then he blows you a kiss that you catch in an instant. With an effortless, expert kick in the air, Michael breaks into his next song. And he cant help looking over at you longingly every so often, just to check the perfect vision of you is still there, still waiting for him. Still smiling at him.

[ivryne]

. . . 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 ! ✧

SYNOPSIS. Genshin men’s voicelines abt you as their lover !

✦ ╮ayato, kazuha, albedo, xiao

✦ ╮gn!reader

✦ ╮might be ooc but I’ll try my best hehe

NOTE. I’ve been seeing posts like this all over tumblr so I wanted to try too hehe. So you can say this post is inspired by those ppl <3 Also not proofread bc I’m so lazy :0

01. Kamisato Ayato

About [ Name ] : Whispers of the citizens | 🔓friendship lvl 4

“Ah I see…there are rumors regarding my engagement. Well fortunately, I can confirm such rumor. Hm? You would like to know more about them? Well it’ll be my pleasure to oblige. [ Name ]…they are my definition of perfection. I cannot imagine being engaged with someone rather than them. They’re determined—well principled, yet so full of compassion. I apologize, I’m afraid I have to stop now or else I wouldn’t be able to contain myself to stop. hehe. But perhaps if you’re quite keen on getting to know them, we shall schedule a tea time with them. When they are not busy, of course. I’m sure they’ll adore you as well.”

The traveler and Ayato eventually scheduled a tea time with you. And of course, who are you to refuse a tea time the the most renowned traveler. In the tea session, you both learn so much about each other. You definitely get along with the traveler and plans more tea sessions for the future—along with Ayaka too even. Ayato watches you get along with his friends and he can’t get rid of that small smile on his face as he looks at you with admiration <33

About [ Name ] : Sweet treats | 🔓 friendship lvl 6

“ [ Name ] is always so fond of sweet treats. Ah I see a dango stand not quite far from where we are now. Perhaps I should get a few for them before returning home…”

The ever so caring commissioner. He’s definitely one to buy things that reminded him of you with no question. Never minding the price. As long as it will bring a smile to your face, he doesn’t really care how much it’s going to cost. Because the joy on your face, is definitely priceless ^^

02. Kaedehara Kazuha

About [ Name ] : Wherever the wind leads | 🔓 friendship lvl 4

“ [ Name ]? Oh? You know of them? Ah why am I surprised. They seem to put that effect on people. Hm? You would like to know more about them? Of course. [ Name ] and I have known each other since we were young. It only makes sense as the [ l/n ] clan and the Kaedehara clan has always maintain a deep connection. So it was no more than a pleasant surprise when both clans found out about our relationship. Ah yes, I do miss them. But I know, wherever the wind leads, it will always lead me back to them.”

Distance brings fondness is what they say. Though it is partly true, you cannot help but miss those days spent with your lover. However, all your worries and despair are swept away when you feel a familiar breeze engulfing you. With a familiar scent lingering in the wind, you know just who it is. Every once in a while when the Alcor lies in Ritou, Kazuha never forgets to visit your family estate. Giving alongs gifts and greetings to you and your family yes he’s definitely that son-in-law material. Even with his constant life of wandering, he will always come back home to you <33.

About [ Name ] : Traveling | 🔓 friendship lvl 6

“I’ve always dream of traveling with [ Name ]. Exploring the wanders of Tevyat with them. The human life is still bound to time and I would like to spend my outmost time with them. Hm? Why don’t I ask them? Well, being the first child of the [ l/n ] clan, they have a plethora of duties. It’s only fair for me to wait for an opportunity. I do not wish to bother them. However, [ Name ] does need a little break…”

As like Kazuha mentioned, being the first born in your clan, you have thousands of duties. Though, once Kazuha persuaded your parents for your much needed vacation, you obliged. Because your clan isn’t going to die without you around for a few weeks right?

03. Albedo

About [ Name ] : Company | 🔓 friendship lvl 4

“ [ Name ] ? Yes, our scribe of the Knights of Favonius. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you do know of them. They are quite popular amongst the citizens. Oh? You’re curious about our relation? Ah it’s nothing much. They just like to accompany me during experiments in Dragonspine sometimes—to document the experiment of course. It’s only because of their job, really.

Albedo might not be one to indulge on such mortal emotions, but right now, dusty pink seems to take over his pale features.

Albedo is definitely one to keep a mental or physical note on his symptoms whenever your around. ( Increased heartbeat, nervousness, flushed cheeks, etc )

And when he finally realized his prolonged feelings for you, he’ll try to analyze your movements around him to see if he can confirm that you feel the same. And once his hypothesis can be confirmed, he’ll ask you out 😵‍💫

About [ Name ] : Sleepless nights | 🔓 friendship lvl 6

“ Being the scribe of the Knights of Favonius, there are quite many things to be done. Although, it is still not an excuse to spend sleepless nights. I have warned them multiple times about this. How sleep is important for the human body. But they are still always so stubborn. Huh? What do you mean I’m one to talk? ”

Bro Albedo is a hypocrite fr bc he also likes to spend sleepless nights. Though, in nights like this, where your work is piling up more than usual, Albedo takes the liberty to visit your office. The alchemist watches your scribbling figure with a displeased expression. And once your tired eyes met his, you know your done x_x. Now he’s definitely gonna drag you to bed for your much needed rest. But don’t worry, he’s only doing that because he cares abt you and don’t want to to die of exhaustion <3.

I feel like he is one to leave like a kiss on the forehead when you want to sleep and definitely in for cuddles. So the both of you sleep all your tiredness away, leaving all the pain of work for tomorrow.

04. Xiao

About [ Name ] : Insufferable | 🔓 friendship lvl 4

“ You want to know what I think about [ Name ] ? Why is that important? I’ve got other things to do…Fine. I think [ Name ] is insufferable. Everywhere I go they’re just…there. They clearly know how to get on my nerve. That cheeky smile of them makes me- Ugh never mind. ”

It’s been centuries since you know the yaksha. Being one of the Adeptis that contributed in the Archon war yourself, you empathize on his pain. So you took the liberty to make him at least a bit happy. To bring at least a little light to his lightless worldview. Even though it might not seem like it, your occasional visits to the Wangshu Inn, brings joy to his tainted soul not that he’ll actually tell you. But ofc you know it :p

About [ Name ] : Karmic debt | 🔓 friendship lvl 6

“ Yes. Although it is quite hard for me to admit, being with them does ease my karmic debt. Don’t even think of mentioning this to them. What? They already know? Tch of course they do. It’s just- Not everyone can handle my karmic debt. But [ Name ] isn’t one of them. Though [ Name ] is still so much to handle. They are too careless. They would sacrifice themselves in a heartbeat for someone they don’t even know- Why are you looking at me like that?

Like Albedo, he’s definitely also a hypocrite 💀 Like ur one yo talk mr. self sacrifice. But alas, he really does care for you even though it look centuries for him to admit it yes that long.

Though he is right. You are too careless sometimes like him. He just doesn’t want to see you hurt like last time.

After hearing a call of his name, the Yaksha did not think twice to head to the location of the caller. His amber eyes that once show no emotions, averted to panic and worry as he sees you and specifically your condition. Sitting on the field of grass with an large gash and blood dripping from your leg, you look up to him with a small innocent smile. “Hi”. It’s safe to say that Xiao is not pleased.

do not repost, share, or copy ! Reblogs and likes very much appreciated!! Tyyy for taking ur time to read this. I’m planning on a part two w this so stay tuned! hehe

© 𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐫.

[glorf1ndel]

Tea at Dawn (~700 words, gen)

For Day 5 of @tolkiengenweek, inspired by the prompt "traditions." Glorfindel enjoys his favorite Imladris tradition, tea at dawn, with a friend.

Read on Ao3 or below!

If Glorfindel were asked to name his favorite things about Imladris, he would mention the warm company, the cozy atmosphere, and tea at dawn. Actually, scratch that. He would definitely mention tea at dawn.

Elrond’s tradition of tea at dawn is one of Glorfindel’s greatest delights. Back in Gondolin, he usually took tea in the afternoon. That was King Turgon’s habit, and Glorfindel and the other lords followed it as well. In Imladris, Elrond reserves the dawn hour for tea. Frankly, Glorfindel likes this time better; Turgon always used afternoon tea as an excuse to gather the lords for conferences, but here there are no obligations.

As the sun rises, Glorfindel wakes, gets ready for the day, and opens his door to find a tray with a cup and a freshly brewed pot of tea waiting for him. He takes the tray to his favorite balcony, which overlooks the winding path of the Bruinen. There, Glorfindel can sit back in a rocking chair, a crisp breeze blowing through his hair, and drink his tea as he watches the valley spring to life.

This morning, another Elf has chosen the same balcony. It is Counselor Erestor, who looks barely awake. He yawns and rubs the sleep from his eyes, then notices Glorfindel and seems to snap to attention.

“Good morning,” Erestor says.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Glorfindel smiles. “May I join you?”

“There is certainly enough room on one balcony for the both of us.”

Glorfindel chuckles. Erestor has a matter-of-fact way about him that makes him unlike anyone else Glorfindel knows, and he finds it comforting. Gondolin was filled with political intrigue, and there could be so much doublespeak that it exhausted Glorfindel. He has always thought it better to be straightforward, and so he appreciates Erestor.

“Did you sleep well?” Glorfindel asks.

“No,” Erestor says flatly. “Lindir was singing in the courtyard all night.”

“I thought Elrond asked him to stop doing that.”

“Ah, but he’s practicing for some kind of singing competition. I am sorry to say that from what I’ve heard, he will not win.”

Glorfindel cannot help the laughter that escapes him.

“You never know,” he says, before sitting down in his favorite rocking chair, cup of tea in hand. He takes a small sip; the tea has cooled to the perfect temperature. A robin warbles its morning song, and Glorfindel sighs in contentment.

“Before I forget,” Erestor says suddenly, “I want to talk to you about Arwen’s sparring lessons. How is she progressing? Elrond said he wants her to be able to use a real sword soon, not just a wooden one.”

Glorfindel’s sigh turns into a groan. This Elf’s mind is constantly working.

“Erestor–“

“You will have to give me the details of your recent lessons, so that I can evaluate the situation.”

“Don’t you think that I can be the judge of Arwen’s ability to use a real sword, given that I am the one training her?”

“Elrond asked me to check up on her; that is all.”

“Very well,” he agrees, “but can we talk about this later?”

Erestor lifts a brow.

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk about Arwen. It’s that… I really enjoy Elrond’s tradition of morning tea,” Glorfindel admits, his gaze growing distant. “We didn’t have this, back in Gondolin. At least, it wasn’t the same. The opportunity to relax and reflect before the workday begins, it… Brings me a lot of joy.”

That prompts a smile from the Counselor, who sits down in a chair beside him. Erestor pats Glorfindel’s hand; the gesture is comforting, as Glorfindel has always appreciated touch as a way of showing affection. Still, he is surprised to feel this coming from Erestor, who usually keeps to himself.

“You need not explain further,” Erestor says. “I can understand the value of a quiet moment. May I stay with you?”

Glorfindel nods.

“Of course, my friend.”

So they sit in companionate silence, watching the sun rise.

****

Thank you for reading. ♡ If you'd like, leave a comment or kudos on Ao3, or like and reblog this post!

[treadmilltreats]

October is Domestic Violence month

This is a subject that is near and dear to my heart. Most of you that follow me know my story, as it is the reason I write this blog, to inspire others who were in the same situation I was trapped in for so many years.

I am brutally honest about my life because I want you to know life is not going to be perfect, that all your problems will not magically disappear when you finally decide to leave your situation.

Whether you're in a verbally or physically abusive relationship, I am here to tell you there is hope. You can leave, you will find peace and joy, and you will eventually find your self worth and I swear to you... you will wish you would have left years before.

I know what you are going through, I know you're afraid, he's taken care of all the bills, you're dependent on him, you have kids, how are you going to do this all on your own?

Or you're like me, you come from a poor background,  and now you're living this big life, big vacations, toys, designer clothes, fancy cars..how can you go back to being poor?

You doubt everything about yourself, you believe his cruel words that he says to you every day...your stupid, your worthless, you'll never make it without him.

You walk around on eggshells, you think about every word you say, before you say it, so that you don't "set" him off. You can't have friends, he makes you cut off family that might put something in your ear.

He criticizes everything about you that he said he first fell in love with for...your weight, your cooking, your cleaning, even your mothering skills. You can do nothing right in his eyes and no matter how you try to become "perfect" for him again, you will never achieve it, because there will always be something else he will complain about.

It's a facade of a perfect family, everyone envies you, what a great guy you have, look at your perfect life.

Yet every night you cry yourself to sleep, every morning you cry because you have woken up and have to endure another day with this person.

You are living in hell, you hate your life, you don't even know who you are anymore when you look in the mirror. You wonder where that beautiful, smart, independent woman, you once were, went and why were you left with just a shell of her? How did this happen?

Yes, I know your struggles, I feel your pain. I've cried your tears....I've been you.

The only difference between me and you, is that I speak about it to the world. I chose to bear my soul to let others know it can change, you need to step out of your fear. You need to find your self worth, you need to know it won't be easy but it will be worth it.

There is nothing and I mean nothing, like waking up smiling every morning and  being truly grateful for being free, so much so, it brings you to tears. That when you come home at night, there is peace in your home, and you can feel the joy, literally.

To know you've done this on your own, you did all he said you couldn't achieve. You are not just surviving, you're living a life that no money could ever buy, and that my friends, is a priceless feeling.

So today my friends remember...I know your pain, I've walked in your shoes and I am here to tell you, you can do this, I believe in you.

There is nothing you cannot change if you set your mind to it. You got this, reach out, find a group, go to your clergy, find a therapist,  speak to friends. Make a plan, stop letting fear and him control YOUR life, you got this.

There is an amazing life out there waiting for you, more amazing than you could even dream and it's just waiting for you.

Stay tuned to my upcoming blogs about how to do this, places for help and other tips to help you grow and get you ready to live your best life

"Be the change you want to see"

@TreadmillTreats 

"Be the change you want to see"

@Treadmilltreats

"And just when the caterpillar thought his life over...he turned into a beautiful butterfly"

**Now released my latest book**

The Blessing in Disguise.... revealed

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***Now available***

My 1st book The blessing in Disguise

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[kanafinwe-makalaure]

Warmth | Thranduil Oropherion

In which Thranduil gains the impression that his Queen needs a break from her duties, and he will stop at nothing to achieve this.

My dear friend and almost wife @mismaeve requested a little bit of general fluff and comfort for Thranduil, so naturally, I wrote her a lot of specific fluff and comfort. I hope you'll enjoy this one and the idea I had for it since I basically winged it entirely. I may or may not have gone off a bit for you, oopsie! Sometimes inspiration just strikes, you know?

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem!Elf!Reader

Word Count: 3.2K

Not many years had passed since the once prosperous Greenwood had become overrun with enough darkness that the Woodland Elves had begun to refer to it as Mirkwood, yet now that it was Mirkwood, it seemed determined to prove that point over and over. Barely any light came through the thick leaf-crowns of its trees any more, and the darkness fostered foul things. Spiders came from Dol Guldur in waves, and whenever a new brood came, hungry for Elven flesh, the guard worked tirelessly for days on end to keep the threat at bay.

The Elvenqueen watched, each time, with a heavy heart. She knew that darkness was not just right before her doorstep, but was spreading into every corner of the world, which caused her great sorrow even though she knew she lived and remained here with Thranduil, her husband, and Legolas. She felt a little powerless, and so took it upon herself to do as much as she could to fight off the spiders and other fell creatures which came into her realm. It kept her mind busy, and usually she managed.

However, a few days before, a new brood had come close to their halls once again, and this one might have been the largest and most vile one yet. She struggled, and she barely found time to eat or sleep as she directed the members of the guard through the forest, keeping an eye open for more spiders and for injured Elves which she had to have brought back to the palace. Queen Y/N was always running and remained ever focused, for she would not allow herself to make a single mistake; not when the fates of so many rested on her shoulders, even if it was what she had chosen for herself. The day before, it had started raining, and it had not since stopped, and so she pushed forward through the thicket, drenched, shivering and filthy.

“My Queen?” the voice of one of her Generals called out to her over the noise of the heavy raindrops which were drumming down on the muddy ground. She looked, squinting to keep water out of her eyes, and recognised the loyal Feren.

Loyal to Thranduil, who she had spent the last few days artfully avoiding; she did not want him to know that she was in any way suffering in fulfilling her duties.

“Yes, Feren?” she replied, trying her best to keep her posture straight and her face smiling despite the crushing, bone-deep exhaustion that was gnawing at her.

Either she was not doing a very good job of it, though, or Feren knew her better than she would like, for he only frowned as if he was not buying her act at all.

“The King asks you to report to him,” he said, and his voice was, as always, perfectly, professionally neutral.

“I cannot leave my post,” she protested, “unless we want to be overrun by spiders by nightfall.”

“The King has ordered me to take your place while you are with him,” said Feren. “Worry not, for I shall act in your best interest, my Queen.”

She sighed; as much as she dreaded having to keep up her act in front of Thranduil as well, who knew her far better yet than his guard, she did long for the relief of his presence. His voice alone, sweet and thick like honey, would invigorate her, his smile would bring joy and life to her heart, and his touch would warm her. She was rarely heavy of heart when he was with her, for all he had to do to cheer her up was to be around her, and even now, the mere thought of him relieved some of the ache in her chest.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly. “I will be back shortly.”

When Feren bowed his head, there was something in his eyes, mischievous almost, as if he knew something she did not, but she decided to ignore it. So, she made her way back to the castle, her eyes fixed on it now, unable to focus on anything else.

She saw Thranduil as soon as she entered through the heavy gates that were the entry to Thranduil’s Halls; he was, from so far away, a speck of silver robes and golden hair atop his oaken throne, on which he sat like a jewel on a crown, and he was surrounded by many of his confidants, who all had long lists and letters with them of all sorts of problems that always required his immediate attention. Her eyes were not at all on them, however.

Still after all the years she had been married to him, at the sight of him her heart began to flutter as if he had just begun to court her. She felt a bright, earnest smile split across her features, and she quickened her pace immediately, almost without realising it. Left and right Elves respectfully made way for her, their Queen, and Thranduil began to descend the stairs of this throne as soon as he spotted her coming towards him. With a slow gesture of his hand, the others around him began to scatter, begrudgingly taking their business with them for the time being.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed as soon as she was within earshot, forsaking all etiquette, “You are dripping wet!”

“Do not worry about me, Meleth-nin; I am well, and I will be until this threat has been pushed back and our lands are restored to safety,” she said eagerly to him, even as her mind and body were crying out for rest. She could not afford to rest right now; she was the Queen, and since her husband was busy with his own matters of equal importance, it was her responsibility to keep her people safe.

Thranduil’s features softened, and as he gently reached out for both of her hands, she had to fight the urge to collapse into his arms then and there.

“You look exhausted.”

“I am fine, Thranduil. Really, I am.”

She had to be.

With a soft sigh, he reached up to cup one of her cheeks, his touch light and tender, and his grip on the one of her hands which he was still holding tightened, like a firm anchor.

“You did not call me in to report, did you?” she asked weakly, her throat closing up as if she might begin to cry.

