#you remind me that I still have asks to answer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bookshelf-dust · 23 hours ago

Text

relief

evan buckley x fem!reader

gif by @suledins

PSA IF YOU’RE A MINOR: GET THE FUCK OFF MY PORCH BEFORE I WHOOP YOUR ASS. THIS FIC IS STRICTLY 18+. I RESPECT YOUR BOUNDARIES, YOU RESPECT MINE.

word count: 6,568

warnings: nsfw 18+ only; swearing, inexperienced!reader, mentions of therapy/insecurities regarding inexperience, conversations about sex, heavy petting, fingering

synopsis: buck is a walking golden retriever. when he asks you out for the first time and begins to learn more about his arson-investigating coworker, it’s easy to say he puts that eagerness to use.

a/n: this is the very first smut fic i have EVER written (aside from some old old dirty nsfw headcanons). that being said, please bear with me, because this stuff is hard!! shoutout to all the wonderful writers who do this all the time because phew! 🤧 i am pretty happy with how this turned out, and i’m proud of myself for writing for a new character and trying something totally different from my norm! i had no plan of direction for this fic when i started it, but i hope the end result will resonate with some of you, and if it doesn’t, i still hope it gives you some good feelings and a little escape from this fuck ass world <33

————

Evan Buckley is a hellishly gorgeous man. Oftentimes, you have to remind yourself that he’s real—that he’s not some sort of mirage, a result of your constant sleep deprived state. He’s the kind of breathtaking that you find to be unfair.

You started working for the 118 as their house arson investigator three months ago. Captain Nash soothed every nerve you had going in, showing you to your quaint little office, introducing you to everyone else in the house. You’d definitely needed the comfort of that transition, but hadn’t expected your colleagues to be so welcoming.

You were transferred as part of a greater Los Angeles initiative to create stronger communication and collaboration between the first responders and specialized investigators, as so much of their jobs go hand-in-hand. Although you’re pretty sure it’s only because the department heads get sick of answering follow-up questions about causes of fires—if people had insurance, if it was an accident or an attack, etc.

So they split up you and the rest of your original team into varying firehouses so that there would always be an arson investigator on hand. And if there’s any foul play, then the police can be contacted quicker, as the investigator becomes a direct source to target those issues. You’d complain about all these silly loopholes if it weren’t for the fact that you’d gotten a pretty raise for your trouble.

In truth, working with the 118 is the most useful you’ve felt in a long time. You know you’re good at your job, and you’d tell anyone who asked that you’ve done the work and you know that to be true. This opportunity has allowed you so much more field work than you could’ve imagined, which excites you. And there is the benefit of the eye-candy your coworker provides.

Which is why, each time Buck approaches you, you have to blink a few times, press your nails into your palm, do something to ground yourself so that you might be able to carry on a conversation with him. Tonight though, he’s managed to sneak up on you, giving you no time to seem more like a sociable human being.

“Hey, uh, you ever figure out the cause of that house fire from the other night?”

Buck is propped up against the door to your office, the air immediately responding to his presence, making everything feel lighter.

You look up from your desk, huff out a breath to try and blow the hair away from your eyes.

“Oh, hey, Buck. The house that the newlywed couple had just bought?”

Knowing him is enough to tell you that this particular fire would be the one to stick in his memory come week's end, the others being much too mundane for conversation.

Buck nods, a mischievous smirk appearing on his face.

“Yeah, actually,” you say, encouraged to continue. “Turns out the couple started it without even realizing. They didn’t remember everything at first, but after going over there and questioning them some more, they finally pieced it together.”

Buck steps a little further into your office. You watch as he bends at the waist, hands coming to rest on one of the squishy chairs across from you.

“How do you start a fire in your own house, and not notice?” he asks, that playful lilt to his voice reaching your ears.

Your cheeks burn, a flush running through your body and turning you hot, head to toe. You tap your pen against your wrist. This isn’t usually the kind of information you’re excited to share with your coworkers—not that they wouldn’t be entertained by it. It’s that they’ll all be too entertained by it.

