#well at that point its time to begin combing through their personal life in search for even the tiniest hint of degeneracy

[jackalopegirlteeth]

People: We love trans women! Trans women are beautiful!

A trans woman: Thank you! 😊

People: SHUT UP DEGENERATE OR I WILL ACCUSE YOU OF BEING A PEDO

[sleepinthegardenxxx]

Prologue

Summary: He was her dark fairytale and she was his twisted fantasy. And together they made magic.

TW: death

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Adelaide Hale (0.8k words)

The last of the snow was melting and Myrtle Warren had been dead for three days before Adelaide Hale came to understand the heavy weight of her situation. She had been missing for nearly 48 hours before she was found laying in the girls' lavatory on the first floor by a third year. It was one of the biggest investigations in the school's history - enforced curfews, professors searching the dormitories; combing through Myrtle's personal effects, even talk of Hogwarts being shut down for the unforeseeable future.

It was hard to believe that Adelaide and Dumbledore's simple plan could have worked so well despite recent events. It was more Dumbledore's plan, really. A notion he had to change the actions of a single man. It wasn't a secret society back then, not even a shadow of a rebellion. It was just an odd and cryptic old man with insights into the future and a young girl tasked with being a hero.

Adelaide hadn't meant to hide the body where it couldn't be found. In fact, she hadn't hidden it at all but had hoped that some unlucky professor or student or ghost would stumble upon where she had found it before anyone even noticed she was missing. There wasn't much to interpret. Myrtle lay on the ground, her eyes wide open and her mouth agape, all of her muscles stiff as the lavatory floor slowly filled with water from the single faucet that had been left running. A tragic accident, no more, no less. Myrtle fell down and hit her head or fell unconscious due to some undiagnosed condition. No one lived forever, not even in the wizarding world. And it might have been left at that, at silent tears and a small eulogy delivered by Headmaster Dippet in the Great Hall, had it not been for the storm that fell that night. It sent the students to bed early that night with no one allowed outside the castle walls until the rain let up, and the storm raged through the following day, cancelling classes and leaving the students to wander through the castle with no direction.

She had thought Myrtle would be found faster that way. Surely someone was bound to wander into the first floor lavatory at some point during the day. But as the water began to fill the room, professors and the headmaster were convinced the storm had broke past the stone walls of the castle and begun to leak, so they blocked off the area, waiting until the rain stopped completely to drain the floor of water and repair the supposed leak.

It wasn't until the next day when everyone began to grow weary. It had started with exchanged looks of confusion between Professor Dumbledore and a few select students when the ever so tedious Myrtle hadn't shown up when classes resumed. Dumbledore's eyes then fell to Adelaide before giving her a long and pointed stare, holding her gaze for a few seconds before moving on and beginning the lesson.

_____________________________

In spite of the shared panic and mass hysteria that had filled Hogwarts for the first time since its doors had opened, Adelaide remained visibly calm, willing away the cold feeling that rushed over her blood, chilling her bones. Because she knew what had happened. She could call it a hunch, a feeling, or even intuition. But that would be a lie. She'd heard the whispers behind the stone walls of the school corridors in passing. And at times, she could have sworn the statues lining the hallway were whispering, too. She knew the reason why, and she was partially responsible. And yet, she walked through it - through the whispered conversations, the distressed looks of the headmaster, even the flashes of cameras in the distance, no doubt there for the Daily Prophet. Walking through it was easy. Walking away, however, was something else entirely.

As time passed and the search had come to a close, life had grown quiet again. In her newfound relief, she came to realize that while she had always imagined herself in a different light, perhaps she had been here all this time: living in the grey areas, somewhere between the shore and the moon. It was almost impossible to resist, the charm of it all. It was dangerous.

And so she found herself caught between two sides of a battle that had yet to take place, forced to choose and pulled in nearly every direction.

Maybe years from now, he would find his name in a book she wrote. A book about an antihero who tasted of heartache and war. He would read about moments that would trigger age-old memories that he'd buried somewhere so deep that he had begun to believe they no longer existed and it'll hurt him like it hurt her now, that they could have been so much more. That they almost made it. Almost. 

And maybe, they could have really saved each other. That didn't happen of course. Things never happened like she imagined them.

[romione-trope-fest]

Missing In Action

Our first submission today is @cheesyficwriter's take on Romione's second kiss! Enjoy!

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Fic Title: Missing in Action

Author Name: cheesyficwriter

Selected Trope: Second Kiss

Brief Summary: In the aftermath of the Battle, Ron and Hermione lose track of one another. They set out on a desperate attempt to find each other so they can finally address the infuriating status of their relationship.

Word Count: 3,087

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Death/Destruction

Missing in Action

Where the bloody hell is she?

Ron’s heart begins to pound in his chest once he realizes that Hermione is no longer in the Gryffindor common room. He had looked away for seconds—mere seconds—after he climbed through the portrait hole so that he could get a glimpse of himself in the mirror. 

Blimey, he remembers thinking. He almost couldn’t recognize the person reflected back at him. When was the last time he had looked in a mirror? A dull ache throbs at the back of his skull as he recalls how he got the cuts and scrapes on his face. The dark circles underneath his eyes are no surprise to him either and he longs for a bed to curl up in. He was hoping once he got cleaned up, he could convince Hermione to kip with him for a bit and shut the rest of the world out. 

An unsettling bout of nausea wells up inside of him—she was just here. He had held her hand throughout the battle, all while rushing down staircases and dodging debris. And when he finally lets her go, she vanishes?

She wouldn’t just disappear without good reason, would she?

“Hermione?” 

An eerie silence follows his voice echoing through the empty House. Perhaps she went up the staircase already? But his search through the dormitories only ends in disappointment, with no sign that Hermione had ever been in there at all. 

They’ve spent so much time together over the last year, and he can’t help but worry about her whenever she’s not around. It’s highly likely that she will return on her own if he stays in the common room. However, work has to be done to restore the castle to its original glory, and Ron has never had enough patience to wait. 

But where else should he look?

Harry.

They parted from Harry once they left the Great Hall so he could go find Ginny.

And Hermione has their clothes. That's why they were heading to the common room, so they could rid themselves of the grime and dirt from the last couple of days. Admittedly his movements were a bit hazy at this point, and it took him a while to figure out which direction his feet were moving in as they walked through the remnants of the castle, but he was sure that Hermione climbed through the portrait hole after him. 

Didn’t she? Fuck, I don’t know. 

Ron groans and runs a hand over his face. Not only does it feel like he’s missing a limb when Hermione’s not around, but he reckons he’ll have to go outside starkers sooner or later if he doesn’t find her before other people start catching on to his stench.

As he exits through the portrait hole and scours an empty corridor, only one memory replays through his mind like a Pensieve on an endless loop. 

She kissed me. She KISSED me. SHE kissed ME.

He flicks his wand to vanish the rubble and bloodstains every few steps as he climbs the battered marble staircases. How did he go from the single most bloody fantastic moment of his life to the absolute shit that followed in a matter of hours? His gut twists as he attempts to avoid going through the stages of guilt, regret, and anger over his brother’s d—no, he needs this mission to ground him and focus on anything but the heart-wrenching pain that threatens to take over. 

But it’s bloody difficult looking for someone in a place with many someones. People are everywhere; replacing House tables, returning witches and wizards who had been Imperiused back to normal, and passing around mugs of steaming hot tea. 

Apparently combing the halls isn’t enough, as it seems he’s been on the search for over an hour now. Although Ron knows his family is in the Great Hall, he can’t bring himself to search there for Hermione just yet. So instead he veers in the direction Harry had wandered off, hoping that he doesn’t find him in a secluded classroom somewhere snogging the lips off of his sister. 

“Ron!” 

The voice signals his attention from the Entrance Hall. It’s Harry, and Ron's eyes light up for a moment before he frowns, realizing that only Ginny stands next to him. His best friend holds up a small silver object in his hands as he approaches. 

“I’ve got your Deluminator. It must’ve fallen out of your pocket.”

"Thanks. Have you seen—"

"Hermione?" Harry finishes with a knowing smirk. "It's been a while. Actually, last I saw her she said she had just finished helping the injured house-elves."

A grin curls upon Ron’s face, already jogging towards the basement corridor. "O'course she was. Best check the kitchens, I reckon."

“Need any help?”

“I’ve got it!” Ron shouts without turning around. He doesn’t particularly want an audience when he finally finds his witch. 

In all the eagerness to get to Hermione, the thought never crossed his mind that she wouldn’t be where Harry had suggested. The kitchens are a disaster, with the once glittering brass pots and pans now caked with dust in a pile on the floor, and the stone walls cracking at the foundation. No sign of the house-elves either. 

His heart sinks. If Hermione had ventured to this corner of the castle, he knows she would have taken the time to restore as much of the fractured residue as she could. Ron’s frustration level reaches an all-time high, realizing that he’s no closer to finding her than he was several minutes ago. And it’s also irritating to know Hermione could be in any of the places he’s already looked—maybe she’s back in the common room, searching for him, and where he reckons he should have stayed in the first place.

He’s too upset to even dig for scraps of food before he leaves, despite the intensity in which his stomach continues to growl. Ron lets out an aggravated stream of expletives as he flicks his wand around the room, restoring old cabinetry and shelving before clearing the floors of rubble. 

Why is this bloody castle so fucking big?!?

He storms out of the kitchen as soon as he’s satisfied with the work he completed in the room, hightailing it back to the grand double doors, hoping against all hope that Harry is still in the same spot. Relief floods his senses as he finds his best mate tucked in the corner with Ginny, their arms embracing one another. He’d feel bad about interrupting the moment if his need wasn’t so dire. 

Ron barrels in the direction of his best friend, holding his hand out before he even makes a request. Harry eyes Ron’s “gimme” fingers and his obviously flustered face. 

“What-”

"The map. I need your map."

A flash of guilt crosses Harry's face. "I- uh-I don't actually know where it ended up."

"Fuck." 

Ron drags a hand through his hair and he has every urge to let out a blood-curdling scream, but he knows that would only create more chaos in a crowd of people trying to recover from the destruction. 

"She's here somewhere.” Harry’s voice softens as he rests a gentle hand on Ron’s shoulder. “Don't worry. Multiple people have said that she's been around. We'll find her."

“There’s an obvious solution, you know,” Ginny pipes up. 

“And what’s that?”

His sister raises a challenging eyebrow. “Don’t you have a wand?”

Fucking Hell! Why didn’t he think of it before?

Ron grunts as he fishes for his wand from the back pocket of his tattered jeans. He forces his eyes shut in an attempt to settle his mind. The one memory that plays over and over again in his head—the exhilaration of Hermione rushing towards him, the feel of her arms around his neck, her lips creating a spark against his—is the one he focuses on, eliciting the warmth inside of his heart. 

Deep breath in, shoulders back.

A swirling blue mist ignites from the tip of his wand, and Ron speaks loud and clear over the background noise. 

“Hermione. Meet me in the Gryffindor common room as soon as you can.”

His Terrier takes off around the corridor, and Ron only hopes it’s heading towards the intended recipient. 

“Why not just tell her to meet us here?” Harry inquires, confusion etched between his crinkled eyebrows. Ron glares at his clueless best friend, who requires a nudge from Ginny before he finally comprehends. 

“Er, never mind. Come on, Gin.” Harry takes her hand and gives Ron a pat on the shoulder before they head into the Great Hall. 

Ron inhales a deep breath through his nose and sprints towards his destination. He’ll turn Hogwarts upside down to find her if he has to.

Wherever she is, he wants to be there too. 

–

Where IS he?

After rummaging through her beaded bag to withdraw the remainder of Ron’s clean clothes, Hermione looks up to find that her ginger-haired friend—is he her boyfriend now? They still have a lot to discuss—has gone missing in action. 

He was just here, wasn’t he? 

Her eyes flicker around the empty corridor. Well, maybe he went into the common room already. She should check just to be certain.

“Hermione. There you are.”

A voice from down the hall stops her before she can move, and Hermione whips her head around to find a familiar head of waist-length blonde hair bouncing in her direction.

“Luna! I’m so glad you’re alright.”

She surveys her friend’s appearance. Even though it’s difficult to see the vibrant color of Luna’s hair through the dirt, and her lip appears as if it’s been busted open, she still has her wand tucked behind her ear. The action makes Hermione smile for the faintest of seconds. 

"Please, can you help me? Some of my friends have been injured. The knives and cleavers they were using in the fight…well, they’ve been cut pretty badly…but they were so good and brave. I was hoping you would have something in your bag to help them heal.”

The house-elves. Hermione recalls seeing them join the battle, boldly striking Death Eaters in the shins. Pain ripples through her chest and she makes an attempt to swallow down the lump of emotion in her throat as images of those who were lost continue to torment her mind. 

“Oh, no. Yes, of course. Let me just-” Hermione sighs, biting her lip as her gaze travels to the portrait hole. Her plan is to return to the common room soon, and she’ll find Ron later. 

She touches her lips without conscious effort, her thoughts drifting to the amazing, mind-bending kiss she shared with Ron. She’s recorded every sensation from that moment with the hope that it remains forever ingrained in her memory, never to be lost or forgotten in the midst of such tragedy. 

That memory will keep her going until they can see each other again and figure out, finally, what the infuriating status of their relationship is. 

–

She doesn’t find Ron in the Great Hall where the house-elves and many others are gathered. Most of the Weasley family is there—she had thought, well, maybe she shouldn’t have been so surprised that he wasn’t there. The unexpected burden alone, crippled by the exhaustion of what they’ve been through over the last several months…

Hermione tells herself to remain calm in the hour following without Ron in her direct sight. 

He’s here. He has to be around the castle somewhere.

She tries not to let her imagination run rampant. In her logical mind, maybe he’s with Harry, although he wasn’t earlier when she waved at her best friend as they passed each other in the corridor. 

But maybe. 

Hermione spots a head of jet-black hair standing just outside the entrance to the Hall, speaking with Professor McGonagall. As she approaches, the professor gives her a curt nod and glides away. 

“Harry, can I borrow your map?”

Harry’s eyes widen. “There you are. Ron’s been looking for you everywhere.”

The speed of her already racing heart picks up as her eyes dart around, searching for any sign of his signature ginger hair. He’s been looking for me. 

“Really? Where is he? I’ve been searching all over for him.”

Harry blows a stray black hair out of his eye. “Well, he’s not here now. He muttered something about going to the kitchens—actually, it’s been a while since he left, must’ve found the food…” He shakes his head, bringing himself back to the present. “I’m sure he’s checking to see if you’re there.”

“Thanks, I’ll go look for him.”

A whole new range of emotions stirs within her as she makes the trek to the basement, fluctuating between hope and hopelessness. Hermione keeps her eyes trained on the passersby, just in case Ron happens to be one amongst the crowd. She’s determined to leave no cauldron unturned. 

When she walks through the doors into the kitchen, she gasps as she takes in the restoration work that’s been completed. Someone was here, working, and a swell of pride fills her entire being as she figures it was Ron. When he came looking for her, and couldn’t find her, he must have stayed to complete the work that needed to be done. The kitchens look as if they remained untouched throughout the Battle compared to the rest of the castle. 

But despite the brief happiness she experienced when she walked into the room, worry fills her bones again when Ron isn’t there. It’s a repeated blow to the chest with each search that turns up useless. 

Oh, for the love of Merlin. She never got Harry’s map from him! How could she have forgotten? Now she doesn’t know where Harry is, she doesn’t know where Ron is, and not knowing such vital information only makes her feel as if she’s spiraling out of control. 

A pronounced sigh leaves her lips as tears sting her eyes. She refuses to give up, repeating the chant in her head as she navigates the corridors towards where she had last seen Ron. This time, Hermione walks through the portrait hole into the common room, only to be brought yet again to a state of agitated confusion.

He’s not here. 

Hermione doesn’t think she’s ever been so emotionally stunted in her life. It’s gutting not to find Ron, and his absence shatters any illusion she had created in her mind of how their next meeting could go. She lowers her body into an empty armchair and her head falls into her hands, all while trying to ignore the wetness streaking down her face. 

What if he’s avoiding her? What if he doesn’t feel the same, and he doesn’t know how to tell her yet. What if he-

Hermione’s trepid thoughts are interrupted by a swirling blue mist bounding through the walls, taking on the appearance of a Jack Russell Terrier. Her heart skips a beat and suddenly she’s very aware of her trembling chin and puffy face. 

“Hermione. Meet me in the Gryffindor common room as soon as you can.”

Hearing Ron’s deep, scratchy voice soothes the nerves that have been bubbling inside of her. After numerous unsuccessful attempts to find her boyfriend—he is her boyfriend now, at least she hopes so—he wants to meet her, not knowing yet that she’s already waiting for him. 

Not too long after his Patronus, Ron stumbles into the room. His hair is a disheveled mess and he comes to a screeching halt in front of her, his shoulders rising and falling with every quick breath he takes. 

“There you are!”

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” 

They both shout at each other in unison. Hermione’s cheeks burn as she stands up, with one hand gripping her opposite arm in an effort to keep her entire body from shaking.

"You were?"

"Yeah.” Ron clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. A deep shade of red colors his face. “I mean, uh, well—yeah, I was. Pretty sure I wound myself mental all day searching."

The way he fumbles over his words makes Hermione fight back a smile, now realizing that he’s come unglued over her in the same way she has over him.  

"We're terrible at this, aren't we?" Hermione says before giggling and catching her bottom lip between her teeth. 

Ron’s eyes fall to her lips as they move, and she holds back the urge to squirm underneath his heated gaze as he closes a small portion of the gap between them. 

"I reckon we've always had a habit of making things more complicated than they need to be.” Ron shrugs his shoulders, shoving his hands into his pockets. He takes another step forward. “Sorry, Harry.”

His deep azure orbs mist over, the humor within them disappearing almost as fast as it had appeared. Ron reaches a hand out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear before resting his palm against the softest part of her face. 

“You’ve got a cut on your cheek,” he whispers as his thumb traces a pattern over what she assumes must be the gash. “Does it hurt?”

“N-no.” Hermione’s voice trembles out a response. She can hear every ragged breath that Ron takes, like a puff of hot air continuously blasting against her skin. Her eyes land on a dark spot on the bridge of his nose and she can’t resist reaching her hand up to wipe off the smudge hiding his freckles. 

“You’ve got some dirt right there.”

A lopsided grin stretches across his face, morphing into an expression so tender that her heart soars like an owl taking its first flight. She waits with aching anticipation for the next moment. Ron’s fingertips trail over her neck before tangling into her hair, dipping his forehead low to meet hers. They’re both covered in soot, and Hermione knows she must not smell all that pleasant, but neither seem to care. 

"So, what do we do now?" she murmurs, their lips only spaces apart. After everything they’ve gone through over the years they’ve known each other, the wait is finally over, and they’re here. It’s just the two of them. 

Ron answers her in the best possible way by closing the remaining distance and kissing her with a dreamlike intensity that she has always longed for. Her fists knot into his shirt to pull him impossibly closer, falling into the sensation of him as she relaxes into his embrace. 

Yes, he’s definitely her boyfriend now.

[biggest-stupidhead]

Can I ask for an request where Levi is a soldier who is pointed to protect a royal person. Then he fell in love with her active attitude, smart brain and support to the scout

AN: This took me so long. I deleted it like three times on accident so this is as good as its going to get 😂. do let me know though if I misspelled anything I didn't skim over it sooooo YOLO.

Summary: Levi is asked to attend the summer gala with !princess reader.

Word Count: 2.8 K

Warnings: mentions of Levi's scarring, some cussing? I think? that's about it

__________

Levi's hand trembled as he ran the fine toothed comb through his damp hair. He scowled back at his own reflection, eyes avoiding the pink scars that marred his skin. It had been nearly a year since he had been discharged from the military due to his injuries. At first he had struggled to find a routine, having been in the military for more than half of his life, it was a huge loss.

His hand jerked unexpectedly and the comb pulled through a knot in his hair painfully. He clicked his tongue and dropped the comb, gripping the edges of the sink to steady himself.

How pathetic.

There was a time when he could complete these tasks with no problem. But now his body seemed to be failing him, if he stood for too long his joints protested, he struggled to hold a pen due to his lack of fingers. He also wore an eyepatch to cover his milky right eye and some of the scars that covered the right side of his face.

Normally Hange would help him get ready, they were the only person he could stomach seeing him this way. But Hange was busy, they had meetings all morning. So Levi was left on his own, and he managed as well as he could. Although it took him double the amount of time it usually took, he still did it.

He grabbed his cane on his way out of his humble apartment, the carriage was waiting for him outside. In the carriage was the last person he wished to see, Zeke Jaeger. His glasses glinted in the sunlight as the coachman held the door for Levi who sat as far away from the war chief as possible.

Zeke blew out a puff of smoke, which swirled around in the small space. Levi's lip curled into a sneer, and Zeke smirked pleased to rouse a reaction from the retired Captain.

"Big day today eh Levi?" He spoke around his cigarette and Levi rolled his eyes.

"I suppose." He agreed, eyes never leaving the man.