“Feren will take matters into his hands while you rest, my love, my Queen,” Thranduil whispered and brushed one of her strands of wet, muddied hair out of her face, then caressed her cheek with his thumb.

“I appreciate the gesture,” she still managed to protest, although absolutely none of her heart was behind it, “but these are my duties, and I am strong enough to push through and fulfil them.”

“I know,” Thranduil said genuinely, and suddenly, he took her into his arms, into a warm, gentle embrace, and seemed not to waste a single thought on the fact that her wet armour would definitely sully his fine robe.

She leaned into him as if it was the first time she was in his arms, and she felt herself relax a little; here, with her head resting upon his chest, she was truly at home, and nothing could shake her.

“Come with me,” he mumbled after a while, “I must show you something.”

She craned her head back to look at him, amusement coming over her. “Is this another one of your thinly veiled plots to lure me away from my duties, my King?”

His lips curled into a smile. “If you follow me, you will find out.”

A small laugh escaped her lips, which were a little chapped by now from the cold. Even if she had still wished to protest at this point, there was one thing even she had never been able to resist, and that was Thranduil, and so, she went with him willingly.

He was taking her to their shared quarters, of course, an arm around her waist to guide her sore, tired body along with him, and she leaned into him for support the entire way. She could, of course, have walked on her own; but she knew she did not need to.

When she entered their quarters, he got behind her and held his hands over her eyes. This way, he led her where he had been meaning to lead her to (which, as she was able to figure out, was the bathroom - she had lived here for centuries, after all, she knew her way around, yet his secrecy brought a smile onto her face, which might have been his true intention behind why he did it).

“Oh, so you are trying to get me clean?” she joked.

“Warm,” he corrected her, and then removed his hands from her eyes so that she could behold his work - but before she looked, fine, flowery scents were already tickling her nose. she recognised her favourite scented oils, which he seemed to have used for the occasion. The entire room was hot and full of steam, and a fire was cackling in the fireplace, the shadows on the stone walls dancing in its light. The bathtub had been filled to the top; the water was white and milky, mixed in with all sorts of ingredients that would soothe her dry skin, and rose petals were swimming on its surface.

She looked to Thranduil questioningly; as much as she loved him, she was not in the mood to take a bath with him; she was simply too tired.

“This one is just for you,” he said as if he had read her mind. “But I shall wait on you, my Queen, and fulfil your every wish while you warm up.”

She gave him a tired, but appreciative smile, then began to peel off the layers of wet leather and fabric off her body, while he turned around respectfully, and then, he took her hand and helped her into the tub.

The water was the perfect temperature, and its warmth seeped slowly into her blood. She dived down into it a few times both to wet her hair and to warm her face. She was too exhausted to really wash herself - in fact being warm, she only really felt the exhaustion take effect now, when she was so comfortable she could have fallen asleep right then and there. Thranduil asked, as soon as she had adjusted, whether she wished him to stay or to go, or to perhaps to give her shoulders a massage.

“No,” she mumbled, “just stay.”

And so, stay, he did. When she had finished her bath, he helped her into her bathrobe and then combed and wrapped her hair for her, and he was so gentle with it, she felt not a single tug or knot.

Then, suddenly, he took her hand and whirled her around to face him, somewhat gently, but it still startled her enough to cause her to let out a small yelp. He hugged her to his chest, gently, then cupped her cheeks and looked her deeply in the eyes with the kind of genuine, wide smile he was only really able to show his loved ones in private. It was enough to make her heart beat even faster than it already was, and she was just about to open her mouth and whisper, ‘After all these years, you still fluster me, do you know that?’, when he suddenly began covering her entire face in small, fluttering, intense kisses. It made her laugh, mostly because it was so absurd - it reminded her a little, and she was unable to shake that thought, of being licked affectionately by a large, happy dog. It also tickled, and it brought butterflies to her stomach. It seemed every time she was about to forget how intense Thranduil could be sometimes, how much heart could be in his displays of affection, he would remind her once again. She only threw her arms around his head and laughed.

Then, suddenly, he stopped, and looked at her once again with all the seriousness in the world, and, his voice deep and strong as it usually was when he spoke from upon his throne, he said, “I love you, Y/N, with all my heart. You, my brave, my strong queen, I could never compete with you, and though I cannot fathom why you would grant me the honour of allowing me to love you, I will bask in it until the end of all days, and perhaps one day I might get close to living up to you.”

She felt blood rush to her cheeks and ears, and hearing such words made her once again feel shy. Who was she to be told something like this, and by him nonetheless, who she thought she could never measure up to?

Yet he continued, and she could feel with absolute certainty that he meant every single word.

“The sun and the moon envy your light and beauty, for you have captured more of it in your eyes alone than they have in their entirety, and all flowers seem dull next to you, and even the stars pale in comparison. The strongest trees fall and the tallest mountains wither, yet you stand strong and always will. Who else could come close to you? I am humbled every day because you are my lover, my wife, my counterpart. Indeed, I cannot imagine anyone’s heart could love as strongly as mine loves you.”

“Then you are mistaken,” she whispered, a smile on her lips and tears in her eyes, “for mine loves you the strongest.”

Then, before he could continue talking and make her love him so much that her heart would burst out of her chest, she leaned in and captured his lips with hers, so tenderly that she was certain, or at least hoped, that her kiss would suffice to let him know which one of them was the one who was lucky beyond measure. At least she poured all her love into it, with everything she had, and with every moment there was more to come, for her love for him was and would always be endless.

He returned her kiss sweetly and delicately, and his lips were always soft and fit perfectly onto hers, and his breath caressed her skin with gentleness and warmth.

They broke away from each other at the perfect moment, and stood there for a little while with their foreheads touching each other, just taking in each other’s scent and warmth. Then, he took her by the hand once again, and he led her into their bedroom. Just when she thought that the only thing he had not already done for her was to pick her up and carry her onto the bed, that was exactly what he did, and set her down with her back resting against mountains of pillows. She recognised some of them as belonging in their sitting and drawing rooms, which led her to the assumption that he must have carried them in for her and she smiled, and continued smiling while he began piling blankets upon blankets onto her.

“Truly, I do not deserve all this pampering,” she said to him, a little in awe at how lucky she was to have him, perfect in every way as he was.

“You deserve the world,” he replied. “And some hot tea. It should have finished brewing by now.”

Only then did she notice the tea kettle upon her bedside table, and two large, comfortable mugs, not the delicate cups that were to be used when visitors came, but the kind that were meant for comfort, for tea and hot chocolate.

“You did all this for me,” she smiled. “How could I ever repay you?”

He finished pouring her tea into her favourite mug, and his face grew soft as he took in the sight of her for a little bit.

Then, he bent down and gently kissed her forehead. “Be less stubborn, so that I may worry less. Everyone needs and deserves rest, even you.”

She sighed, and then gratefully accepted her tea. “I know,” she mumbled into the steaming mug.

He nodded his head in approval. “Good. Now, is there anything else I could possibly do for you?”

“Well,” she said after a moment’s consideration, “I understand you must probably return to your duties, but if not - or if not right away - I would like to have you here with me for a bit. Sit with me, have tea with me, hold me in your arms.”

“There is no greater duty I have than my duty to you, my Queen,” he said. “And none I am more eager to fulfil.”

He cast away his outer robe, still wet in the front, and now only clad in his soft underrobe, in a deep, dark blue, he carefully sat down beside her and allowed her to lean into him, wrapping his strong arms around her waist from behind. Now it was her turn to take him under her blankets and to pour him a mug of tea. It was strong herbal tea, as she liked it best, sweetened with her favourite woodland honey; its taste was distinct and delicious. Thranduil knew that she liked it a little better than other kinds of honey, and so he went to great lengths to ensure that she should never have to settle for less. Certainly, King Thranduil of Mirkwood liked his dramatic gestures, his grand words, but his Queen, even though she melted away when he declared his love for her loudly and in ample words and great deeds, she could best see just how much he cared about her in the small things that he did for her, such as this.

While the rain, now less vigorous, still pitter-pattered on the windows, the royal couple of Mirkwood sat together under their blankets and allowed themselves, for just a few hours, to forget the world and to be only in each other’s presence. Eventually, the Elvenqueen drifted off to sleep in her husband’s gentle embrace, and he dared not move lest he wake her. Coincidentally, he did not want to move, either.

When she woke, all her stress had dissolved; the rain had stopped, and when she went back into the forest, now refreshed and her mind once again clear, she saw that Feren and the rest of the guard had been successful in beating back the spiders, still while following the strategy she had laid out. She aided in cleaning up the battlefield and getting care for their wounded and for the exhausted, and that night, there was a great feast in celebration of their victory and in her honour. All throughout it, she and Thranduil, of course, only had eyes for one another.

Edit: Here is a beautiful moodboard created for this story by @ilovekingt!

[yoonjinkooked]

Our Story | Act I - The Falling (knj)

Act I - The Falling (Part 2)

Pairing: Namjoon x (f) reader

Genre: Fluff, smut, angst

AU: strangers to friends to lovers and much more than that which I cannot spoil just yet.

Synopsis: The story of you and Kim Namjoon, and the change he brought into your life. It’s fun, it’s exciting, it’s hopeful, and it’s also exactly the opposite.

Warnings for this chapter: Namjoon is cooking, Namjoon is adorable, reader is smitten as AF (i think that’s it so far)

WC: 5.1k

Series Masterlist Act I Playlist Special thanks to: @joyfulhopelox​​ for this beautiful banner and holding my hand every step of the way, the two writing groups I am a part of that are always full of support and honestly, f-ing Taylor Swift, for an abundance of inspiration.

Day 9

 “No, no, no, Namjoon!” you try to warn him the very second you realize what he’s about to do. He laughs, cackles almost, as he ignores your warnings and feels around his pockets, looking for a quarter to use. “Namjoon, please don’t,” you laugh at his antics, despite trying to stop him. “That shit is rigged to make you lose, everyone knows that!” 

 “Don’t be so pessimistic Y/N,” he chastises you in a teasing way, to which you scoff as you observe the shining machine before you. It’s one of those carnival claw things, where you are supposed to be able to catch a stuffed toy. A complete waste of money, in your opinion, but since it's only a matter of quarters, Namjoon’s quarters nonetheless, you’ll give it a pass. 

 “Your optimism is both amusing and frightening,” you comment as you watch him bending his fingers in preparation for what’s to come. 

 “I think charming is the word you're looking for,” he laughs, giving you a quick wink over his shoulder. “And once this works, impressive will be the appropriate adjective.” 

 “Alright, Mr. Perfect, give it your best,” you laugh, watching as he finally starts his chase. You stay silent, not wanting him to lose focus (as if this is something of actual importance) and observe as he navigates the mechanical claw towards the corner, slowly moving it down towards the pile of toys. He doesn’t seem to be aiming at a particular one, which may come in handy, as he can simply go for something close and easy. 

 Against your better judgment, you hold your breath as the claw closes in on a small Minion plushy - the silence between you and Namjoon’s laser focus makes this seem as if it’s life or death and not an attempt to get a one dollar plushie. Slowly but surely, he moves the joystick and you bite your lip when the claw swings left to right, making it seem as if the minion is about to fall out of its grip at any second. 

 But it doesn’t. Little by little, carefully and with what you’d describe as surgical precision, Namjoon navigates the claw towards the opening, lowers it and in what seems like the plot twist of a century, drops the Minion right into the correct opening. 

 Next thing you know, the both of you are shouting in triumph and when he pulls you into a bear hug, you return it gladly, laughing at the absurdity of the entire situation and his utter joy on something so little, so irrelevant, but somehow still so special. 

 He holds you for a moment too long, but you don’t mind it one bit. It may very well be too long on paper, but at this point, you would have let him hold you for hours. His embrace is strong and warm, the scent of his cologne being as comforting as your favorite candle. If it were up to you, you would have stayed in that hug for hours. 

 You can see it on his face too, how behind that beaming, dimpled smile lies reluctance to step away from you. He does so regardless, reaching for his prize. Saying nothing, he simply extends the hand to you, offering you the plushy. “For me?” you ask through laughter - why you are surprised, you don’t know. It was so easy to assume that he would try to win something for you. As much as this isn’t officially called a date, it is a date, and dating normal, kind men obviously brings surprises in the form of plushies. You won’t be surprised one bit if he brings you flowers for the first official date. 

 “Of course it’s for you,” he laughs as you take the toy from him. The thing had seen better days, that much is sure. As expected for these games, it’s a knockoff, but it’s cute regardless and even more than that, it holds much more meaning than one plushy probably should. “Why else do you think I’d do that?” 

 “Because you are unable to back away from a challenge?” you suggest. 

 “Okay, yes,” he admits through laughter. “But most of it is for you to see me as charming and impressive.” 

 “You do realize I would have seen you like that even without a stuffed toy, right?” you ask, perhaps putting one too many cards on the table. With anyone else, literally anyone else, you would hesitate more, wait longer, but there is something about Namjoon that encompases you in a warm feeling of being unable to make a wrong decision. 

 “That’s nice to hear,” he mumbles, looking down at his feet, turning all shy on you again. It’s borderline adorable, if you’re being honest. And refreshing, as it’s a true change to be around someone who isn’t cocky. Oh, Namjoon can be confident alright, he proved that much the first night when he had approached you. But he’s not cocky, nor does he treat you as anything less than equal. You are whipped and nothing has even officially started. “I do hope you like the plushy though, I didn’t exactly have the luxury of picking a different one.”

 “Oh, it’s perfect,” you immediately reassure him, despite not seeing a single one of the Minion movies or knowing anything else about them other than their looks and limited speaking abilities. “Coffee on me? As a way to say thank you?” you suggest, as the last thing you wanted to do right now is to part ways with him. 

 You’ve agreed on a nice afternoon walk, the first time the two of you meet without any alcohol in the mix - the first time you meet as just Namjoon and Y/N, not drinking buddies who had met in the randomest way possible. You don’t want today to end with just the walk - you have planless hours ahead of you and you’d want nothing more than to spend them with him. A coffee is the perfect excuse - it’ll give you more time but won’t be overbearing or clingy, which is definitely not an impression that you want to give. 

 “Coffee sounds perfect,” he agrees, dimple smile and all. 

Day 13

“I’m confused as to why you insisted on cooking,” you admit through laughter as you watch him scramble around his kitchen. Seated at the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room, you have a front row seat to the disaster that is Namjoon attempting to cook a full course meal. When he had invited you for dinner at his place, you somehow didn’t imagine that you would watch a cooking show as it goes - not that you’re complaining. It’s cute, if you’re being honest, but seeing his skills with a knife, it’s also a little worrisome. “If you need me to help you out, just let me know,” you suggest for what feels like the tenth time. 

 “No, no, no,” he insists, frantic and breathless. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to give in even though it’s painfully obvious that he indeed does need help. Again, it’s equal parts adorable and worrisome. You admire his determination but are genuinely worried for his safety. “I can do this. It’s a simple recipe, I have instructions, all is under control.”

 You smile at his excuses, smile at him, as you lean on the bar and continue watching him. You have a feeling that you could stick around like this forever. It’s like watching an elephant in a ceramics shop - he is way in above his head but he is still trying to make it work. He’s going above and beyond, just for you, all while you would have been perfectly happy with a simple takeout or even frozen pizza, maybe some random snacks. Actually, you would have been happy without anything as long as you are in his company. But it’s so endearing to see him making an actual effort - it brings a smile to your face, a smile that feels like it hasn’t left your face whenever you’re in his company. 

 “If you change your mind, I’m right here,” you remind him. As much as you are content with just sitting here with your glass of wine, you don’t want a simple recipe to drive him to the brink of insanity while he juggles between the pans and multiple ingredients. You’re here because of him, not for food. 

 “Trust me, if I feel a fire is approaching, you’ll be the first to know,” he laughs nervously, and you purse your lips in an effort not to laugh. 

 You leave him be, thinking that maybe silence is what he needs - even though every now and then, he’d be the one to break it with a question that isn’t cooking related, just to make sure that he is keeping the conversation going. The cooking itself lasted entirely way too long but the food was done, no fires had started, with no injuries, neither severe nor minor. It ended with a smiling and proud Namjoon sitting next to you. 

“So?” he asks, on the edge of his seat as he watches you take the first bite. “Is it any good?”

 He had made pasta carbonara and a simple salad - something that is fairly easy to make, even for a rookie. And while you are incredibly proud of his effort, you are a little bit apprehensive as you chew on the pasta. The dish is entirely way too salty, the pasta is not cooked thoroughly and you literally can’t taste anything other than parmesan and… salt. 

 “It’s…” you start, trying to find the right words, to walk the line between insulting him and before complimenting him too much to make him realize that you’re lying. “It’s pretty good, I think. I’m hardly a food critic, but it’s pretty good, especially for a first attempt,” you explain. That’s okay, isn’t it? You’re not praising it too much, but you’re also not criticizing his effort - it’s the perfect middle ground that you are looking for. However, Namjoon’s eyes narrow at you in suspicion and as quickly as humanly possible, he takes a bite out of his own plate. 

 “Oh my god!” he half-yells, half-mumbles, eyes widening at the taste. “It’s disgusting!” 

 “No, it’s not that bad!” you try to reassure him, and you actually mean it. It’s not good, no, but it’s also not even close to the worst dish you’ve ever eaten. “I’ve had worse, plenty of times. You should see the way my sister cooks - this is nothing, it’s perfectly fine Namjoon.”

 “It tastes like the sea,” he says, grimacing as he swallows it. “I’m a failure.”

 “No, you’re not,” you chuckle, reaching out to rub his back in comfort. He looks dejected and properly sad, and it doesn’t feel right to you seeing him this way, even if he is being a little over dramatic. “You made a huge effort. Joon, you’re not a chef, you own a bookstore. You can’t do it all. And you made a decent meal with the very little knowledge you had. Is it the tastiest thing I ever had? I wish I could say it is, but it’s not. But I am very much happy to finish it. The effort is all that really matters.”

 “I just wanted to make a nice dinner to celebrate your new job,” he sighs, frowning down at the plate in front of him. “I should have just taken you out to a nice restaurant or something.”

 “Oh hush,” you chuckle, smiling when he looks at you in confusion. “It’s perfectly fine and I’m very thankful. It’s the company I’m here for, not food. And if you wanna throw this away and just order a pizza, it works for me. I’ll gladly finish it, though.”

 Two bites later, he decides that the time has come for the change of plans and the evening heads in a completely different direction. 

 “You need to come down to the bookstore sometime,” he tells you in a conspiratorial voice, as if the bookstore is a secret that only the two of you know about. You laugh, both as his expression and at his push to keep meeting you - not to mention, you’ve had quite a bit of wine at this point. Sitting on the floor of his living room, on your second bottle, with an empty pizza box between you, you are smack in the middle of the best date of your life. Even if you’re not sure if you can call it a date, at all, not yet at least. “I think you’ll like it there.” “I’m sure I will,” you easily admit. “Although, I will be sure not to share my literature opinions with you any more because I am still slowly recovering from the argument we had last weekend,” you give him a pointed look, reminding him of it. 