“Well,” you cough, “turns out they were having a rather aggressive intimate moment and one thing led to another…” You trail off, hoping you won’t have to say it out loud. It was bad enough being in the room when they described their evening in detail, talking directly to one another like you really weren’t there.

Buck cocks his head at you, like a cat that’s just spotted a bug. “I don’t follow,” he says. His mouth quirks up the slightest bit at the corners.

You inhale, mustering up enough courage to blurt it out before this becomes any more awkward than it has to be.

“They were having sex in the kitchen and her ass bumped up against the stove top, turning on the burner. She’d grabbed onto a dish towel, for support or whatever, and when they moved it upstairs, she tossed the towel behind her and…”

“Neither of them noticed the fire because they were too caught up in the heat of the moment,” Buck finishes for you.

You nod, sucking your teeth just slightly. “Yep. What’s worse is after spending an hour digging around and talking to them, the wife went ‘You know, now that you say all this, I do remember my bum feeling hotter than usual before we made it to the bed.’” You roll your eyes.

Buck drags his hands down his cheeks, straightening. There’s a smile on his face when he says, “Well, I guess they say love makes you do crazy things.”

“I suppose that’s one way to put it,” you say, laughing a little tensely. You chance a bit of eye contact with him, realizing he’d already been staring at you for who knows how long. “Was there anything else you needed? Or just curious about the local arsonists?”

Buck chuckles, turning his face away from you momentarily.

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d want to go out for drinks tonight.”

You glance at the clock on the upper right hand corner of your computer monitor. It reads 5:43. “Is it a special occasion or something? I feel like no one’s really done that since Chimney had a kid.”

Buck says your name. A knot forms in your throat. “I didn’t mean with everybody. I meant just the two of us.”

You blink. “Why?” You blurt out, the one syllable making you stutter.

His brows knit together. “Uh, so we can get to know each other better? I mean, I thought it was pretty obvious that I like you.”

You’re pretty sure steam might be coming out of your ears. “Um, well, I don’t like to assume. I mean, you’re a pretty flirty guy, you know?”

He says your name again as he plants his hands on your desk. Your pen falls out of your grasp. You’re mesmerized as you watch him pick it up and place it in the cup over to your left.

“This is Buck 3.0, remember? I don’t just flirt with anyone. Besides, flirting usually comes to me, what with being a sight for sore eyes and whatnot.”

You snort: this cute little laugh that comes straight from the back of your throat that Buck has grown to love.

Buck decides not to rile you up anymore. “So, drinks or no? I definitely won’t cry myself to sleep tonight if you say no.”

You facepalm. “Yeah, alright. Filling my bloodstream with alcohol might be exactly what I need right now.”

————

Two cosmos in, and you’re feeling a lot better. You’re grateful for having kept a pair of jeans and a relatively-okay-for-going-out top in your locker, allowing you to look somewhat presentable enough to be so near Buck for an entire evening.

So far it’s been pleasant, the both of you making small talk, you showing him pictures of your cat and him listening intently to all the antics said cat gets up to during the night.

You’re chewing on a bacon covered cheese fry when Buck speaks. “What did you mean earlier, when you said you didn’t like to assume? Like, not assuming a guy would be into you?”

You nod, pausing with your hand in front of your mouth while you swallow. “That’s exactly what I meant. This isn’t something that happens often.”

“You’re fuckin’ with me,” Buck says, taking another swig from his beer. If he’s not careful, he’s going to spill it down his shirtfront.

Your chest thumps with self-deprecation, the voices from the sides of your head—the ones that create that pressure behind your eyes—telling you this might be a great moment to talk shit about yourself. To air out all your faults to this man you probably don’t even deserve to be sitting across from. God knows he won’t be interested when he really gets to know you.

You inhale.

You’ve been in therapy long enough to know the power of positive thinking. You know that everyone is on a different, unique timeline—that things happen for everyone at different points in their lives.

But being inexperienced in all aspects of the romantic world is something you’ve carried shame for practically your entire adult life. Only you promised yourself that you wouldn’t let it consume you anymore. It’s your life, and you have the ability to change the way you think. That doesn’t mean your body doesn’t still react, though, doesn’t still flush with anger at how your life has gone thus far, like your veins don’t thrum as you think of all the vile comments you could say about yourself, the ways you could punish yourself for being the odd one out.