That was about the only words exchanged between the two, the ride was thankfully short. The carriage arrived to the castle just after noon, the coachmen opened the door for Levi and Zeke. The sunlight was bright and made Levi squint, it didn't help that the castle seemed to glow as the sun bounced off of it.

"This way old friend." Zeke instructed and Levi followed begrudgingly, Zeke led Levi through the halls and into a large ball room. The castle staff was scurrying about, carrying massive bouquets of flowers and other decorations in preparation for the summer gala. Levi had attended this very event many times over his career, but he had not intended on joining in this year. Zeke paused a few feet away from Erwin, who was standing before a young woman Levi had met a handful of times. You had aged in the past two years that he hadn't seen you, although you weren't any taller, he could see the age on your face. Much as he assumed you could see in his, you also carried yourself more confidently, shoulders back, chin up.

Erwin paused and turned to greet the two men, who both saluted him and you.

"Captain, how nice to see you." You hummed, a pleased glint in your eyes as you curtsied, much to his surprise.

"You as well Zeke." You seemed less excited to see the war chief.

"Princess, you look lovely." Zeke closed the distance between the two of you, taking your hand a bit too eagerly and bringing it to his lips. You smiled a bit tersely, but allowed it.

"Ah, and you look...as hairy as the last time we met." Your jab threw Levi off, but Erwin seemed to have expected the exchange. Zeke laughed heartily and pulled back.

"Such a sharp tongue on you princess." He chuckled and you shrugged, a smug grin on those lips of yours.

"You make it easy."

"Princess, you are aware that Levi is to accompany you to this year's gala yes?" Erwin steered the conversation in a more relevant direction and you nodded.

"Mhm, and I'm very excited to be escorted by Eldia's most eligible bachelor." Levi wasn't sure if you meant it sincerely, or if it was his turn to face the wrath of your sharp words.

"I'm sure you are." Erwin chuckled, his hand falling on the back of your tricep. You gathered your skirts and took a few steps closer to Levi.

"The last time we met, you weren't keen on dancing, I do hope that's changed." You smirked at him and Levi barely fought the flush off of his cheeks as you pushed past him.

"We can go in the drawing room and discuss logistics, the gala is a mere week away after all-" Levi tuned out whatever it was Erwin was babbling about, too focused on watching you saunter out of the room.

__

Levi spent the next week trailing behind Erwin, attending meetings and luncheons with other high ranking military members. It was boring, but nothing that he hadn't done before. The day of the gala, Hange arrived with the remaining of the 104th cadet corps. Levi felt great relief at seeing the familiar faces, Hange had eagerly came to hug him, and he pretended to hate it. Mikasa even came and gave him the briefest of embraces, Connie had been the most excited, throwing his arms around his former captain and squeezing him tightly. Armin had grinned sheepishly, and offered a small wave. Jean just nodded respectively in Levi's direction. Gabby and Falco had tagged along as well, wearing their best uniforms, decorated with their medals.

"I can't believe we get to come to the summer gala!" Connie gushed, his hazel eyes wide as he soaked in the castle in all of its glory.

"We won a war." Jean huffed, eyes sharp, hand fidgeting with his medal on his lapel.

"We lost more than we won." Mikasa murmured, her own shaky hands reaching for a scarf that was no longer wrapped around her neck. The cheery mood quickly dissipated at Mikasa's statement, Hange cleared their throat and clapped their hands in an attempt to drag everyone from their thoughts.

"Let's go meet Erwin then." They said, and Levi nodded.

"Let's." The group walked through the halls, Hange in the lead and Levi at their side, it felt like old times. The kids, well they weren't really kids anymore, were beginning to return to their annoying selves.

"-will we be able to eat the food?" Gabby asked, and Levi nearly flinched, the statement reminded him all too much of Sasha. Connie seemed less phased, he sighed and brought his arms behind his neck as they walked.

"I sure hope so."

"We're here on business." Mikasa reminded them and Jean hummed in agreement.

"We're here as representatives." Armin added, and Hange chuckled.

"Use this as an opportunity children." Hange cooed, pausing in front of the doors to the drawing room.

"Have some fun, get drunk, you've earned it." Hange then pushed the doors open, revealing the cozy drawing room, Erwin sat with his legs crossed in one of the arm chairs, a book in his lap. He closed the book and stood, his sleeve hanging limply where his arm once was.

"Cadets, erm or should I say captains." Erwin chuckled awkwardly as the kids all jumped to salute him, fists clenched over their hearts.

"Commander." They all greeted in unison.

"Sit, we have much to discuss."

__

The discussion was rather tame, a short bit of it had been relevant. Where the kids were to stand, what they were to say and how they were expected to act. The rest of the afternoon had been spent catching up and enjoying each other's company. Just a few hours before the guests were to arrive, Erwin sent the group off to find their spots.

Levi found himself waiting outside of your room, his watch gripped tightly in his fist, watching the minutes tick by. You emerged about fifteen minutes after him arriving, your dress was a deep emerald green, elegantly hugging your frame in all of the right places. You smoothed the silk gown skirts and smiled at him, the red lipstick on your lips making your teeth seem extra white.

"You look ravishing Captain." You complimented, accepting his arm before walking slowly down the hall, careful to keep his pace.

"...as do you." He choked out, a blush tickling his ears.

"Did you get all done up for me?" You pressed, hand tightening around his bicep.

"No." He answered, although he was partially lying, the truth was all he could think about as he dressed, was you. How would you be dressed? Was he to match you? Or was he expected to wear his usual military dress? He had opted for the latter, and it seemed to work well, the inky black dress coat and the gold medals that decorated his lapels seemed to compliment the emerald in your dress.

"Well, I sure hope that you will at least dance with me." You pouted, shooting him a hopeful look.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue, truthfully it was all that he could mange, he was nervous enough about joining you this evening. But you asking him to dance? He had never danced in his life, and with his legs in the state they were in now?

The two of you stopped, overlooking the ball room which was already filled with guests, milling about with flutes of champagne. You snuck a glance at Levi, who was looking down at the crowd with a bored glaze over his eyes.

"Ready?" You asked, squeezing his bicep once and he nodded, chin held high as the two of you slowly made your way down the staircase. Levi's eyes scanned the crowd, searching for familiar faces, which he found in their designated spots. He knew that the king had asked him to accompany his daughter largely as a political move, not for protection as he had in the past. But old habits die hard, he double checked exits and kept an eye out for shady people, it was easier than looking at you after all. Not because you were ugly, rather the opposite, you were stunning and that intimidated him.

After at least forty five minutes of socializing, the dancing began and you tugged impatiently on his arm, which you had yet to let go of.

"Please Levi, just this once." You whispered so only he could hear, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at your closeness.

"Princess." He said sternly, although his voice did shake a tad, and you grinned, knowing that you had nearly convinced him.

"Captain." You countered, taking a step towards the dance floor.

"Just one." he said after a moment's hesitation before falling back in step with you.

"Just one." You affirmed with a wicked grin as you led him into the mass of bodies.

Levi felt his pulse race, his anxiety was roaring he had absolutely no clue how to dance, especially with his legs in the state that they were. You seemed to sense this, carefully taking his hand and resting it on your hip as you stepped ever so closely to him. Your chest was pressed against his, and he was sure that you could feel the pounding of his heart as it threatened to escape his ribcage.

"You just follow my lead." You whispered as he brought his other hand to rest naturally in the palm of yours. He nodded, eyes wandering down to glance at his feet, which were partially concealed by your skirts.

"It goes something like this, step-" You took a step towards him and he took one back.

"Then to the left," You instructed softly and he obliged, the two of you moving slightly out of sync.

"Then forwards again." You nodded as he stepped forwards and you stepped back, skirt swaying.

"Then to the right," You chuckled as his brows remained fixed in a tight knot as he tried to focus.

"Then we do it again." You seemed satisfied, and he nodded it was simple enough, although he could already feel the strain of the activity in his joints.

"Easy." He huffed, taking the lead and you giggled and fell into step with him.

"Tell me Levi, when you went across the ocean and fought those men, who were you fighting for?" The question caught him off guard and he nearly forgot the next step.

"That's an odd question." Levi shot you a mean look and you shrugged.

"I want to know what pushed Humanities strongest to be so strong." You answered, unfazed by his sour look.

"I fight for the people." He replied curtly and you sighed.

"That's a boring answer, I want to know what really drives you." You pressed and Levi frowned.

"Its the truth."

"Then tell me a lie." You raised a brow, challenging him and he screwed his nose up in distaste.

"Why would you want me to lie to you?" He asked out of genuine curiosity, no one had ever given him such a request.

"To spice some things up I guess." You hummed nonchalantly and squeezed your hand that held his.

"Then I would tell you I fought that war for you." He regretted the words, but you seemed to be pleased by them.

"Aw so you did think of me while we were apart." You cooed and Levi nearly broke away from you, but he only gripped your hand harder.

"You were the last thing on my mind." he huffed and you let out a throaty laugh. A lie, he thought of you often.

"You really are funny." You let your head fall affectionately into the crook of his neck and he swallowed thickly, as your scent washed over him.

"I didn't mean to be."

"I know, that's what makes it funny." Your breath tickled his neck as you spoke, you seemed to be in no hurry to pull away.

"Hmph." He hummed stupidly, unable to form words with you so close.

The song ended and you lifted your head, one of those wide grins sprawled across your lips.

"That wasn't so bad was it?" You whispered cheekily and he scoffed as the two of you exited the dance floor. You both found a seat at one of the tables set on the outskirts of the room, taking a break to drink and enjoy each others company.

Levi rubbed his knee under the table, the dance had truly taken a toll on him and he barely suppressed a groan. You noticed, shooting him a concerned look.

"Does it bother you often?" You asked, dragging your chair closer to his. He rolled his eye and pulled his hand slowly away from his leg.

"No."

"You're lying, just tell me the truth."

"I thought you wanted me to lie to you." He snapped back and you scoffed.

"Not about this." You reasoned and he sighed deeply.

"Yes, it hurts like a bitch." He turned to face you, his knee knocking yours and you frowned.

"You should've told me, I wouldn't have made you dance."

"I-" He paused, catching himself before the words left his mouth. But after one look at your open and concerned face he couldn't not say what he had been wanting to say.

"I wanted to." He admitted and your eyes widened a fraction.

"You...really wanted to?" Your words were raw and clearly Levi had caught you, the witty young princess off guard.

"I did."

"Would you do it again?"

"Yes."

"Hm." A smug look crossed your face and Levi scowled at you, not liking the way you seemed to be plotting something unbeknownst to him.

"What?" He snapped and you let out a short burst of laughter.

"I knew that you weren't lying when you said that you thought about me." You teased and he growled lowly under his breath.

"Maybe that was your last dance with me."

"Easy now, let's not be hasty, we have the whole night after all darling." You patted his shoulder, standing slowly and walking around the back of his chair to squeeze his shoulders before slipping off into the crowd.

He hoped that you meant it, that you would come back even if he could not dance with you again. He hoped that you had thought of him too, that his fighting had all been worth it. To spend the rest of his life by your side, even if he was just your guard or even a political ploy. He would do it for you, and he would do so happily.

[sckyie]

hq last goodbye after a break-up

☛ includes: azumane asahi, tendou satori, kozume kenma

☛ warnings: angst

☛ pronouns: gender neutral

☛ a/n: uhm again idk how headcanons work but tendou made me teary eyed :(

『  AZUMANE ASAHI 』

one of the hardest things for him to do after you two broke things off

though your break-up was mutual, he couldn't really bear the thought of letting you go for real

he held so much love in your relationship, but in the end, the two of you grew apart as people and you couldn't handle trying to hold up something that wasn't moving anywhere

he himself didn't want the relationship to be one-sided and letting you go was the best option

it was a small brunch meeting where you wanted to say your goodbyes, the place you two had met, a cafe down the street of your old college

you sat quietly, sipping on a warm cup of coffee as you waited for your now ex-boyfriend. even though you wanted this break-up and this last goodbye, your nerves were shot through the roof. in truth, you never wanted you two to grow apart. asahi was the first man to help you understand the definition of love.

asahi was dreading the day to see you. it wasn't that he didn't want to see you, it was that he couldn't hold himself to meet you face to face. he knew that once he sees you again that he's going to want you back.

he approached the cafe and noticed you sitting outside at one of the tables. taking a deep breath, he approached the table. "y/n?" he asks.

"oh, hey azumane," you say. a sting in his chest rang after hearing his last name left your mouth.

"so, how are you?" he awkwardly smiled as he pulled his chair to sit.

"good...good..." you shied. "how are you?"

"i've been better, just stuck at work," he explained.

"hm, seems like normal," you chuckled softly. "so, i just wanted to give you something back...that's why i called you to meet."

"oh?" asahi's palms were sweating as you reached down for a large paper bag. wordlessly, you place it in front of him, anticipating his next words. he takes the bag, peeking inside to see his old sweater and some of his old shirts. he frowns slightly at the sight until he notices a small jewelry box. he picks up the small container, opening it to reveal the promise ring he gave you on your anniversary. "wait-"

"look i know you said to keep it but i can't without thinking about you," you say as you picked at your fingertips. "so you should keep it. you always told me-"

"so this is really it, huh?" asahi's voice was wary as he stared at the ring. "there's no second chance, no winning you back?"

a silence fell between you two as he picked the ring out of the box. your chest was aching at his words. as much as you wanted to take him back, you knew that it was for the better if you two were apart. asahi looked up from the piece of jewelry and noticed how glossy your eyes had gotten. "i'm sorry, i can't do this," you stood up to leave but asahi grabbed your wrist. "i wanted to tell you how much you meant to me and i wish you the best but- but- i can't. i'm sorry- i should go...thank you azumane..."

you broke out of his hold before jogging towards the nearest train station. and that was it, asahi was left alone with the promise ring still in his hands. tears rolled down his cheek as he gripped the ring. he held the sweater close, taking in your scent that lingered along the fabric.

『  TENDOU SATORI 』

he didn't mean to break your heart, truly he thought things would work out

the former middle blocker had believed long distance would work once he left to culinary school

before he could even leave, things between you two had gotten heated and you were frustrated, he was too but he said things that he wished he never said

"i'm sorry i'm chasing after my dream! unlike you! you're living the same life since high school!"

"you! you were my dream satori! you and i! having a family, growing old together! you! it was all you! god- i can't do this anymore!"

his apologies weren't doing any good to you, so for some closure, you went to see him before his flight

you gripped tightly on the ends of your sleeves as you walked around the airport looking for tendou. his flight wasn't for another hour but semi had told you that he was waiting by the gate early. searching for the flight to france on the list of gates, you heard a voice call you out.

"y/n?" tendou was shocked to even see you here. you turned around to face him. "w-what are you doing here?"

"i- i don't know," your voice was shaking. you cautiously approached him, leaving some space between you two. "i guess...i wanted to wish you the best..."

"y/n," he cooed. "your eyes are puffy...i'm sorry for what i said, i know i shouldn't have treated you like that."

"it's okay satori.." you breathed.

"do you think we can try long distance?" tendou was reaching for some kind of hope.

"i...i don't think so..." you knew that it wouldn't work with the time zones and work. you also knew that letting him go would let him succeed in his dream.

"mhm," tendou hummed. "y'know i still love you, right?"

"of course i know," you took a step closer. "i still love you too..."

tendou reaches out to you, pulling you into a hug. the comforting hug hurt, your heart was aching and tears began to dampen his jacket as he held you. "you'll do great things," tendou whispered. you could hear in his voice he was crying too.

you pulled away, looking at his now glassy eyes. "you too," you reached up, cupping his cheeks. as he held onto your waist, the intercom for his flight's check-in was now open. "oh...it's time..."

"i'm gonna miss you," tendou sniffled.

"me too..." you wiped your tears before tendou let go. you watched him begin to walk away, but something in you made you reach for his hands. "you didn't give me one last goodbye kiss."

tendou's eyes were welling up with tears once again as he let go of his luggage. he pulls you into his arms, connecting his lips with yours. you couldn't believe that this was the last time you'd be with him. you embraced his affection for those few moments before he slowly pulls away. he wipes away your tears before wordlessly letting go. who knew goodbyes would hurt this bad?

『  KOZUME KENMA 』

it was more of a right person, wrong time situation

you both loved each other as if you two were a married couple but it came to a point in your lives where it felt like you two were strangers

kenma knew you meant well when you brought up the idea of breaking up, he couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye

you were his person, the one person he never wanted to let you go

today was the day you were finally moving away and you had to say your last farewell to him

you stood at the bottom of the stairs in front of his house waiting for kenma to come out to see you. he was dressed in sweats and his hair was messy once you saw him emerge from his front door. "hey," he says softly. his voice was raspy and you could tell he was crying.

"hi," you took a step forward, standing in front of him. "aw kenma, your hair." you tried to bring up his mood. you reached up, combing his hair with your fingers. he leaned into your touch, almost whining at the feeling.

"i'm sorry i didn't do better.." he said, pawing to hold you.

"it wasn't you," you reassured. "it just...wasn't our time yet."

"if it wasn't me, then why did you bring chub chubs," kenma pokes at the stuffed cat plush he gave you in your hands. you pull your hand away from his hair and petted the fluffy stuffed animal.

"because he deserves to be with his dad," you joked. though you were smiling, you could feel the pain sting as you reached out to give the toy to him.

kenma takes the soft cat into his hands and moves to cup it's cheeks. "your parent is divorcing me," he says to the stuffie. he squishes his cheeks before turning to you who was giggling at the sight. "fuck i'm gonna miss you."

he pulls you in with his right arm, holding you tightly. "i'm gonna miss you too." you wrapped your arms around him feeling the tears build up. "promise me you'll take care of yourself?" you mumbled into his chest.

"i promise as long as you do the same," kenma says.

"mhm," you hummed. kenma pulls away, still holding you in his arms, to admire you one last time. he dips down, planting a kiss on your forehead. "take care of chub chubs too, i slept with him every night when you didn't sleep over."

"come back for me too," kenma gives the plush a voice as he waves its little arms. you chuckled at him, looking up one last time at your now former partner. "i love you, i hope you know i always will."

taglist: @amillionfandoms-onlyoneme @d0llpie @elianetsantana @snowsmuse @joy-laufeyson

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

We learned a lot about each of Jesus's followers from episode 3. A lot of what's been beautifully displayed/shown for us had a chance to be articulated and told to us here (in a natural way--great storytelling!). So let's break it down in a meta longer than what any of you asked for:

John - the themes explored in S2E1, which are very present in his gospel, are here again! He expresses awe at the fact that he--"a nobody"--is not only alive at the time of the Messiah, and not only sees Him, but travels with Him and is close with Him. That wonder at the personal, loving relationship we can have with God--that defines both John and his writings. But, we also see him give in to pride (setting up James to be better than the others, and his comment to "ask Matthew") and anger (accusing Simon, even if ostensibly in Matthew's defense, showed both anger and pride (a "you're no better than the rest of us!" mentality)).

Big James - we learn that he loves to study and has more theological/Torah knowledge than almost all of the group. He's a rule-follower, who loves the law and its structure (a foreshadowing of his eventual reluctance to accept Gentile converts who did not first convert to Judaism). More importantly, we see him acting as a moderating influence on the group. He comforts Mary when she expresses her insecurities about her past, and tries to get Simon to stop attacking Matthew. But, we also see how quickly he can become indignant and proud (telling Simon to sit down, instead of simply sitting down himself--"someone else must give in first, not me").

Simon - finally finally FINALLY we get to understand why exactly he's so mad and spiteful towards Matthew. He comes off as kind of a jerk half the time, but this moment (although heart-wrenching for Matthew's sake) helps to humanize Simon too. We get to see the roots of that protective, communal nature that will eventually make him such a good leader, and we see how deeply and passionately he cares for Israel. But we also see that he still struggles to accept those who are unlike him, and this will be a theme for the rest of his life, as he is called to minister to the Gentiles and told that all foods are clean. "Different" is something it takes Simon a long time to get used to. Additionally, his refusal to forgive Matthew is setting up his conversation with Jesus where he asks, "If my brother sins against me, how many times must I forgive him? Seven times?" (This was two-and-a-half times more than the required amount, so he probably thought he was going above and beyond.) I can just see Jesus knowing who Simon is thinking of and telling him, "No, you must forgive your brother seventy times seven times!"

Little James - we get to know a little about him! I just threw him on here since previously we haven't seen much of him and now we understand him a little more. We get to see him bond with Thomas, who's the first person we see really reach out to him, and we see his insecurity and his worry that Jesus will think less of him or change His mind about him. (What a relatable struggle!)

Thomas - what we learn about Thomas surprises us! We're told earlier that "being methodical is his thing" (S2E1), and he seems fairly shy at points, so we assume he must be like Matthew, or Philip. But he's not! He doesn't like the rules. He's somebody who questions things. (Shocker--he questions Jesus's resurrection too! Great set-up and character-building there.) He even says "I'd like to ask Him about that" (referencing Jesus losing His father, but showing that Thomas is someone who naturally asks and seeks). His innate drive to search out the truth is an asset, similar to Nathanael, but also similar is his hesitancy (and at times, flat refusal) to accept the truth because it seems hard to believe. It can also make him combative with those who have more faith, or more respect for the rules (there is some brief tension between him and Big James when discussing Torah, for example).