 “How can you not like Mr. Darcy?” he wonders for the nth time, still in complete disbelief. You laugh, realizing that not even days were enough to make him realize that something like this is completely irrelevant. Like pretty much everything about him, you find it incredibly charming - how he has such strong opinions on certain books and characters and while he respects yours, he is still pushing his opinions, albeit gently. Not in a “mansplaining” type of way, but more in an ‘I can’t believe you think that’ kind of way. When it comes from someone else, you’ll admit it, you do find it annoying. From him, however… Nothing really seems too bad. Everything that he said, everything about him, the man that you are slowly getting to know - all of it seems like it’s telling you that the decision you’ve made that night when he asked you to drink with him was the best possible one you’ve ever made. 

 “Don’t you ever ask me about Gatsby,” you warn him in a whisper, laughing loudly as you see his expression turn to one of even bigger disbelief. “Look, I love bad characters. I love reading about them, I love watching them in the movies. Having bad characters is good. My… dislike of them doesn’t affect whether I enjoyed the book or not. Daisy’s an ass, and so is Darcy. And I enjoyed both books. End of.”

 “No wonder you’re a furniture designer and not a bookstore owner,” he teases you, to which you just roll your eyes. “I’m so happy you could find a stable job this quickly,” he changes the subject, and you can feel the honesty oozing out of his every word. He really is that kind of man - the type to be genuinely happy when something good happens to someone they care for. Those are few and far in-between. “I hope it’ll all go as well as you deserve it to.”

 “There are ups, there are downs,” you shrug, finally embracing the roller coaster that is life, now that your trajectory is up. “If I didn’t find something by the end of the month, I likely would have looked into starting something on my own. Technically, I already do that, only I refer to it as freelancing,” you chuckle, remembering how just last month you were busy carving a wooden table for your friend’s wedding. You don’t always do the actual making part yourself, as you’re the one who imagines, draws, organizes, but when it’s for someone special, you put in the effort.

 “I’d love to have an Y/N original in my bookstore, if I’m being honest,” he admits. 

 “Oh, you will,” you promise him without hesitation. Whether it’s for the bookstore or for his place, you truly do want to make something for him. And you will likely make it yourself, too. 

 “Now, how about you come around to the bookstore this week?” he asks, giving you the look - sideways smile and a lifted brow. “If for nothing else, than to see the vibes, so that the Y/N original fits in well.”

 “Namjoon, are you asking me on a date without asking me on a date?” you ask, pursing your lips to stop yourself from smiling when he laughs at your question. “Again?” you point out, because you both know that tonight wasn’t just a casual meet up. Neither one of you are acting as if this is going to be just friendship and nothing more. Yes, you’re still at the very start of it all, but you’ve seen one another enough times to be able to call it what it is. 

 Dating. Not a relationship, not love, not the happy ever after. Just… dating. Starting fresh, with someone new. The feeling of elation, of hope, engulfing you completely. 

 “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

 He doesn’t beat around the bush, not anymore. With the way you’re seated on the floor, your backs leaned against the sofa, he turns to you and for a moment, he says nothing. He stays silent, just looking at you with his signature dimpled smile. And after a second or two, you find yourself smiling back. A proper, big smile, the one that makes your face hurt but it feels so overwhelming, you need to show it. He makes you feel good, and the experiences behind you have taught you that when you run into people like that, you need to keep them around. 

 “So, this was supposed to be a date, too?” you ask, despite already knowing the answer. 

 “Yes and I am so sorry it failed,” he apologizes, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “I’m not sure how it went to shit, I followed the recipe to a T.”

 “It didn’t fail,” you laugh, making the next step in the form of reaching for his hand. He doesn’t flinch, nor react in any way - except his hand. He turns it around palm up and your fingers intersect. And it feels right. Warm. “I had the best time tonight. And I’ll gladly go on a date with you. Multiple dates. Even if we don’t call them that.”

 “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing already?” he asks, teasing. 

 “The fact that I am keeping that damn minion pushy on my sofa is proof enough, I think,” you admit, joining in on his laugh. You truly did keep it there, finding it as a cute reminder of that day. It’s easy to keep it there, even if it doesn’t fit the decor, when it makes you smile. 

 You like Namjoon. You really do, to the point of thinking that maybe, just maybe, you could end up falling for him. He makes it easy - good nature, sense of humor, smarts and looks to match. You were pretty dang lucky when he played his chances and approached you that night. And you’re pretty dang lucky you took your chance, too. Saw him for what he was and not a sleazeball that was trying to take advantage of a semi-drunk woman. That night, for whatever reason, the stars worked in your favor, and they have ever since. 

 “Let’s see where this takes us, then?” he asks and you’re immediately nodding your head. 

 “Let’s.”

Day 20

“Do you need any help?” he smugly asks, peeking from the end of a bookshelf. You smile at his suggestion, knowing that you’d rather do anything else than get into another book debate with him. He is a perfect man but good lord, his opinions about novels will always be firm and unchangeable, no matter what you say or do. And honestly, you like that about him. 

 “Just looking around,” you tease him, smirking. “I’m actually looking to see if I can find something for my sister, her birthday is just around the corner. She’s never been much of a reader but it’s never too late to change that, right?” you wonder. 

 “Absolutely not, but if she’s not much of a reader, I’d advise against you browsing the Russian classics,” he points out. Grimacing, you nod, realizing that Dostoyevsky might be too big of a bite for her. “No self-help, no cheesy romances?” 

 “Are you judging her tastes based on mine?” you laugh, impressed by how accurate his reading of you is, given how you’ve largely avoided talks about literature, due to incredibly differing opinions. He’s right - never, ever, no self-help, or cheesy romances. 

 “Guilty as charged,” he confesses. “Is she more into the Nicholas Sparks shit?” 

 “Oh, 100%,” you answer. “Like, she really is. I think she forced me to watch The Notebook too many times, it has to be double digits by now.” 

 “Yikes. My condolences,” he responds, smiling when you start laughing. “It does make it easier for us, though. I”ll find something for you, just give me a moment.” 

 Before you can stop him, he’s running off, aiming for whatever direction the çheesy romance novels dwell in. You can’t help but smile, seeing him acting like he’s on a top secret mission. And in a way, he is. Books are his thing, this bookstore is his life. You’re honored and happy that you get to see this side of him, too. You can imagine spending more lunch breaks here with him from now on. It was his idea, one that you had gladly agreed to. 

 Neither one of you is making an actual effort to hide their interest. Ever since the dinner at his place, you have found an excuse to meet almost every single day - whether it’s a classic, oh I’m in your neighborhood, or a proper date, you saw him all the time. And by some miracle, you still have topics to discuss. Not a single part of him, of this, is dull in any way - everything is an overwhelming amount of exciting, new and just… right. 

 As he jogs around in search of the perfect book, you walk around some more, running your hand against the spines of the books he had carefully laid out. You like this place, the entire design and organization of it. He did a good job and every piece of furniture, every shelf is in what you would describe as its proper place. It’s as carefully organized as his apartment, and if it weren’t for the distraction in the form of him, you could see yourself spending some time in the reading corner, either working or reading one of the classics he’d recommend. 

 But you know that your eyes would stray from whatever is in front of you and search for him, just like they are now. God, how could it happen this fast? It’s been… What, not even three weeks? And you are riding on the waves of happiness, embracing the butterflies and just feeling giddy, 24/7. Focusing on the possible negatives, even if they are as simple as how fast this has happened, would be doing both of you a major disservice. 

 “I found something good!” he yells from whatever corner he was hidden in and in a matter of seconds, you can hear the patter of his feet as he jogs to where you are, three books in hand and a spark in his eyes. “Any one of these will be a proper home run. I’m sure your sister will like them and two out of three are now on a discount, and since you know a guy who knows a guy, and I am the guy, you can actually walk out with a 100% discount,” he talks super fast, almost too fast for you to catch every word he utters, but you don’t mind it. You can just grin up at him, wanting to close the distance between you and be the reason behind his smile. “And I don’t want to hear anything about how-”

 He is taller than you are, so it takes a bit of effort from your side - on the tips of your toes and keeping a hold of the collar of his navy blue button up, you close the distance between the two of you and shut him up with a kiss. 

 Never in your life did you think you’d ever do that to someone. It was always something so fake and fictional, a thing that doesn’t happen in real life, a rom-com move that would be so idiotic in real life - or in the types of romance novels your sister loves and you hate. And it’s not. With Namjoon, it’s not. Shutting him up with a kiss is something he embraces wholeheartedly, dropping his precious books as if they are nothing. The sound of them hitting the ground makes you flinch, alarmed, but before you can pull away from him, you can feel his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Chest to chest, the two of you stand there in an empty bookstore, with Namjoon shamelessly deepening the kiss. He tastes like bitter coffee and mint - so classic, so bookish, so Namjoon. 

 The feel of his lips against yours, his arms around your waist as he presses you closer, his distinct taste and the smell of the books around you paired with a few unlit scented candles - it’s what the definition of perfection is. If you were to hand pick and create this moment with complete free reign, it couldn’t possibly be more perfect than it is now. 

 The tell-tale sound of a bell chiming above the opening door is as loud as a bomb; the two of you detatch immediately, with you going as far as walking a few steps back, putting on a safe distance between you, trying to act as casual as possible in front of the customer. 

 It’s a young man in his 20s, who gives the two of you a knowing look. You have a perfect excuse of looking away - the books Namjoon had dropped earlier were just waiting to be picked up and taken care of properly. Namjoon on the other hand, had to face the dude and offer him help, no matter how red in the face he is - and he is. Is it the kiss or being caught in the middle of it, you don’t know. You’re just thanking your lucky stars that you have an excuse to turn your back to them, lips pursed to stop yourself from laughing. 

 It was so perfect - movie worthy perfect. Right up until that dude walked in. But somehow, that was very you. From the unconventional meeting, ridiculous gifts, not calling dating what it was and failed cooking attempts, having your first kiss interrupted sounds very on point. 

 You are still pretending to be looking around the store by the time the cash register rings and you don’t move from where you stand in front of an English Classic’s shelf, not even when you hear that damn doorbell ringing again. You say nothing, and neither does Namjoon. But the feel of his chest pressed against your back startles you in the best of ways. As he puts his arms around yours, you put your hand over his, the one that isn’t holding the throwaway books meant to be for your sister. Leaning back into him, you feel him nuzzle his face against your hair and every single part of you feels like it’s about to turn liquid. 

 “That dude has the worst timing,” he whispers into your ear, the action making you shiver - in a way that he must notice too, as he holds you just a little bit tighter. 

 “Considering our track record, I’d say his timing was perfect,” you joke, feeling his chest shake with laughter against you. “I mean, when it comes to us, something is bound to go to shit. At least it wasn’t someone we know, considering how happily unlucky we are.”

 “Happily unlucky,” he repeats, his voice full of softness, comfort. “I like that phrase. It makes me think that no matter how bad our luck gets, we always end up in a good place.”

 “I like it too,” you admit. “Me and you are a series of happily unlucky moments.”

 “I really like you, Y/N,” he tells you, suddenly turning your somewhat joking conversation into a more serious direction. But you, you who would usually feel a simmer of panic burning up in you at hearing those words, you don’t feel it at all. The you who is the one who tends to run away is now letting him embrace you, both with his arms and his words. “I may not have been looking for you, not with a purpose at least, but I’m so glad I found you.”

 “I like you, too,” you admit without an ounce of hesitation, knowing that you’re in somewhat safe hands - very literally. “I’m glad I didn’t chase you away that night.”

 “And I’m glad I had the balls to approach to begin with,” he laughs, once again shaking your body along with his at the action. “Have coffee with me tomorrow, hm?” 

 “Of course,” you answer. It’s a given at this point, no matter what he offers, no matter how crazy hectic your day gets, you will make some space for him there. Even if it’s just to run downtown and visit him here, you’ll do it. Especially now, when your new office space is barely a few minutes walk away from his bookstore. 

 He kisses you on the cheek, a quick and sweet kiss, but one that makes your insides turn over again - they never stop with the rhythmic gymnastics when he’s around, apparently. He lets you go, to go to his place, behind the counter and you follow, the three books in hand. 

“You know, despite the 100% discount, I think I need to sleep on this,” you say, pointing at the books in your hand before placing them gently on the counter before you. Namjoon is grinning, realizing where you’re going with this. “I guess I’ll just have to stop by again.”

“Ugh, what a shame,” he plays along, pretending to feel bad for you. “If you wish, I can keep them for you until you make a decision. You know, in case they sell out.”

 “Definitely,” you answer, grinning like a fool. “I guess I’ll stop by this week again to see what I will decide on.”

 “It’ll be my pleasure to help you again, Miss.”

 “Goodbye, kind sir,” you laugh as you walk towards the store door, feeling his eyes burning your back. Your face positively hurts, but you don’t care. Pain from smiling too hard is the best, most enjoyable pain that you have ever felt. 

 Outside, you notice him still looking at you through the glass window, dimpled smile and all. Unable to stop yourself, you wave at him, before all but running away, giggling like a schoolgirl in love. Which is pretty much exactly what you are at this point. 

[raineydays411]

Oh, what am I supposed to do without you

Loki x daughter!reader

Summary: Loki thought he was in a good place. He was married, happy and having a child. He should’ve known the universe wasn’t that kind.

A/N: God I’m so sorry about this one lol. Not much of the reader but I will be  making a second part. I hope yall like this one though. Inspiration came from “Mr, Loverman” and this fic.

Master list

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The silence was rattling. It creeped into the room, slowly,menacingly. Threatening to make him go mad. It wrapped around his body like a familiar friend. Making it hard for him to breath as it suffocated him. He knew they were staring at him. Trying to figure out what he would do next, whether he would break or not. Truthfully he didn’t know what he would do. For now he just starred as well. Not at them, of course not. He stared at the one thing that mattered. His reason for waking up and living. The one person in this entire universe who gave his world color. He reached out to touch her. Touch the hands that were always so warm against his cold skin. Hands that held his firm and sure as she pulled him along behind her, a smile on her beautiful face. Hands that were now cold and limp, the radicant glow she had been known for gone dark. The colors she brought to his world dimmed to dull, gre, muted hues. Then a sound broke through the silence. two sounds actually. One a wail of new life, a baby taking her first breaths, and another. A wail of a man who has lost everything. A wail of agony and pain.

As the healers bustled around him, Loki had only one thought in his head. 

“What am I supposed to do without you”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three months later and Loki still felt the emptiness left by his love. He heard her at night, humming sweet melodies as she stroked his hair. He hears her heartbeat as he eventually falls asleep, worn out by his constant tears. His room is in shambles, his clothes strewn about the floor, furniture smashed, everything is destroyed. Except for the things that belong to her. Her silk dresses that draped on her body perfectly were still hanging, untouched. The books she spent hours reading and re-reading remained on the shelf, collecting dust as they were no longer used. He doesn’t let anyone in their chambers. The space where they both shared. Space where they fought, made up, made love. To let someone else in would be tainting it. Soiling the memories they made together. That was one thing he could never do.

Another was look at the little monster who is responsible for this tragedy.

It was a girl. The daughter of one Loki Odinson and his beloved. 

Ironic. This child was supposed to bring happiness with its birth. Not even cleaned and it already managed to take away Loki’s light. He can barely stand looking at it. He tried, of course  he tried. But within minutes he had to call the nurse to take it away. Why? 

Because she has her mothers eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Loki”

“Get out”

“Loki, it's been nine months since your child was--”

“THAT THING IS NO CHILD OF MINE”

Frigga was taken aback. She knew her son was heartbroken, devastated at the loss of his wife. But to disown his daughter, that was something she didn’t see coming. 

“Loki, you are being unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable? My wife has died because if that creature--”

“It is a child. A babe who has no idea who her father nor her mother is.”

“And as far as I’m concerned she never will!” Loki shouts, finally looking up at his mother. 

Frigga heart breaks for her son. She sees the utter agony he is in, the inner torment going on in his soul. Even if she didn’t see it in his face, the state of his room and self gives it away. He looks like he hasn’t bathed in the nine months that has passed. His clothes were rumpled and wrinkled, hair unkempt and wild. His face was pale and hollow, as if he was only eating enough to survive. He had dark bags under his eyes that showed that he hasn’t been sleeping well.  He truly was a man who was broken, almost beyond repair. 

“My son” Frigga said carefully,” I can never understand the pain you are going through, I pray to Valhalla I will not have to anytime soon. But please if not for yourself or that child, for the memory of her, attempt to see your daughter before making a rash decision.” And with that, she walked out of his chamber, leaving Loki to the silence again as he stared at the spot his mother stood. considering her words, he got up. picked up his room, went to bathe and walked out of the room for the first time in nine months. 

His face held no emotion as he walked down the hallways. He saw the servants stop and stare at him, shock filled their face as they saw the prince. He glared at them, sending them scurrying at the dark glance. He reached the nursery, the maid who oversaw the nursery tried to stop him. 

“My lord, you--” 

“Where is the child.” He said, calm and cool. The maid looked at him in fear, not knowing how to respond. At her silence, Loki scoffed and pushed her away, marching into the nursery. Upon entering he froze, memories of him and his beloved discussing the design they wanted for their child

**“Darling, why does the color shade matter? It’s not like the child has expectations.”

Laughter fills the air, “Loki, we must put every effort into showing our child they are loved. That includes finding the perfect shade of green to go with the room”

Loki looks at his wife, gently smiling.”If you say so my dear”**

The room was perfect. The walls were a beautiful shade of green that allowed the light into the room. There were vines and flowers crawling up the walls and draped over curtains. A white and gold crib stood in the middle of the chamber. A veil draped over it, preventing Loki from seeing the child inside. He was thankful as he worked up the courage to walk up to it. He looked out the window, seeing the stars that covered the sky, the lights of Asgard covering the earth. 

She would have loved it.

He took a deep breath and walked toward the crib. He pulled back the veil only to see that there was no child in there. 

“The babe is with your mother my lord.”

He turned to the maid. Embarrassed that she might have witnessed him reminiscing.

“And where is my mother” He asked

“In-in the dining hal--” 

He walked away before she was able to finish her sentence. He took long strides to the hall, wondering his his mother had tricked him into eating with the family.On the way, he passed a window overlooking the garden. He thinks of the times where he used to sit in it and listen to her read.

***  “...exquisite, in question more. These happy masks that kiss fair ladies’ brows”

“My love, why do you insist on reading these midgardian stories?”

Her laughter  reaches his ears, “Because beloved, it's a different perspective to something familiar”

“Oh? and what is that ?” 

“Love”  ***

“oki--”

Hearing his name, Loki is brought back to present times once more. He looks to see Thor, watching him with careful eyes. 

“Brother, it is wonderful to see you.”

“I wish I can say the same.”

Thor laughs, a soft chuckle compared to the booming laughter Loki knows he is capable of. 

“Ah Loki, your dry wit has been missed”

Loki rolls his eyes and starts walking and Thor follows. The two walking in silence. 

“What is it like?” Loki says softly. Thor looks at him in confusion.

“It?” 

“The child.”

“Oh brother, Y/n is--”

“Y/n?” 

That was the name she wanted. If they were to have a girl. She was determined, seeing the name in the book she loved to read. He remembers when they were telling his family she was with child.

*** Everyone was seated, servants bustling around the long table. Laughter filled the hall as the sun was setting. 

“Loki, you said you had news to tell us” Frigga said, taking a sip of her wine. 

Loki smiled, looking at his wife. Her face absolutely radiant as she flashes a smile of pure joy.

“ Well,” Loki waits till Thor has taken a large swig of ale, “ My beloved and are are expecting a child.” 