That’s why being approached by Buck in such a blunt, upfront way was such a shock to your system. That just doesn’t, or rather, it hasn’t ever happened to you.

And with Buck being who he is, it felt like even more of a fever dream. You almost wanted to spin around and tell them to cut the cameras, the lenses zooming in on your face—mockumentary style.

“I’m not though,” you say. “Guys don’t usually come up to me and ask me out on a date, or ask me anything really.”

Buck is staring at you intently, and you almost wonder if you went too far by calling this a date.

“Are you for real?”

“Well, I wish you wouldn’t say it like that, but yeah. I guess there’s just something about me that’s not super alluring to most men? That’s why I was so surprised by you.”

He waves his hands around gently. “I didn’t mean it like a bad thing, I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around that.”

You eat a few more cheese fries. “Why?”

He stutters for a few moments. “Because you’re just so…so perfect?” You snort, an air of sarcasm to it. “Like, for one, you’re super hot. You’ve got this whole shy but totally badass vibe about you, and you’re passionate and great at what you do. I guess I just can’t fathom there not being a line of guys wanting to jump your bones if you’ll let them.”

You laugh. It makes Buck smile.

“I appreciate that you think those things about me. For a long time, I thought that was pretty impossible. Guess when you go twenty four years without anyone actively pursuing you, you start to wonder.”

The table falls silent, and you finish your drink, thanking the waiter when he takes your empty glass, returning with a full cup of water for you.

“So, let me get this clear,” Buck says. Normally those words would freak you the fuck out, but you’re feeling a lot less tense now, less scared of talking about your situation. It’s not what you want, but it’s how it is. “No guy has ever asked you out. So you’ve never had a boyfriend? Never had a first kiss? Never had…sex? Or anything adjacent to it?”

“That’s right,” you say. “And the orgasms I’ve given myself don’t count towards the adjacent. So yeah, you’re right. It’s embarrassing, trust me, I know.”

Buck is still reeling from you saying the word orgasm out loud to him right now, not to mention the images flashing through his mind because of it. He pulls himself together.

“It’s not embarrassing. Are you embarrassed by it?”

You clear your throat. “I’m certainly not happy about it. Honestly, I’ve spent a lot of time wondering what it is that I’m missing that makes me so behind everyone else. And I’ve spent a lot of time being angry at myself. But it’s not like I can force those things to happen for me, you know?”

Buck gives you this look, and you know exactly what he’s going to say. A small grin makes an appearance on your face.

“Well, I mean, you could,” Buck says. “But I can see why you haven’t. In my experience, just hooking up with someone to get off, or just say you’ve done something, kinda makes you feel like shit.”

You wrap your hands around your cool glass, running your fingers up and down through the condensation.

“Unfortunately, I’m also a hopeless romantic. So I’ve thought about just hooking up with someone so that I’m not a virgin anymore, but that’s not what I want. I want a proper relationship and someone that cares about me and wants to be with me. Seems that’s a lot to ask for though.”

Buck reaches across the table and sets his hand on your wrist. “Hey, no, it’s not a lot to ask for. And it’s not bad to be a hopeless romantic! Honestly, I think there are more people like that than we know, but they do whatever to fit in. I am sorry that you’ve felt like this is something to be ashamed of. I can’t imagine how that feels. But I also think it means any relationship you’d have would be more successful because you’ve got your shit together already.”

That makes you laugh, just a little, and Buck is immediately thrilled, fully taking your hand in his. You don’t even have it in you to argue with him. For once, you just listen and try to see yourself through his eyes.

“Well, I do appreciate you saying all of that, Buck. It’s only that I’ve been patient for so long, and I’m starting to think being wanted isn’t in the cards for me.”

Your gaze has dropped to the glossy table in front of you. You can see the reflections from the overhead televisions, from other patrons walking by, waiters carrying trays of drinks. Buck squeezes your hand in a way that makes you lock eyes with him.

“So…what is it you think this is then?”