Mary - we learn that she is eager to learn the Scriptures, something that she as a woman was never allowed to do--and also that she feels she needs to relearn her Jewish-ness. She is ashamed of who she was before and felt that she turned her back on her true identity...sound similar to anyone?? It's no small wonder that she's sympathetic toward Matthew. Simon's outburst directly paralleled them (and Mary did not seem pleased that he used her past in that way). Mary feels that she has a lot to make up for, and has no expectations that Jesus will give her special honors or power--she is humble, and this is why she is more receptive to and understanding of His teaching, despite her lack of knowledge, than the other disciples are.

Ramah - she, too, is eager to learn; for her, this stems mostly from a feeling of never having been allowed to be anything but a dutiful daughter. Her worth was limited and defined by the men in her life. Now she is beginning to explore the possibilities of being defined by God instead, which is a distinctly counter-cultural move. This is why it's so important that she goes with Jesus despite her father's reluctance--she is showing she's willing to be someone other than who she's told to be. Instead, she'll be who she's called to be. But she is still insecure about her lack of knowledge and her inability to take initiative; she is more passive by nature, and even when recounting her imaginings of the Messiah, she doesn't imagine helping Him, just being rescued by Him. This sets her up as someone more able to be used by Him, as, like Mary, she has no delusions of grandeur, but she is still unsure of her role in the group.

Andrew - (this has been more "professional" so far but oh my gosh BABY boy I love him) we learn that he is considerate of others' needs and doesn't want to be a burden (through the "sorry" stories). He likes the rules and is comfortable in order, and things like apologies are meaningful to him because they show respect and consideration for the other person. This is why Andrew gets hung up on the fact that Matthew never apologized for his past and putting them in such a predicament--but John has a point when he stands up for Matthew. Although Andrew is doing it in a nicer way than Simon, both men are setting themselves up as someone who can forgive sin, ignoring the fact that Jesus has already forgiven Matthew (edit: what I mean by this is Simon is loudly excluding Matthew from the group because he's valuing his refusal to forgive over the grace Jesus extended Matthew. Andrew is nowhere near as extreme in this, and is justified in wanting an apology (naturally) but in jumping onto Simon's comments, he seems to indicate that he agrees with Simon's overall attitude--if you don't apologize, we won't accept you). It shows that despite his sensitive nature, Andrew is still proud, and feels that the respect he shows is also what he deserves. He will have to learn, throughout his time with Jesus, that the beauty of grace is that we don't get what we deserve. We are called to forgive those who persecute us, even if they don't ask for forgiveness.

And I'm sure I missed some (I can't even find the energy to cover Jesus's mother Mary, but I loved how they handled her as well) but even with just these we can see how the showrunners are taking such care to develop these characters in a way that their eventual interactions and growth in the later portions of the gospels make sense! They feel so genuinely real, and you can see in them the seeds of who they will become--seeds that Jesus had seen all along. Excellent, excellent work, and an even better witness to the transformative power of Christ!

[calif0rnia-lovers]

four letters.

a/n: 1/10 of stories I was initially hesitant to post. not glorifying adultery, just an idea i got from this song.

part: 1/3

pairing: miguel galindo x elena

warnings: themes of adultery. not really smut in this part, it's literally a paragraph?

summary: they met when Miguel's family would visit during the summer. each summer vacation was a mixture of stolen glances and moments. time has passed, and summers are no longer theirs. every time he leaves Mexico, he leaves her with a promise. one day he'll be hers--and only hers. years in and Elena must decide if what she feels for Miguel is love, or something else.

words: 1.9k

Diamonds.

Universally, they represent love. A promise of commitment. A priceless gift you give the woman who has your heart. A gift with the power to project the facade of happiness. A gift with the power to distract even the most intelligent woman from her man’s past mistakes.

And for that reason, diamonds are Miguel’s favorite gift to give.

Each call to his jeweler inspires a substantial chunk of change and a customized gift. The said gift is invariably dressed in a black velvet box, sealed with a golden ribbon. Delivered to an office in Sinaloa on the same day, always two months apart.

Always accompanied with a neatly penned note. A date, time, and location. Short and to the point, signed M.

It arrives two days before him. The need to reschedule, or the mention of a conflict in scheduling, never allowed.

Each delivery carries the same false promise.

One day, my love.

This time, his promise comes in emerald green.

Pressed and shaped into glimmering flowers to accent the black dress she wears. Although the dress itself is a beautiful work of art, fitting as though it was designed just for her, no one is focused on Elena’s dress.

Their focus is on the dollar sign hanging from her neck. It’s impossible to miss. Only so many people, in Sinaloa, could afford such a beautiful piece. With her long dark locks pinned, to rest at the top of her head, Miguel’s necklace is on full display. Paired with her beauty, it is distracting. So distracting, no one notices the matching hairpins.

"You look beautiful as always."

Her heart flutters. A soft smile brightens Elena's face as a familiar warmth trickles down her spine.

A soft kiss ghosts the curve of her shoulder, Miguel's smile coming to rest against her cheek.

“I see my gift suits you well.” His touch lingers against the curve of her neck, pausing to trace the petal of an emerald flower. The smile on his lips is one of admiration, his playful eyes briefly lifting to meet hers. “It seems you’ve attracted the attention of the entire restaurant.”

“Don’t sound too surprised, Mr. Galindo.” Elena’s eyes roll, the grin on her lips causing his to grow. “You’re acting as if this is something new. People always stare at me.”

“Trust me, I know. It's not something I particularly enjoy."

“Too bad,” Elena smiles, lifting her glass of wine to her lips. “I like it when people stare at me, and you are late. You’re lucky I didn’t leave with someone else.”

“Nicholas…” Miguel reads from the baby pink card.

The question in his tone is barely audible, bogged down by something Elena has never heard--at least not from Miguel. It is hard for her to pinpoint. But as she pushes her heels aside, she’s almost certain it is jealousy.

She rounds the corner to find Miguel standing in the center of her kitchen. He has stripped himself of his jacket the white fabric draped carelessly across the back of a nearby stool. His back remains to her as she crosses the room. He does not turn to acknowledge her, even after she drops her purse to the countertop before him.

His focus is no longer on the message.

Ellie. Congratulations on the promotion. We should celebrate. Until then--enjoy your favorites. x Nicholas.

His attention has shifted to the vase of lilies and peonies. A mixture of pinks, white, and corals. A fresh take from the white roses Miguel typically sends.

"These are your favorites?" His thumb gently rubs the petal of a lily. His brow arches as he glances in her direction. "How come you never said anything?"

Elena's eyes lift from the hairpins resting in her palm. Shaking her curls loose, she lets off a tiny shrug.

"The roses are always very beautiful, Miguel." Standing on her toes, she places a kiss against his cheek. "I really appreciate them. You know that."

The words of reassurance are not enough to divert his attention. The soft kiss she leaves against his cheek earns her a glance.

“I didn’t realize you were...seeing anyone.”

“You mean, aside from the man who only comes to see me when his schedule allows?” The slight roll of her eyes tightens Miguel’s jaw. “Because that would be ridiculous.”

She ignores his expression, reaching around him to retrieve the card. She returns it to its original resting place.

“It’s not ridiculous,” Miguel states this as if it is a fact. “Not when you spent the last hour talking about us over dinner--.”

She can’t stop it. The laugh she releases silences Miguel. It is not a sound typically directed at him. It is a sound that makes his skin crawl, eats at him deep inside. Sparks the need to prove himself. It's a feeling he's hated his entire life.

“I’m sorry,” Elena clears her throat, the smile remaining on her lips as he focuses his scowl in the direction of the lilies. “It’s just. I thought we didn’t do that.”

Miguel chooses not to respond. Instead, he focuses on undoing his cuffs. He knows she’s right.

They don’t do that--share personal details about their lives. Or probe for them. In fact, at this point, they’re typically already undressed--the idea of talking about their lives the last thing on their minds.

Elena watches Miguel’s gaze return to the bouquet. They study the flowers before passing over the darkened living room. Searching for other intrusions, signs of another man, that were not here during his last appearance.

“Come on, Mikey,” she sings softly. The warmth of her palms brings his gaze to hers. “Did you come all the way here just to ruin my weekend?”

The corner of his lips turns up. His gaze drops, following the path of Elena’s touch. It drifts down the chest of his shirt pausing to undo the buttons.

“Because I thought you came because you missed me. Isn't that what you said on the phone?” Her lips press against the curve of his jaw, her smile growing as his lips instinctively move to meet hers. She giggles, turning to grind back against him. “So, show me how much you missed me.”

His response is immediate, his hands pressing into the curves of her hips. The weight of his chest pressing her body forward and towards the closest stable surface. With her heels abandoned, her weight shifts to her toes. She stumbles forward in a clumsy attempt at maintaining her balance. She gasps as the chill of the marble countertop presses against the heat of her cheek. A perfect contrast to the hot and heavy hands pushing up the skirt of her dress. Their first exchange is always the same. Quick and messy. Both focused solely on satisfying the need that has built up in their time apart. The note is fresh in his mind and fuels his movements. Bruise his fingers into her hips, leaves her breathless as he sets a pace that nearly splits her open.

Elena can feel the warmth of her cheeks slowly creeping throughout her body as she concentrates on the task at hand.

"What?"

Instead of lifting her gaze, to meet the ones watching her every move, she tries for a second time to tug down the zipper of her dress.

Miguel doesn't speak. Instead, he motions for her to turn around.

The silence, which falls over the darkened kitchen, is a part of the routine. One that lasts long enough for their pulses to taper off. For their highs to drift away, opening their minds to reality.

Elena focuses on the glow of moonlight on the marble before her.

She breaks the silence, her words soft as she tries to press out any sign of hopefulness in her voice. Sounding eager about any aspect of their arrangement has never turned out good.

"Are you leaving tonight?"

The room is quiet, Miguel's fingers pausing for the briefest of seconds. He shifts forward, ducking down to allow his lips to press a soft kiss between her shoulder blades.

"Not tonight." A soft smile finds his lips as she glances over her shoulder at him. "It's your birthday tomorrow. I wouldn't miss it."

She can't suppress the smile that spreads across her face as his lips press against her cheek. His eyes drop to the watch on his wrist as she turns to face him.

“Looks like we got two hours before it's officially Saturday," he chuckles as her arms wrap around his neck.

"Is it too early to start with my birthday demands?"

His response is a soft kiss, his hand drifting to the nape of her neck. It's a kiss that melts her body into his, knotting his fingers in the softness of her hair. By the time he’s pulled away, her pulse is unsteady. His lips brush against her forehead, his touch lingering against her skin before he takes a step back.

"I'll start the bath." He grins, his eyes drifting towards the wine across the room. “Get a bottle or two, and join me.”

“I’ll be up in a minute.”

Her eyes close as his lips press against her forehead. They remain closed as she listens to his footsteps track through the quiet house. They soon fade out as he reaches the top of the steps, and Elena allows her eyes to open.

Her breath catches, her teeth tugging at her lip as her fingers gently brush against her neck. She finds herself standing before the mirror at the base of her steps. Her eyes pass over her reflection, lingering on her disheveled curls, the flush of her cheeks, her swollen lips, the hazy green glow from the moonlit flowers against her skin.

Her fingers comb through her hair, gathering the locks and pushing them over her shoulder. Unlatching the clasp, she carefully places the necklace on the countertop. She leaves it alongside the emerald hairpins. The breath she takes is deep. Her lungs hold the air until they begin to burn. With the weight of her necklace gone her shoulders fall, feeling weightless, as she exhales.

The excitement of his admission bubbles in her stomach, her hands clasping together as she forces herself to take a second breath. This time, as she excels, the excitement slowly deflates.

Getting your hopes up is foolish, Ellie.

Elena turns and crosses the dark kitchen in search of wine.

She retrieves two wine glasses from the cabinet. She pauses, elbows resting against the countertop, as she studies the bottles of wine on display against the cream backsplash. Her fingers stop short of her bottle of choice as a faint jingle fills the quiet room.

Abandoning the task at hand, Elena naturally retrieves her purse. The rose gold iPhone she finds inside is silent, screen pitch black. The ringing is louder now. Her head turns, her brow furrowing, as she looks towards the white jacket draped across the back of the stool to her right.

There is a brief moment of hesitation. A voice of warning--telling her "leave it"--in the back of Elena's mind as she reaches for the jacket.

A silence falls over the room--a blessing in disguise. It is her out. The reminder for Elena to adhere to the promise she made herself the moment she met Miguel Galindo.

Never snoop--never bite off more than you can chew.

What is the saying about curiosity?

With the touch of her finger, the screen illuminates. It reveals a missed call from Emily Galindo. It is not the name that gives Elena pause, but the photo behind the notification. A photo Elena has never seen or anticipated. A photo that breaks the fantasy Elena has spent the evening willingly participating in.

The fantasy typically lasts a few more hours. The one where they both pretend Miguel doesn’t have another life he has built outside of her. A life Miguel's never provided insight into. A life Elena has never asked--nor searched--for details on.

Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t have been blindsided by what all his life across the border entails.

The round brown eyes staring back at her own are innocent. Accompanied by a head of dark curls and soft cheeks. The blue top the infant wears matches Miguel’s jacket.

Miguel wears a smile--a distinct smile. The smile wore by every proud father.

One day, my love. I just need time.

The soft plea echos through her mind. It is the same he has whispered each departure when she has asked him to stay--even if just for an hour longer.

Time.

It’s all he’s ever needed. And all she has given.

The arrival of a message paints Elena’s kitchen in a blue glow--breaking her haze of confusion surrounding this new revelation.

Hope you made it safely. Call me when you’re settled. Love you.

Elena's stomach tightens as she rereads the message.

She jumps, her body scrambling to catch the phone as it nearly slips through her fingers. Miguel’s voice drifts down the stairs.

“Need help picking the wine?”

“No--it’s okay. I'm coming.” Elena shakes her head, returning the phone to its original place. She replaces the phone with two wine glasses, mindlessly grabbing the closest bottle.

mayans tags:

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[msoogabooga]

Closure • (Remus Lupin x Reader)

Warnings: None

Description: You reconnect with your former Hogwarts-years lover in the most unexpected way.

A/N: Slight angst, ends on a good note.

Walking around the corridors of the Hogwarts castle with an injured hand wasn’t your ideal way of spending your night. It had all happened just as you were getting ready for bed. Gathering all your graded papers, you decided to store them in your trunk, as you usually do every night. Unfortunately for you, the lid of the trunk came crashing right back down out of nowhere and landing straight onto your hand. It took every inch of your body to not scream out a slew of unforgivable words in order to maintain the peace of the castle. Still you couldn’t help but kick the trunk in frustration and snatch your hand away. With a throbbing hand you searched frantically for something to soothe it. Nothing was readily available and you didn’t feel like waking up poor Madam Pomfrey for a bruised hand. So you resorted to the only man you know to be awake at this hour: Remus J. Lupin.

Remus Lupin was not a man to get much sleep. Back when you both were students at Hogwarts, you always remember him sitting in the common room in the dead of night. Usually it would be to finish a lengthy essay or get some more study time worked in. But sometimes you two would sit together near the fireplace and talk about the most insightful topics. The nights would end with you falling asleep on him and magically waking up back in your own bed. The days when you two dated were the most comforting and enjoyable you’ve ever felt. He was the perfect boyfriend. Everyday he would serve you a glass of pumpkin juice with a peck on the cheek. During classes he would pass you notes that often contained several compliments and an occasional sneaky answer. Days would be filled in with study sessions, sitting by the lake, and lots of cuddling. He trusted you with everything. Including the long kept secret that terrorized him the most, that he was a werewolf. You were everything to him.

You never wanted to end the relationship. It was the last thing you wanted to do. But the comforting days of teenagers at Hogwarts turned into a stressful time as adults. You had become an Auror right out of Hogwarts while Remus struggled to find a stable job. Being a werewolf didn’t come with its negative effects, after all. You would sometimes go days without seeing him depending on how much time was needed on an investigation. When you did see him, you were always so exhausted and sleep deprived. Eventually all this stress kept piling up to the point where you both decided it was best to part ways. No hard feelings were left but you didn’t hear much from him after that.

Just a few years later, you resigned your job as being an Auror. Though it was an exciting couple of years, it was best to just take some time for yourself and find a more peaceful job. When you heard of the Muggle Studies teaching position open at Hogwarts, you knew this was your opportunity. You knew all about muggles, as you grew up around them, therefore it was an easy job to secure. What you didn’t realize, however, was that one of your colleagues was the same man you left years ago. Catching his gaze at the Great Hall feast in the beginning of the year brought all of the memories back to you once more.

Which brings us back to this moment. You scurry your way to his quarters in hopes of obtaining a treatment for your hand and perhaps some closure from the man you once loved. You mumble apologies to the portraits you had awoken until you finally reach his door. Though hesitant at first, you finally muster up the courage to knock 3 times. It doesn’t take long for an answer as you look at a disheveled Remus Lupin standing at the front of the door wearing some worn out pajamas. Clearly, he didn’t expect you to be the one knocking at his door in the middle of the night as he continues staring you down for a moment. Eventually, he clears his throat and addresses you.

“Oh.” Remus speaks. “Professor, what a surprise. I didn’t- I wasn’t expecting any guests at this hour. May I help you?”

“You got anything for this.” You say, lifting your bruised hand up.

“Oh of course, do come in.”

He opens up the door wider for you and you make your way inside his quarters. It was a cozy little place. All his bags were on the floor and a few garments were thrown onto the bed. He mumbles an apology for the mess and goes to one of his drawers. Pulling out a small blue water packet, he performs a freezing spell on it to turn it into ice. He gestures to you to come over. You and him plop on the edge of the bed. He takes your hand into his own, ever so gently, careful not to hurt you even more. You wince as he begins to apply pressure to it with the ice.

“Just hold still.” He says, calmly. “I promise this will make it feel better.”

You nod and bite your tongue as he applies more pressure. His hands are coarse and rough now as opposed to a few years ago. Clearly, these past few years haven’t treated him well. His hands keep the ice steady as he gently brushes your palm.

“How have you been?” You say out of nowhere. You couldn’t bear the silence any longer.

“Rough.” He admits. “Full moon yesterday and well… you know.”

“Oh right, sorry. I didn’t notice.”

“No worries.”

You remain silent as he removes the ice pack for a moment to examine your hand. He pushes his thumb against the bruised area slightly and you wince once more. He looks up at you with concerned eyes. You give a slight smile, assuring him you are alright. He takes the ice pack and applies it to your hand once more.

“Yes, just leave it on for a few hours.” He says, letting you hold onto the ice pack now. “It should help numb the pain. Other than that your hand appears to be fine. Just some minor bruising. You’re free to go get some rest now.”

As you stand up from the bed, he catches your shoulder. You gasp a little in surprise and slowly come to sit once again with him.

“But that’s not the reason you came here, is it?” Remus asks, almost reading your mind. It was true. This visit was more than a mere injury treatment.

“I just… wanted to see you again.” You admit. “I know we didn’t get the closure we needed. I kind of just wanted that, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh not at all.” He says with a sigh. “Ever since I first saw you during the feast, I wanted to have this conversation with you.”

“Well then. Here we are. You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Why would I be? This decision was made by the both of us.”

“I know I know. I just feel so guilty. I didn’t get to see you that much near the end of our relationship and I often wondered if you thought I didn’t care about you.”

“You were busy. I understood that. Never did it cross my mind that you didn’t care. I knew you did. And so did I.”

You let out a small relieved smile. “It’s just so hilariously sad now.”

“What is?” He says, shifting himself closer to you.

“Now I have all the time in the world but no one to spend it with.”

He gives a sad smile. “Oh the ironies of life. Would you like some tea?”

“Please.” Remus gets up and heads to the small kitchen attached to his room. You get up and follow him, leaving the ice pack on the bed. “Make sure to add only two spoons-”

“Two spoons of sugar.” Remus finishes for you. He gives a slight smile. “Don’t worry, I remember.” You feel your face blush slightly at this. That man never misses a beat, you’re sure of it. He sets the kettle and leans against the counter, running a hand through his hair.

“Was it bad?” You ask. Remus raises an eyebrow. “The full moon I mean.” You clarify.

“Oh no, not terribly at least. A few minor scratches and bruises. Nothing I haven’t already experienced before.”

“And here I am complaining about a bruised hand.” You laugh. Remus, however, gives you a concerned look as he walks over to you. He carefully takes both of your hands into his.

“Please don’t feel bad about asking me for help.” He says looking straight into your eyes. “You know I will always help you no matter how small it is. Always.” As you stare into his basil-green eyes you can’t help but feel your face heat up again. Something about his stare always drove you mad. Clearly it hasn’t stopped anytime soon. He appears to be moving closer to you before the whistle of the kettle makes him jump a bit. He quickly runs to it and prepares the cups.