Gasps fill the room as well as Thor's hacking, ale being spewed on the table. 

“Oh Loki that is wonderful!!”  Frigga exclaims standing from her seat to embrace him. “Oh my dear, this is the most wonderous news,” 

“BROTHER I can’t believe it!” Thor exclaims, lifting Loki in a crushing hug. And for once, he didn’t mind it.  He turns to her and hugs her more gently. “ You are just full of surprises aren’t you, starlight”

Laughter, “Thor, I thought I told you to stop calling me that”

Silence fills the hall as Odin clears his throat, “ Loki, you have made me proud.”

Loki smiles as his love beams at him. 

“Thank you father.”**

They reached the dining hall. A cold feeling formed in the pits of his stomach. He can see his mother, talking with a maid as she bounces the child. He can’t see it, as Frigga's back is turned to him. Odin’s presence is notably absent, a small relief on Loki's part. 

Thor notices his brother’s nerves, he pats him on the back and says, “You can do this Loki.” Then walks off to join his mother. He kisses his mothers cheek and smiles at the child. He picks her up, bouncing her a few times  prompting a small laugh. Loki gimances at the sound. 

Thor walks up to him with the baby. 

“Loki, this is Y/n Odinson”

He looks at the child. He takes in its features, Beautiful curly hair, already thick and voluminous even at this age. Brown skin, unblemished and clean. Cheeks, chubby with baby fat. And...its eyes. Those damn eyes, he could barely stand it, (e/c) eyes, the same as his lost love. In fact, almost all it’s features that once belonged to his darling. A pain filled his body. He really couldn’t stand looking at this child. 

Not when his beloved wasn’t there to gaze upon their child as well. 

No, this was not his child. Not anymore. 

“Get rid of it.” 

Shock filled the faces of both Thor and Frigga. 

“Loki you cannot be serious.”

“Brother..”

“I SAID GET RID OF IT” Loki shouts. “I DO NOT WANT TO SEE THAT LITTLE MONSTER.” 

And with that he leaves the dining hall. Leaving behind  his mother, brother and the last piece of his wife he had. He hears it’s cries fill the silence.

He had only one thought in his head as he entered his chambers.

“What am I supposed to do without you”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[genevievemd]

“You have to come back to me. Because I cannot do this without you.” (#13 from Love Confessions). Bring it! :)

Sleeping Beauty

Book: Open Heart: Second Year (post ch 11 au) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure) Word Count: 1172 Rating: G Category: angst Trope(s): and there was a confession

Summary: Ethan struggles to survive after Gen slips into a coma. (Part 2 of Shades of Regret)

Warnings: none

A/N: I know, the last LC I did was also 2.11/2.12 based, but here we are. Also you don’t have to read SoR to read this, it just happened to inspire this one. 

- From Love Confessiolns Prompt List. Prompt in bold -

He’s never been so consumed by grief, by regret. Like it’s eating him alive. Every sound is muffled, the sun losing its light, his entire body numb. 

Genevieve had followed her friend, and slipped into a coma, mere hours before Tobias and the others came running with a cure. One that worked, the toxin leaving her system, enough to take her out of isolation and into her own room. But unlike her paramedic friend, she hadn’t woken up yet. 

And every hour that ticked by felt like another part of him has shattered. 

Her parents arrived shortly after sunrise, staying by her bedside – along with the scalpel jockey – holding her hand, talking to her. All while Ethan sat on the outside. 

He wasn’t family, Lahela was Gen’s boyfriend now. He had no reason to be in that room. 

Despite her whispered confession from the night before; the one where she said she still wanted him. That Ethan was all she wanted. 

No one but the two of them knew that complicated and painful truth. No one knew the promise they made. 

We’ll be together. Without any regrets or fears. Promise? I promise, G. 

He tries his best to take a deep breath, keep his head above water. Focus on the hundreds of other patients and residents that needed him. Get back to the job at hand. 

But he can’t. Ethan stays glued to the chair outside Genevieve’s room, staring blankly at the chart in his hand. 

She had ruined him. Before her, he could separate his feelings from the job. Push away the what-ifs of every scenario. But he can’t now. 

Gen had opened his eyes, and his heart, to the invisible joys in life, the endless possibilities the future could hold. 

Like the one they could have had if he hadn’t stopped them in Miami, or ran off to the amazon, or forced them into a reset, or if he had kissed her under the streetlights three weeks ago like he so desperately wanted to. 

They could have had so much more time, if he had just led with his heart instead of his head. 

She leads with her heart. Her big, beautiful, compassionate heart that could fail at any moment. 

The image of having to bury her beside Danny and Bobby is enough to crack the last brick of his facade, and finally make the tears fall. 

“Doctor Ramsey?” Genevieve’s mother comes out of her room, her father and Bryce walking down the hall. No doubt in search of coffee and food. 

Ethan stands, clearing his throat and wiping the tears away. “Yes, you’re Gen’s mother.” 

“Please, call me Marie.” She smiles, almost the exact same smile that Gen wears every day. “You’re the Ethan, right?” 

“She told you about me?” 

“My sweet girl has talked about you for years. Professionally, of course.” 

For some reason, he’s almost disappointed by that. Which is maddening, because they should be nothing more than colleagues. 

“But, that changed. She didn’t tell me much, I’m sure to protect whatever it is that you two have, but I could see in her eyes how much she loves you.” 

“Your daughter is quite brilliant.” Ethan looks through the small window into Gen’s room, crestfallen. 

“Go in and spend some time without her.” Marie touches his arm, with all the gentleness of a caring mother. 

“I’m fine. We’re not…”

“You can fix that little detail when she wakes up.” She offers him one more smile before walking away and leaving him alone in front of Gen’s room. 

He quickly checks to make sure the hall is clear before entering the room. Making sure to close the door and the blinds, give them some shelter. Protection from the rumors that have already begun to spread. 

“Rookie,” Ethan sinks down into the chair beside her bed, taking her hand in his. 

It’s the first time he’s held her hand, without plastic between them, in the last twelve hours. And it brings the tears back. 

Like a tidal wave of pent-up sorrow and grief.

“I’m sure you’d be happy to know that Rafael is recovering nicely. He woke up about forty-five minutes ago.” 

He takes a breath, in time with her heart rate monitor. 

“I, on the other hand, am drowning. Which is a very unfamiliar feeling. You promised me, Rookie, you promised not to slip away like this. And I know, logically, that you have no control over how your body reacted to the toxin, but… Damn it, G. You…”

Ethan looks down at her hand, so small compared to his own. His thumb tracing patterns into her skin. 

“You have to come back to me. Because I cannot do this without you. I can’t work, sleep, function like a normal human being without you. I don’t know when, or how it happened, but…” 

He closes his eyes, forehead resting against their joined hands, teardrops staining the sheets on her bed. 

“You’re in my heart, Genevieve. Hell, I’m fairly certain you are my heart.” 

He lifts his head, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles as the door to her room opens. Ethan lets her go, turning away from the intruder to try and look appropriate, professional. 

“She’s gonna come back to us.” Bryce steps into the room completely. “Our girl’s a fighter.” 

“She is.” Ethan finally turns around, eyes landing on Gen’s face. 

“And, uh, if it brings you any sorta comfort, I won’t stop you two from being together when she does wake up.” 

His head whips in Bryce’s direction, eyes wide. “Pardon?” 

“You and Gen.” Lahela shrugs, sitting in the chair on the other side of the bed. “Dude, I knew she was still into you. In love with you, really.”

“Dude?” He raises an eyebrow, though Bryce seems to ignore him. 

“I selfishly wish that she wasn’t, you know? Cause she’s amazing, but it’s you she wants and if that’s what will make her happy, then I’ll step aside.” 

“You’re,” Ethan pauses, “surprising, Lahela.” 

“I know.” He smiles, his usual bravado returning. “Now, I’m not well versed in my fairy tales, but I think the only way Sleeping Beauty wakes up from being poisoned is by a kiss from Prince Charming. And while I may be charming, I’m not her Prince Charming.” Bryce stands from the chair, walking to the door. “Oh, and your secret is safe with me.” 

“Thank you, Bryce.” 

“Anytime, bud.” 

The door closes with a soft click, leaving Ethan alone with Genevieve once more. 

He looks at her, eyes traveling over every inch of her face, almost willing to take Bryce’s ridiculous advice. This was real life, not some silly child’s tail and he wasn’t about to kiss her without her consent. 

So he settles on waiting, watching, and hoping. Counting the minutes until she comes back to him. 

And he doesn’t have to wait for long, because she opens her hours only a few hours later. Bright green looking at him with all the love in the world. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.”

A/N: Not gonna lie, I almost ended it with Ethan kissing her, but it felt weird. So I didn’t. She just wakes up all on her own, with Ethan there to greet her. 

I promise the next LC prompt will not be attack based, and Gen will be awake. Pinky Promise!

(tagging seperately)

[aenaxes]

Hey! I was wondering if you could write Crosshair going to the reader for random cuddles no matter where they are, late at night or out on the beach with the batch. BTW, I love the way you write and it never fails to get me inspired to draw our favorite clone boys. Good luck with Uni!

warnings: none

w/c: 1.6k

a/n: ahh tysm for this request! i got a little carried away lol but it's just because i had a lot of fun writing it! :-) hope this helps stoke the artistic imagination! (and thankfully uni is out for the summer so i have more time for our favorite clone boys)

It’s one of the better known facts that Crosshair doesn’t like to be touched, even if warranted, even if he’s asked. There are too many variables in another’s hands: accidents happen, sabotage is never unlikely, and sometimes youthful fear rears its cruel head, and he is flooded with the knee-jerk reflex of memories in the alabaster halls of Tipoca.

So the first time you cuddle with Crosshair, it’s just as much of a disaster as you expect it to be.

Crosshair lies like a corpse over the centre of your bunk, back rigid and ramrod straight, his deathly look complete with the ridiculous bandage criss-crossed over his hairline (courtesy of the simple joys of a ten metre human javelin toss and Wrecker’s miscalculated aim).

Where painkillers weren’t quite enough to keep the concussion headaches at bay, he’d somehow come to the conclusion that you would be. And who were you to turn down a sullen Crosshair mumbling awkwardly for cuddles at your door?

With careful hands and just enough of a firm touch to coax him onto his side without spooking him out of his moping, you maneuver him with his back towards the wall and gently push him further in before you climb onto the space beside him. He flashes you an uncertain look, and you offer him a wry smile in return.

“Relax a little,” you say, lifting his limp arm and slotting yourself against his side until your chests are flush. It’s less cuddling than it is you trying to mold yourself around the hard, firm lines of the tension etched into Crosshair’s muscle and poise. But if he was willing to put aside his standoffish pride to ask you for cuddles, you won’t deny him. Finally content with your arrangement, you lift your chin and fix him with a wry smile. “I can’t spoon a board.”

“Was that an insult?” he offers, a weak attempt at his usual wit that comes out as more of a whimper than bite. But to his credit, he’s listening to you, and you feel him shifting slightly in an attempt to make himself comfortable despite his somewhat unsettled expression.

“Maybe,” you counter. “Loosen your shoulders. Stop tensing. Cuddle, Crosshair.”

“I’m trying,” he mutters, and when you close your eyes to laugh, you barely miss the small upward turn of his lips.

When you wake up the next morning, you feel reborn, all loose-limbed, sated joy as you stretch your arms to your side, expecting Crosshair’s lean form curled close. Instead, you find yourself alone in your bunk, your covers pulled neatly up to your chin with no sign of your surly sniper in sight. You pull yourself together, albeit with a frown, throwing on a fresh set of clothes and readying yourself for a day of snarking (a bit spitefully) at Crosshair for leaving without so much as a thank you.

But then you see it. A small mug sitting on your desk: caf.

As you peer over the rim, you’re hard-pressed to mistake it as anything other than your preference made to perfection, and judging by the steam curling fragrant and wispy over its surface, it’s fresh.

Crosshair says nothing when you pass him in the helm, but when you flash him a grin, he huffs and offers you a lopsided smile back.

It takes the lesser part of one week for the headaches to abate. In between then and Crosshair’s begrudgingly clean bill of health, he comes knocking at your door four more times, each time gently loosening the deep roots of tension coiled through his bones more and more.

“You’re getting better at this,” you murmur into his shoulder on the fourth night, your leg thrown over his hip and your arms tucked securely under his. His first night in your quarters had ended in little beyond simply lying shoulder-to-shoulder. The next two had been (failed) attempts to spoon the entirety of Crosshair’s lanky form. And the night penultimate had been a slightly more successful endeavor in throwing all experimental caution to the wind and waking up chest-to-chest in an oddly comfortable tangle of limbs.

That night worked, and so you do it again.

“I had a good teacher,” Crosshair snorts, and he wheezes, his arms curling snug around your middle, when you gently jab him in the side.

You mutter something into his shoulder, but your own words do not reach your ears when you feel his chin settle atop your head. He shifts carefully until he’s curled entirely around you, the anchor in a still sea, a promise that you, together in shared space and breath, simply are. It’s funny how these things work, you think, breathing shallow and slow as Crosshair brushes his nose over the crown of your head and stays.

And then the concussion heals, and he’s gone.

It’s a bit startling how quickly you had grown accustomed to Crosshair’s presence in your bunk within the brief span of a week. You don’t expect to miss it, the easy nighttime habit as Crosshair quietly slinks to your room: a well-rehearsed ritual of playful snark before the gentler art of accommodation, pushing and pulling in tandem to find the sweet stability of your cheek laid over Crosshair’s collar and his palm warm over the small of your back.

You don’t expect to miss it so much that you find yourself lying in bed well past lights out, simply bracing to sling meaningless jokes thrown in the helm the next morning about how Crosshair’s gone soft, little baby brother Crosshair, like the week prior meant little but a favor to a friend.

The telltale knock sets him apart; four rapid, light raps on the durasteel that you’ve come to know so well, and you’re hauling yourself out of bed and slapping the door lock open as fast as you can.

“Cuddles,” Crosshair says as soon as he catches sight of you in the doorway.

He should be fine; he is fine, if Tech is to be believed. So there’s no reason for him to be waking you and requesting entry. But he is here. You stuff down the dizzying stutter in your chest and meet the mirth in his eyes with the best frown you can manage.

For all the stubborn fronting and the cold refusal you could offer him, there’s something you cannot bring yourself to resent when Crosshair—sour, cynical Crosshair—lets the word “cuddle” find home, curled soft over his tongue (lets himself find home in you).

“Will you make me caf in the morning?”

“Depends on how well you cuddle,” he replies, his tone a deadly calm, only betrayed by the knowing gleam in his eye.

“Says the man who didn’t know how to cuddle a few days ago,” you shoot back.

“The apprentice outdoes the master,” Crosshair shakes his head with a wistful sigh, and you laugh, reaching forward to twine your fingers with his, letting him take his rightful place as the doors close behind you.

—

He comes back home.

Wrecker tells you to give him space, Echo shakes his head when you idle in front of his closed door, and even Omega offers you a sad, apologetic look when Crosshair makes the rare, silent appearance outside of his quarters, a spectre and his bacta patch haunting the ship’s hull before he disappears again.

You listen to them for a few days, but it chews at you from inside—the gnawing thought that Crosshair had been alone for so long, that he’s still alone now. Even if his basest instinct had always been to withdraw and cope in isolation, you can’t stand the idea of leaving him by himself any longer. So when the others have long since fallen asleep, you creep to Crosshair’s room and knock four times in rapid succession.

Like you had expected, he’s awake. But when he opens the door, he keeps his unfocused eyes cast aside.

“Cuddles,” you whisper, testing, hopeful, and you open your arms to him as you stand on the threshold. “Just like we used to?”

Only then does Crosshair flick his weary eyes up, rimmed red with exhaustion, grief overdue. And after four long days, he finally meets your gaze.

You watch as his eyes linger under furrowed brows, peering at you as if he isn’t entirely sure if you’re real, if you’re really there. Watching him waver between your face and your open palms and back again, you imagine Crosshair thinking that it’s always been the other way around: him seeking you out at odd hours to wrap his lean arms around your shoulders, breathe deep, and simply bask in how close you were to his beating heart.

And now it’s you.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, stepping forward between your outstretched arms to gingerly place his chin over your shoulder and settle his lean arms at your waist.

All those times you spent curled, molded around him in the quiet darkness of your bunk—it’s honed you to know him like you know yourself, committing to indelible memory the way he breathes, shifts, fits with you.

And he’s different. A year’s worth of separation would do that, change. But where you feel some new muscle and sinew against your skin, there is undeniable familiarity in how he seeks you out despite the tremble in his hands and unsteadiness of his breath.

There is familiarity in finding home.

You reach up, looping your arms around his neck. And when you pull snug, you feel him squeeze your waist in return, holding tight and holding close.

“Just like we used to.”

[cuttoothed]

Day 8 of @jonmartinweek for the “AU” prompt.

This week has been such a delight to write for, and it’s the most productive and inspired I’ve been in a long time. I've really enjoyed all the great content coming out of this week. Thanks to the organizers for this wonderful event!

CW here for depiction of depression, though the term itself isn’t used. Depression symptoms are also shown to spontaneously improve over time, though it is stated that this is not a complete or permanent recovery.

*

There is a land with many gods. Gods of war and of peace; of harm and healing; of storms and snows. Gods of life and death; gods of hearth and home. The smallest village has its own small god; the cities have thousands, all clamoring for attention.

There is a valley with a kind and gentle god. He makes sure that the rains fall in spring, and in summer that the sun shines on the fields of growing crops. In winter he tempers the cold winds, gentles the frosts to spare the valley worst of the chill. The people love their god, and trust that he will always care for them.

Until one spring, the rains do not fall, and the clouds do not part to let the sunshine through. A freezing fog rolls in, blanketing the little village and the lands around it; the fields remain frozen, and those few plants that sprout from the frost-bitten earth rot in the clinging damp. The people despair, because their god has never let them down before. Have they done something wrong? Angered him somehow? They will have enough stores to survive one year without harvest, perhaps two; if their god’s kindness does not return by then, they will have to abandon the valley that has been their home for centuries.

The most senior leaders from the village go to speak with the god, in his shrine on the hillside. The god is distressed at their plight, but he tells them he cannot help; his soul is mourning, and he does not know why. He has tried to call on the sun, on the soft rains, but his heart is too sorrowful, and all that comes is fog.

The people of the valley try everything they can think of, to restore their god’s happiness. They bring him gifts, recite stories and songs; they throw a carnival in the foggy village square, with costumes and games and music. They offer to search for anything that will make him happy, if he will only tell them. But the god cannot tell them, and nothing brings him joy, and the fog remains.

*

One day, a scholar comes to the village. Jonathan Sims is from the city, from one of the temples of knowledge, where they have heard about this valley and its inconsolable god. He walks through the cold, mist-shrouded streets, and up to the hillside where the god’s shrine is.

The shrine is a cottage, small and quaint, with lights in its windows and smoke curling from its chimney; it isn’t like any shrine Jon has seen before. He hesitates before knocking on the door, unsure if this could truly be the home of a god. The person who opens the door looks like a man, with a kind face, and rough, home-spun clothing; he is quite unlike the gods of the city, who are sharp and polished and alien. But one look at his eyes tells Jon that this is the god: they are ageless and endless, swirling like silver-gray fog.