You blink. You have absolutely no response in your brain that would be the appropriate answer for this question.

“You asked me out for drinks.”

His grip on your hand moves up to your wrist, and a shiver runs down your spine when you feel his thumb press into your pulse. This is the most contact you’ve ever had with a man. Suddenly you’re hyper-aware of his skin on yours, the feeling of his calloused palms, shockingly cool and free of sweat, much to the contrary of your own. Your heart begins to race when it finally catches up. Maybe it’s better that this is coming on so unexpectedly.

“And…” Buck says.

You cough even though absolutely nothing is tickling your throat. “You said you wanted to get to know me better.”

If it’s possible, Buck’s smile gets bigger. “Because?”

“You said you liked me?”

“Atta girl!” He teases. A shock of heat shoots straight from your throat down to your low belly. You pray he can’t see it on your face. Luckily, he continues talking. “So, now that we’re clear on me having a thing for you, what would you like to do with that information?”

You take a quick sip of water, mouth suddenly dry. “Well, my immediate thought is that I should run away and hide because in my head, a potential relationship, or whatever, sounds great but right now? Right here with you touching my hand and looking at me? It sounds kind of terrifying.”

Buck starts with the reading again, sliding his thumb further up until it’s nestled in the center of your forearm. It makes you shiver and his eyes flash.

“Sounds like we’ve gotta get you out of that head of yours and into the present.”

————

With therapy, you’ve gotten exponentially better at learning how to breathe, how to focus on what’s happening right now, so that you don’t spiral out of control just thinking about what might be happening in a few hours, days, weeks. Being more present is something you’ve learned. That is, in your daily life. But when you’re not used to interacting with men, these feelings are so strange, uncomfortable and scary.

Your imagination can only take you so far, and you’re accustomed to those limitations. Not knowing what a kiss feels like, not knowing the feeling of anyone else’s touch but your own, not being able to properly picture what might happen to your mind and body when in physical contact with someone you want.

It’s both exciting—sitting here, in Buck’s Jeep, as he drives you home, imagining that those feelings might finally be attainable—and nerve wracking, because how does any of this really work?

Reading about relationships, hearing about your best friend’s escapades, watching a love scene on tv—it’s all different than really experiencing it. Truthfully, it feels like there’s a part of your brain focused on dissociating so that your heart doesn’t fall out of your ass or so that you don’t go into hiding before anything can happen.

By the time Buck pulls into your driveway, you’re feeling like hiding might be your safest bet.

He stops the car, turns off the engine. “Let me walk you to your door?”

You nod, unbuckling your seatbelt with shaky hands.

Buck follows you up the short sidewalk and up to your little front porch. You both pause under your outside lights, listening to the sound of crickets screeching from the shrubs. He puts his hands in his pockets and starts to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“So, uh, you were kinda quiet on the way here…did I freak you out earlier? Because if I didn’t, I didn’t mean—”

“No!” you blurt. “You didn’t freak me out, you made me hopeful, actually, I think I’m just afraid of all that romantic stuff because I’ve never done it before…”

He smiles. “Well, yeah, of course it’s a little nerve wracking, but wouldn’t it make you happy to experience those things? Like say, a hug, for starters?”

“Are you trying to hug me right now?” You deadpan, though excitement is thrumming through your veins, blocking out any hesitance.

“Well, actually, I was hoping to kiss you, but warm up to it first, you know?” Buck says, a teasing lilt to his voice, a naughty smirk playing on his lips. You wish there was another word for it, but there’s not.

You freeze. Your face has got to be on fire. You bring your hands to your cheeks, covering yourself from his view.

Buck chuckles. Loosely, he circles your wrists. “Hey, don’t hide. What’s wrong?”

You’ve glued your hands to your face. “You’re making me sweat, Buckley.”

If at all possible, this makes him smile bigger, laugh harder, insanely pleased with himself. You hear the rustling of his coat as he leans down, leveling his lips with the shell of your ear. “Is that such a bad thing?” he whispers.