As he pours the green tea into an elegant cup, you can’t help but try to explain everything going through your mind. “I wanted to reach out to you. I did. I just didn’t know how. I’m just so relieved that now I get the chance to.”

“So did I.” Remus confesses as he hands you a cup. You take the cup of warm liquid and take a sip from it. Delicious, of course. He always made the best tea. “I just figured you wanted to be left alone. I wouldn’t blame you. Being an Auror is a difficult career. Therefore I went against my own personal emotions considering I still… well, it would be inappropriate to say now.” He takes a gulp from his own cup.

“No please, tell me Remus.” You plead. He stares at you once more and sighs before setting his cup on the table.

“Considering I was still in love with you.” Your heart is racing now. You set your own cup on the table.

“You were?” You ask, stunned. “And now?”

“Nothing has changed. Even after all these years. I still thought of you and hoped you were doing well. Everyday.”

“Oh, Remus.” You cup his face with both hands, bruised hand and everything. Your thumb rubs against his cheek as you slowly move his hair away from his face. He brings his hands to cover yours and gives you the most comforting look.

“Don’t you worry about me now.” He reassures you. “I’ll cope.”

“You don’t have to.” You finally fill in the gap between the two of you and press your lips gently against his. He doesn’t react to this at first, just stands there in confusion. Slowly, however, he brings his hands to your hair and gently combs through it, falling into your kiss. He never once retracts from you. Only crashing back onto your lips over and over. It was the most sincere and wonderful kiss you’ve ever had.

When he finally breaks it, he still holds onto your waist, giving you the biggest smile. His eyes were a different story, however. They were drained and half open. Clearly he was exhausted.

“You’re tired, Remus.”

“A tad. Never of you though.” He places a kiss on your forehead.

“I should really let you sleep.”

“You know you can stay the night.” He says to you in a half whisper. “Only if you’d like. I’d be more than willing to have you here.”

You laugh, running a hand through his sandy locks. “Of course.”

You both climb into his bed, completely exhausted from a long night. Before you get a chance to say something he clutches you close to him. You smile and ease into his embrace. He rests his chin on your head and has his arms wrapped tightly around you. Kissing your head, he sleepily mumbles something into your hair that you couldn’t quite catch.

“What was that, dear?” You ask.

“I’ve missed you.” He mumbles before crashing into a deep sleep.

[shimmeringclouds]

Chapter 1

Akatsuka village was a quiet place.

Not much ever happened, and whenever something did, it wouldn't stick to your mind, eventually fading from memory, and the still silence of the village would take a hold of your every day life once more.

Despite living in Akatsuka for a good few years now, you had a habit of keeping to yourself. You rarely ever found yourself willingly conversing with the other townsfolk living in the houses around you. You always hoped it didn't come off as rude — you just lacked decent social skills, they could understand that, right?

On top of that, the village had always felt.. off to you. There was always this pressurising feeling of someone watching you at all times, peering over your shoulder and burning holes into your back. It was unnerving and uncomfortable, and the worst part was, there was never anyone there.

However, it wasn't like you could just up and leave the Akashika District so easily. It required time and money, and you only had one of those. A part of you wondered if you regretted moving all that time ago, but in the end, you couldn't muster the energy to be so bothered anymore. All in all, you had achieved the quiet and easy-going countryside life you had been needing, and that was all that mattered to you.

Sitting in your fenced off garden, basking in the summer's heat, you began wondering if your life was boring. If it was too simple. If you had sheltered yourself too much. You didn't really have any friends, as sad as it was. They had all slowly fallen out of touch with you once you had moved, and although you had tried convincing them to come down for a visit — or even suggesting that you visiting them — they all happened to be busy. Every time, without fail.

Then maybe, you began to wonder, it was you who was boring. You recalled how plain your life had been, as a toddler to a teen, and now as an adult. You didn't have any interesting stories to share. You didn't have any personal traits that were particularly intriguing or quirky. You were just... normal. Probably a bit too normal.

With a sigh, you cast your sullen gaze towards the sky. It was a single block of blue, but it looked so pretty. It stretched far beyond the horizon, free of clouds and scattered with the occasional soaring bird. The flutter of a white butterfly caught your eye, and you watched the muted coloured insect traverse through your garden, finally landing on a bush of blush pink camellias you had been caring for over the past year or so.

Your mind fell silent, only for it to have a sudden craving for watermelon. You tilted your head curiously, trying to remember if you had any left or not. Standing up, you stretched your arms above your head, lazily readjusting your t-shirt that had ridden up your stomach with the movement before heading towards your kitchen, scouring your table tops and refrigerator for the sweet fruit. To your dismay, there was none left. Which only meant one thing...

"I have to go outside today..." you whined to yourself. Well, you didn't have to. It wasn't like you had to get the watermelon. No, you didn't have to, but you really wanted to eat some under the sun, like you did every summer. You needed to satiate your craving for watermelon.

And so you set about your home, reluctantly attempting to sort out your hair and change your clothes. You were too lazy, though, and ended up swapping out your joggers you were lounging in to a pair of shorts, not wanting to melt on the way to the store, tucking your t-shirt into the hem of the bottoms and messily scrunching your hair up into a bun.

You twirled a few loose strands around your fingers, debating whether you should put more effort into your hairdo, but ultimately deciding there wasn't any point since you would just be hiding away again for the rest of the weekend. No one paid attention to you, anyway.

Grabbing your small purse and pushing it into your back pocket along with your phone, you slipped on a pair of gladiator sandals, securing the intricate straps around your ankles and feet before setting off.

The heat seemed to be far more intense than before, pushing the humid air into your face and causing a cool sweat to suddenly break out over your skin. You grimaced at your clammy hands, discreetly brushing them against the denim of your shorts.

As you walked, you threw your gaze to your surroundings, not finding anything new amongst the same square houses and the same empty shops, the same trio of cats laying in the same position in front of someone's doorway, their eyes watching you as they always did as you trotted past them. It was the same routine, as usual.

The cool air that wafted over you as you stepped through the doors of the supermarket gave you a sense of relief from the roasting warmth. You closed your eyes for a moment, relishing in the soft blow of air before finally moving inside, peering through the empty aisle in search of the perfect watermelon.

Soft music echoed distantly throughout the store, almost silent under the pitter of your footsteps against the tiled ground. You stood still for a moment, straining your ears to try and catch the words that were being sung, but it was much too quiet and muffled, a mix of many different voices merging together to a nursery-like tune. It was odd; they never played music in the store before.

As you continued onward, you pushed the urge to pick up miscellaneous objects and snacks down and away from your mind, even if you had the feeling you were forgetting something. You only came for watermelon. Should you get distracted now, you'd end up with a whole basket full of groceries that you probably didn't need. You crossed your arms over your chest, tucking your hands away into the crooks of your elbows so as not to feel any more tempted.

Eventually, you stumbled upon the correct aisle, tracing along the variety of in-season fruit before they landed on the one you were looking for at the far end of the aisle. The small smile that had graced your lips, however, dropped in an instant at the sight of another person gazing at your desired fruit, a look of confusion lacing your furrowed brows. You had never seen another person shopping here before.

It was a man, donned in a fern green yukata, his brown hair neatly combed to one side as his narrowed eyes scrutinised the two remaining watermelons, his lips upturned into a frown as he held the two heavy fruits in his hands. He hadn't noticed your presence, it had seemed, and you reluctantly began edging your way towards him.

You could feel your cheeks slowly begin to heat up the closer you got, your hands becoming clammier as you realised that you would have to speak to this stranger. Social interaction was never your forte, and you became afraid that your words would fall out of your mouth like running water, gushing and incoherent. But your mind was set on getting the large, jaded fruit, and your feet wouldn't stop moving until you were stood right beside him.

At long last, the man caught the movement at his side from the corner of his eyes, glancing over and jolting in shock at your sudden appearance. His rounded face flushed a pretty pink, tracing over the tips of his ears at the sight of you, and you couldn't control the added heat to your own skin.

"Excuse me..." you spoke softly, averting your gaze from his own smaller pupils to the fruit in his hands. You quickly noted how he had a hold of the last two melons, before continuing to say: "I-I'm sorry to bother you, but could I have one of those?"

Deep down, you felt awful, as if you were stealing something from this poor and unsuspecting man. What if he wanted both of them? You would just have to go home empty handed, remembering how you had bothered somebody for no reason. Maybe you would grab a tub of ice-cream on the way, on second thought, for some comfort food.

The man's mouth flailed open and closed, minute squeaks of words escaping him before he cleared his throat, taking a deep breath.

"OF COURSE!" The sudden loudness of his voice caused the both of you to flinch, his face deepening in colour in embarrassment. "I mean — o-of course! You can have one!" He swiftly pushed the melon in his left hand towards you, a shaky smile on his lips as his hand trembled under the weight of the fruit.

"Th-This one is much sweeter than the other, ha ha."

You raised a brow, staring at the two green misshaped ovals and wondered how he knew that just by looking. You tilted your head, hesitantly brushing your fingers against the melon. "Are you sure? I don't mind taking the other one."

"No no! It's perfectly fine! I-I prefer the more watery ones, anyway..."

That was a blatant lie, but you took the melon from him, saving the both of you from an even more awkward conversation. With a timid smile, you bowed politely, thanking him.

"N-No worries! I — well, uh — goodbye!" The man immediately scurried off, clutching the melon securely to his chest as he rounded the corner, disappearing from your sight. You wondered if you had scared him off, somehow. You could understand, although, you would be lying if you said you didn't feel a twinge of disappointment bubble in your chest. You could have made a friend today if you hadn't made the atmosphere so stiff.

You dejectedly dragged your feet through the shop, reaching the till and finding the man to have already left. You lowered your gaze to your feet as you handed your money over to the sleepy looking cashier, carrying the watermelon in your arms. Standing in front of the empty store entrance, you stared at the ground in brief silence, an unhappy frown making its way onto your face.

The walk home was gloomy, as if grey clouds were hanging over your head despite the sun beaming vehemently down onto your skin. You were starting to regret going out to buy the watermelon. Maybe it would have been better if you had just stayed home and ignored the craving. Maybe then you wouldn't have had to ruin someone's day. That's what you did, right?

Silence echoed throughout the barren streets louder than ever before, pulling you deeper into your dampened thoughts and drowning in the sudden sense of guilt that had welled inside of you, gluing itself to your heart like a hardened stone. It seemed that no matter how much you walked, you couldn't escape that voice in the forefront of your mind, whispering into your ear and reminding how much of a failure you were, greeting you as an old friend as you re-entered your home.

You left the watermelon on your kitchen table, and as you walked out, the glint of sunlight bouncing off of metal and into your eyes made you wince. Glancing over, you saw that it was only the metal of your large kitchen knife, displayed on your far countertop for whenever you would need it next. The yellow light it reflected burned into your eyes dangerously, shimmering and beckoning you closer.

Your sullen gaze merely sent it a flat and unimpressed glare before you turned away with a sigh. The games your mind liked to play with you weren't any fun in the slightest. Suddenly, you didn't feel like eating the watermelon anymore.

Falling asleep sounded much more appealing to you. Trudging through the empty hallways of your home, you collapsed onto your cool bed, curling into yourself with baited breath, the light breeze sifting through your opened window cradling you in its hold as you squeezed your eyes shut.

In that moment, all you wanted to do was sleep forever, and the wind encouraged you as you slowly fell into a restless slumber.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Campfire Kisses

Commission for @dragoncoochie for Meg Thomas/Reader!

Summary: Meg and Reader with Meg having been making moves on the reader and after a bad trial where Meg sacrifices herself to take the Mori ORIGINALLY going to be given to the Reader, the reader offers for her to come back to their room. Or! In which Meg is dumb and in love and will do anything to protect and please her pined after sweetheart involving sacrificing herself to the killer who has Beef with her. All for love, and ya know, to give head.

Reblogs > Likes! Please Reblog if you hit like :D

!!!Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked!!!

Fandom: Dead by daylight

Relationship: Meg Thomas/Reader

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Reader is gender neutral and has a vulva and is mentioned with one as such and the word Breasts is used, Dead by daylight normal violence, mentions of blood and blades, otherwise ya know the works!

Words: 2.6k

_____________________

She just couldn’t catch a break.

The trials in this world just seemed to get harder and harder. In the beginning, Meg and the few others had been scared, confused, and only few to face the horrors of the killers. It had been hard back then when they all barely knew each other and only had each other to cling to through the nights. Confusion, fear, everything raced through their minds.

But most importantly: Survival instincts.

As the trials progressed, they began to see new people coming in, but new people always meant new killers. New challenges to face, new people to join the ranks and to offer their skills. The Entity was never kind to new survivors, everyone was made to go through the same harsh trials and go against the killer they came with.

Whether those killers they had met before and faced once, or new ones they had no idea had to do with them.

~Rest under the cut~

Of course, new faces meant that their camp would expand. The small cabins they all shared got bigger and rewards were given to those who escaped. Whether that be a homecooked meal from your home, new clothing, a warmer blanket for the cold nights, better showers at the cabins, and even things that went as far as sex toys if you were stressed. The Entity would reward those with fighting spirit just as they would their killers for providing sacrifices.

Because if you ran out of hope, what more would you run on?

However, these new faces also meant newer challenges that weren’t killers or new places for the hunt to take place. The prior survivors had to get used to new people now entering their bubble and joining their ranks, people who they had no idea of personalities or if they’d get along or if they’d be self-centered and prefer to thrive off their own skills.

It also meant, that when you had arrived, Meg had to deal with the complications of a crush.

She just couldn’t catch a goddamn break.

At first it hadn’t been much of a thing, just her thinking you were attractive. Then to find out you were also really kind and to learn more about you? It had sealed Meg’s fate. She hadn’t felt this way for anyone in a long time, but to be fair, you lose track of time in the trials. No time for romance to blossom.

Teaching you how to run the trials and what was to be expected of you was her job like anyone else’s! Except...she took hers a little bit more in depth with you. Explaining how certain killers were more prone to distractions, that if you couldn’t outrun them where to hide. You looked at her with awe and delight but something that made her heart twist into pieces; Fear. You hadn’t ever had to fight for your life- not like this.

She wished more than anything she could hold you in her arms and make you feel the safety she hoped you would.

When the trials start for you, Meg always feels a twisting in her gut if she isn’t chosen for the trial with you. She tries to blame it on nerves, telling herself that it’s just because you’re new. But, with any of the other newbies, she hadn’t felt like this at all. Not with the way she paces and chews on her nails and tries to pass off the anxiety as something else.

But, she knew what it was. When your smile enraptured her like nothing else and the dark fog could not even stop her from seeing the sunlight when you laughed. Meg felt like she was back in college again, her stomach doing flips over any new pretty face that walked her path. But you, you were different- and this realm?

This realm was not like anything they’d ever described in fairy tales.

Today, the trials had been in favor of the two of you together. Meg, you, Nea, and Quentin had all wound up in the same trial. The realm of The Macmillan Estate was a dark one, hard to see through a very long distance. But once Meg had caught sight of your familiar clothing, she’d darted to you to find you crouched behind a tree with grease smudges on your hand and explaining you had a generator nearby, but you had heard your heartbeat pick up.

Your eyes have fighting spirit, but the way you shake reminds her that you’re so new to this. She remembers her own fear, her own need to live, only to find out there was no living or dying. Only sacrifice.

“Just stick with me and we’ll get through it, okay?” She whispers quietly for you, reaching up and gently cupping your cheek when you don’t seem to focus. Watching your eyes flicker over her face before you steel yourself and nod.

The Macmillan Estate, as mentioned before, was indeed a dark one. Hard to see through a very long distance. So when you two got separated for different hiding spots, Meg thought she had seen you go a certain way- only to hear you scream nearby as the heartbeat picked up.

Watching you dart around the corner with a slinging machete at your back narrowly missing makes dread curl in her stomach.

There were times like this human instincts kicked in: One was to run and hide again. The other was filled with fighting spirit, the need to protect you from harm.

Her legs burn by the time she runs to catch up, her lungs burning with just as much effort. You’ve been hit once, blood curling down your spine and the way you limp breaks her heart. Her heart is pounding, aching as she watches the Trapper begin to get closer.

She’s not close enough- she won’t make it in time- guilt begins to swarm in her chest as she cries out just at the same time you do as another well-timed slash drives you to the ground.

The second she realizes he’s not leaning down to pick you up is the second she realizes he’s starting to flip you over.

A Mori.

“NO!” Her scream is ear piercing even to herself as she dives in front of you, throwing you out of harm’s way and knocking herself onto her back. Vaguely, out of the corner of her eye, she sees movement and a beanie just as Nea drags you to safety behind the brick wall to begin patching you up. But not before she catches your eyes, huge and hands outstretched towards her body with the scream of her name from your lips.

Knocked down, it’s anyone’s fair game.

As the blade slashes clean through her body with the fury of a beast finally catching its prey and the Mori is complete.

--

The fog is an empty place to wait for a trial to end. Never ending running as you hope you’ll come across the campfire at some point. The Entity made is so wherever you ran was just more fog, but you always had that feeling as if you’d come across it anytime soon. You never would, no, not until all four people were running the same way to signal the trial had been complete.

You, Nea, and Quentin make it out with Quentin clearly having been hit last second. The wounds heal as quickly as you all burst through the fog, injuries repaired but clothing and dried blood remaining. Not to mention emotional damage and new scars.

Meg is almost in a daze when you all come through the fog. Nea and Quentin are quick to take off, leaving you and Meg out by the campfire. It’s quiet, for the most part, watching you fumble with your hands and bite at your lower lip, you try to come up with words-

“I’m sorry-” Meg starts.

“You shouldn’t hav-” You speak at the same time, tears in your eyes as you whip your head to face her.

“I couldn’t stand to see you in such pain,” She manages to push out past you, her southern accent almost seeming thicker from her agony, whipping to face you so she can reach out again. Hesitating and waiting for you to say no or make a motion that you didn’t want to be touched. But as you look at her with teary eyes, she can’t help but to cup your cheeks and draw you closer so she may rest her forehead to yours. “I couldn’t- I know you can handle yourself, I know this is what we DO, b-but-”

You cut her off, a soft peck to her quivering lips with a quick turn of your head. It’s certainly worth it from the surprised look she gives you when you lean back, searching your eyes as you shakily exhale, eyes still teary, “You’re a good woman, Meg. Thank you- I know you’ve been here longer and you’ve been so helpful so far. I...I...” You hesitate, letting your eyes flicker to her lips as you struggle to find the right words. “Do you...want to share my bed tonight?”

Like you even had to ask.

--

There’s something almost satisfying when Meg can get you into your room. Almost as if she’s caught her own prey when she whispers against your neck if you want this and you nod vigorously for her before she starts to caress your sides and kiss up your neck.  

There’s something even more satisfying when she can get you into bed, watching you eagerly throw your clothes off as she tugs off her own jacket. She gets to watch your skin get exposed inch by inch, a big smile of eagerness on your face as you kick off your pants and drag her back on top of you just as eager.

And the icing on the cake is when she keeps dodging your mouth, kissing your cheeks, nose, dipping to the side so you peck her cheek until you whine and she laughs, moving her mouth to yours.

You’re completely bare while she rests in her tanktop and joggers. Your hands have long since worked her braid out, fingers combing out her red hair that falls in her face when she leans over top of you. Her hands on either side of your head, body fit between your thighs with your cheeks flushed and eyes searching her own half lidded pair.

No, no, Meg could never catch a break.

Not with the way your lips, rosy from too many kisses, part in awe up at her and form into a beautiful smile. Or the way you reach up to wrap your arms around her neck and curl your fingers into her hair to drag her back down for more kisses. Or the way you grind up into her front, smearing the front of your pants with your wetness as you eagerly hump up into the way she applies pressure for you.

“You’re so eager,” Meg laughs as she parts, breathless and dizzy off your taste. She moves down, pressing kisses to your neck and down over your collarbone to reach your breast. Gently lying on top of you so she may kiss there as well with a soft moan in her throat, “Lookin’ pretty as a picture, sweetheart.”

Her mouth seals over a nipple this time, licking at the bud and letting her other hand slide down between your legs. Meg shifts, making room between the two of you so she can cup your mound and slide two fingers through your lower lips to rub at your clit. The noises you make are far too beautiful, especially when she squeezes your clit lightly and your hips jump with a soft squeal exiting your lips.

“Aw, too much?” She coos, leaving your chest so she may nip down your body until she rests back between your legs. When you nod, throwing an arm over your face to hide your blush, Meg can’t help but grin. “That’s alright, baby doll, you’ll like this part much better- spread your legs just a bit more?”

When you near immediately obey with shaky legs, she coos again, low in her chest and kissing at the very top of your mound to give you an idea of where she’s going. “Good, you’re so obedient, can’t believe ya made me wait this long,” You seem to get drunk off her voice, judging by the way you nod again and lift your hips up just a bit more. Meg could laugh, she could, but she’s just as drunk as you are from your scent alone.