“I’m sorry,” says the god, “I’m not really in the mood for visitors at the moment.”

“Please,” Jon says, before he can shut the door. “I’ve brought jasmine tea—I heard you enjoy it?”

The god hesitates a moment, then says:

“All right, you can come in—but just for tea.”

The inside of the cottage is what Jon would have expected from its outside, cozy and cluttered, with a fire crackling in the hearth. The god fetches saucers and cups and brews a pot of the fragrant jasmine tea, and there are little cakes with dried fruit and honey, which the god tells him were a gift from the village.

“I’m not much of a baker myself,” he admits, pouring the tea. Then he asks: “What’s your name?”

“Jonathan Sims—Jon. What, uh, what should I call you?”

“I don’t have a name,” says the god. “The people around here just call me “the god”, and I’ve never thought to ask them for one.”

“You could always choose one for yourself.” The god gives him a curious look, as if that’s not something that had ever occurred to him.

“I suppose that I could,” he says. He takes a sip of his tea. “This is very nice, thank you.”

Jon has never had tea with a god before. The god asks him about the city and his work for the Temple of Beholding, and Jon finds himself talking freely; this god is very easy to talk to. His face is open and kind, and he listens attentively as Jon talks about the city, its people and its gods, about the work of the Temple to gather knowledge, to understand their world.

“Why did the Temple send you to me?” the god asks at last.

“We heard of what happened in the valley—of the fog,” says Jon, and sees guilt flash across the god’s face, the silver-gray of his eyes darkening. “I came to see.”

“Not to try to cheer me, then?” the god asks. There’s a bitter note in his voice.

“No, not to cheer you. Just to speak. To understand.”

“I’m glad you aren’t wasting your time, then,” says the god. “My people have done all they can to lift my sorrow. And I have tried, every way I know how, to send this fog away, to clear the skies, but I cannot—”

He shakes his head in frustration, lines of worry and grief etched across his features. Jon has the sudden impulse to reach out and comfort him; but this is a god, and besides, they’ve scarcely even met.

“I’m sorry that you carry such a burden,” he says. The god looks at him, and his mist-colored eyes are grieved.

“My sorrow isn’t important, only that it causes me to fail my people.” He turns away, his expression pained. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t bother you with my troubles. It’s probably best that you leave.”

Jon wants to protest, but he thinks it’s probably not a good idea to refuse a god’s request. He sets down his teacup and puts on his coat, and at the door he pauses.

“May I come back tomorrow?” he asks. The god considers, and then nods.

“I would like that,” he says, with a faint hint of a smile.

It’s quite a lovely smile, Jon can’t help noticing.

*

In the village, Jon asks about the god. The god has always been there, he learns. The god has always cared for them, has always ensured their harvests are bountiful and their winters are mild. The people of the valley don’t understand why their god is so unhappy now, but they hope it doesn’t linger too long. They need him to be the joyful, attentive god he has always been; they depend upon it.

The next day, he walks back up to the cottage on the hillside; the door opens to his knock, and the god smiles in greeting. They drink tea by the fire, and Jon asks about the valley—about how it is, when the fog isn’t here. The god talks about the farms and the orchards, the beauty of this place in both summer and winter; he talks about the lives of the people, their joys and their trials, how they rely on him for their wellbeing.

“That sounds like a great responsibility,” says Jon.

“They need me to care for them,” the god says simply. “So that is what I do.”

They talk into the evening, and the god insists Jon stay for supper; a rich stew of root vegetables and herbs. The god smiles shyly when Jon compliments the meal.

“I’m a better cook than a baker,” he says.

It’s coming into night when Jon leaves, and the god gives him an oil lamp to light his way to the village. His fingers brush against Jon’s as he hands him the lamp, and there is a jolt of electric sensation; a reminder that he is still talking to a god.

“Walk safely,” says the god.

“May I come back tomorrow?” Jon asks, and the god smiles, his eyes shining silver-gray.

“I look forward to it.”

*

Jon comes back the next day, and the next day, and the next. Sometimes he and the god talk; sometimes, when the god’s sorrow is too deep for conversation, Jon makes tea and they sit together quietly. Some days they walk in the hills, where the fog coils around the god’s feet like a cat. Jon brings the god the books he’s carried with him from the city, and the god—eventually, shyly—reads Jon a poem that he’s written. Jon is no aficionado, but the soft sincerity of the god’s voice makes something warm curl in his chest.

Their fingers brush over tea cups and the spines of books, each touch sending that little electric thrill through Jon’s nerves, and a warmth that has nothing to do with divinity. He knows it’s foolish—utterly ridiculous—to harbor such feelings for a god. But the god is kind and caring and clever; he sometimes makes terrible jokes, and when they walk, he insists on stopping to greet every shaggy brown cow they see.

The god is also sad, a bone deep, aching sorrow whose roots are unfathomable. He tries to explain it to Jon: he has always felt such sorrow, from time to time, as if all the joys of life were far away, seen from behind glass. But it has never lasted for so long, and it has never before prevented him from fulfilling his duties; he has always been able to push it aside, to do what he must.

That, Jon thinks, is part of the problem; his god is too kind, too devoted, too willing to sacrifice himself for his people.

His god, and when did Jon start to think of him that way? Not in worship, but in growing affection?

*

More than anything, the god loves to hear of Jon’s travels. He has journeyed far and wide in service to the Temple, and the god listens raptly as he describes distant places he has been, sights he’s seen, people he’s met.

“I’ve never traveled anywhere,” the god admits. “It sounds quite wonderful.”

“It can be,” says Jon. “Though it’s best when you have somewhere to return to.”

*

One morning in midsummer, the fog curls denser than ever, and Jon can scarcely find his way to the cottage through the murk. He hurries as fast as he can, worried that something might be astray. He worries more when the god does not open the door to Jon’s knock; Jon wonders for a moment if he might not be home, but they had agreed to walk and visit the cows today. His god would not forget.

He hesitates, then lets himself in.

He finds the god curled by the fire, sitting on the floor with a heavy blanket around his shoulders. His face is drawn and tear streaked, and as Jon approaches another shuddering sob tears itself from his throat, fresh tears flowing from his silver-gray eyes.

“Oh—” Jon drops to his knees on the hearthstone, his hands flying up as if to touch the god’s face, but instead hovering helplessly above his shoulders; they have never touched, but for those accidental brushes. Does he have the right?

“Jon…” the god says, his voice rough and choked. “I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t have to see me this way.”

“Don’t say that,” says Jon, distraught. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” says the god, even as another sob shakes his shoulders. “I’m—there’s nothing wrong, not really. I’m just being...selfish. Absorbed in my own foolish melancholy when my people—“

“Forget your people!” Jon snaps, more sharply than he intends, and he sees his god flinch. “Just for a moment, think of yourself. I beg you.”

“My people—this place—they are me,” says the god. “If not for them, what would I even be?”

“You would be dear to me,” Jon says, hoarsely, and the god’s fog-colored eyes go wide, startled. The truth, then, and this time Jon does press a hand to his god’s soft cheek. The touch sends that familiar, tingling thrill through his palm, the feeling that Jon has learned to love.

“Oh,” the god whispers, and his hand comes up to cover Jon’s on his cheek. He leans into Jon’s touch, smiling even as the tears continue to flow.

*

There comes a day, in autumn, that dawns with sunshine and blue skies.

Jon wakes with his god curled beside him in the warm nest of their bed, and watches the light shining in through the window with wonder. It isn’t precisely a surprise: the fog has been lessening these past few weeks, the clouds growing less gray, but still he had not dared to hope that the sun might return—to the sky, and to his god’s heart.

After a time, the god wakes as well—slowly, as he always does—and his tousled head turns towards Jon. His eyes blink open, and their color is the clear blue of summer skies.

“G’morning,” he says sleepily, and Jon’s heart swells with love for him.

“Good morning,” he says. “The sun is out.”

*

The people of the valley rejoice with the return of the sun. This year’s harvest is lost, but they can begin to plan for next spring’s planting. The leaders of the village go to the shrine to give thanks to their god, but the strange scholar from the city answers the door and refuses to let them inside.

“He’s busy,” the scholar says, and shoos them away.

*

“You know that the fog may return, in time?” The god’s fingers twine gently with Jon’s. “I love you more than breath, but love cannot guard against such inborn sorrow. It comes when it wills, regardless of life’s joys.”

“Let it come,” says Jon. “I have loved you in the fog, and I will again. You own my heart, however heavy yours might be.”

He lifts his god’s hand and kisses his fingertips, feeling the buzz of bright sensation against his lips.

“My dear,” his god murmurs. “My heart.”

*

It isn’t long before Jon receives the letter that he knew would come; the fog has lifted and there’s no more to be learned, he is to return to the Temple at once.

He reads the letter once, then burns it.

*

“We should go somewhere,” Jon says, one evening. His god smiles, fingers stroking through Jon’s hair, leaving little trails of electric sensation behind.

“That’s a pleasant fancy,” he says. “I would love to travel with you, see those wonderful places you’ve told me about.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Jon urges. “Just for a time?”

“I-I couldn’t,” the god stutters. “My people—“

“Your people would carry on without you,” says Jon. “You have given everything that you are to this place and its people for so long; you’ve suffered through pain and sorrow in silence, until you could conceal it no more. You have thought of nothing for yourself, love, and so I must think of it for you.”

His god is staring at him now, his blue eyes wide and wet with tears. Jon grasps both of his hands, feeling the little sparks of divinity dancing across his skin.

“Come away with me,” he pleads. “Be selfish, for a little while.”

“Jon…” His god breathes his name like a prayer, and Jon wonders at the fortune that brought him here. His god smiles, bright and glorious.

“Yes,” he says.

*

They lock up the cottage before they leave, an empty shrine, but only for a time. The spring sun is shining, and in the valley below they can see people working in the fields, planting for their next harvest. The god gives a worried sigh, and Jon takes his hand.

“Your people are well,” he says, gently. “And we won’t be too long away.”

“I know,” says his god, and squeezes his hand. Then he smiles, wry and mischievous. “I had a thought; since we’ll be out in the world, I should choose a name. I expect most people won’t take kindly to calling me god.”

“That may be wise,” Jon agrees, laughing. “Have you thought of the name you might want?”

“Well…” his god says. “I was fond of the protagonist in that novel of yours—The Life and Adventures of Martin Blackwood?”

“Martin Blackwood, eh?” Jon says, considering. His god—Martin now, perhaps—tilts his head quizzically, his blue eyes shining.

“What do you think?” he asks, and Jon smiles.

“I think it suits you.”

[calumxkisses]

Yellow | c.h.

pairing: calum hood x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

summary: prince!calum au - you're his yellow and he's yours.

a/n: hi! 'm not really good with au imagines but i hope you'll like it. let me know what you think of this imagine. love you!

this imagine its inspired by the song: yellow

✰ ✰ ✰

“Yellow.” A sudden voice makes you jump. You close the book you’re reading as you place a hand on your chest, feeling your heart beating quickly.

The library is huge, the storm lights barely illuminate the room, making it almost impossible to find your way around and read without the help of candles. The smell of old books is strong, there is a lot of dust on the shelves and feeling small near these high shelves make the perfect atmosphere to be able to take refuge from the outside world, from a world made of rules and confined to the land surrounding the property. Your little refuge, however, is interrupted by the presence of this man and you turn around quickly, trying to hide the smile that forms on your face at the sight of the stranger.

Despite the size of the room, the prince appears to be in full control of everything around him. He is standing in front of the door, several meters separate your figure from his, yet you can see the smile he gives you, his hands hidden behind his back and the fine lines near his eyes that underline his amused expression.

“What?” You ask before placing your hand in front of your mouth and widening your eyes. In your mind, a vivid image of your mother scolds you for your language and reminds you that you are no longer a child and that you must be careful when addressing a prince or any other high-ranking social figure.

“I'm sorry for talking to you like that, sir. I'm afraid I don't understand what your 'yellow' refers to.”

Prince Calum laughs briefly before slowly approaching you.

"We've known each other since we were children, we don't need certain formalities."

“My mother says-” you try to justify yourself, but he cuts you off right away.

“Nobody’s here.” He whispers before standing in front of you, keeping some distance to avoid misunderstanding in case someone enters. If it were up to him, there would be no such distance between you, but rules are rules and he would never want to compromise your image.

You look around to make sure no one is spying on you and, sure you are alone with him, you relax your shoulders and jaw, releasing the sigh you were holding back.

“So, yellow?” You ask, smiling, placing the book on the table to your left while you look at the boy, waiting for an answer.

His curly hair is carefully pulled back and the dark circles under his eyes lead you to imagine him sitting at his desk, with a lighted candle next to him and his gaze on the window in front of him, instead of the pages he is holding with his hand, pages he should study in order to become the man his father wants him to be, but that he will never be.

“It was a difficult choice, I will not lie to you. There are so many colors that remind me of you, the red of the dress you wore at your first dance when you entered society, the purple of the vase you broke when you discovered that you have been promised in marriage to an old man or the blue of water of the stream next to the tree where we always go to sit under it. And there are a thousand other colors that I associate to you.”

You smile proudly to hear that he paid attention to every detail and remember how as a child he couldn't even memorize the poems the teachers taught him and the thousand fights you had when you tried in vain to help him learn each verse.

“When I think of you, however, I think back to when you collected Ranunculus repens and put them in your hair, to embellish your hair and feel like the princesses who came to visit us. You always did it and you always took a few more so, when it rained and we couldn't go out, you had your little escort and you could wear them even inside these walls. You always have and if I'm not wrong-”

Calum slowly reaches out his arm towards you, his hand brushes your neck causing you to shiver all over your body, before moving a strand of hair and grabbing something from behind your ear.

“You still wear them.” He whispers, bringing his hand in front of your eyes and showing the small yellow flower you were wearing until a few seconds before.

“They still make me feel like a princess from one of those fairy worlds I read books about.” You whisper, you look down as a sense of shame takes hold in your body. Your heart seems to feel pain as you think back to how you still feel as a child, how you still dream of those fairy tales you hoped you could live one day.

“You're a princess with or without those flowers on, you know it too, you just hope that others see you as you do, too special for a life you don't want to be part of.” He says bringing his fingers under your chin and lifting your face up. His gaze no longer conveys joy and his tone is harsh, an angry expression has taken place on his face.

“Calum..” You try to stop him from speaking that truth you don't want to hear, but his words have broken through your heart and the pain you seemed to feel, now you are definitely feeling. You take a step back, trying to get away from a situation you can't escape from.

“You don't have to do it, you don't have to stay and spend the rest of your life between false smiles and sleepless nights. Your sister will be queen and my father thinks I'm a failure since I was born. Let's run away, me and you. My cottage already has everything we need and I'm sure they will never come looking for us. We will live that fairy tale we imagined for us and we will have the life we ​​always wanted.”

His hand grabs yours and his gaze is on you. You know he's not lying, he told you the love he feels towards you in the dungeons of this same castle and you haven't thought twice before confessing your love to him.

But this castle, these people, is all you have always known.

It’s a world that doesn't belong to you but you can't just leave. There are rules, responsibilities, tasks that you cannot escape.

“It's not that easy, Calum.”

“No, it's not, it's not easy and it won't be. We'll probably end up arguing and you'll regret running away with me. But then you'll think back to all these tight corsets you had to wear, all the formalities you had to comply with and the man you would hold if you have stayed and you will understand that country life is so much better than a life spent in sadness and that that terrible man who made you cry actually loves you madly and just wants what he knows it’s better for you.”

He also grabs the other hand and continues.

“And if you really want to go back, I will be ready to be looked at with scandal by everyone and to take you back to the castle, to face your father and see you held by arms that are not mine.”

You know that it will be hard, but you have never wanted to be a queen. It’s a big responsibility for a girl that just wants to live a fairy tale, that wants to be free in her own terms. You never wanted a kingdom, you never wanted to be property of some old man and certainly you never wanted to spend your existence submitted to someone else’s orders.

You just wanted to be happy, to live your life to the fullest, to love a man who respected you, your dreams, your independence and your passion for flowers and books.

And maybe house cleaning, mud and small rooms will never be like having silk sheets, breakfast prepared by someone else and the floor always clean, but they certainly convey a sense of greater happiness and a life spent in misery and in sadness it’s the dream of those who do not want to fight for what they dream of and are satisfied with mediocrity.

And you don't deserve mediocrity and the guy in front of you knows it well, he sees it in the way you feel uncomfortable during the dances, when your father talks to you about matters you can never take care of because you’re a woman and in the look that you give to your mother when she talks about her marriage, that is only political and not based on love.

You turn to your right, a huge gold mirror near the window reflects the library, the place where you grew up and where you have taken refuge millions of times. You look in the mirror, the diamond earrings reflect the gray of the sky and are too heavy for your ears. Your dress is gorgeous, hand-sewn by the best tailors, yet you don't feel as beautiful as when you wear old, unfashionable clothes and run free for the castle hills, without the fear of getting dirty or ruining expensive dresses.

Your eyes, pupils who love to look at the horizon, are sad, aware that by staying they will not be able to see any wonder. You touch your face, slowly run your hands over your cheeks, over your lips and run your finger over the bridge of your nose, remembering when you were just a little girl and were treated like a normal girl, a girl that loved when her father played with her and touched her nose while making funny noises with his mouth.

Then you look outside. The sky is full of dark clouds, the rain falls incessantly and a few lightning illuminate the afternoon sky. You look at that garden you have walked a thousand times, at all the flowers you have collected and at all the plants you have destroyed while playing with Calum.

You close your eyes thinking about all the places you haven't visited, all the trees you haven't leaned on to read and all the rivers you haven't seen flowing. There is a world out there, you think, that has yet to be discovered. And who are you, if not a woman ready for life's adventures?

“You didn't ask me.” You whisper.

“What?” Calum asks, confused.

“You didn't ask me which color reminds me of you.” You repeat as you slowly turn around to look at him.

A huge smile forms on his face.

“What color do you think when you think of me?”

“When I was ten, one night, I decided to explore the dungeons alone. I wanted to prove to myself that I was able to do anything. I almost made it, I almost managed to face the monster we thought lived in the cells, but then it was all too dark and I ended up going back to my room crying.” You slowly approach him.

“The next night, you showed up in my room with a jar full of fireflies, you gave it to me and whispered "You can do it." I ended up walking through the dungeons with this jar in my hand, you were a few meters behind me to make sure nothing happened to me, but I always knew you were there, even if you tried to hide.”

“I was able to face one of my biggest fears that night. Whatever other problem happened, you were always ready to help me if I needed it, you always supported me, with advice or simply by being close to me, a few steps back to let me free. You were essential in making me grow, while remaining away. Like the stars, who guide the sailors from the sky, they let the sailors do what they believe is right, but they are there to help and guide them if they need it.”

You bring your lips to his ear and whisper: “At midnight, in our place. Don't be late and take the blue carriage, it makes less noise on the street.” You turn around and walk to your room to pack a small bag with all the essentials.

“Wait, you didn't answer my question!” He says turning towards the direction you went.

“You are my yellow, Calum.” You say, you are far away but you know he’s smiling and you smile too.

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

Return Her pt.8

The dreams persist and continue to get worse, but they can't know about these supposedly prophetic night terrors... especially after what you've just seen.

It seems that your promise of a kiss really did motivate Bofur, because not even 10 minutes later are you all reaching the other side of the lake. 