You pull away quickly, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Not fair!” you joke. “But, I would like a hug…”

At your consent, he’s on you immediately. If you thought he was big just looking at him, having his body pressed to yours, in the most beautiful bear hug embrace you’ve ever experienced, he seems impossibly huge. It makes it feel like you’re the only person in the world. He’s so warm, so solid. His arms are around your back. He’d helped guide yours around his neck, but you’re so dazed that you hadn’t noticed.

God, he’s so tall. You can feel the soft of his tummy, and you’re afraid that if you stay like this for too long you won’t ever be able to get through another day without craving the contact. His hair is surprisingly smooth where you feel it against your cheek. His form practically swallows you whole. Not to mention how nice he smells. You’ve never been able to understand those lines in your romance novels, talking about spice and man and ginger whatever. But now you do. He smells like vanilla shampoo and woody body wash.

“This is so nice,” you mumble into the side of his neck, way before you can talk yourself out of it. You can feel Buck’s laugh against your chest. It feels amazing. It’s like an out of body experience.

He pulls back just enough so that he can look at you, but he doesn’t remove his arms, only shifts so that his hands are gently grasping your waist. You’ve never felt this way before—like all your nerves are being sent into overdrive. You’re alive with the smallest of touches.

“I genuinely can’t fathom how any man has ever looked at you and not wanted to make you theirs on the spot. I could scoop you up and keep you all to myself right now.”

This time you manage to maintain eye contact with him. You grin, biting the inside of your lip. “Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m feeling really brave right now so if you were serious about that kissing stuff, this might be the time to act.”

Buck tosses his head back, gleeful laughter filling the small space of your front porch. Even so, his hands move up to the sides of your neck, fingers warm against your skin. “You’re sure?” he asks, his thumb caressing your pulse. He feels a kick of cockiness knowing he’s done that to you.

“I’m sure,” you say. Nod your head one firm time.

“Maybe your cheek first? As a warm up?”

You nod again. You’ve officially steeled yourself. Buck bends to meet you, tilting your head back just slightly so that he can reach you from a better angle. His hand cups the back of your neck as he presses his lips to your cheek. He’s so sure of himself, so passionate about this small thing, that it feels sensual. It puts you in a trance. His lips remain on your cheek for just a minute, the beginnings of stubble scratching at your skin. You have the urge to giggle like a frenzied teen.

“How was that?”

You bite your lip, hating the way you’re buzzing with adrenaline, filling with excitement at all these new sensations. But more so, you feel so special. So seen. You feel fuller than you ever have before at being treated so gently, being cherished and looked at like you’re this precious being. “I really, really liked it,” you tell him.

“Well, I’m glad.” He winks. “I did too.” He relishes in your little giggle. “How about a real one before we call it a night?”

You’re nodding again. “Yes. I would like that very much. I just want you to know that I might be really bad at it and I’m probably gonna embarrass myself and it’s probably going to be the worst, most awful kiss you’ve ever had and—”

Buck’s lips are on yours, successfully shutting you up. You squeak.

In truth, it does feel pretty awkward for the first few seconds, buck Buck takes it in stride. Doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, just takes what you’re giving him and guides you in a better direction. He tips your head back again, slotting his lips over yours and pressing himself to you. Your brain goes completely quiet. You can’t think or feel anything that isn’t Buck. This feeling spreads throughout your body, easing the ache in your chest, making you feel light on your toes.

Relief.

You admittedly have no idea what you’re doing but try your best to follow his lead, trying to kiss him back with as much passion as you’re feeling inside, tentatively threading your fingers through his hair, setting a hand on his chest. At one point, his tongue runs over your bottom lip and you shiver. Buck’s hand flies to the small of your back, keeping you grounded. You let it happen, curious as to how it might feel. You don’t have words. He licks into your mouth, and you giggle. It makes him smile and he separates from you long enough to enquire what’s got you laughing.

“I just realized what people mean when a couple looks like they’re eating each other's faces. It’s really nice, actually. Not as gross as people make it out to be.”

Buck snorts. “Thanks for the compliment.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, already scrambling to get his mouth back on yours. He doesn’t feel like teasing, letting you pull him down, letting you try and lead this one. You’re so gentle—trying to figure out the right way, the way that works for the both of you, to kiss him. He likes that you treat him so carefully.