Two fingers spread your lower lips, Meg’s lips fluttering kisses down over your slit, down over your clit to where she pecks again and again until you whine. You move your arm, your other hand resting on the back of her head and see the way she looks at you. She looks at you like a pleased cat now that she’s caught your eye, grinning briefly before sealing her lips over your clit and giving a small suck.

Not your...best moment with the way you make a loud, high pitched noise, and hide back in your arm, arching your back and your hand that had grabbed her hair shoving her right back down against you. Her laughter may have been worth it in the end, but your cheeks burn when she gets to working on you.

Slow, long licks over you from hole to clit, as if savoring your taste. The way she moans against you doesn’t help either. Her hands come underneath your thighs, snaking up and around them until she can grasp at your upper thighs and dig her nails in before she sets her tongue on your clit alone.

“Fuck-” You hiss out, tossing your head to the side and lifting your hips up everytime she gets a little bit more intense. It gets to the point where you’re practically humping her face, abandoning your politeness by the time she moves one arm from your thighs so she can work two fingers into your slick hole.

It’s far too much. From the way her tongue works you over as if she’s known your body for centuries, to the way her fingers curl and pump inside of you. Twisting and scissoring to press upwards until both your hands are in her hair and you’re making the most beautiful noises to her ears.

You cum with a sharp cry, grinding upwards against her and pushing her head down. Meg’s eyes flutter as she tries to look up at you, watching your lips part and your brow furrow as your body shakes with each wave from the orgasm.

A sigh leaves your lips, satisfied as your hands ease on her hair to pet it back from her face instead, fisting it into a ponytail for her. It’s sweet the way you look down at her fondly, a smile on your lips and eyes half lidded.

It’s even sweeter when your eyes shoot open when Meg smirks cockily and nuzzles right back between your legs to make herself at home for another orgasm.

Or two.

Of course when she’s finally done with you by the night you’re a mess, tired and scrambling to snuggle her by the time she gets up, cleans off, and comes back to your bed. You try to murmur that you’ll repay her or get her next time, but as you drift off to sleep, arms around her and your nose nuzzling against her jaw?

She can’t think of anything else she’d ever want.

[narniaandplowmen]

The Wild Returned

Fandom: The Witcher  Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier  Also on AO3 6773 words.

General Audiences / No Archive Warnings Apply Complete

When he arrived back at the foot of the mountain, Geralt most decisively went in the complete opposite direction of Jaskier’s smell. He didn’t hear the animal following him at a safe distance.

* * *

Jaskier didn’t necessarily plan on following Geralt. They just happened to be travelling in the same direction, that was all.

[Read the first chapter here]

Please note that this chapter mentions suicide, though no characters actually commit suicide.

CHAPTER 2 - The Wild Returned

He had thought it had been a misunderstanding, a mistake, some sort of error. Surely Jaskier would be teaching in Oxenfurt, or flirting with Countess de Stael, or gracing the court of some king or other with his presence and performance. But as time went on, and village after village and city after city and person after person confirmed that the famous Jaskier had indeed disappeared, Geralt started to panic.

His first instinct was to travel back to the last place he had seen Jaskier, to trace him from there. So that was exactly what he did. He asked for information in the villages he passed along the way, some of them more helpful than others. He didn’t fail to notice that every place seemed to have at least one citizen who, though eying him suspiciously, was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Geralt knew that Jaskier’s songs were widespread and popular, but he had never truly appreciated their effects until now.

It wasn’t till the first rain of stones landed on him that he had realised just how long ago it had been since the last time anyone had chased him away like that. And what had he said to Jaskier the last time he had seen him, maybe the last time he would ever see the bard? Something about ‘if life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands’?

He didn’t want to admit it, but the pressing silence without the ever-chattering bard on his side got to him. He didn’t even talk to Roach anymore, his tongue too heavy to fill the unfamiliar quiet around him. In the past two decades, he had grown accustomed to telling Roach what he wanted to tell Jaskier but couldn’t, but now there were no more words to say. What did Roach care that they would rest in an hour, that they would reach a village before nightfall, that the bird whistling in the distance was a rare black redstart?

The wolf still followed him, and still refused to accept any food. Instead, the creature occasionally left freshly-killed prey for him to find, like some invisible guardian, as if Geralt were some young pup unable to take care of himself.

* * *

They were a day’s travel away from the mountain when Geralt addressed the wolf for the first time since leaving Kaer Morhen.

‘I don’t-’ the words sounded broken in his untrained throat. ‘I don’t know when exactly you started following me, but we’re near the mountain range where I first noticed you. Well over 200 miles west of there, but still.’ He stared into his small fire for a while before speaking once more. ‘I’m here to find a-’ he fell silent once more. How could he even begin to describe what Jaskier was to him? ‘A- a friend, I suppose. Although I never told him that. Instead, I was a dick.’ Now that the words were coming he couldn’t stop. ‘I blamed him for everything wrong with my life, even though none of that was his fault. He didn’t tell me to claim the law of surprise, that was my own stupid fault. And I made the wish that almost made him die. And- And I can’t even count the number of times that the money he earned allowed me to eat, allowed me to bathe, allowed me to sleep in safety. And what did I do to repay him? Chase him away, like I do with every mortal that comes too close. I’m an idiot.’

If he wasn’t terribly afraid of chasing away the one thing that voluntarily stayed with him, he would have screamed.

The next day, at the bottom of the mountain, he decisively walked into the forest, towards the place he had run away from what seemed like so long ago.

When he didn’t hear the steps of the wolf following him, he pretended it didn’t hurt.

* * *

The forest floor revealed no footprints. The flowery cover of Jaskier’s scent had long since faded away, although the distinctive autumn pinewood smell that had followed him for two entire decades had not ceased to tease his nose ever since the fateful day he had cursed the man and left him for dead. Geralt knew it was foolish, knew that there was no way of knowing where Jaskier had gone, but he trudged on anyway.

The forest was filled with caverns and caves, some leading to long, dark, winding underground mazes, others leading to deep, endless pools or fast-rushing waters. The small relief that no monsters - save for himself - seemed to be roaming these woods was undone by his rapidly growing anxiety that Jaskier could have gotten lost anywhere. One wrong turn, one misstep and the bard could have fallen to his doom, or gotten lost in the tunnels carved out by centuries of streaming water. If Jaskier was truly gone, had truly disappeared into these woods never to be seen again, then-

Geralt didn’t dare finish that thought. Instead, he entered yet another cave and yelled the bard’s name, desperately wishing he wouldn’t find a rotted skeleton clad in red leather.

He continued combing through the forest and its caverns as the sun set, using the light of the waxing, almost-full moon as his guide. He was considering taking Cat when a sudden bark disrupted his search. In the distance, he could see the silhouette of a large wolf. It barked again, before disappearing into a cave, reappearing moments later as if to see if Geralt followed.

Muttering to himself that he was going mental, Geralt grabbed Roach’s reins and followed.

* * *

The cave the wolf had disappeared into was surprisingly light. Although the edges of the quiet pool would have been impossible for humans to see, the moon shining through the web-covered hole in the ceiling brightened the slippery stone and dark water more than enough for the Witcher’s eyes. More than enough for him to see a tuft of bright fabric poking out of a slit in the wall. More than enough for him to find sure footing whilst rushing towards it, more than enough for him to grab it, to touch it, to feel, see, smell, know that the shirt he was cradling, still smelling faintly of flowers through the damp, cavernous scent, was once Jaskier’s.

Geralt’s feeling of dread grew as he found more and more possessions of the bard hidden through the cavern.

Songbooks, lute strings, some coins, a comb, a dagger and an ornate ring.

And, as the angle of the moon slowly changed during the night and something glittering in the pool caught his eye, the freezing temperatures of the water was not the only reason Geralt shivered. Perfume bottles, a bag filled with clothes, rusted jewellery, tiny rotten wooden statues, various nicknacks and trinkets picked up during their travels, ones he had always teased Jaskier about when the bard complained about his heavy luggage.

It was sunrise when Geralt finally left the cave and rejoined a nervous Roach. Next to her stood a large, grey wolf with piercing blue eyes reminiscent of the man who must, had, couldn’t possibly be otherwise than at the deepest bottom of the underground lake, deeper than he could dive.

It was then that Geralt collapsed and cried.

They had been travelling for three weeks when Jaskier realised where they were heading. He had no idea why on earth Geralt would want to go back there, what there was to gain from visiting that cursed place where he had ripped Jaskier’s heart in pieces as if it were a loaf of soft bread served alongside a bowl of stew. Jaskier huffed. Living in the wilderness without his human body or talking companions had really taken away his more poetic tendencies.

He still followed, though he lingered wherever he could. That aching emptiness that had taken hold of him the moment Geralt had revealed his true sentiments, the void that had slowly started to mend itself as time went on, was torn open a little bit further with every step he took, every day they walked, every week that passed. Jaskier knew that if Geralt would climb that mountain back to the rock where it had happened, he would not be able to follow.

If Geralt climbed the mountain, Jaskier would turn and join his family for good.

For a moment, Jaskier feared that Geralt knew, that he had unmasked his disguise and was travelling to the mountain on purpose, as some sort of cruel punishment for continuing to follow him, against the man’s deepest wishes.

With every step closer to the mountain, that fear grew.

A day before they would arrive, the Witcher spoke, and Jaskier feared no more.

* * *

That night, as Geralt lay asleep, Jaskier slipped away in the direction of the forest where he had left his belongings. He wasn’t quite sure what to do next.

It was midday by the time he heard a familiar, rough voice call his name in the distance.

The sun had set by the time the Witcher came even remotely close to the correct cave. Jaskier stood and watched as the man methodically entered, searched and exited each cave, yelling a name he hadn't heard in almost a year. The forest, the caves, the chill in the air, the memories of the words spit in his direction not that far away from here tore through his heart as the voice breaking through the silent forest became more and more desperate.

When Geralt moved to step into a cavern Jaskier remembered lead to a steep drop into rapidly rushing water, he barked.

And immediately cursed himself for doing so. But it was too late, the man had heard. Of course he had, and now Jaskier had no choice but to act, but to point out the cave in which he had hidden his possessions, to lead him away from the danger Jaskier himself had almost fallen in. The gods only knew what would happen.

Jaskier closed his eyes and tried to be thankful that he at least got almost another year of being with Geralt.

Besides, Jaskier was pretty sure he would be able to outrun and outhide the Witcher in this environment, if worst came to worst.

The outcome he didn’t expect was the man coming out of the cave soaking wet, collapsing in front of him and crying.

[castielista]

Lasers and distractions

A Cherik laser tag AU

So, this little fic is the first one I ever write, and it has encouraged me to keep writing. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and please, feel free to leave your opinion or criticism, I’d adore that. <3.

Prompt: the old but gold "take me laser tagging and then push me into a corner and kiss me. Then shoot me and walk away"

Words: 1508

Read it on Ao3

Charles, Erik and their colleagues go laser tagging, a game in which Charles has always excelled. But Erik turns out to be much better than him, and Charles is very distracted by that fact.

“Fuck." Sean fell awkwardly on the ground.

By the time he lifted his head up to identify his shooter, Erik had put his gun aside and was already far away, moving silently, searching for his next victim.

Charles watched it from a safe distance.

The afternoon the group decided going laser tagging, mainly at Hank and Raven's insistence, every single one of them had bragged about how skilled they were at this kind of games. And Charles, maybe more than anyone else, had boasted about his rather excellent aim, and his top-notch ability to sense enemies at a considerable distance.

"Darlings, you really believe you stand the slightest of chances?" he had said solemnly, his finger pointed towards them. "You'll witness what a telepath is capable of," he threatened, knowing that, as always, he would suppress his powers.

Since he was a child, Charles had thought that using his powers to get ahead was unfair, so in those games, he lowered them to a minimum. Erik, of course, couldn't disagree more on this choice. Nevertheless, now that his rivals were fellow mutants, Charles considered loosening up his powers a bit, and either way, he had already enjoyed himself terrorizing his colleagues, who knew deep down that Charles was far more powerful than he deliberately appeared.

But then there was Erik. He hadn't said a word in the whole afternoon until he directed a sly look towards Charles, insinuated a smile, and with the most innocent of voices he said something that no one really understood, "I will love seeing you do that, Charles.”

Now Charles understood what that had been all about. He most certainly did. By the end of the first fifteen minutes, more than a half of them were out of the game, and those left had been intelligent enough to stay as far away from Erik as possible.

And from his hiding place, Charles watched him in genuine awe.

He was dangerous (worryingly so, taking into account that they were only playing with harmless guns), but he couldn't possibly get his eyes off him. Erik didn't give away the slightest sign of unrest, and looked as if he was having a real blast of his own massacre. His gestures were subtle, deadly-aimed, as he got close, fired and vanished again. Never hesitated. His body always delicate as a feather and precise as a fine watch.

He looked like a dancer.

Charles thought that had to be the most erotic thing he had seen in his life. They had been together for more than eight years, and one would think that by that time they would have got used to each other’s quirks, but he kept finding it mesmerizing whenever he caught these glimpses of Erik being so... Erik.

He was so absorbed by it that if it wasn't for the skills that he had previously bragged about (and that he did possess), he was sure he would've been knocked out at the very beginning.

After a while, he shook his head. Enough was enough, he decided. It was time he took action. Erik could be an unstoppable force of nature (and an absolute delight to watch), but until that moment, Charles had been unbeatable. He prepared his gun and targeted Erik, trusting his brilliant aim.

But he blinked and his prey was gone.

Well, he thought, he should have seen it coming. It would’ve been too easy. Charles grunted as he lowered his gun and turned around to take a quick look. Maybe Raven wa-

"Charles."

It took him a millisecond longer than usual to pull the trigger, and when he tried, Erik had already taken his gun away from him with insulting ease.

"Erik?"

How could he..? How in hell did he manage to get there so easily?

Now Erik stood still in front of him. God, damn him and his natural elegance. Charles' eyes wandered mindlessly over his figure and for a moment he felt as if Erik had done the same, but he was too distracted to know it for sure.

"Charles, love, I can protect you. We could form an alliance, if you wanted."

An alliance? He sounded perfectly calm as he looked around. He was telling the truth, Charles told himself, brushing the very surface of Erik's mind and checking his words.

"You... you are amazing at this. Where did you... how did you find me?" Charles tried forcing his voice to sound even. He failed.

"I’ve been feeling watched for a while now." Charles could almost see himself blushing. Erik seemed incredibly serious, but there was a suspicious twinkle in his eyes. "Come on, Emma must be close," he said, returning Charles his gun and moving in front of him in order to protect him. "Follow me."

Charles hesitated. He would've sworn that Emma was already out.

But Erik's hand settled on his shoulder wanting to guide him, and instinctively, he followed him. Of course he did. He would've followed him to the ends of the earth. Even if in this game he was not completely sure of his intentions, Charles knew Erik wouldn't let anyone shoot him. At least, he thought, any other that Erik himself. No one trusted him as deeply as Charles, and they were both well aware that this utter faith was entirely mutual.

At that moment, more than anything else, Charles wanted to play Erik's game. He wanted to stop reading his thoughts and let Erik guide his curious mind, so that's what he did. They walked through halls and walls for a couple of minutes, ready to fire, guiding, protecting and trusting each other.

Suddenly, Erik turned abruptly towards a hidden corner, grabbing Charles from the collar and dragging him along. As they turned around, with his usual finesse Erik used the motion to place the telepath's back against the wall, while he kept a hand on his shoulder and trapped Charles with his weight.

They locked eyes for a moment, expectant, restless.

It was Erik who, after making sure there was no one near them, finally made the last inches that kept them apart disappear, kissing Charles fiercely, as if that would be the goal of the game.

Charles offered resistance for less than a second, before he helplessly let himself go into Erik's lure. Immediately, he moved one arm over his shoulders, and began petting Erik’s hair, which had been perfectly combed until that moment. Erik did the same with Charles, digging his fingertips into his much messier hair, toying with brown strands. As he did that, Erik's mouth started wandering around the side of Charles' neck, and left a handful of kisses there.

Charles let out a soft moan and felt its impact on Erik's mind, who felt encouraged and began biting the skin between neck and collarbone.

In the midst of that cloud of love, arousal and desire, Charles realized that he could easily reach for his gun. It only required a simple gesture, and he would most certainly win.

He didn't do it.

"I- I love you... Erik," Charles murmured.

He couldn't help it. Charles tended to be excessively verbal when they made love, or when he simply felt overwhelmed by Erik, and damn it, he was feeling overwhelmed by him at the moment. Though he often complained about his inability to shut up, Charles knew for a fact that Erik actually loved when he did that.

So maybe it was that what changed Erik's expression. The sheer desire in his eyes became a much more affectionate stare, and he slowed down the rhythm, as if he wanted to take a moment between kisses to study Charles carefully. Then he placed a hand on his cheek and brushed his thumb over Charles' lower lip. And he let out a sincere smile.

Surprised, or maybe just fascinated by Erik's last reaction, the telepath gave into the more languid pace, and he returned the smile. Because he felt, indeed, happy. Because with Erik, the complex and dazzling Erik, he felt at home.

By now, the kisses had stopped. They pressed their foreheads together, both seized by a soft feeling of euphoria, filling silence with their shallow breathing. And Charles knew, he was willing to make that little moment last forever.

A noise. Sudden. Metallic.

Charles' eyes opened in an almost comical way. “Erik?” he wanted to say, but his throat had stopped working.

Did he just...? Now, Erik couldn't stop grinning, satisfied. Without getting his eyes off Charles', he tenderly dragged a lock of brown hair away from his face, and put aside his gun as silently as he had pulled it out. There was a red light on Charles' vest. Of course he did.

For the last time, Erik crossed the little distance that was left between them, and pressed his lips lightly on Charles', "We can continue this later. I wanted to take care of you personally.” Then, he drew back, looked at Charles tenderly, and just before turning away and leaving, he said, "I love you, Charles."

Thank you so so much for reading <3

[sunflowersseemhappy]

“You’re not making this any easier.” Muriel X Female MC (Fluff... I think?)

I am dying for requests please send any you want in!

“You’re not making this any easier Muriel,” sighing in aspiration you pinch your tongue between your teeth in concentration, meticulously teasing the tangles from Muriel’s damp hair as he fidgets under your touch. Perched on a stool you can feel the ache in your arms growing with the passing of the evening, it had been a busy day at the shop. With customers coming and going all day, you had barely had time to eat your lunch. After arriving back in Muriel’s hut, you found him struggling out of mud caked clothes and looking like he had been dragged through a hedge, unable to watch him struggle you insisted on helping him clean up.

“I could do it myself.” Grumbling from his position seated in the large metal tub, Muriel tries to turn his head to look at you, carefully keeping the rest of his body submerged in the soapy water. You smirk at his modesty with a roll of your eyes, massaging a hand though his scalp in your search for offending burrs and leaves tangled in his hair.

“Oh really?” You tease, picking a burr from his hair and placing it softly aside. Trailing your hands over his shoulders and massaging the base of his neck, you lean up next to his ear. “Because from the way I’m looking at it you would never be able to find all these burrs that you said were bothering you.”

“I’ll just cut them out,” averting his eyes Muriel splashes the water with his hand and looks into the fire. Combing your fingers one last time through his hair you gently place a kiss at the base of his neck with a wry laugh.

“No need to be so dramatic!” Pushing yourself up from the stool you stretch out your arms above your head with a yawn. Muriel glances up at you with a thoughtful look as you continue, “besides, I like your hair how it is. It makes you look handsome.” Walking to the side of the tub you kneel looking into his eyes and trailing a hand in the water.

 “Y/N are you okay?” Encircling your hand with his own, Muriel leans close toward you. You had been more muted than usual; he liked your endless chatter even if you said it was normal for a human being to talk as much as you did.

“Hm?” Snapping out of your daze you can’t help but squeeze his hand, shaking your head with a soft smile. “Just tired, I was run off my feet in the shop today. Seems everyone has a problem they need me to deal with lately, what I wouldn’t give for a break.” You chuckle out beginning to stand, but Muriel holds you in place with his hand giving you a hard stare.

“Come here,” Pulling you toward him Muriel gets you to sit on the edge of the tub, barely catching yourself you wonder what he’s planning. “Take off your clothes,” you look incredulously at him and the tub, surprised at his forwardness and the fact the tub is not nearly large enough for the two of you.

“What?” You barely stutter the words out, pausing as Muriel catches your chin softly with his fingers raising his brows expectantly and pulling you into a kiss. His mouth grazing the corner of your own quickly and softly beckoning you to him. Breaking away Muriel runs a finger over your cheek and pleadingly looks into your eyes.

“Your break starts now. Okay?” His tone commanding and insistent as he sits in the water, suddenly you can feel the weight of the day upon your shoulders as he looks at you.

“I-” you begin to complain but his pleading eyes stop you, relenting you roll your eyes and kick off your boots. “Okay.”

 Quickly shrugging on a robe, you tread up next to the tub, Muriel sitting up as you cross over toward him. With just him inside the water is already threatening to spill over the sides, but he remains unmoving watching you.