As soon as it's put to shore and you all file out, Bofur looks to you expectantly and taps the side of his face. 

You, being as you promise, waste no time and leaning down and pecking his cheek gently, giggling at the way his cheeks reddens slightly and a huge smile breaks out on his face. It's pretty cute, you have to admit. 

"There you go, now no more complaining about not getting a kiss, okay? From now on there will be no negotiations." You tell them decisively, adding afterwards, "I will distribute them when I see fit." 

Bofur nods happily and goes back to the boat to grab some of the supplies, meanwhile Kili looks at you with a frown, "But what about me?" 

"I told you already, you got one." 

"Yes, but I can't remember it! Surely that isn't fair." He complains, glancing over at his brother and Bofur who are taking things out of the boat. 

"It's not my fault you can't remember it." You shoot back, stepping around him to take your backpack out of the boat. 

Kili stares at you for a few moments with the same displeased expression on his face before grumbling out, "It's not fair." 

You glance back at him again while you put on your bag, sighing internally before stepping back and pecking his cheek very quickly. "There! Now no more complaining or I'll go right back to Bard-" 

They don't even let you finish your sentence before they're all yelling, "No!"

It seems you've gotten your point across.

---

The journey to the mountain is long and horribly arduous, and you can tell that it's taking a toll on Kili since he's begun to sweat and his breath is coming out in shallow pants. 

When you notice this you skip over to Fili and jump in front of him, successfully making him, and everyone else, halt their trekking. 

"Y/N? What are you doing?" Fili asks, looking up at you with furrowed eyebrows. 

"Fili, dear, your brother is struggling an awful lot over there. I think we should take a break so he doesn't, like, pass out or anything." 

Normally, they would argue with you and tell you you're being too sensitive and worrisome, but with all the things you've been right about recently, Fili concedes and nods his head in agreement, "Alright." 

A huge smile breaks out on your face when the first answer isn't 'no' for once, and right away you clap your hands together excitedly and pat his shoulder, "Excellent." 

"We can rest beneath those trees for shade, and Oin will change his bandages." Fili states decisively, looking up at you with a small smile on his face since your joy is rather contagious. 

You drop your hand from his arm and bound over to the trees he pointed out with a new vigor fueled by the desire to take a freaking break. 

Right away you settle onto the ground and take off your backpack, patting the spot next to you when Kili limps over with Fili and Bofur on either side of him (incase he collapses or something). Oin walks over much slower and with less enthusiasm, though he does appear to be pretty pleased about having a break too.

Kili sits down next to you without hesitation and stretches his legs out in front of him, looking over at Oin wearily since he doesn't much want anyone to touch his still healing (and very tender) wound. 

"I'm going to need you to lay down, lad." Oin tells him once he takes a seat, pulling out some things from his bag (supplied to him by Bard and Tauriel) like more stuff to wrap his leg and some cleaning stuff. 

The brown-haired dwarf sighs shakily a and slowly begins to lay back, fully intending to stretch out on the hard, dirty ground. 

"Ah, wait." You tell him quickly, scooting closer and offering your lap up as a pillow. 

He, of course, doesn't pass up the offer and settles himself down with his head resting on your thighs and a way too pleased expression on his face. 

Oin chuckles lightly before going business mode and carefully removing the wrapping Tauriel applied to his leg, careful not to hurt the young dwarf as he does so. 

You reach up and card your fingers through his hair gently, looking over at Oin's calculated and gentle movements with a slight frown on your face. On the bright side, at least it's not horribly infected anymore. 

Kili hums appreciatively when your nails scratch lightly at his scalp, the noise bringing your attention back to his face. 

You smile half-heartedly and ask, "Does it hurt at all?" 

"Only a little." He replies easily, folding his arms to rest on his stomach while he waits for Oin to finish up. "Don't worry, I will be fine." He assures, practically reading your worry ridden mind. 

"I-I know, but..." You trail off as you glance over at the scabbing and hideous hole in his leg, biting your lip lightly while you think over your words, "You were so sick..." 

"Careful there, Y/N, or I might begin to think you're worried for me." There is obvious humor in his voice, and from the smile on his face and the way Fili and Bofur laugh they all think it's funny; but you only look at him sourly. 

You reach down and pinch his nose none to gently, replying cooly, "Oh don't even joke about that! Obviously I was worried. We all were!" 

"Yes, but we didn't all cry." Bofur teases, leaning back against the tree with his hat covering his eyes. 

You glare over at him quickly and stick your tongue out, feeling your cheek heat up despite your attempt to remain cross and nonchalant. 

"You cried?" Kili asks quickly with wide eyes, forgetting all about the uncomfortable sensation of having Oin cleaning his arrow wound. 

"No!" You deny it with no small amount of embarrassment and indignation, pointedly avoiding looking at Kili since it's not the most dignifying thing. "I did not. Why would I even cry anyways? You were only writhing on the ground... screaming and practically sobbing any time any of us even got close to you..." It's not a memory that you want to hold onto for long, but what really gets you about it is how vividly you can remember his pained screams and agonized yells. 

 "Y/N..." Kili mumbles quietly, glancing over at his brother and Bofur who are looking at you with sympathetic expressions on their faces. 

"Oh, shut up! This isn't even about me, so worry about yourself." You huff, pulling on the ends of his hair lightly before saying hurriedly, "Look! Oin's all done! I'm going to take a nap, now." And with that, you push his head off your lap and immediately lay down with your head on your bag, covering your face with your hood and wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Kili sits up after you shove him off of you and looks at your curled up form with slight annoyance, speaking with a bit of humor to hopefully ease your tension, "Oh sure, go and push me off, thank you for that." 

"You're welcome, dearie." You reply without hesitation, feeling a smile tug at the corners of your lips in spite of the slight sadness creeping into you mere seconds before. "Hush now, I'm sleeping." 

He snickers at that but doesn't bother you anymore, so Fili speaks up and tells everyone, "30 minutes should be enough time for a break." 

Nice. 

---

There is only black when you first open your eyes. 

You cannot see anything, though you can hear the crazed yells of a man. 

He yells of the Arkenstone. 

Of treachery. 

Of distrust and wanting to keep something safe.

You feel a weight on your wrists suddenly, and when you look down you see transparent chains binding you to a throne, and more clearly this time you hear, "My key. My charm of good fortunes." 

And then that voice turns angry and you hear a vicious yell, "Throw him from the ramparts!" 

The black makes way for a blinding light, and when you look up everything around you shifts. 

The light dies upon you and you feel an emptiness spread from your chest throughout the rest of your body. 

Now, everything is gray.

The sky, the stone all around you, the blue-tinted ice beneath your feet, everything. 

Very slowly you turn, eyes meeting that all too familiar sight of a raging battle below and a grand castle settled upon the Lonely Mountain.

The screams from the awe-inspiring town meet your ears once more and are very faint until suddenly it all stops. 

Now all you hear is silence. A horrible, deafening silence that stretches out all around you. 

And then, oh so softly, comes the broken, "No..." Of a man witnessing something truly dreadful. Something that, still, you cannot see. 

Your body moves upon it's own accord, turning with a careful and painstakingly slow rotation, and once more you're met with the sight of Thorin, Bilbo, and Dwalin all staring ahead with matching hopeless and devastated countenances. 

There is no other sound even when you see their mouths opening as they scream and cry, for the only thing you can hear is the painfully loud roaring of complete, deathly, silence. 

You try, oh you try so hard, to look toward the source of their anguish, but like the night before your head refuses to abide by your wishes, and it's not until your vision zooms in automatically on that white hand and the chest of whoever this person holds that you can move. 

You turn your head up to catch a glimpse, just a quick peek, at the face belonging to whoever this person is, but the sun blinds you mostly still and all you see is messy, braided, blond hair. 

You know that hair.

Then you're back on the ground, looking down at the limp, bloodied body of somebody else, a gaping hole in their chest and a blur of brown hair and a short beard in your peripherals. 

You know that figure. 

In contrast of your dream from before, this time you get more than a quick look at someone getting stabbed in the chest, for you see a broken figure of someone laying lonely on ice until the soft sound of someone running towards you both reaches your ears. 

You want to see who it is, and you try very hard to clear the haze and see their face, you  and kind of get what you were wishing for.

His eyes are all you can see but still you know who it is.

You know .

Then your eyes fall upon Bilbo. 

"Why are you just standing there?" He yells, walking up to you, seeming so much bigger than he actually is as he grabs your shoulders in a bruising grip. "Why didn't you do anything? How could you just watch them die?" 

You shake your head and try to defend yourself, but when you open your mouth to reply, you find that you can't speak, and your cheeks begin to feel hot as tears run down them with record breaking speed. 

"You could have stopped this!" 

Once more you shake your head no and try to push his hands from your shoulders, but the hold stays and his yells grow louder. 

"Wake up." 

What?

"Y/N, you need to wake up! It's only a dream!"

You jolt awake and your eyes snap open quickly, your gaze flickering around above for a moment as you try to make sense of what's around you. 

The first thing you see is the confused and very worried faces of Fili and Bofur, and the first thing you feel is the hotness of your face and the dampness of your cheeks. 

Then, you see Kili and Oin just behind them, and your throat feels hoarse as your heart throbs painfully as the dream replays behind your eyes and the the hints that littered throughout your terror come back to you. 

The realization you come to makes you sick to your stomach, but you push down the bile and sit up slowly, entangling your hands into your hair and putting your head between your knees as you try to force away the unpleasant nightmare. 

Vaguely you feel a heavy hand pressing against your back and rubbing slow, soothing circles between your shoulder blades as you try to calm your breathing and rub away the tears staining your cheeks. 

You stay in that position for a small while, until all the crying is done and over with and you can form a proper thought once more. 

When you slowly sit up normally once again, you meet the worried stares of four others and immediately feel quite a bit worse.

"I'm fine." 

The words leave you before you can even think of any explanation for what just happened, but truthfully after what you just saw you're not so sure you wanna share that with anyone else. 

"Clearly you aren't." Fili challenges without hesitation, his eyebrows furrowed as he observes you carefully, "Your dream was distressing enough to make you scream and cry in your sleep, which isn't something that happens very often, especially not for any normal night terror." 

You look away sharply and weakly shrug your shoulders, avoiding all eye contact. Not even wanting to see them after what you'd just witnessed in your unrestful state. 

"Y/N..." Bofur mumbles your name sadly, reaching out to place his hand on your shoulder gently. "What has you so sad?" 

"I-It was just a stupid dream." You insist once more, shying away from his gentle touch. "It's nothing..." 

"It's not nothing! Why won't you tell us?" Kili asks sadly, adding after, "You've always told us before."

You shake your head slowly and say much softer this time, "Please... I don't wanna talk about it. Let's just go, okay?" 

None of them seem to much like the idea of dropping it and heading out, but the clock is ticking and you all really need to get going before nightfall. 

"Alright, alright. We will not force you to discuss it if you do not wish to." Fili tells you softly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders despite your hesitance to touch any of them. "We'll get going, and hopefully the hike will help your head to clear." 

A relieved sigh leaves you and you nod your head quickly, "Yes, thank you." 

---

Your spirits lifted after a little while of walking, and you actually found that you no longer feel so upset anymore.

I mean, only two thing from your odd dreams has actually happened, and those are things you already vaguely knew would occur anyways. You decide that it's nothing and you should just forget about it, especially since they're right in front of you now.

Some small talk with Kili and Bofur made helped you to forget, and Fili gave you a couple of encouraging and sweet words too that Oin backed up with a big smile and a confirmation of his own. 

Suffice to say once you all arrived at Erebor, you were feeling much better. 

And your happiness only multiplies when you find everyone still alive and kicking inside of that mountain. 

Kinda. 

Bilbo approaches you all before anyone else, and the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "Stop! Stop! Stop! You need to leave. We all need to leave." 

You look at him weirdly and reply in confusion, "What are you talking about? Bro, we literally just got here?" 

The hobbit shakes his head and shoots back, "I tried talking to him, but he won’t listen."

This time Oin speaks, and he's just as freaked out and confused as you all, "Wh-what do you mean, laddie?"

"Thorin! Thorin. Thorin, he’s been down there for days." He takes a breath, still walking backwards while you all push forward, before continuing, "He doesn’t sleep, he barely eats. He’s not been himself, not at all. It’s this…it’s this place. I think a sickness lies upon it.

Your eyebrows furrow and you scratch the back of your head lightly, "That doesn't sound right..."

Fili looks distracted suddenly, and you follow him with your eyes as Kili asks, "A sickness? What kind of sickness?"

As soon as the younger dwarf says this, his brother rushes down the stairs while Bilbo calls after him, "Fili? Fili!"

You all rush after the blond dwarf, he's acting so strange all of a sudden, and that's when you see it. 

A sea of shinning and shimmering gold before you, huge jewels and golden goblets, a room of beauty beyond belief, and a single dwarf standing amongst it all with a cape of fur and a shiny crown to match. 

"Gold. Gold beyond measure, beyond sorrow and grieve."

Oh, yikes, that's kinda...

He notices you all looking, which makes you even more concerned that he's speaking to himself like that, and then bellows in a welcoming voice, "Behold, the great treasure hoard of Thrór." After he says this, he throws a piece of gold or something and Fili catches it, then he continues, "Welcome, my sister’s sons, to the Kingdom of Erebor."

Now, you're no mathematician, but something here ain't addin' up. 

"Right... well this is all cool and fun and stuff, but where is everyone else?" You ask loudly, successfully gathering everyones attention onto you. 

Thorin, not very surprisingly, seems to not know where they are, so Bilbo pipes up, "Follow me." 

You all do except for Fili who stays behind with his uncle. 

Please, god, don't let this get out of hand... 

[mysoftboybensolo]

The Alienist and the Soprano

Chapter 6: The Disturbance

A/N:  This was inspired by Laszlo’s love of opera and my thought on what if he fell for an opera singer. Multi chapter. Canon divergence, there is no Mary Palmer here (I loved Mary and Laszlo, so I don’t feel like I could have her here and have him be with another woman). A mix of show and book canons. No Y/N, OC named Evelina Lind.

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32029150

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x Fem OC!

Summary: The last thing Laszlo Kreizler ever expected while investigating the death of children was to fall in love, and with an opera singer no less!

Warnings: Age gap, a child is harmed, creepy break in of apartment.

Special shout out to @arizemo​​ for giving me encouragement to continue to write when I felt like giving up. You were the best and this is dedicated to you, even though I know you haven’t seen the show.

The sky didn’t look as promising as Laszlo had hoped, and was grateful that one of the staff members insisted that he’d bring an umbrella just in case, but he could swear that when he saw Evelina, the day seemed brighter and to him, there weren’t any clouds. “Good morning, Miss Lind. I trust you had a good night’s rest?”

“I did, thank you. I have not had the pleasure of walking this park yet, thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course, shall we?” He asked, gesturing with his umbrella, making her chuckle. For a while, they walked side by side, exchanging pleasantries, Laszlo pointing out the different birds, even the ones he couldn’t see but only hear.

“My goodness, you do know everything!” she laughed.

“When I was in college, I studied ornithology first, not quite sure what I had wanted to do, but then I had come to realize that psychology was even more fascinating to me. That was when I had met Moore and Roosevelt, I suppose they are the longest kept friends I have. This was in ‘77, so nearly twenty years.” He faltered for a moment, then said, “That must make me sound very old, doesn’t it?”

“Old? Nonsense, age was what you feel. Do you feel old? You don’t look it, if I may say. You are lean and fit, and you keep yourself in good condition.”

“I’m middle aged, Miss Lind.”

“Silly word. You are a man of the hills.”

“You may tease me as much as you wish, but I cannot help my age.”

“Your age?” she asked, surprised. “I never dreamed-” she stopped herself. I never dreamed that you’d ever think yourself as old, was what she would have said, but she saw the shadow in his eyes and decided to not further probe the topic. “You know,” she says, “It has come to my attention, that you still refer to me as Miss Lind. I believe we have come to know each other long enough to move past formality. Don’t you think?”

He paused to think and realized that she was right. They have known each other for a little over a month, and certainly their introduction was under a certain case of duress that helped bring them closer together. “I-I suppose so. It would be nice to hear you call me by chosen name.”

“Very well, Laszlo.”

Oh God, he thinks, how wonderful it sounds! As they walked, they passed a pair of ladies who stared at them with contempt and made a gesture of turning their noses at them, silently but effectively showing their distain for the pair.

“Do you think that was for me?” Evelina asked, trying to keep her voice light, though she was hurt by the gesture.

“I am certain that was for me. I am not the most well-liked man, and my profession is as frown upon as…” he paused, fearful he’d offend her.

Evelina smiled and nodded understanding. “As an opera singer. It’s alright, it can be said. A month ago, I had difficulty bearing the judging stares and snide comments, but I like to think I developed a thicker skin to bear it, even though it still hurts. I am sure they don’t bother you anymore, the comments on your profession I mean.”

He stopped completely then says, “Evelina, this is wrong.”

She looks at him incredulous. “What is?”

“That I should take up the time and friendship of…of someone so young and good as you.”

She sighed and grinned. “Oh, Laszlo, I am so glad I’ve met you.”

Now he looked at her incredulously. “But why?”

“Well, that’s just it. I am not sure why. I never met anyone that surprises me as much as you do, and yet, someone that I feel I truly understand. And the young ones are so boring. I am never bored with you!”

He huffed out a smile, shaking his head. “I didn’t think I was at all interesting.”

“Of course, you are! You put on this air of being steely cold and distant, but really, you are gentle and kind, and warm.”

“Do not be mistaken, I am nothing more than a cold, aging alienist.”

She shakes her head. “That’s what you try to make people think. And I know why. I may not know the details, but I know you did not have a happy childhood, and it made you feel as though you had to protect yourself from the hurt, but it also stops you from the joy you want.” Looking down at her gloved hands, which fiddled for a moment, she said looking back up, “Now, I told you why I like you, it’s your turn to say what you like about me. You do like me, don’t you?” She asks, her voice soft as she hoped she wasn’t wrong.

He speaks not a moment, then says, “Yes, I like you, very much. I like…that I feel safe with you. It’s a feeling I’ve not had much in my life. You make me think and smile, and, want to live.”

Evelina smiled and her eyes tender. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Laszlo.”

“And I-I’ve never met anyone quite like you.” He feels his heart race at her words, those blue eyes filled with an emotion that no one ever gave him before, and it filled him with many different emotions.

“Laszlo?” A voice breaks the moment, making Evelina and Laszlo turn to see where the voice came from. Approaching them were two young men, one tall and slim with a cheery disposition and the other a few inches shorter and sturdier with glasses. “Laszlo, we may have a lead!” spoke the sturdier man, who sounded quite excited.

“Oh, forgive us,” the slimmer man said, “We hadn’t meant to intrude.”

“Gentleman allow me to introduce to you, Miss Evelina Lind. Evelina, this is Marcus and Lucius Isaacson, they have been working with John, Sara and I on investigations.” Laszlo introduced them, pointing out to Evelina which man was who.

“Oh, yes, I do remember you. I recall Laszlo mentioning the both of you.”

“Likewise, Miss Lind. In fact,” Lucius spoke with a smile, “Laszlo has spoken of you on many occasions. It almost feels as if we know you.” Marcus gave a small but clear jab in the rib, making Lucius look at him in confusion.