When you finally end the kiss, you break the silence created by an intense few minutes of eye contact. “Was I bad? You can tell me, I know I was a little clumsy at the least.”

“Nah, not bad,” Buck says. “You’re a quick learner. I enjoyed it. Ten out of ten, would do it again.”

“Me too. Practice makes perfect, right?”

————

For the past few weeks, things with Buck have been going well. Since that first night out, he’s prioritized getting to know you better, spending time with you that doesn’t revolve around a nasty fire and the plethora of causes it may or may not have had. Time that doesn’t allow for any of your coworkers to pick and tease.

Buck is starting to feel like one of your best friends. That was cemented the night he watched you play Resident Evil 7: Biohazard, enraptured by how quickly you were solving the puzzles and taking down those grimy basement monsters that, frankly, scared the shit out of him. You only told him that you’d played at least four times at the end of the evening. But hey, all your romance novels have told you that the best relationships are based on solid friendships.

You’ve had the opportunity to kiss him more, some of it sweet and exploratory, you being courageous enough to ask Buck how he likes to be kissed, if he likes it when you tug his hair, if there’s anything you can change or do differently. He’ll only answer those questions if you do first, telling him what’s working and what you want more of. As useful as all of this communication is, it was tremendously embarrassing to share your intimate thoughts with him at first.

Some of the kissing has gotten a bit heavier. The first time you sat in his lap ran through your mind constantly for days after, appearing in your dreams, day and night. You couldn’t get over the way he felt beneath you—solid, warm, so real. How he sounded when he kissed you, how his hands felt on your hips and the curve of your ass. How it had felt when he’d encouraged you to grind against him for the first time. You hadn’t meant to moan, but it was like relief had shot through you. Like your imagination was finally getting to take a break because now you were actually doing the things you imagined. You felt so alive, so powerful, feeling him get hard between your legs, hearing the strain in his voice as he encouraged you to keep moving until you finished.

Tonight is the first night of your long weekend. Neither of you have shifts for the next few days, and you took it upon yourself to ask if he’d like to stay over, maybe get takeout and watch a movie or something. It hadn’t been meant as a request with the hope that it would turn into something more. Frankly, you’ve been feeling more shy since that moment you shared a few weeks ago.

You hadn’t expected to watch a movie in your bed instead of on the couch, hadn’t expected to pause it halfway through because Buck’s stare was practically burning a hole through the side of your head and you had to figure out what was up.

“You’re staring, Buck. Is something wrong?”

He’d laughed. It was unlike a laugh you’d heard from him before. It felt sensual. It felt laced with want.

“Nah, nothing’s wrong. I just can’t get you out of my head.”

Your eyebrows had bunched together. “But…I’m right here. Shouldn’t that help?” That laugh again.

“That’s not what I mean, sweetheart. I mean that I can’t stop thinking about fucking you with my fingers.”

And that’s how you’d ended up on your back, head pressed to your pillows, with Buck hovering over you. He’s kissing you, dragging his tongue over the sides of your neck and kissing a trail back right back up. His hand is resting on your collarbone, fingers tilting you up to him.

“How’s this feel?” he asks, voice muffled against your shoulder.

“G-good,” you manage. “Really good.”

He pulls back, sitting back on his knees and setting his hands on your thighs. “Yeah? You’ve been squirming an awful lot.”

The heat radiating off of you, the way you cover your mouth with the back of your hand is enough of a response. Buck doesn’t say anything more, the both of you sitting in silence for a few minutes. He knows you want to say something. But he won’t force it out of you. He’ll wait until you use your words.

“Buck?” Your voice is a whisper. He hums. You clear your throat, and he bites his lip to hide the pride racing through him at knowing he’s got you all flustered. “What you said before, about touching me? I want you to do it.”

“Yeah?” His smile is so gorgeous, so cocky, and if you weren’t so dazed with lust you might reach out and smack him.

“Yeah,” you say. You give him your best, pleading eyes. That’s the first time you’ve ever looked at him that way, and Buck knows that he’s gonna give in any time you do from here on out. He leans back down, kissing you again. You take one of his hands and bring it between your legs, encouraging him to cup you. “You’ve been kissin’ me like that for so long…already feel pretty wound up.”