“We’re not both going to fit.” You chuckle, propping yourself on the side of the tub and running your hand through the water once more. The water is not nearly as warm as you hoped it would be. “It’s not very warm either…”

“Shut up,” grabbing your waist Muriel all but drags you into the water causing water to pour over the sides onto the wooden floors. Laughing as he pulls you to sit against him Muriel encircles you with his arms, pulling you against his chest and resting his head against your shoulder. Huffing you settle against him, comforted by the hug and the water soothing your skin. Summoning magic to your fingers you call upon heat to spread through the water, warming it to a comfortable degree. Sighing in contentment you sink down.

“So demanding.” You joke craning your head to look up into Muriel’s face, your heart flutters at the look he gives you. His eyes softly gazing down at you, you can’t help but notice the way his skin shines in the firelight, the flames of the fire caught in his green eyes. Adoration building up in your stomach you shift your gaze back down to his arms wrapped around you. Glistening with water you can’t help but notice the scars stark against his skin, you’ve seen them before, but the water almost makes them appear fresh.

 “What is it?” Muriel questions from behind you, earning your attention back to his face but wincing at how far you have to turn your neck. Seeing this you feel Muriel shift, his arms unwarping from around you and gesturing for you to turn to face him as he lowers himself in the tub. You turn your front to his, ungracefully but effectively laying atop him. Raising your arms and folding them on his chest you lay your head upon them.

“Just thinking,” you feel your eyes draw to his, faces barely a foot apart. One hand rests against the small of your back, steadying you whilst the other strokes your shoulder. Muriel looks thoughtfully at you.

“About what?”

 “Your scars…” You wait for a negative reaction, but none comes. “It was just a thought; you’ve never told me how you got them.” Muriel’s brow furrows his eyes flicking down and then back to you as he hears you audibly swallow.

“I-why?” Confused Muriel shifts, you can’t tell if it’s because of the conversation or the position the two of you are in but you can feel him tense.

“Um,” you heave out a breath and shake your head. “Never mind, it was a stupid question…”

“Y/N, nothing you say is ever stupid.” Muriel answers softly, sliding his hand from your shoulder Muriel cups your cheek and searches your face “Why did you want to know?”

“Well… I’m curious, we’ve been together all this time and I still don’t know everything.” You admit, cautiously shifting a hand to trace the large scar that trails from his shoulder to his midsection. His breath hitches, “I think scars are interesting, they tell a story. A lesson you learned. I want to learn everything about you Muriel because you’re the most interesting person I’ve met.”

“What if you don’t like the story?”

“I may not like it,” you tilt your head and place your hand that was tracing his scar over his heart. “But that part of your life is over and you’re not a bad person. You’re just a person who had to protect the people he loves, I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same for you in a heartbeat.” At this Muriel frowns, for a moment you think you’ve crossed a boundary, but Muriel lets out a long sigh.

“What do you want to know?”

 “This one, it’s the largest so I bet it has a good story.” You point at the one you traced, slipping your hands around his neck you lean your head against his chest. Muriel’s heart thumping steadily with his breath as he begins.

“It was my first battle in the arena…” Carefully forming the words as if its hard to remember Muriel’s face takes on a grave appearance. “Lucio pit me against an experienced fighter, wanting to test me. I was fighting for my life the entire time. He nicked me a few times…” He lifts his hand up to trace the scar above his eye in thought.

“Then?” You question.

“I started beating him back, when I thought it was over, I turned my back on him. Only to realise he wasn’t finished. He came at me with his spear swiped me in the chest, it was a bad wound and I couldn’t get back up. Only reason I was alive was because Lucio stopped the fight. Guess he wanted a bit more fight out of me.” Muriel’s face takes on a dark scowl as he thinks of the Count and the arena, but he remains gently stroking your shoulder and holding you close. As if he’s afraid of loosing you, even in the small tub.

“Muriel…” You pull yourself up facing him, his eyes catch the worry on your face, and he tries his best to look you in the eye. Smiling in understanding you lift your lips to the scar over his brow and kiss the soft skin there, trailing your lips down his nose and kissing him gently on the lips. Responding to your touch Muriel kisses back sighing against your lips as you pull back and trail more along his jaw and to his shoulder where the large scar lays stark against his skin.

 “I always wondered about yours.” Muriel stops you catching your attention, you were surprised he had ever noticed your own small scars peppered along your shoulder blade. They were so small you forgot they were there sometimes, but he had noticed, and that made you appreciate him all the more.

“Oh,” embarrassed you shake your head. “No, you don’t want to hear it, it’s stupid.”

“I told you mine,” Muriel defends, the corners of his mouth tilting upward. But it was only fair, no matter how embarrassing the story was in your eyes.

“It was the first week I came back, Asra had left to get some supplies and I wasn’t too confident on my legs. I was thirsty, so I got up and tried to walk. I got a glass and filled it, but then I dropped it and…” You wince at the memory.

“I slipped. The glass cut me up and Asra found me an hour later lying on the floor in a pool of blood. I felt so bad because he blamed himself. It was… It was my first scar, but I’m pretty sure I had some before. My knee aches sometimes and my jaw feels funny when it rains. I’m pretty sure it’s like phantom pain or whatever but there aren’t any scars.”

“You’re right that is stupid,” Muriel admits with a laugh.

“Hey!” Despite the jest you laugh with him, laying your forehead against his chest as you do so. Muriel’s arms pull you up to his face and he peppers you with kisses, laughing all the while. You let out a pleased sigh as his lips graze your jaw and run across your neck to the scars on your shoulder, both of your movements causing water to drench the floor around the tub.

 “Just so you know, I adore you. Scars and all.” Leaning back Muriel looks down at you as you lay your head back on his chest tiredly closing your eyes.

“I love you too.” Your breath out heavily, eyes fluttering shut. The next moment you’re asleep pressed against Muriel as if he was a lifeline.

“Y/N?” All that answers him is a mumble and a snore, Muriel lays a hand on the back of your head. “You really needed to relax huh?”

[famouslastwordsinmexico]

Suggested for You

     You think to yourself, I shouldn’t have looked that up online.

     You’re now staring at a bunch of banner ads that frame your email inbox. Each one is attempting to entice you to purchase succulents from flower shops near and far, small and conglomerated. The bright, animated images boast to you about how their store’s succulents will set you on the path to self-care while reconnecting you with nature. You know these ads are suggested to you and tailored specifically for you based on your search history, but, really, you just wanted to know how to spell “succulent”.

     To be fair, you probably shouldn’t be looking up non-work related curiosities while actually at work, but it’s been a slow morning. And yet, right as you excuse yourself for the trivial indiscretion, you’re called into your manager’s office. You lock your computer and worriedly head over to where they wait for you. Upon entering the room you see that there is someone else here for this impromptu meeting. Or, rather, someone has video-called in, their face on your manager’s monitor, which has been turned to meet yours.

    “A representative from HR will be joining us remotely,” your manager informs you. They then sit on the front edge of their desk, not behind it, in a manner you suspect all managers unironically believe comes off as cool and relaxed.

    “Huh. Is something wrong?” You cautiously take your seat, looking between them and the digital HR rep.

    “Oh, no, not at all. It’s just a small request.” They fold their hands in front of them. “That presentation you’re working on for Friday; I wanted to ask if you would give it over to Robert.”

    “Robert? Why? I thought it was supposed to be my project.” You worked hard on that presentation, and even harder on that project. It was something that was going to get you noticed by the higher-ups, a first step towards bigger things.

    “It is. Or, it was. It…” They stop themselves, physically appear to reset, and adopt a concerned face. “We’re simply worried it might be putting too much stress on you.” They lean in. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright with you?”

    “Uh… I’m doing fine?” You’re progressively less certain about what’s happening.

    “You sure? You can be honest with us.” They lean back. “We’ve heard you’ve been depressed.”

    The shock of this gives you mental whiplash.

    “‘Depressed’?” you echo. “Why would you think that?”

    “Well,” they begin, affecting the concerned yet distant tone in which only senior managers are capable of speaking, “it’s come to our attention that you’ve been sharing some pretty troubling sentiments.”

    “I only really talk about work-related stuff with people, honestly.”

    “No, I’m referring to the stuff you share online.”

    Dumbfounded, you blink.

    “You see,” your manager explains, “we recently employed a service that keeps us up to date with our employees.” They seem mildly pleased with themself over their technological ability. They speak to you but look at the HR rep on screen. “Of course, it’s only because we care for the well-being of everyone here in the office. And their software told us that you’ve been feeling quite down lately. They even highlighted some examples; is it not true that you recently posted about how nothing really matters?”

    You don’t recall using those words for anything. As you confusedly shrug, they pull out their phone and hand you it, showing the post in question.

    “Wait, what?” you ask. “Those are song lyrics. To a very popular song! I shared them for a ‘Throwback Thursday’.”

    “Hmm, no,” they say, taking their phone back. “I’m still seeing a cry for help. Like, what about this one: ‘All I want is to sleep and pizza and do nothing and sleep’? That sounds pretty depressed.”

    “That was one of those online things where people let auto-complete write a post for them.”

    “Sure, then how do you explain this post, where you describe how you wish the food truck across the street would ‘run you over’ if you ‘tipped extra’ for your burrito before you got back in from lunch?”

    “That’s a really old post I made when I was at my old job. The one I left for this job! I made that joke to vent. Other people liked it.” Specifically two people: a friend, and the food truck’s company (which you presume auto-likes any mention of their brand).

    Your manager sighs as they shake their head.

    “Come on, now, you don’t have to hide. You can be honest.” They lean in again. “This is sophisticated software; it wouldn’t lie. Its algorithm combed through your life and crunched the numbers. You are depressed. And, if you’re feeling depressed, we want to make sure the company isn’t placing any undue stress on you. Wouldn’t want you turning around and saying we’re unfair, or that we torment you with public speaking, huh?” No one laughs at their non-joke. The HR rep briefly writes something on their notepad. “Right. Well, when we ask you to hand the presentation off to Robert, it’s not just because we want it to turn out well, it’s because we want you to be well, too.”

    “You’re punishing me because of memes?” you ask, unsure of how much incredulity you can show without further risking your job.

    “Oh, no, of course not,” they reply, “we would never!” At this point your manager doesn’t even try to hide that they’re assuring the HR rep more than they’re talking to you. “This company does not punish depression. In fact,” they add, turning back to you, “why don’t you take the rest of the day off? We’ll mark it down as a sick day, a day for ‘personal care’, even.” They nod to themself, satisfied. “I’ll mark it down in your time sheet right now.”

    They pull out their phone and begin typing, finished with this meeting. You want to tell them not to do that, since you only have a limited number of sick days, but feel there’d be no use arguing. You stand up, at a loss for words. As you slowly turn to leave you find the HR rep is pointing towards the printer in the room. It prints off something you deduce they sent remotely. It appears to be a pamphlet. The person in the monitor motions for you to pick it up, their face set in the textbook definition of a polite smile. The pamphlet is titled Dealing with Depression.

    Your smartwatch pings as you grab the pamphlet and the screen displays an ad for succulents. You turn the watch off.

    You don’t feel like going home right away. You instead head to a nearby cafe and order the kind of sugary latte you know isn’t worth the high price and higher calorie count, but you could use the comfort. There are no real baristas here, only machines that charge you extra to print a picture of yourself onto the latte foam. You pay the extra amount. You then sign on to the free wifi, checking off the terms and conditions you didn’t read, and take a picture of your cup to share online. Not five minutes of browsing later you get a call from your mom. You plug in your headset and answer.

    “Are you alright?” she asks.

    “Yeah, how do you mean?” You wonder why everyone’s asking you that today.

    “Because you’re not at work!” You realize now that the picture you just posted is location-tagged. “And I know what kind of drinks you like when you’re feeling sad; I’m your mother, after all.” You should’ve never accepted her friend request.

    “No, it’s not that, it’s just… I’m alright. Working from home today, but I figured I’d grab a coffee. That’s all, I promise.”

    You don’t think she believes you but her silence tells you she won’t push if you don’t want to tell her the truth. You instead get a notification on your phone that your mom has sent you a “poke”, a feature that only moms still remember exists. She breaks the silence first.

    “Well, okay then,” she offers, “if you say so. Anyways, there was something else I wanted to ask you about.” Her tone gets conspiratorial for her next question. “Are you and Jamie dating?”

    “What?!” You nearly choke on your latte. “No! Why do you think that?”

    “Your aunts told me,” she answers plainly. “And, apparently, some of their friends told them first. They’re still not used to, you know, those kinds of relationships.” As progressive as your mom can be, her age and upbringing still show from time to time.

    “I don’t even know my aunts’ friends, why would they think I’m dating Jamie?”

    “They saw your picture online.”

    You rub your eye, annoyed.

    “What picture, mom?”

    “Well,” she starts, and if phones still had cords you could imagine your mom twirling hers now, wrapping her finger as she shares the gossip, “you see, one of your aunts’ friends was online and saw you as a suggested friend.” You never understood what algorithms determined those suggestions. “She was curious, so she went in and browsed your page. There it was, a photo of the two of you, looking pretty close and cozy.”

    You check your account on your phone. There’s no way someone randomly looking you up online could’ve seen that photo. Although, how many times did the site tell you they were updating their privacy policy and you opted to skip the details of what that meant?

    “Mom, didn’t you see that picture yourself before? That was just Jamie and me playing around. You know we’re just friends.”

    “Yes, I thought it was nothing. But, those friends of your aunts talk a lot, and they do seem very convinced. I looked at the picture again and it got me thinking.” Her tone gets conspiratorial again. “Are you dating Jamie? I’d have nothing against it. Your father, though…” You block the headset mic to hide your exasperated sigh, and then interrupt before she can finish the thought.

    “We’re not close, mom, not like that. My aunts and their friends are making up stories.” You wonder how scrutinized any future pictures you post will be. Maybe you should restrict how much of your profile your mom can access. You’ll have to figure out the new privacy settings first.

    “Yes, fine, you’re right. I’m simply saying they sounded convinced, is all.” You can almost picture her busying herself with some chores at home to prove that she’s over it. And yet she adds, “I will say, though, that if you were with Jamie, I’d be very supportive. Jamie’s lovely, and would be lucky to have you.”

    You hide another exasperated sigh and change the topic. When she’s had her fill of catching up, your mom says goodbye and you hang up.

    You sit in the cafe, your mouth contorted in contemplation save for when you sip from your cup. You thought you were good at keeping your personal and online lives separate, but thanks to dubious algorithms and out-of-touch inquirers, your agency at work has been diminished and your sexuality is being questioned by people who’d be less than understanding. Even if you restrict who gets access to your information, what little slips through the cracks is still interpreted without context. Is that what the internet is now? For people to be data-mined so other people can make assumptions? Who wanted it that way?

    Your phone sets off with another notification, informing you that a local indoor plant store has followed you online. They specialize in succulents.

    You almost laugh out loud at the insanity of it. Of course; this hunt for data is mostly the hunt for ad revenue. While it’s a marvel how fervently someone on the other side of the screen wants to believe they understand you, advertisers are the ones who set the system up. And even they can’t seem to get it right!

    The fever of frustration breaks, giving way to a fever of defiance. Why leave room to be misinterpreted? You decide to live your online life unabashedly and unafraid to share all. Will someone be tracking your moves? You don’t care, but if they are you hope they can keep up.

    You grab your phone and browse with fury and determination. You share news articles and let your political leanings lay bare as you never had before. You hit “publish” on every dumb joke and inane thought you had previously hid shamefully as drafts. You post all of the pictures in your phone, and when you’re done with those you take a couple more. You follow musicians, actors, and influencers alike, so that no one would have to guess what your tastes are. You join in as many forum conversations as you can, and only stop when a person you’re arguing with, who has an anime-girl profile picture, threatens to dox you. You log off.

    When you finally get home you’re bleary eyed from unblinking browsing and shaky from the excess of caffeine. You want nothing more than to decompress. As you turn on your TV to search for something to stream and zone out to, you call out to your virtual assistant device and say, “Play something soothing.”

    Though your command was vague, as the speakers turn on they start playing exactly what you only now realize you had in mind. You love this band, even if you hadn’t thought of them in a while. Your phone goes off with a notification that this band has a concert coming up soon. As if on instinct triggered by serendipity, you click the notification to buy tickets.

    While browsing various streaming services on your TV you come across several documentaries that you’ve heard confirm a lot of opinions you’ve had on the state of things. While you’d love to be proven correct, you’re more in the mood for something light. You wonder if they have this one funny movie that’s a reboot of a movie that’s based on a book. Before you can remember the title you see it listed. You hit play.

    Ultimately, modern movie watching entails being on your phone, so you scroll through whatever new content was uploaded on your commute home. While you idly browse, you find another tailored ad, this time for a t-shirt boldly claiming that people born the same month as you are kind yet shouldn’t be messed with, each line in a different garish font.

    “Ha,” you laugh to yourself, “what a stupid ad.” Even after all the data you gave them, advertisers are no better than your manager or your aunts, thinking they know you and what’s best for you.

    Suddenly the page you’re on refreshes. What loads first is the ad, this time for a different shirt that’s admittedly more your style. The tagline reads, “Your life, your look.” Unsettled by the coincidence and feeling like you’ve found yourself in a conversation with your phone you didn’t know you were having, you try to click on a different link. More content loads just at that moment, though, shifting the layout of the page and leading you to click on the ad instead. Surprised, you fumble with your phone to close what’s popped up, but as your panicked fingers slip your phone decides you mean to go through with the order. You adjust your hold on your phone but somehow manage to set off a biometric scan that confirms the purchase.

    As if queued by your consumerist momentum, an ad interrupts the movie you’re watching (since when did this streaming service have ads?). The volume seems to increase on its own as the TV blares at you.

    “You don’t necessarily feel you age, so why look your age? Our skin cream can miraculously take 5 years off your face, letting your inner youth shine through.” The ad shows a model before and after using the cream. It makes a specific point of telling you the model’s age, which is your age.

    You search frantically for the remote to turn the volume down. No matter what angle you point the remote at it, the TV refuses to recognize your button pushing. You get up and simply turn off the TV manually. This gives your virtual assistant device space to chime in with a separate ad.

    “Tired of the long commute to your workplace? Find more free time while moving into one of the fastest growing neighbourhoods that’s perfect for you.” The voice emanating from your speakers describes listings in a building that you recognize is half a block away from your office. You run to unplug the device.

    One by one more “smart” appliances in your home, devices that you now question their need for internet connectivity, begin to play or display ads that were made to appeal to you exactly.

    “Our energy efficient windows fit your green lifestyle!” your thermostat boasts, citing a climate change article you just read.

    “Let us deliver the groceries you need for the recipes you love!” your fridge demands, listing off your actual favourite recipes.

    “Bzzt!” vibrates your electric toothbrush, calling you to look at its charger’s digital screen and see an ad for a dental clinic, featuring a close up of a mouth you’re weirdly certain is actually yours.

    As your apartment comes alive with the sounds of aggressive advertising, you’re terrified. You step out onto the balcony. You think to yourself, and only to yourself, that you need to get away.

    A delivery drone floats up from under your balcony and stops right at your eye level. It’s been outfitted with a display monitor. It plays a video.

    “Looking for a vacation?” it asks. “Why not fly out to Pasadena, California? You can visit the Cactus & Succulent Society of America’s annual show and sale!”

[cicada-bones]

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 11: The Bite

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The next week passed slowly, agonizingly.

Two more dead demi-Fae were found, both following the same strange patterns as the first, and yet Rowan was still no closer to identifying who- or what-ever was responsible. It infuriated him. And the princess certainly wasn’t helping.

Each day Rowan awoke before dawn, shaken abruptly from sleep by vivid, intense nightmares. He then spent his mornings pouring over papers, flying out to view the sites of the three dead bodies, or on fruitless searches for the dark creature he had seen with the princess.

As time passed, he was becoming more and more convinced that the two were one and the same, but without proof he was unwilling to commit to such a claim. And though he had combed through the record-keeping books held by the fortress, and had racked his brain for any memory, any mention of such a creature, he had come up with nothing.

He even sent letters out to his fellow blood-sworn, asking if they had ever seen or heard of anything that could possibly assist in his search. But it was unlikely that he would hear back from any of them any time soon, if ever. All Rowan could do was inform those nearby of the threat, while Malakai told the rest of the fortress. Attempting to keep them on their guard until the danger passed, or was defeated.

At noon each day, Rowan would go down the kitchens, collect the princess and lead her to the ruins on the ridge, where they sat. Pointlessly. For hours.

Time that Rowan could be spending in a myriad of other, more productive ways. Finding the creature that was killing the demi-Fae, for one. But no, he had to sit and babysit the brat while she refused, point-blank, to even try to shift.

It was infuriating.

While the hostility between them didn’t escalate into anything physical, the girl seemed to get more and more irritating with each day, each hour, that he was in her presence.

Just because Rowan was beginning to understand why she behaved the way she did, it did not mean for one second that her behavior was any less maddening. And he had dealt with grating personalities before – he’d trained Fenrys, for crying out loud – but none of them, absolutely none of them, had anything on this princess.