Evelina blushed, pleased at the thought of Laszlo speaking of her to others. “Uh, yes, well,” Laszlo intervened, “Follow the lead and when we meet tonight, we’ll go over it. Good day,” his tone of voice may have been a bit curt, but it was understandable.

Marcus nodded and bid the pair a good day before guiding his brother away, trying to explain to him what it was they had interrupted.

Evelina felt her cheeks grow warm at the idea that she was talked of by Laszlo, that other people have heard him speak of her, she wasn’t just some secret friend he didn’t wish to be associated with. The soft rumble of thunder made them both look up at the gray sky and with a few drops falling, Laszlo opened his umbrella and held it over them both. Without thinking, Evelina had slipped her arm around his, allowing her to be sheltered more from the rain.

Laszlo gulped. Yes, he had escorted her a few times, he even escorted Sara, but how close her body was pressed to his side, the scent of rose and iris filling his nose, it made Laszlo feel like a schoolboy in the throes of his first crush. “Um,” he cleared his throat, “I should take you back home.”

As much as she was disappointed that the walk was cut short by the rain, she was pleased at the progress they had made. She felt certain that now with formalities pushed aside and the sharing of first names would lead to the next big step. But still, she was not certain. Did he just humor her since he had saved her and thought that she was a lonesome young woman, or did he have the same feelings as she did? His attitude at times made it difficult for her to decipher, but she wasn’t one to give up.

Reaching back her place, Evelina thanked him, and both felt the absence when her arm slipped away from his. But he had to return to the institute, and she had to be ready for rehearsals tomorrow.

Laszlo hurried back to the institute, and once he had returned, he noticed a group of children sitting on the floor along the wall, looking rather glum. “Oh, now why the long faces?”

“We were going to play outside, but then it began to rain, and sadly the children were very eager to go out,” Mrs. Gorenko, one of the teachers, explained to the doctor, helping him with his coat.

“Well, we can’t have disappointed children. I am sure that the great hall can be a perfect substitute.”

He smiled when he saw the children brighten up and exclaimed in excitement as they were led to the great hall to play. And as he returned to his office, he allowed the good mood to overcome him and he now smiled because of Miss Lind, or rather, Evelina. To say her name aloud was as much of a pleasure as it was for him to hear his name on her lips. Perhaps, he thinks, perhaps it is as he could hope it to be.

His mood was so high that he thought nothing could spoil this feeling, but a sudden crash and sound of children screaming broke his dreams. He got up and ran towards the sound, leading him to the great hall where children huddled in a corner, having been led there by Mrs. Gorenko.

He looked over and found Mrs. Gorenko knelt beside a crying child, his leg bleeding. Rushing over and falling to his knees, he looked at the child. “What happened?”

“I am not sure, doctor. We were doing our morning exercise, then suddenly, the window broke, and something flew into the room. Alastair tripped and his leg landed on the glass.”

“Check on the children, I’ve got him.” Mrs. Gorenko went to the other children, looking over them, while Laszlo examined the little boy’s leg. Alastair was only eight, smaller than the other boys, and it broke Laszlo’s heart to see him sobbing and shaking with fear. Other members of the staff came rushing in, wondering what the commotion was and came to help. Two of the nurses rushed over to Laszlo and they carefully carried the boy, rushing to the ward. “Get to work on his leg, he may need stitches,” he softly tells one of the nurses as he got up from the floor.

He went over and looked down at the little ones huddled, many of whom were crying, frighten by the disturbance. “Is everyone alright?” he asked gently and gave a quick scan over their persons. “Take them to their dormitories, no more lessons today for them, they’d have quite a shock as it is.”

Once alone, he inspects the window, followed the broken glass to where a large rock sat. Picking it up, he saw that tied around it was coarse yarn and a folded up piece of paper. He managed to slip the note out without tearing then opened it. The words sent a shiver up his spine.

I have my eye on you, Dr. Kreizler

John never got word from Laszlo to hurry due to great urgency, so when he arrived back home and received the message, he was quick to hurry right back out, despite his grandmother calling for him. He was led by one of the nurses to the big hall and his heart dropped to his stomach to see the sight. “Good God, Laszlo, what happened?”

Laszlo, who had been pacing back and forth, the look that John has seen many times of contained fury, and he knew it could not be good. “Someone threw a rock through my window, with this note attached.” He gestured to the note in his hands, stopped only to give it to John.

John read the note and he too felt his blood run cold. “Do you think it is the killer?”

“Who else? We must be getting close, if he could do such a thing. We need to get him before anything else happens.”

“Are the children alright?”

“Yes, for now. But,” his voice began to rise, “He intruded in their sanctuary. How am I supposed to explain to the children, that the one place they thought they were safe is no longer the haven they were promised? How can I take care of them if I can’t protect them from people like this?”

“We will catch this man, Laszlo, and all will be well.”

“You don’t get it, do you John?” Laszlo stopped pacing, yelling, “They came after my children! One of them got hurt, he may need stitches! What if the rock hit and killed one of them? My children were put in danger John, my children!” His voice cracked at the last words, forcing him to turn away from his friend.

John rarely ever saw Laszlo express an emotion that came from a place of caring, and it broke him to see how upset Laszlo was when a threat came to close, not to him, but to those he cares for deeply. John stepped up and placed a hand on Laszlo’s shoulder, gently, comforting. “We will get him, Laszlo. We will protect your children. I promise.” As much as Laszlo was touched by John's willingness to help, it did not ease his fears or disturbance.

But Laszlo was not the only one to be disturbed.

Going up the stairs to her room, Evelina hummed softly, thinking of the way he said her name, and stopped completely when she saw her door slightly opened. Her blood ran cold, and she carefully kicked the door open, but found no one there. Evelina looked about her room, nothing valuable was taken, but what sent a wave of fear over her was that her dresser drawer was open, and a pair of her knickers was missing. Her heart began to beat furiously and without thinking, she rushed out of the building and went to the first person she thought of.

Sara was shocked to say the least when she saw Evelina standing at his door, looking half out of her wits, desperate. “Evelina. What on earth?”

“I need help.”

She let her in and brought her to the drawing room, offering a whiskey, not thinking of how most women wouldn’t drink it. But Evelina gladly accepted it, downing the whole of it. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“My apartment has been broken into.”

“Oh my.” Sara sat beside her, offered a comforting hand. “Did they take anything valuable?”

“No,” Evelina said, and at first she hesitated, unsure if she should mention it, but then said, “They…they took a pair of my knickers.”

Sara stiffened, feeling shocked and a second hand fear. “What compels a man do to something so disturbing? Thank goodness you were not there, and that no one else was harmed.”

Evelina nodded, agreeing, but still shook. “I do not feel safe staying there. I am not sure what to do or where to go. Forgive me if I am a burden, but you were the first thought of when remembering our first conversation.”

“Not at all. I am glad you came to me.” Sara thought for a moment, then said, “If I came with you to your apartment to collect your things, would that make you feel better?”

“To collect my things?”

“Well of course. I can’t imagine you’d want to stay there much longer, so we shall have all your things brought here.”

Realizing what she meant, Evelina immediately began to protest. “Oh, I couldn’t dare ask. It is too much.”

“Nonsense. Even if you did feel comfortable staying, I wouldn’t feel right with sending you back alone. You shall stay with me for as long as you wish.”

Evelina’s eyes watered and she reached over to hug Sara, who at first was taken aback by the gesture, but welcomed it as she figured that Evelina was in need of comfort. “Thank you so much. I’ll pay you back,” she said, pulling away, “Whatever you’d like. I am not afraid of pulling my weight around here.”

“Really, it is alright. If the situation was reversed, I am sure you’d do the same. Now,” Sara stood, “Let us go and get your belongings.”

It was short work as Evelina did not have much, but Sara looked around the room, searching for clues, for anything to give a clue to who would do this. Whoever it was, knew how to return everything back to where things were, so he was smarter than your usual criminal. The sooner she’d get her away from this place, the better. Sara’s footman helped carry the trunk into the house and Sara brought her to the guest room. “You are free to stay as long as you wish. And I promise, I shall do what I may to figure out who did this.”

“No!” She quickly said, but then tried to explain, “I couldn’t drag you into this. What if this perpetrator is mad, a violent criminal?’

“It will take more than a pervert to stop me from helping you. Truly. And after all, if I intend to have my own agency to solve crimes, I will need the opportunities.” Taking her hands, she looked Evelina square in the eyes and said, “No woman should ever have to live in fear of being born a woman. And I meant what I said, we women must help each other. I am keeping my promise.” Giving a reassuring squeeze, she released her. “I’ll let you get settled in.” She turned to leave, but then stopped and turned back. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Tonight, a few men will be here to discuss a case.”

“You mean, John and Laszlo?”

“Yes, as well as the Isaacson Brothers. We are trying to solve the case of the murdered children. If you do not feel comfortable with the subject, you do not have to stay.”

“Thank you for the warning. At this point, there is not much I cannot handle.”

Evelina found herself situated perfectly and with enthusiasm hurried to join the gathering. All of them had arrived at the same time and were surprised to see an extra member of the group. “Evelina. You are joining us?” Laszlo asked, surprised.

“Evelina is staying with me indefinitely, so you shall see a great deal of her. And don’t worry John, I’ve already warned her of the nature of this case. No need to defend any ladies’ delicate natures tonight.” She teased, making him flustered. Evelina noticed and smiled, it was not difficult for her to see the attraction between the two.

“I shall get the tea,” Evelina offered, wanting to help as much as she could.

“Any news?” asked Marcus, as the team settled in their seats.

“Perhaps. Earlier today, a rock came hurling through a window of my institute, with this note attached.”

Sara took the note and looked at it. “Do you think he is closing in on us?” she asked as she passed the note along to the brothers.

“Who knows?” Laszlo said, taking the note back from Lucius once he was done examining it, stuffing it in his pocket, “But it unsettles me greatly to think he is close to my children.”

Evelina walked in at the last part and gave a quizzical look as she set the tray down. “Something is wrong with the children?”

“Thankfully no,” Laszlo answered, taking the teacup from her.

“Someone threw a rock through Laszlo’s window, we think it might be the killer,” Lucius filled in.

“No one was hurt, I hope?”

“One, he needed stitches, the others were just frightened, but they should never have been frightened in the first place.  Which is why it is imperative that we close in on this murderer.”

The evening passed in a feverish haze; Lucius and Marcus sharing their lead, everyone eager to work out the possibilities, and Evelina was there, trying to help keep things neat for them to work efficiently. She wished she was cleverer to help in their case, to actually do something worthwhile. But she also knew that any little bit could help them figure out why such a madman would want to hurt children in such a terrible way. Her eyes pricked with tears and she had to turn away at one point to dab her eyes with her handkerchief. At least the end of the evening seemed to be satisfactory enough for everyone had left with newfound hope and eager to start the next day. Laszlo and John were the last to leave. Evelina watched with amusement of how Sara and John danced around their feelings, and she wondered if she and Laszlo looked that way. She did sympathize with John, for he clearly adored Sara and Sara seemed to feel the same, but held incredible restraint from her feelings.

Laszlo didn't talk much around Evelina, as if company made him shy, as if everyone was watching him. But she understood, he no doubt had his mind on the case and he spoke her given name when he bid her goodnight, making her mind settle as she worried she offended him in some way. Both ladies retired for the night, and as Evelina laid down, she tried to wrestle with the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. Will she really be safe with Sara? Should she tell the whole truth of what she knows?

Tagging: @monsieurbruhl​​​ @flutterskies​​​ @sokoviandelights​​​, @cazzyimagines​​​​, @rumblelibrary​​​​, @fictionlandslanddreams​​​​, @violetmuses​​ and @barnesxnobles​​. If anyone else would like to be tagged, please let me know!

[xiaomomowrites]

midas touch

Genshin Impact | ZhongChi

Summary: Sometimes, in moments where Zhongli finds himself surrendering to the harmonic bliss that surrounds him, he’ll allow himself to lose control over his mortal form and let some of his draconic features shine through. Some days his horns will make an appearance, and other times his scales will begin to blossom across what once was human skin. Tonight, his horns make themselves present, and his eyes have shifted, too.

“Can I…” Ajax starts tentatively. His eyes are blown so wide, and they glimmer with curiosity and a silent joy that is akin to a child being gifted sweets. Zhongli chuckles, nodding his head in silent affirmation. 

The pads of Ajax’s fingers hesitantly make contact with the horns stemming from the crown of his head. They’re beautiful; they glow as if they’re dipped in melted mora, pulsing brightly and casting a dim light across Ajax’s pale skin. They’re quite long, and Ajax gently trails his index finger along the curve of a horn. They don’t stick straight up, though. Instead, it bows backwards charmingly until it tapers off midway toward the back of Zhongli’s head.

Beautiful.

Or, Zhongli discovers something new about his powers and gladly takes advantage of it.

Find it on Ao3!

A/N: Soo the thought process behind this fic was inspired by three different pieces of chili fanart I found on twitter (I'll link it in the end notes) and the concept that my mutual put in my head of Zhongli turning Childe's skin to gold whenever he touches him. My mutual is a genius. And uhhh initially I didn't expect this to turn explicit, but I just started typing and then suddenly they were going at it lol. But writing them super soft and cute is always such a pleasure, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did :)

But this was so fun to write! Definitely a good break from act vi bc damn that piece just doesn't want to be written right now. I have a collab with miss stereotypicallyasian on the way as well, a Naruto x Genshin crossover that I should be posting sometime toward the end of the week!

--

As soon as he wakes up, Zhongli finds his breath stuttering with a noticeable hollowness in his chest that he cannot quite describe. 

Briefly, he supposes it is merely the effect of his gnosis being taken. But even with the core of his divinity gone, there still remains a vibrant energy coursing through his veins that buzzes with a level of excitement. It’s a nagging feeling, but it is the very thing that keeps him awake at night. Zhongli exhales, nice and slow, and allows the back of his head to press against the pillows he had propped up against the table. His hair is free from its usual hold and it spills across his shoulders in ribbons of black and gold. 

He stretches his legs across the blankets he’s laid beneath him and wiggles his toes, flexes his fingers, twitches his nose. The wind around him responds in kind. Warm Liyuan air wafts through the room at the inn as the sun begins to set, casting an orange glow across the walls. Zhongli feels himself sink into the floor, melting into the plush pillows, and revels in the way he is being held down firmly by the weight in his lap that belongs to his beloved.

He’s been tired these days. 

Only a week had passed after the incident with Osial and his official retirement as the Archon of Geo. Adjusting so far has been strange, and eerily enough, rather easy. Despite the new creaking in his joints and the mild back pain he never quite felt until now, he’s become rather fond of the quaint life he subconsciously built while he was living amongst his people. 

And, well, Ajax’s presence made adjusting rather painless. The Harbinger staying by his side somehow made it easier to to cope with the gaping void in his chest.

Speaking of which, Ajax makes himself known by rolling over and shuffling closer, burying his face in his abdomen. The ex-Archon cracks an eye open and looks down at the smattering of red hair against his stomach. He can’t help but smile at the sight. 

“Ajax,” he calls, voice a deep rumble from his temporary slumber, “it’s getting late. If you continue napping, you’ll have a hard time sleeping tonight.”

He’s answered with unintelligible mumbling, and the vibrations of Ajax’s voice tickles his stomach.

“What?” He breathes out a laugh. 

“Xiansheng I don’t want to get uppp,” Ajax whines as he props his chin against Zhongli’s stomach. He wriggles closer, moving up higher in his lap until his face is pressed up against his chest. Zhongli cradles the back of his head lovingly, and softly runs a bare hand through ginger locks. 

“You must, baobei,” Zhongli tugs on his hair gently, “also because I am getting quite hungry.”

Ajax makes a noise of indignance against him. The ginger looks up, ready to protest, but abruptly halts. 

His eyes widened comically. Ajax stares at him like he had grown a second head, cerulean eyes tracing his every feature as if this was his first time ever seeing him. Any noise or complaint of being woken up dies on his lips as he’s suddenly speechless, any and all vocabulary suddenly void. 

Zhongli’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Is everything okay?” 

“Xiansheng, you’re…” the ginger trails off breathlessly, “by the Gods, you’re beautiful.”

Zhongli sputters. “Well, I am flattered, truly, but--”

“Zhongli,” Ajax all but hisses. He brings a deft finger up to Zhongli’s hair, but doesn’t quite stop at his fringe. He reaches up, up, up and--

Ah. 

Zhongli knows where this is going. This isn’t the first time this has happened. 

Sometimes, in moments where Zhongli finds himself surrendering to the harmonic bliss that surrounds him, he’ll allow himself to lose control over his mortal form and let some of his draconic features shine through. Some days his horns will make an appearance, and other times his scales will begin to blossom across what once was human skin. Tonight, his horns make themselves present, and his eyes have shifted, too.

“Can I…” Ajax starts tentatively. His eyes are blown so wide, and they glimmer with curiosity and a silent joy that is akin to a child being gifted sweets. Zhongli chuckles, nodding his head in silent affirmation. 

The pads of Ajax’s fingers hesitantly make contact with the horns stemming from the crown of his head. They’re beautiful; they glow as if they’re dipped in melted mora, pulsing brightly and casting a dim light across Ajax’s pale skin. They’re quite long, and Ajax gently trails his index finger along the curve of a horn. They don’t stick straight up, though. Instead, it bows backwards charmingly until it tapers off midway toward the back of Zhongli’s head.

Beautiful.

“You’re…” he breathes, “I’ve never seen…”

“It has been a long time since I last let myself truly relax into this form.” 

Ajax’s eyes flicker back down to his face as Zhongli’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. He’s met with eyes glowing bright as cor lapis, pupils almost narrowed into slits, and a few stray ebony scales. 

“Woah…”

Once again with the curiosity of a child, Ajax reaches out to poke at the scales blooming across Zhongli’s skin. The ex-Archon tuts. 

“My apologies, I was not aware that this much of me was visible—“

“Why are you apologizing?” Ajax demands, eyes darting up to his horns once more before locking onto his golden ones. “You’re beautiful, Xiansheng. I had no idea you could even do this.”

“Frankly, I am surprised, too,” Zhongli speaks honestly. Ajax looks at him, stunned. “I didn’t think this could happen without my gnosis. But life has been full of surprises lately, it seems.”

“What else could you do?” Ajax asks excitedly, shifting to where he was sitting up and laying on his side, curled around the latter. He rests against the incline of Zhongli’s body comfortably. They were still pressed against each other impossibly close, legs intertwining. Zhongli’s head presses against the pillow behind him, and Ajax stares at the horn-shaped indent in the cushion inquisitively. Zhongli is filled with an abrupt surge of affection at the sight. It has been a long time since someone looked at him with such fascination in this form. “Without your gnosis, I mean. Obviously you could do a lot with it.”

“I still have yet to see, Ajax, as it’s only been a week since I’ve lost it,” Zhongli murmurs. He brushes a stray strand of hair away from Ajax’s forehead. He presses the pad of his thumb against the growing frown lines developing between the ginger’s eyebrows. “How are you already developing wrinkles? You are still so young.”