He nudges your nose with his, a smirk playing on his lips. He sets his palm down against you, over your shorts. The heel digs into your clit and he starts rubbing you, slow, but firm enough that you gasp. Your hips buck.

“Honestly,” he says, “I’d thought about teasing you, but I feel like you deserve this, after all that patient waiting you’ve done. Is that what you want?”

His middle finger presses over your hole. You’re so warm. He can feel how damp you’ve gotten, that you’ve started to soak through your panties.

“Please,” you breathe. “Want you to touch me, so bad, Buck.” You brace your hands on his shoulders, feeling like all this pent up sexual energy is just begging to come out. You feel feral.

“Okay, baby, okay. Let me get your shorts off, alright?” He taps your hip and you lift up, letting him slide them down your legs.

“Oh, um,” he pauses, a concerned look on his face. “I just wanted to tell you, I-I haven’t shaved or anything. I mean, I trimmed like a week ago, but, if that bothers you, I-”

“Hey, no big deal,” Buck says. “Doesn’t matter to me. Not ever gonna stop me from making my girl feel good.”

My girl.

That alone felt like an orgasm.

He pulls your panties down, and you feel heat rising to your face when he marvels at how they stick to you. But the second Buck lays eyes on your perfect little pussy, he’s the one feeling dazed.

“How no one has ever touched you like this…” He licks a stripe up your inner thigh. “How no one has ever told you how much they fucking want you, never fallen on their knees for you…” He spreads your legs farther, shamelessly trying to memorize every detail of you. “Is beyond me.”

Buck sets his middle and ring finger on the hood of your clit, starting to rub you in slow, agonizing circles.

“Because I feel like I could devour you right now.”

Your feet slide up the bedsheets, legs bending at the knee and allowing Buck to get more comfortable as he settles between them. Buck sets his chin on top of your knee. He’s watching his own hand and how it moves over you. His left hand is pushing up your t-shirt just a little so that he’s massaging the fat of your hip. For a moment he pictures holding onto said hips while he fucks you for the first time, imagines what sounds you might make, and he has to keep himself from letting out a moan.

Buck slides his fingers down to circle your hole, reveling in how soft your skin is, how warm and messy and perfect. He gathers some of your arousal on the tips of his fingers, dragging it up through your lips and over your clit.

“How’s that feel?” he asks. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallow hard, looking up at him. “Feels good. When you do t-that—jesus—the up and down? It’s so nice, but the circles, that’s what will get me to—”

“That’s what’ll get you to come all over my fingers?”

You moan. It’s high pitched and whiny, a sound you didn’t know you could make. You force the words out of your throat. “Yes.”

“You wanna take a finger now?” Buck kisses your knee. You’re pretty sure he’s sucked a hickey into the skin above it while you’ve been otherwise distracted.

“Please, please, Buck, I need to know how it feels—fuck!”

Buck’s fingers are bigger than yours. Much bigger. The sight of him hovering above you, his eyes almost black, burning with desire for you, really does you in. He starts slow: a few soft thrusts of his finger rubbing your walls, exploring the inside of you.

Then he curls his finger upwards. Your eyes roll back in your head and at the same time your body gives away how fucking turned on you are, how desperate you are for him—and it’s loud.

You’re so wet that your pussy squelches. Something about that sound flips a switch in Buck, and you’re crying out as he adds a second finger, curling them both, clearly enjoying the filthy sounds you’re making.

Buck pushes your knee down and away, settling completely beside you, propped up so he can see your face properly while he’s fingering you within an inch of your life. The way he’s looking at you tells you that he’s going to make you come soon. He’s making it a mission. He wants your orgasm as much as you do. He needs it.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby. ‘M so glad you let me help out this time. I bet you’ve spent so many nights spread out on this bed, fucking yourself, doing all the work alone.”

Buck’s fingers are making you brainless. You feel blissful, so serene, so calm, so fucking good. He keeps curling his fingers, scissoring them every once in a while. You want to tell him that you can’t usually come just from this, that you need external stimulation. You grab onto his bicep.