He’d gotten used to the others, and each had become familiar annoyances – hardly enough to prick his hide. Definitely not enough to pierce though his icy armor. But this girl, this child, always managed to find a new route of attack, a new way to surprise and infuriate him.

And through it all, those iron bars of fear in her head never swayed an inch. Nor did she find a way around them. The girl let her emotions rule her, control her, and yet no matter how he taunted, no matter how he snarled and sneered and hissed, she remained determinedly, resolutely human.

Always, with every other soldier placed in his charge, anger worked. The soldiers would break, would find the fight within them, if Rowan made them angry enough. Rage would turn even the most sniveling coward into someone who could stand and fight.

But not with this girl.

No matter how much they snarled and spat at each other, she refused to shift. And Rowan did not yet know what else to try. Of course, it didn’t hurt that her very presence made him angry enough to raze the whole mountain.

So, they exchanged insults, had silent arguments, and generally pissed each other off. Whenever she was particularly nasty, he made the princess chop wood until she could no longer feel her arms, saying that if she was going to waste his time, then she might as well be useful in some way.

Once, he even threatened to take her back to the barrow-fields, as it was the only time that she had even come close to making the shift, but she had snarled so viciously in response that he was forced backed off.

She said that she would slit her own throat before she went back there, and while having the girl dead and out of his life would certainly be a relief, the image of her lying on the ground, bleeding out from a ragged wound to her throat, didn’t sit well.

After they reappeared at the fortress each evening, Rowan would fly above the woodlands, letting the spring rains clear the girl’s blistering scent from his lungs. Then he would find his way to the kitchens, drawn by the soothing, familiar sound of Emrys’ stories.

The princess was there every night, along with every other unoccupied member of the fortress, due to the rains keeping them all indoors. She always ate on the shadowed steps, keeping well away from everyone, including Rowan. And he certainly wasn’t going to argue with that. Outside of training, there was no reason for them to have anything to do with each other.  

But then, on the eighth day after their arrival at Mistward, the aggravating pattern finally broke.

That morning, Rowan had discovered the third demi-Fae body. A female. She had been young, and utterly defenseless. Her body had been carelessly dumped in a ditch, her limbs splayed at odd angles and her face contorted in fear and agony.

She had not died well. And Rowan couldn’t do anything to prevent it from happening again. He was useless, utterly useless. And murderously enraged.

And the fury followed him through the rest of the morning, pounding in the background as talked with Malakai, sharpened his blades, stared at maps, and collected the princess from the kitchens.

But they were only partway through their hike when the girl suddenly stopped and said, “I have a request.”

Rowan turned to face her, regarding her flatly. Her black eye had only just started to fade, her frail body still weak and thin and pale – like she was recovering from a sickness. “I want to see you shift.”

Rowan blinked, the command in her voice familiar and infuriating. That superior tone grated on him more than anything else about her, more than even her arrogance, or her cowardice. Rowan took orders from his queen, and no other. That alone was hard enough already.

His voice was stormy as he said, “You don’t have the privilege of giving orders.”

She disregarded his provocation, and instead became almost earnest, persuasive. “Show me how you do it.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, skeptical. And though his fury did not sway one inch, and giving the girl anything she wanted only aggravated him further, Rowan supposed that nothing could be lost by showing her his shift. Particularly as she had already seen his animal form.

So Rowan stared back at her, silently saying, Just this once.

And he shifted with a flash of light, flying over to the nearest tree branch to perch and gauge her reaction. Her mouth was hanging open, her eyes carefully tracking him, and something like wonder emanated from her. She stared at him like he was some kind of zoo animal, or a plaything.

He clicked his beak, choking down that now all-too-familiar fury. Then when she looked away, scanning the ground distractedly, he lunged.

Rowan slashed his talons at her eyes, then shifted back in another flash of light and was once again clothed and armed and growling, inches from the princess’ face. “Your turn.”

She flinched back automatically, but didn’t react in any other way to his sudden attack. Which only angered him further.

“Where do your clothes go?”

“Between, somewhere. I don’t particularly care.”

She clenched her jaw, her eyes stony as she reacted to his hostile tone with her own irritation. Satisfaction washed through Rowan at the sight, and he bared his teeth at the girl, but she just held his stare evenly, breathing deep, steeling herself.

“Sometimes I wonder whether this is a punishment for you,” she snarled at him through her teeth, “But what could you have done to piss off her Immortal Majesty?”

“Don’t use that tone when you talk about her.”

This close to the princess, her scent coated his throat, enveloping his every sense in her flames, and her sweet, citrusy brightness. Her scent was intoxicating, and inescapable. He choked on it.

“Oh, I can use whatever tone I want. And you can taunt and snarl at me and make me chop wood all day, but short of ripping out my tongue, you can’t – ”

Without thinking, without any consideration for what he was doing, Rowan shot his hand out and grabbed her tongue. She gagged, and bit down on his fingers, but he refused to let go, her mortal teeth not enough to dig into his skin.

But still, the action echoed the Fae gesture, the claiming bite that he had not experienced for two centuries. And it intensified his rage from the pit of lava slowly bubbling in his stomach to a fiery torrent of pure, untarnished fury.

“Say that again,” Rowan purred.

The girl choked, desperately reaching for the daggers at his hips while simultaneously slamming her knee between his legs. But Rowan just shoved his body against hers, trapping her against a tree trunk and preventing her from making any other move to escalate their fight.

The girl’s eyes widened, the scent of her fear and shame coating his tongue with its awful copper tang. But he just growled in satisfaction, taking it for the submission that it was. The princess knew how outmatched she was, and she hated it. Detested how she was forced to yield to his strength.

Rowan released her tongue, but then immediately regretted it as she spat on his feet, gasping for air. And then she swore at him. A filthy name – a foul, hateful curse.

An insult that he could not stand for.

For the first time, Rowan lost all control. He was utterly overwhelmed by his fury and her scent and the feel of her body against his. And as he surrendered to the primal, purely Fae part of him, he bit her.

His canines sunk into the curve of skin between her neck and collarbone, and he didn’t even hear as the princess shrieked in rage and pain. He could feel her frantic pulse pounding in his own body as his every sense, every thought, was turned towards the taste of the female’s blood currently streaming into his mouth.

It tasted of her, of her fire and her flickering embers. Of her bright, sweet scent of jasmine and lemon verbena. Which was now so intense that he lost sight of his surroundings, could no longer sense them around him. There was only her.

He pushed harder against her, pressing them into the tree trunk until he could feel every curve, every bone of her body against his. Her fire burned through him, passing through his icy armor as if it didn’t exist, batting away his wind like cobwebs or dust motes.

He could taste who she was, could feel her very essence crackling over his tongue. Her role as the Heir of Terrasen, her identity as the Heir of Mab – a tiny, glittering raindrop. The power to heal and to manipulate water, hidden underneath the weight of all that flame.

He could taste her immense, roiling grief; a flavor so familiar it could have even belonged to him. Her anger and fear and shame and every other emotion coursing through her blood at that moment. And the scent of a male – no, a man – her lover?

Cold fury tore through him once again, icing over his limbs and taking him as much by surprise as the bite had. She belonged to someone else. Even this girl, this insufferable child who was worthy of no one, had someone. She wasn’t alone.

But before he could even begin to process that thought, the girl growled and shoved him roughly away. Rowan staggered back, his teeth ripping her skin, temporarily blinded by a flash of light and a ripple of color as the girl shifted, and roared, dominant and immortal and purely Fae.

“There you are.”

Rowan’s face split into a satisfied grin, pushing away that quick flash of anger. He spat her blood out, wanting to rid himself of the all-consuming taste, to clear his head of the feel of her. To try to think around it.

She bared her canines at him, her eyes burning bright with fury. She moved to lunge at him, but then paused, taking in the world around her as if it was different – fresh and new and clear in this immortal form.

The girl panted, breathless, as she adjusted. The wound at her neck quickly knitted itself back together, leaving only a faint line along her collarbone and a large bloodstain down her chest where the wound had gushed and spurted under Rowan’s teeth. He hadn’t even noticed.

Rowan tensed, wrestling with the primal part of him, fighting the urge to lunge and bite her again, and make the mark stick. The impulse unnerved him, but he just ignored it, locking it away behind walls of ice.

Then he felt it, brighter and stronger than ever before: wildfire.

The girl’s power was a maelstrom beneath her skin, and while Rowan could always feel its crackling fingers, now that she inhabited her Fae body the fire could not be ignored. It rose up within her, a great wave, begging to be released, and he tensed, ready to batter it back if she lost control. But then the girl was tensing as well, her body stiff as rawhide as she pushed down the magic with a barrage of pure fear and hatred.

Rowan stepped closer to the girl, hesitant. She needed to release the power, needed to learn to let it go, or it would consume her. “Let it out. Don’t fight it.” His voice was as soft as it had ever been in her presence.

She breathed, quick and fast as a bird, almost hyperventilating.

And her magic reacted to her fear, cocooning her, swaddling her, reaching out towards Rowan to protect her. And as her magic brushed over him, like a cat against his legs, Rowan felt his own magic shift in response, reaching out to brush against hers, arching to her touch.

He cast a tendril of power to her elbow, sending her falling back against the tree. And as Rowan recklessly sent another whorl of power to her cheek, he realized that his magic wanted to play, was playing, with the girl and her blazing flames.

But before Rowan could decide whether he wanted to stop, or continue, or get angry, the girl finally let go of her tight hold on her power, and a great wave of blue wildfire rushed towards him. It engulfed the trees, the path, the whole world in flames –

Without thinking, Rowan sucked the air out of the space, choking the blaze into nothing.

The girl dropped to her knees, clutching at her throat as if she could claw open her blocked airway with her bare hands. Rowan stepped right in front of her, peering down to make sure that she wasn’t going to burst into flames again the second he gave the girl her breath back.

Satisfied that she wouldn’t, Rowan let go of his hold on her lungs and air flowed down her throat in a rush. She pulled it down in great gulps, blind to the world as a white light flashed and she relaxed back into her mortal form, those iron bars solid and unyielding once more.

Rowan frowned in irritation. So much for progress.

Now that the girl was mortal again, the scent of her fire was much less potent. But still, he could taste it on his teeth, taste her grief and her throne and her fire and the man she loved.

That cold anger washed through him once more, the taste of the man’s scent a faint, pale tang of steel and cotton and birchwood. It was uncomfortable on his tongue. Repellant. For the first time, he noticed the amethyst ring shining dully on her left hand.

Almost against his will, Rowan found himself asking, “Does your lover know what you are?”

The girl lifted her head up, seeming completely unsurprised by the question. “He knows everything.”

Rowan pursed his lips, sensing the half-truth. Regardless, he wouldn’t bite her again, even if it had managed to push her into her Fae form.

It wasn’t worth it. The feel of her power, of her fire coursing through his limbs…he almost shuddered. And she belonged to another, the undeniable proof of their connection resting in her very blood and bones.

The quick flash of anger tapped once again against his icy walls. But he ignored it, and instead said, “I won’t be biting you again.”

She growled, weak and fangless this time. “Even if it’s the only way to get me to shift?”

He was icy and empty, all the fight taken out of him. So he didn’t react to the fiery challenge in the girl’s voice, instead turning to walk up the hill and towards the ridge, choosing to pretend that whatever just occurred between them hadn’t happened.

But he still answered her. “You don’t bite the women of other males.”

She hesitated. “We’re not – together,” something in her voice had shifted, was dulled. “Not anymore. I let him go before I came here.”

Rowan found himself looking back at her over his shoulder, curiosity breaking through his tight hold on his emotions. “Why?”

“Because he’s safer if he’s as repulsed by me as you are.”

Rowan cocked his head. Though the words were small, quiet things, they spoke of a pure, unadulterated self-loathing. The kind that dug down into you and nestled there, a permanent fixture. Her words touched something deep and broken and familiar within Rowan.

And as the screaming began to echo in his skull Rowan found himself saying, “At least you’ve already learned one lesson.” Her brow furrowed, and he elaborated, “The people you love are just weapons that will be used against you.”

His voice was cold and hard and full of his ancient grief. Whether she heard it or not, he knew she understood. He’d tasted it in her blood. This spineless princess had much to learn, but he didn’t need to teach her about loss.

Rowan pushed through the familiar pain, shoving it deep down inside him with a battering ram of ice and wind, erasing Lyria’s screams from his mind. Not registering the scent of grief wafting from the girl through the feeling of his own agony.

“Shift again,” he ordered, jerking his chin at her. “This time, try to remain in control, and don’t let yourself be overwhelmed by your magic, allow it to breathe, don’t release – ”

But she was turned inwards, eyes blank and unseeing. Letting her emotions spiral in the air around her, allowing them to become a storm that she could not escape. Coward. She wasn’t dealing with her pain, couldn’t face it. Weak and pathetic and spineless. Unworthy.

Rowan gripped her by the shoulders and snarled at her, “Are you listening?”

She came back to earth and stared at him, plainly exhausted. “Why don’t you just bite me again?”

Rowan clenched his jaw, clamping down on the strange mix of emotions that rushed through him at the words. Unable to deal with any of them. Instead he went back to his purpose, to his reason for being here in the first place. Rowan was here to train her, on the orders of his queen and master. And that was all.

So Rowan turned to anger, to the only tool he knew for breaking cowards from their fear, to make them stand and fight. He clenched her shoulders tighter between his fingers as he snarled, “Why don’t I give you the lashing you deserve?”

It was an attempt to pull her back from within her miserable, self-pitying shell. But it didn’t work as he intended. Instead of snarling, or retorting with one of her usual vicious insults, the girl stiffened, and blinked.

Something in her shifted, turned from weak exhaustion to a boundless, unyielding determination. “If you ever take a whip to me, I will skin you alive.”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed at the hard look in her eyes, and he let go of her shoulders roughly, turning to pace around the small clearing. As he stalked, he reassessed, needing to find another way through her armor.

“If you don’t shift again, you’re pulling double duty in the kitchens for the next week.”

“Fine.”

His fingers twitched at the clipped answer, anger pulsing though him.

“You’re worthless.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You would probably have been more useful to the world if you’d actually died ten years ago.”

She just looked back at him, her body unnaturally still.

“I’m leaving.”

Rowan watched as she turned and strode back to the fortress, impassive. He should have been thrilled, should have been overjoyed that the girl was finally departing, finally abandoning her deal with Maeve and going back to whatever gods-forsaken place she had come from.

But he was just annoyed with her. Annoyed that the girl was running again, annoyed that she was allowing the fear to win, to control her. Annoyed that she would never be worthy of her name, her title, or her power. Of the hopes that were so unwittingly pinned on her.

Rowan transformed into his hawk, and swooped after her, moving to wait between two oak trees directly in the path she would be forced to take back from the fortress.

Though so much had happened already today, barely any time had passed since Rowan had collected the girl from the kitchens. The sun was still high in the sky, and they had only made it a short distance away from the walls of the fortress.

So, the girl soon reappeared, her satchel slung over her shoulder and her eyes solid bricks of gold, hard and cold.

“Is this what you do? Run away when things get hard?”

She brushed past him.

“You’re free of your obligation to train me, so I have nothing more to say to you, and you have nothing more to say to me. Do us both a favor and go to hell.”

Rowan growled viciously. “Have you ever had to fight for anything in your life?”

A low, bitter laugh came up from deep in her chest, but she just kept walking, heading west. He kept up easily, still pushing for the answers he sought. “You’re proving me right with every step you take.”

“I don’t care.”

The words grated on him. Particularly because he knew that she did care, not about his opinion of her, but about whatever knowledge she had been so desperate to get from his queen. “I don’t know what you want from Maeve – what answers you’re looking for, but you – ”

“You don’t know what I want from her?” she interrupted, shouting back at him, “How about saving the world from the King of Adarlan?”

That had perhaps been the last thing he expected to hear from the selfish girl. Not only because she seemed to have no interest in anyone but herself, but because she believed that Maeve would help her with such an endeavor.

Caught off guard, and wanting to understand despite himself, he just replied, “Why bother? Maybe the world’s not worth saving.”

Her voice was furious and loud and completely unguarded as she shot right back, “Because I made a promise. A promise to my friend that I would see her kingdom freed.” She shoved her right palm into his face, where two long scars lay. The marks of a blood oath. “I made an unbreakable vow. And you and Maeve – all you gods-damned bastards – are getting in the way of that.”

He narrowed his eyes as he continued to follow her down the hillside. “And what of your own people? What of your own kingdom?”

“They are better off without me, just as you said.”

Rowan snarled, fury momentarily breaking over the skeptical disbelief. “So you’d save another land, but not yours. Why can’t your friend save her own kingdom?”

“Because she is dead!” The last word tore from her throat in a desperate scream. “Because she is dead, and I am left with my worthless life!”

He looked back at her for a moment, her eyes meeting his while her fractured, tortured words reached down deep inside of him and tugged.

Her eyes were a mirror, a reflection of his own as she turned away and strode down the hillside, as far away from the fortress and the demi-Fae and Maeve and him as she could get.

And Rowan just stood there, stunned. Her words burrowed into him, tenaciously digging up his insides. And they hurt. Not much, but still a shocking, unanticipated amount. She hurt him with his own pain, stabbing him with a blade made from the words he shouted at himself in his dreams each night.

The ache was familiar, and yet completely different. Lyria’s screams weren’t echoing in his head, there were no visions flashing before his eyes. Just Aelin, tearing down the hillside before him, carrying his words on her lips. Forging into the woodland alone.

He stood, staring at the path she had made in the undergrowth, as the spring rains began to fall. Without the girl’s crackling fire surrounding him, Rowan felt colder, emptier, and very, very alone.

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 12: The Return

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The gang returns to New York with a well-earned victory under their belts. But that means Nadya has to face Kamilah, and she isn't quite sure she knows how to feel just yet.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Nadya leans on the rail with a wistful sigh. Takes a moment and just… lets herself enjoy the peace of being at peace. No memories haunting her behind her eyelids, no immediate danger… at least none she can see right in front of her.

No, the only thing in front of her is New Orleans. The French Quarter spread out for blocks around her in vibrant colors going pale against the purpling sky. It’ll be dawn soon.

Did she sigh already? Well… no harm in another one.

Taylor’s learned his lesson in sneaking up on her. Why else would he knock on the door leading up to the roof instead of taking advantage of one final attempt to startle her silly?

He clicks his tongue with a wry look. “Careful now, that sigh right there, that’s trouble. Means you’re falling in love with this place and you won’t ever wanna leave.”

Nadya can’t help it that she laughs.

“Are you trying to sound like Garrus?” It sounds like something the fae would say, actually.

“No, and frankly you don’t want to hear my Garrus impersonation,” he hesitates; waits for Nadya’s little go-ahead of a nod before joining her overlooking the city as it begins to put itself to sleep, “it’s not very good. My Ivy on the other hand…”

Their laughter is soft and polite. They wouldn’t dare jostle the world below.

“I mean, when I went off to college I had dreams of road trips on spring break, summers spent with one program or another. New Orleans was always on my list.”

“And did she live up to the hype?”

Now how exactly is Nadya supposed to answer that honestly? “Well college-aged me probably wouldn’t have been hanging around the Graveyard Shift, that’s all I’ll say.”

“Nadya, babe, you have got to stop being a hard mood,” Taylor places a hand to his chest, “my little empath heart just can’t take much more of it.”

She shoves him (gently) and their laugh is a little less awkward the second time around. Probably because he is, indeed, an empath. And he gets exactly what she’s feeling right now.

Longing — exhaustion — trepidation — to name a few.

He nudges her shoulder with his own. “You’ll have to come back when everything’s fixed on your end; see the city for real, you know? Not just all the bad things.”

Not like she goes searching for the bad things, thanks. They just kind of… happen dangerously close in her proximity. “I’d like that. Lil’ too, for sure.”

“Oh, for sure. Though I have a feeling her and Ivy together might be a bit more trouble than Nik’ll want to deal with.”

And on that Nadya can most certainly agree. Not that she does so with words. Strangely she doesn’t feel much like talking right now. Not-so-strangely, Taylor doesn’t either. So they lean in mutual silence and watch the streets below. People going through the motions; living their lives.

Lives far less strange than theirs.

The blue of the dawn is just starting to bleed orange when he finally speaks again.

“You’re not used to winning the day, are you?” She isn’t surprised in the least to look and see that strange iridescence back in his irises.

“I don’t have enough coffee in me to answer a question like that,” which — that’s her answer; but Taylor definitely isn’t taking it, “I mean… back when all this stuff started; we won then, I think. Adrian was exonerated and Jax joined the Council and Vega wasn’t trying to kill me anymore —”

Taylor holds up a finger. “Wait — like the missing Senator, that Vega?”

“You knew him?”

“Uh, Vee and our friend Kristin lived up there together. Wait a second—he was a vam— no… that’s not the point. Sorry, please continue.”

God, is that how I look to other people, Nadya wonders; but it’s humbling to see somehow.

“Anyway… I thought everything turned out for the better, and for a while it was better. But now that I think about it…” Gaius, Jameson, the Trinity; all of them lurking just on the other side of the two-way glass. Waiting for the time to strike and take her happiness away; to pluck memories from her she never asked for all in pursuit of some epic fantasy-level world conquering.