“Mean!” Ajax pulls away, rubbing at the spot with the back of his hand. “Says the one who is six thousand years old! In fact I’m surprised you don’t have any wrinkles. Seriously, I’ve never even see you apply moisturizer before and—“

“Ajax,” Zhongli interrupts. This time, it’s his turn to stare at Ajax with astonishment. His eyes, bright and golden, burn a hole through the spot on Ajax’s forehead where Zhongli was just poking at. The ginger can’t help but strain to look up as if he could catch a glimpse of what the half-dragon was looking at. Cross-eyed, he just looked ridiculous. And confused. He was so, so confused. 

“What, what?” Ajax asks anxiously. Zhongli stares at him still, wordlessly reaching up to touch him again. The dragon’s eyes soften, brushing a knuckle right across Ajax’s cheekbone, right underneath a blue eye. The Harbinger sees, then, the gold that shimmers right beneath his vision. Zhongli’s expression is nothing short of enamored, astonished, and downright entranced.

“Is your hand glowing?” he asks. Zhongli shakes his head, listening, but not really. His eyes trail across Ajax’s face, too focused on the path that his hand takes more than anything else. He continues drawing lazy patterns across Ajax’s cheek, and the gold seems to shine brighter. “Xiansheng, what is going on?” 

“Your skin,” he begins slowly, voice lowered into a hush. Ajax has to strain to listen to him. “It seems to turn to gold where I touch.”

“W-what?” Ajax scrambles, but Zhongli places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s temporary, love, do not fret. The spot on your forehead has already disappeared.” 

“Wait, wait, I wanna see!” Ajax demands, suddenly sitting up straight. Zhongli follows suit and corrects his posture, holding his palm out as an invitation. 

“Give me your hand,” he commands gently. The latter complies, and places the back of his hand in the warmth of Zhongli’s own. 

The ex-Archon uses the tip of his finger to trace patterns into his hand, and the skin underneath responds immediately to the touch. It glows an ethereal shade of gold that has Ajax blinking away the spots that form in his eyes from the brightness. And although it goes away as quickly as it comes, it still leaves a tingling feeling across his skin as it disappears. Zhongli doesn’t so much as flinch at the brightness, though, as he continues tracing letters, characters, symbols he’s never seen before, into the palm of Ajax’s hand. The ginger shivers at the touch. It’s so intimate— it’s too intimate— he feels like he’s going to pass out. He can feel an energy so divine being pressed into the palm of his hand, sinking in through his skin and spilling into his bloodstream. Ajax’s heart beat picks up, a newfound energy coursing through his veins. 

It is a blessing that no one could ever even imagine receiving from Rex Lapis himself. 

Because gnosis or not, the being before him was a deity too precious to be touching a soul as blackened as Ajax’s. And yet here he was, accepting such a heavenly gift from Teyvat’s oldest god. 

Ajax almost wants to pull away, but it is his pure curiosity that keeps him in place.

Zhongli continues his trail up the Harbinger’s arm, and this time, he’s drawing flower petals that bloom from thin branches. They encroach upon the inside of his forearm, streaming along his veins as Zhongli draws petal after petal. The half-dragon is quick— quicker than the rate in which the golden lines disappear. He sketches the design of his flowers rapidly across his skin, all while maintaining his gentle hold on Ajax.

The human canvas has no choice but to sit and watch with awe as the design seems to come to life. Blue eyes follow gold, attracted like a moth to a flame, and Ajax is simply unable to look away from the art Zhongli creates on his skin of all things. Ajax’s skin, freckled and marred by years of fighting, is being turned into a work of art made for his eyes, and his eyes only. 

Once again, Zhongli has done what has felt like the impossible. 

But of course, all good things come to an end, and Zhongli stops. With a flick of his wrist, he tapers the tip of the last petal he draws before withdrawing his hand entirely. Ajax watches with the same level of fascination as the golden strokes vanish as if they were never even there. Yet still, Ajax’s skin tingles. 

“Any chance you knew you could do that?” he speaks after awhile, voice uncharacteristically quiet, pensive.

“No,” Zhongli answers, eyes flickering back up to him. “But to be honest with you, I do not wish to stop.”

Ajax’s eyes widen at the statement. “What do you mean—“

Zhongli’s hands grip at Ajax’s hips as he pushes him backwards. The Harbinger gasps, arms shooting out to wrap around his neck for stability. Zhongli crowds him in an instant as soon as Ajax’s back hits the floor. The ex-Archon noses at his neck, peppering kisses along the line of his jugular and watching with dilated eyes as a trail of gold is left behind where his lips once were. The feeling that blossoms in his chest can only be described as some primal satisfaction as Ajax is marked with his stamp of gold.

“I cannot help but wonder,” Zhongli speaks quietly, “if your skin would turn to gold while touching all parts of me.” His voice drops a whole octave. If it was deep before, it was even deeper now, closer to a purr than anything. The sound rumbles through his chest, making Ajax shiver at the noise.

Ajax’s breath stutters. “Oh,” is all he manages to say.

“If you would indulge my curiosity so kindly,” Zhongli begins, voice breathy, “I’d like to see you glow in many other places.”

“Oh my god,” Ajax blushes a furious red, “you have such a way with words, Xiansheng! And just do me already, you’ve never had to ask before!”

“I’m just asking because in this form, I might be… slightly different in some places.” Zhongli’s ears burn red.

“Oh my god,” Ajax all but sobs, “shut up and get inside me old man, make me glow, or whatever.”

Zhongli grins and oh fuck he has fangs, of course he has fangs—

“As you wish.”

Ajax does a lot more than glow that night. In fact, he gets so much more than what he initially bargained for. The sun begins to set, but the darkness that befalls the room matters naught when Ajax is turned into a human lamp every time Zhongli touches him. And gods above, does he touch him.

When Zhongli kisses him, his head spins a little more. When clawed hands squeeze at his hips and almost break skin, his heart beats a little faster. When one, then two, then three oiled fingers slip past the tight rim of muscle with care and makes him grind his hips down impatiently, his breaths come a little shorter. And when Zhongli finally, finally slides in and makes him forget his own name, Ajax can’t help the broken moan that flies past his lips when he bottoms out. 

Holy shit, Zhongli wasn’t kidding when he said he was built a little different. 

Though, they probably needed to gloss over the definition of a little later tonight because apparently, a little meant an additional three whole inches in length and half an inch in girth. The newfound length brushes past places in Ajax’s body he never even knew existed, scratching an itch he wasn’t aware he had.

Was Ajax expecting to be taking his boyfriend’s dragon dick at nine at night when he was supposed to be having dinner? No. Was he going to take it anyway? Absolutely. And in retrospect, Ajax was faring just fine. He had his legs wrapped tightly around Zhongli’s waist and his hands tugging at his loose locks. The amber ends glow brighter at every pull and Ajax just holds onto the strands for comfort at this point.

Zhongli, on the other hand, had his eyes shut and was breathing hard through his nose. 

“Xiansheng?” Ajax calls tentatively. He reaches a hand out to cup Zhongli’s cheek, and almost gets distracted by the luminance his hand emits as soon as he makes contact. 

“I’m alright,” Zhongli says through gritted teeth, “I’m having trouble… regaining composure, is all.”

“What do you mean?” Ajax gasps when Zhongli’s hips flex.

“You…” he struggles, “are very tight. And. My senses are heightened in this form.”

Ajax smiles wickedly, and squeezes around him. Zhongli hisses, biting down hard on Ajax’s shoulder. His fangs almost break skin, but the ginger doesn’t even flinch. 

“Let me on top,” he says instead, “I can set the pace.”

“That might be difficult,” Zhongli begins tentatively, “laying on my back may not be an option at the moment.”

“What? Why— oh, holy fuck.”

Lo and behold, a long, serpentine tail is laid out across the blankets and thumps once, twice, happily in place. It’s thicker at the base where it forms near Zhongli’s body, and smoothly tapers out until the end is covered in silky, golden locks. Ajax swears it sparkles. The hair flows so elegantly across their floor, Ajax almost has the urge to reach out and run his fingers through it. And he would, if he currently wasn’t impaled and unable to move. 

“... I apologize—“

“That is so hot,” Ajax almost weeps. “Please for the love of all Archons, Zhongli, Morax, I’m begging—ah!”

The lilt in his voice as he begs, whining the long lost name, has Zhongli moving before he can register what he’s doing.

Zhongli moves. He throws all caution to the wind and lets himself move recklessly without abandon. Ajax writhes beneath him and takes what he is given with gratitude, praying with breathless gasps and broken moans. Every noise that leaves his throat has Zhongli moving desperately for more. The light between them glows brighter, almost impossibly so, to where Ajax has to squeeze his eyes shut.

There's a moment where Zhongli grinds into him just right that sends Ajax crashing; his head is thrown back when he's all but forced to see stars, and his fingers scrabble to claw at Zhongli's skin for support. His back arches high off the bed and the ex-Archon uses the space to wrap a solid arm around Ajax’s lithe waist. He takes advantage of the bared neck in front of him and immediately noses at his pulse point, licking over the skin before sucking the flesh between his teeth. 

They lose track of time in the throes of their own pleasure. At some point, the sun fully sets, but Zhongli continues to shove him down into the sheets relentlessly. Ajax on the other hand, takes it like a pro and continues to surprise Zhongli with his growing responsiveness. He takes and takes and Zhongli feels like he has no choice but to continue giving. The dance between them is elegant as much as it is animalistic, and Ajax loves it.

Zhongli bites down on his neck slightly, flexes his hips, and the breaking of Ajax’s pale skin and the relentless pressure against his neck has the ginger spilling between the tight press of their bodies. A dragon’s fangs, apparently, are by no means gentle and tear into his skin with ease. Yet, the blinding pain that sears through Ajax’s body sends him tumbling nonetheless. Zhongli fucks him through his orgasm, rutting against him until he tips over at the sound of Ajax's pitiful, overstimulated cries. He shudders as he empties into him, breathing hard against where his face is pressed into his neck. 

They lay there for a moment; Zhongli tries to get his breathing under control, and Ajax tries to focus his vision after it had blurred during his climax. The ginger rakes his nails along Zhongli’s sweaty back, and the sensation brings them both back down from their high. Their breaths are heavy and labored, and Ajax can’t help the chuckle that leaves his lips when he finally calms down, because holy shit. He’s going to want to do that every night, now.

Sometime amidst their fun, the golden glow had dimmed, until it all but disappeared. 

"You suck," Ajax gasps after a moment, "you just ruined vanilla sex for me."

Zhongli snorts. "I don't suppose you expect me to morph every time you want to be intimate?"

Ajax's silence speaks volumes. It’s silent confirmation. The latter looks up, disgruntled. He looks so unamused, brows furrowed and everything, it makes Ajax chuckle and kiss the frown away. 

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding, xiansheng," he waves him off, "the only thing I expect from you right now is for you to pull out, oh my god Zhongli, get out of me. You're like those huge dogs that think they can fit in your lap! You're not exactly small, mister Rex Lapis!" 

"Oh, yes, my apologies," Zhongli murmurs. He presses a light kiss to Ajax's freckled shoulder before sliding out, muttering a quiet apology when he winces. He rolls off of Ajax and lays on his back next to him, so they're both staring up at the ceiling. His tail is gone and so are his horns, so he can finally lay on his back comfortably. Zhongli reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers. He gets a squeeze in response.

“Say, xiansheng,” Ajax starts. “Have you ever been able to do that before?” 

Zhongli looks at him, silently asking him to elaborate.

“Turn someone’s skin to gold, I mean. With something as simple as touch, too. Has that ever happened?” 

“No,” he answers simply, “I believe this was the first occurrence in my six thousand years of being alive.”

Ajax hums. “So I’m not like. Going to die or anything, right?”

“Why would you die, baobei?” Zhongli chuckles, “you act as if I injected poison into your bloodstream.”

Ajax lets out an indignant squawk. “I! Am still kind of new to the whole dating a god thing! I don’t know what special abilities you adepti hold. And I am a mere mortal, after all!”

The reminder has Zhongli looking at him with sudden sadness. “That you are.”

Ajax hums and offers a small, resigned smile before letting his eyes slide shut. He gave into the exhaustion, it seems.

He’s already dozing off, and his head is tipping slightly to the left. He’s all but slumped into the comforters beneath him, his chest rising and falling with each soft breath he takes. He’s mildly aware that he’s going to have to wake him to clean him up in a few minutes, though, but he allows his lover to rest for a moment. The whirring void in his chest— the one that constantly reminded him of his lost power— finally, finally settles.

Zhongli watches with fascination as the human in front of him continues to glow. The gold is gone, though. Zhongli has shifted back into his mortal form and skin to skin contact no longer summons the bright golden light that was there before. 

Still, Ajax’s skin seems to glow a little brighter than usual. His cheeks are tinted pink and his lips are slightly parted, still plump and swollen from his bruising kisses. Zhongli swears he can see a light blue aura surrounding the lines of Ajax’s body. His chest fills with something warm and pleasant at the sight, thick like the syrup that runs through the veins of Liyue’s trees. It trickles throughout his entire body, down into his core, down his legs and to his arms. Zhongli no longer feels empty. He smiles fondly.

For those that live too long, the friends of days gone by and scenes from their adventures live on in their memories. As such, I have no regrets in meeting you, Ajax. Should the day ever come that we are not together, you will continue to shine like gold in my memories. 

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[war--lords]

If requests/suggestions are open, could I please have more of the "pets snuggling MC in his place" but for some of the Ikevamp boys (Comte, Leo, Theo, and Arthur) If they aren't open, then I want you to know I like your writing 💙

Requests are permanently closed and I’m only taking suggestions, so thank you for yours! This post is dedicated to the doggos ❤️also, I’ve adjusted the details a little bit, but I hope you can still enjoy

Their pet snuggling with MC in their place

Theo

It’s past lunch-time, but although the sun is high in the sky, the weather is absolutely beautiful—even sardonic Theo can admit as much. He takes in the blue sky as he alights his carriage and takes his time walking inside the mansion. How long has it been since he finished work that early? He honestly can’t remember. Anyhow, he can do what’s left of it come nightfall. His priority right now is looking for you (he misses you, yes, but he most likely won’t say that out loud) and possibly take King out for a walk together because he wants to spend time with both hondjes

Sebastian will have to relieve you of your tasks for the rest of the day, no questions asked. Though the strange butler will probably ask him weirdly specific questions as a condition for your release...

Nevermind that, Theo thought to himself, because thinking about walking King with you brings about this warm, fuzzy feeling in his stomach. The old him would probably berate himself for indulging unnecessarily in such happy thoughts, but he’s learned to embrace being content. You’ve taught him that, and many other things.

Okay, now he’s got to see you. 

Unexpectedly Sebastian says you’ve already completed all of your work for the day—talk about great timing—and that ever since lunch clean-up, he hasn’t seen you around. And thus Theo is left to roam the vast mansion looking for you.

You weren’t at your room, nor were you at his. Not in the lounge or the library, either. The other mansion residents whom he encounters have no problem teasing him about how frantically he’s looking for his lover (except for Isaac, of course), and that irritates Theo a little bit.

“Missing ____________ a bit much, aren’t you, Theo old boy?”

Arthur is lucky to not be slapped upside the head.

Huffy and growing ever-impatient, Theo stomps into the gardens, hoping to at least find King—he hasn’t seen the golden retriever around, too, so perhaps you two are together?

His gut is right, but that doesn’t mean he’s prepared to take in what’s happening under the gazebo in the middle of the garden.

He sees you, asleep on one of the garden chairs, King comfortable situated on top of your lap and chest like a little babe—and the canine is far from being the size of a little babe. You have a gentle arm around the dog as if to keep him in place, while Theo notices a book on your other hand, held loosely.

Heavens, he thinks, fighting the urge to bite his knuckles at the extraordinarily adorable display. All the annoyance from walking around the mansion and being teased by the other residents instantaneously melts away.

Grabbing a chair and sitting next to you and King, he reaches out to stroke your hair, his touch soft and fleeting so as to not ruin the peaceful scene set in front of him. Were he a painter like his brother, he would most definitely immortalize this on canvas.

It is King that notices his presence first, slowly blinking awake in one second, and in another, excitedly bounding and leaping from your lap to his in exuberant joy—something he does a lot. Theo lets out a surprised “hey!”, but having spent a lot of time with King, is ready to catch his furry friend in his lap and helplessly be the recipient of numerous face licks.

“Theo...? You’re home,” he hears you murmur.

His heart skips a beat as he watches you rub your eyes, slowly allowing yourself to awaken. He notices the flush on your skin, your sleep-ridden voice...

“Good nap?” he asks, his eyes ever watchful.

“Yep.”

“Wanna go walk King together?”

Just like that, you light up and grin at him, nodding enthusiastically—inevitably reminding him of the golden retriever sat on his lap—and he shakes his head, chuckling in disbelief.

Arthur

Being a writer who often spends many of his nights finishing manuscripts (if not flirting with girls in town—but those days are long gone), Arthur is thankful to have such a supporting lover and friend in you.

It pains him, though, because with your shared private detective gig during the day, the only private time he gets to enjoy with you happens at night, but sometimes inspiration hits him like the blasted Orient Express and he cannot do anything to stop it—so he spends his nights writing.

You can stop him from working, though. You’ve done it before. Long story short, it worked, and he paid much attention to you that night.

Tonight, however, you’re being very indulging and declared that you’ll retire for the night earlier after showering him with a lot of kisses and encouragement for his work. He wanted to cry right then and there because his heart is so full and you are so sweet.

So he vows to quickly get the words out of his brain and be done with it. Then he can snuggle with you in bed. Or maybe do something more. Bloody hell, he really can’t get his mind out of the gutter sometimes.

As he writes page after page, he can’t help but think that if anything, you’re the one providing him with inspiration. The adventures he shares with you are one thing, but the things you say and do knock him out of his socks sometimes. Arthur smiles, his mind remembering every little thing you’ve said to him that has become the fuel to his writing.

He swears you’re going to turn him into a romance novelist.

When the night is dark cobalt blue and the moon is high, Arthur feels the soreness on his wrist and decides that he’s at a good stopping point for the night. Stretching and yawning and ridding himself of his tortoise-shell spectacles, he looks over to you, lying in bed...

...with Vic on your stomach.

Vic. On your stomach.

A loving hand sitting atop the dog’s belly (Vic sleeps on his back with his legs curled, like a weird old man), rising and falling with each gentle breath. Your lips are slightly parted, wisps of hair falling on your face.

Arthur gasps, covering his mouth in the process. Heavens, look at this—this—this picturesque, sweetest thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon! Where did the dog even come from?

Looking at his room door, he realizes it’s not completely closed, and he curses to nobody about nothing in particular. With long strides he crosses the room to close it and quickly returns to his bed, ready to join the cutest snoozefest he’s ever had the honor of joining.

Despite his best attempts to be as discreet as possible when situating himself on his bed, you stir, as if you’ve been waiting for this moment. He grins while watching consciousness slowly wash over you, though not fully. 

“Are you done with work, darling?”

God help and forgive him! He thoroughly enjoys that husky tone of your voice, still not completely awake. He presses a silencing kiss to your lips and presses his body closer to yours. Vic wakes up too, but only to reposition himself at the space atop your head, this time curling up into a ball before falling asleep.

“You made me jealous,” Arthur whispers, and you giggle.

“Vic gets lonely sleeping alone, too,” you reply, letting Arthur wound you into his arms. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck before pulling the sheets to cover both your bodies.

“Who gave you both permission to be so bloody cute, huh?”