If the fight wasn’t over, did that still count as a victory?

“And you’re left wondering if this is the same deal. If you’ve really won, or if there’s more stuff—worse stuff—just out of sight.” Taylor finishes for her. Still a little weird and possibly more akin to mind-reading than the half-fae originally led her to believe, but for the moment she’s glad to not have to say it.

“Yeah, exactly.”

His hand comes to rest over Nadya’s on the railing. He’s warmer than he should be and the sun’s got nothing to do with it. Likely his weirdness is helped by touch, too. Which Taylor all but confirms aloud when a sudden but not unwelcome ease relaxes the tension she didn’t know she’d gathered in her shoulders.

“I can’t offer any answers, and I don’t think I’d want to. With my luck I’d be wrong and you’d hate me forever.” He’s joking but Nadya still rolls her eyes and shakes her head for it.

“But I can say that no matter what happens? You’ll always have friends here to call up if needed.”

What is she supposed to say to something so sincere? “Same to you, Taylor, same to you.”

A sleek black car with tinted windows pulls around the corner and onto their lonely street to park right in front of the bar.

Looks like their ride is here.

Kamilah isn’t waiting for them when the plane pulls into the nice and shady hangar. Nadya tells herself she isn’t surprised by this… but she’s trying not to tell herself mostly-truths lately either. Luckily she’s still too exhausted (and she’s pretty sure she only got about half an hour’s nap in the entire time they were in New Orleans) to make much of a fuss about it.

In fact, Nadya barely remembers sending a text off before she and Lily both are being ushered into the back seat of one of Adrian’s company cars.

[TEXT]: back in NY and miss you like crazy. can we plz talk?? [TEXT]: its nadia

And its the most dreamless, dead-to-the-world-est sleep she knew she needed but didn’t know how to get. Staying awake for near-days and going through every emotion under the sun and also dealing with a high-stakes pursuit weren’t exactly on her list of viable solutions to her sleeping troubles.

Ergo the point of all this — no one is allowed to think her anything less than totally justified when Nadya wakes up in her own bed, in her own bedroom, sometime well after sunset and thinks for even the smallest second that everything was just a dream. She knows logically that it wasn’t… but still.

Totally justified.

When her eyes adjust to the lack of light Nadya realizes she’s not alone. There’s a figure sitting on the edge of her bed nearest the window, away from the door. Giving her the chance to escape if she needs it; making sure she doesn’t feel trapped.

Only one person would do that.

She fumbles for her glasses on the nightstand but leaves her bedside lamp untouched. Can’t shake the feeling like if she does turn the lights on then Kamilah will vanish. This is better for them both.

“Hi.”

Something moves near her head; Nadya leans back to see the woman pulling her fingertips away from where they had been combing through her hair gently. She wants it back so much she aches from the loss of them.

“Hello,” replies Kamilah; sounding awfully breathless for a woman who doesn’t need to breathe, “did you rest well? You… seemed to need it.”

Probably not what she meant to ask judging by the way the neon signs from across the street illuminate her in postmodern beauty. It’s okay though — Nadya isn’t sure she has the courage yet to say what really needs saying.

“When did you get here…?”

“Shortly after your return. Oh, Lily wished for you to know she’s left for the evening. She didn’t leave a message as to why.”

So it’s just been Nadya and Kamilah in the apartment for at least the daylight hours. Alone; together. And not talking about their problems.

When Nadya sits up (in part to look at Kamilah better, in part to make sure she doesn’t fall back asleep on accident) the bed dips as Kamilah shifts back; makes to stand and leave her with all this twin-sized budget bed kit to herself. And because she can’t stand a thought so terrible Nadya reaches out and stops her with a hand on her arm.

“Kamilah.”

A long pause — then; “Yes, Nadya?”

“Why are you here?”

“You messaged me,” so Nadya of course fumbles for her phone and finds it charging under her pillow, “though I suppose I should have realized you were exhausted beyond recognition.”

“Why’s that?”

“You spelled your own name wrong.”

Upon further inspection yes, yes she did. “Glad you weren’t expecting some other disaster you’re dating also named Nadia…” That she chooses not to dwell on the fact that she may have very well used that word for the first time in the middle of their first fight is actually self-care.

Or — she doesn’t until Kamilah’s been quiet for an awfully long time.

“Uhm — I take that back, actually — what I meant was…”

“I won’t disagree.”

Only Kamilah Sayeed could look so perfect framed in the flickering lights of a discount electronics shop.

“But you’re my disaster.”

Nadya kisses her because every other time it’s been Kamilah who takes the lead, takes charge, takes her. This isn’t some attempt to switch that dynamic either (in fact Nadya’s very happy with it just the way it is) but what else is she supposed to do seeing all these vulnerable parts of such an invulnerable woman one right after the other?

But — no, she can’t fall into this. Fall into her. Not without talking. But holy mother of crap she doesn’t wanna do anything but moan at the lips soft on her cheeks, her chin, her throat…

“Kamilah.”

Nadya only has to say her name once. They both know how this works. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel the hesitance; the resistance before they part and she all but forces them to meet eye-to-eye. Nor does it mean that she doesn’t take just the tiniest bit of happiness from it.

When Nadya starts pulling away Kamilah holds on just a little bit tighter. Only for a moment; then its gone.

“We can’t not —” — talk about this.

“I know; I agree.”

And she’s got a whole speech planned out in bullet points; not even fully seated and she’s already buzzing to jump right into it. Until—

“I was uncertain and without control. I fell back on old habits to bring my life to a heel — but those were the wrong choices to make. They nearly cost me… something very important.”

Kamilah’s hand falls open on top of the bedspread and Nadya takes it for the offering it is. Their fingers slot together familiar and like nothing’s changed but this is different. This is talking about it; this is… this is Kamilah apologizing. “They nearly cost me you, Nadya.”

Now is not the time to go all red in the face and flustered. Nadya’s willpower is astounding frankly. “There was never a second where I doubted that you cared. Not about what I was going through, or what it was doing to… to everything in my life. But I think there was a part of me that didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to believe that you and… and the you I saw were —” — were the same person.

Kamilah’s thumb strokes along her knuckles slow and rhythmic. “My thoughts are the same. I am not fragments of a woman; a queen, different than a soldier, different than a killer, different than who I am today. I am all of those things and more. And perhaps still there are parts of myself I have not yet come to know.”

Nadya chances a look up while she listens, but it’s the words Kamilah doesn’t say that catch her by surprise. The ones about who that person she doesn’t know could be. And—god she hopes she’s not reading too much into this—who she could be that person with.

“I think I get it now.”

“And what would that be?”

She squeezes their hands until it hurts because she knows it’s probably the weight of a feather to someone like Kamilah.

“We were scared of the same thing and for the same reasons; you… and your past. But I wanted to know more. I—I wanted to talk about it, without thinking of how hard bringing up all of those bad memories might be for you.”

Kamilah purses her lips and offers a slow nod. “Insightful; and perhaps I was so insistent on trying to keep that knowledge from you that I did not stop to consider what… I was saying in withholding it.”

Now the question is… where do they go from here?

“So we work on that — we try and… understand what the other is doing when she…”

“Makes a mistake she instantly regrets?”

Nadya smiles, but it’s strained. “That’s half of the things I do anyway though.”

“You know my meaning in the context of this, Nadya.”

“Yeah, but that’s not my only problem.” Which isn’t the best word she could use but at the moment she’s not focusing so much on word choice as actual feelings. And Nadya… feels a problem. There’s a breath of a second where it feels like Kamilah might start to pull away, but it passes.

She thinks better of it. She tries to understand.

“You are amazing, Kamilah. You are this… super gorgeous, super smart, super old—in a good way I swear—and super experienced vampire. But it’s not a smart thing for us to—to ignore that.”

“I wasn’t under the impression we had been.”

This is more painful to admit than Nadya thought it was gonna be. There’s no turning back now though; no ‘Restart from Checkpoint’ or save to load.

And this is so so important. Nadya wants to follow through, and not just for the sake of them. She deserves it for herself. “Maybe you haven’t — but I have. I thought that was the only way we were gonna make this work. Only, if I ignore that then I’m ignoring the fact that you are always going to have a power over me. A physical one. You lashed out and…”

“And I could have hurt you.” That Kamilah’s hand tightens with hers is the literal definition of ironic but she knows it comes from a good place; the same place all that honesty was walled up inside now pouring out.

“Nadya, please tell me you know I would never have hurt you. I don’t think I could.”

“That’s not the point. The point is you were angry, and your first reaction was to try and scare me into running away.”

See, this is Nadya’s problem. There’s a reason her life is so organized — without all her colored pens and sticky notes and multiple tabs that always end up in the strangest places, she’s a literal human mess. Prone to rambling and impulsive actions that aren’t always good for her health; physical and emotional both.

She didn’t organize this part of her talk with Kamilah. She didn’t even know this part existed. And now it’s out there in the world without a label tacked on and… and…

“And I don’t think that’s something I’m quite… over, yet.”

Nadya trusts Kamilah still; she doesn’t flinch away when the woman’s free hand comes up to her cheek — thumbs away a tear she didn’t know was falling. She can separate the then from the now.

But at the end of the day her trust and the way she had felt betrayed that night… they weren’t mutually exclusive.

She turns her face into the lingering palm. When she exhales her breath rattles in her lungs.

“I miss you.”

Kamilah’s hand betrays her composed silence; the barest tremor. “I’m here, Nadya.”

Nadya who doesn’t want to pull back, never wanted to pull back… but what is she saying to herself if she doesn’t?

“I miss you,” she repeats, “and I still care about you — I don’t really see that changing any time soon. And I’ll forgive you, really—I will. I just need some time.”

I know there are no promises you’ll be there when I’m ready, or if you won’t have moved on, or if you can’t forgive me for not forgiving you, or for not understanding you, or for making you feel this way. But I feel this way too.

And in all the things she wants to say but doesn’t, Nadya’s left still and heartbroken. Completely by her own design.

The bed dips and Nadya lets her eyes flutter closed as Kamilah’s lips press to her forehead. Not so much a kiss as a touch; something sincere and solid and so so sad.

Kamilah commits the warmth and life of her to memory. Nadya dares to hope that some day they’ll have all of this again.

She has to. If anything deserves hope right now it’s them.

Finally — too soon, too damned soon — a whisper tickles at her hairline.

“I’ll be here.”

When she opens her eyes Nadya is alone.

Jax has a really good point; if the heat from Adrian’s industrial-grade blowtorch hadn’t been enough to melt the gold, then they probably didn’t need to worry about his sword scratching the stupid thing up in any way that didn’t lend to opening it.

Everyone still backs up a few paces for good measure. They’ve all seen him in action — and the man needs a wide berth.

Nadya closes her eyes and braces herself but she still isn’t prepared for the hollow screeching clang every time the sharpened steel collides with the surface of the Amulet. One—two—three.

He stops after three. Judging by the enraged determination in his eye though he’d keep going given the opportunity.

Lily throws her hands up before crossing out ‘ASSAULT BY KATANA’ on the transparent eraser board. “I’m calling it. This thing is a horcrux.”

“A what?” asks Adrian, but Nadya just gives him the now familiar “I’ll explain it later” wave-off. Because unless pop culture references were the secret puzzle to opening the Amulet of Nero they weren’t that important in the moment.

She pushes her glasses up and unsuccessfully stifles a yawn with the back of her hand. Brings her focus back to their list of attempts to crack open (literally) the case… all of which have failed miserably.

‘METALWORKING HAMMER’ ‘REGULAR HAMMER’ ‘BLOWTORCH’ ‘ASKING IT NICELY’ (Nadya’s idea) ‘OPEN SESAME’ (Maricruz’s idea) ‘ASSAULT BY KATANA’

Off to the left Lily’s circled ‘MISSING KEY??’ over and over in the corner and while they had all agreed to try and hold out on just not having found the right amount of physical force they might as well face it.

They’re running out of options.

Adrian clears his throat and stares hard enough at Nadya that the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Ahem, Nadya, could you…?”

“Oh — yes — sorry guys, my bad.”

When she pulls the cover back over the Amulet the difference is immediate. The tension leaves her friends’ shoulders; they sit a little less restless and their eyes are a little less bordering-vampish.

Nadya wasn’t the only one who had been content to write off the strange aura that had come over the vampires in Isadora de la Rosa’s booth as nothing more than trepidation for the inevitable. Now, however, they have to face the facts.

There’s something in the Amulet that draws vampires to it. Cadence had said so himself — when he talked about generations of vampire influence. It’s not enough to incite a war (about which Nadya was admittedly worried, and with good reason given their track record) but covering it was a noticeable benefit to rational thinking.

They only have one thing going for them right now; if they can’t open it then no one else can, either. Hopefully that includes the Trinity. Maybe it even includes Gaius. Who knows? They certainly don’t.

There are too many unknowns — and they’re starting to take a toll on everyone in one form or another.

Adrian begins to gather up the dozens of data graphs spread out in front of him. “With that, I think we’ve come to a natural stopping point for the evening.” And nobody disagrees.

While Nadya carefully wraps the Amulet back up to return it to the R&D vault, Lily leans on her elbows and watches.

“I take it we still haven’t heard from Cadence? What about calling up Izzy?”

If only she had good news to give. “Nope; and I already did. She definitely remembers feeling that weird magnetism to it before it was repossessed by Persephone but nothing beyond that that she knew of. Actually,” she throws a look over to Adrian, “she suggested one thing; witch-fire? Something like that.”

He seems hesitant to mull the idea over. But they were desperate enough to let Jax hit it repeatedly, so…

“I’ll look into a few contacts. That kind of magic should only be used sparingly and in dire cases.”

“Would this count?”

A beat. “Probably. We would have to run it by the Council, though.” Which kind of nulls even the idea. Since everyone had agreed not to tell the rest of the Council yet. Not only because of the Amulet’s potential.

Lester, Priya, the Baron — Nadya likes to try and see the best in people as much as possible but they don’t make it easy on her. None of them are certain who would, if it came down to it, side against Gaius for a second time.

Nothing is unlikely anymore.

Wow, their shortest-lived idea yet.

Nadya nods towards the vault for Lily to follow. “As for the other thing — Kathy’s starting to get worried. I guess he left town a day after we did.” Which the Nighthunter had admitted wasn’t off-brand for Cadence. But the museum had let slip (which Nadya knows means ‘been bullied into admitting’) that he had been granted a leave of absence; very off-brand.

“The one thing he’s always had is that damn museum. No identity, no Izzy, and we both know I’m a recent development. He was a manic mess the first time that kind of dissociation happened.” The Nighthunter had kept her cool better than Nadya would have in her situation. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t worried ill.

“What if it’s worse this time,” even through the phone she couldn’t hide her concern; her fear, “what if he hurts himself? What if he hurts someone else?”

Hopefully they find him soon. But she’s met that strange group of people; the regulars at the Graveyard Shift. If anyone has the ability (and sheer force of stubborn will, to be honest) to find Cadence it’s them.

“I mean, if I went Jekyll and Hyde around a chick as crazy as that Trinity woman, I’d probably want to get away for my own health too.”

Lily’s comment doesn’t sit well with her; luckily at her admonishing look she at least looks apologetic. “You know what I mean.”

“I also know a little bit of what he’s going through.”

There’s an “ahem” behind them as Nadya spins the wheel on the vault. Adrian definitely has the look of someone who knows he shouldn’t have been eavesdropping but was anyway.

“Speaking of.”

Only… she’d rather not speak of it until it becomes a problem. “It’s fine,” she replies, and waves it off. That was what they’d agreed on for the time being, right? And there haven’t been any problems.

Turns out feeling the weight of relationship-burdened depression the moment you walk through your front door lends to a pretty heavy sleeping pattern. Like Nadya’s body doesn’t want her to do anything but try to get through the next day, and the next, and maybe… just maybe the one after that.

Adrian doesn’t seem immediately convinced. “Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” Which — he still doesn’t really get the concept but the verbal agreement is enough.

Once the lab is fully shut down they manage to pile together into the elevator. Jax thumbs at his phone, blows the hair out of his eyes just a little too close to Nadya’s ear for her liking. She swats him away because personal bubble.

“What’s the matter?”

“Eh, Espinoza wants —” But he catches himself with a look in Lily’s direction. “— something. She wants something. And I gotta… go get it.”

Nadya and Adrian just shake their heads and laugh at him while Lily pretends with absolutely no tact whatsoever not to know what he’s talking about. She even sticks her fingers in her ears like that’ll somehow stop her super vampire hearing.

Jax, somehow with even less tact, like negative tact, takes it as permission to lean and murmur on Nadya’s free side. “Apparently Lula got into the cake. So…”

“Weren’t there three?” Adrian hisses, surprised.

“You’ll get it when you meet her.”

Nadya reaches around and pats Jax’s chest awkwardly. “Good luck with that. Maybe try putting them in the passenger seat this time.”

“Shut up.”

“Just saying… third time’s the charm you know.”

When she gives Lily a nod in ‘all clear’ everyone knows she heard everything. But she’s just excited to know Maricruz is going as all-out as she possibly can, so who would be so heartless as to spoil the whole thing by just admitting the obvious?

Adrian lets them all off on the ground level and offers Nadya one last chance to go home early. “What do you pay her for if you keep giving her chances to not work?” And Jax raises a good point — too good of a point. She maybe shoves him in front of her with all her might, and he maybe stumbles. The world may never know. “Just saying — let me know next time there’s an opening.”

“I’ll be up in a sec. I just have to stake him first.”

She and Lily wave until the doors close. Yes, they live together and see each other every day. Yes, they recently defied death in New Orleans together. But its rare now that Nadya and Lily get a chance to unwind like they used to. So whenever it comes along they’re both there to indulge greedy and giggling.

“Mari’s really going all out with this party, huh?”

It’s a valiant effort but Lily doesn’t look so much humbly embarrassed as expectantly excited. “I think I’m in love, Nadi’,” she jumps the next few steps like hopscotch, “she was fully ready to get a bouncy castle.”

“How are they going to fit a bouncy castle in the Shadow Den?”

“Oh I didn’t say I let her. But she was planning on it, and isn’t that what true love is all about?”

Nadya tries not to falter. Key word being tries. And around anyone else she might do everything in her power not to draw attention to it but this is Lily. Who found her huddled up in bed hours after Kamilah’s farewell and called to cancel her own date to stay with her; to be there for her and give her all the hugs she desperately needed but didn’t know how to ask for.

She doesn’t need to pretend around that kind of love and friendship.

But before Nadya can apologize Lily starts up an air drum solo in front of her while they walk. “And winner for Most Insensitive Best Friend Ever is — drum roll…”

“You’re fine, Lil’.”

“I’m gushing about my life while you’re… not so hot.”

Nope, Nadya won’t have it. “You’re gonna gush because you have every right to gush, okay? You’ve been a vampire for a whole year. That’s super important. You survived Turning, became the digital fanged crusader, and it’s ten times more cool because you did it all without a brand. Jax and Adrian can’t say that. Heck… even Kamilah can’t.

“So if you want a Turning party, you’re gonna get a Turning party. I’m not the only one who thinks you’re worth celebrating.” They lace their fingers and Nadya squeezes. “Plus if Jax shows up with the third set of cakes to a canceled party I think he might flip his lid.”

Lily gives a dramatic little sniffle — pretends to wipe a nonexistent tear from her eye. “Please tell me you just memorized all that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll be the speech to end all speeches.”

Together they play-shove all the way through the Raines Building atrium. Right before the revolving door Lily spins her around, takes both of their hands together and swings them gently.

“Do you want me to uninvite her? She probably doesn’t even care.”

“No — and even if we broke up, like, badly I wouldn’t want that. I’m just not that kind of person.”

“True, you’d probably invite them to Christmas dinner or something.”

She rolls her eyes at that and ignores it for her own sanity. “And for the record — as someone with experience in decoding Kamilah-isms, I think you surprised her. She admires strength, and Lily… you’re the strongest person I know.”

When they hug, like always, their glasses get jostled in the middle and the following laughter lightens both of their hearts. Lily makes her promise to add that last line to her speech (which inadvertently is a promise to write a speech, she’s guessing) and only when she’s out the doors and around the corner of the block does Nadya head back up to the office.

Adrian is leaning in his open doorway when she exits the elevator — Nadya slows her steps for a hesitant second before coming to realize he’s just having another one of his pensive moods. He’s been having them a lot lately. More and more since they returned from New Orleans.

This one looks different though. He’s not staring into space — he’s staring at her.

“What?” She finally yields, glancing at her boss over her shoulder while the computer boots up slow as a snail. “What’s that face for?”

Nadya nearly convinces herself he isn’t going to answer.

“It’s good to see you smiling, that’s all.” He leans out and squeezes her shoulder; something soft and friendly and so sweet her teeth ache from it. Before Adrian can pull away Nadya makes sure to return the gesture.

“It’s good to smile,” which is far more bleak than she would like, “you know something?”

Adrian pauses mid-step. “Hm?”

“It’s even better to mean it.”