“Yeah, yeah, Buck—I have. You’re takin’ such good care of me.” He slows down his ministrations, letting you take a breather. Letting you gather your thoughts before he pushes you over the edge. You cup his cheek, pull him down for a kiss. He’s practically got hearts in his eyes.

“Need you to play with my clit, B-Buckley. W-won’t come without it. I wanna come.”

You look down, suddenly entranced by the way Buck’s fingers are moving inside you. He follows your gaze, chuckling to himself. “You like to watch, pretty girl? Guess next time I’ll have to get you a mirror.”

Buck pulls his fingers out of your pussy and you whine. You shiver. You feel so empty. But all is forgotten when he puts the very same fingers that were just inside of you into his mouth. He maintains eye contact with you while he sucks them clean. You moan, despite the fact that he’s not touching you. It’s just so fucking sexy.

His hand returns to your drenched skin, fingers pressing firmly against your clit.

“Where’s that spot, huh?” he asks. “Show me where it feels the best.” You guide him, a little to your left, that spot on the hood of your clit, not directly on it where the stimulation will be too much, but the spot that has you arching your back, quite possibly more revved up than you ever have been before.

Buck is quick to begin soothing those precise little circles again, a look of determination on his face. For a moment, neither of you say anything. There’s only the sound of your breathing, the wet, filthy sound of him rubbing at your clit.

That telltale heat spreads its way through your low belly, through the tops of your thighs, through your pelvis, up your spine. It’s right there, you think.

“Fuck, I’m—” The words are barely out of your mouth by the time your orgasm washes over you, making the room go fuzzy, shrouding you in pure, thoughtless bliss. He fucks you through it, rubbing you until you’re twitching, successfully overstimulated.

You lay there, covered in a sheen of sweat, attempting to restore your breathing to a normal rhythm when he comes back with a damp cloth. You’d been able to tell him where they were, tell him you could clean yourself up, but he insisted. He wipes you off, gets you clean underwear and a fresh t-shirt.

You sit on the edge of your bed, taking in your surroundings, taking in your own feelings about what you’ve just done. You feel so nice. So special. Confident in yourself and your body.

You feel happy. Having this little piece of you cared for so well doesn’t make you whole. You didn’t need the experience to feel complete, or like it made you normal. But you do feel powerful. This was just the icing on top of the cake. Something of a treat. You wish you could think of another way to put it, but you feel like a badass woman.

Buck’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. He bumps your shoulder.

“I was gonna ask if you enjoyed yourself, but…I mean, I did kind of see that you did.”

You laugh, taking his hand in both of yours. “I did, Buck. I’m glad I got to do that with you. It was perfect for me.”

He shoots you a wink. “Good. And I did wanna preface that I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to do all the other stuff.” He watches the way your eyes crinkle up as you smile.

“I look forward to doing all that other stuff with you. But for now…wanna have a sleepover?”

————

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

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dragonmasterhiccup · 3 days ago

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"A kind heart?" He asked, "Hm, now why does that sound familiar?" Giving Lyra a lopsided grin, he showed that he knew exactly who it reminded him of.

Hearing how this Rose stuck close to Lyra made him give a faint smile, only for it to fall as he learned what became of her.

The hazy gaze...like he saw on Lyra earlier.

Moving, he sat next to Lyra. "...I'm...I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what that must've been like..."

To wake up one day, finding your sister to have just...disappeared? Without a trace? Unable to get your questions answered?

Hiccup may not have had any siblings, but that sounded horrible.

Nodding, he responded, "Yeah, that I know. To be honest, I'm surprised she let me help her as much as she did last night."

It always surprised him to learn of Lyra's true age. She appeared as though she was a similar age to himself, but she was decades older, closer to what his fathers age would have been, if he were still alive.

"She might. She's made some progress in seeing me as more than just a human. I think someday she might join you here...I get the feeling it will take quite a while, though..."

"Being a high fae...what would that mean?"

“Hiccup!” Lyra ran up to the chief, an excited grin on her face.

“Are you busy? I have something to show you!” She took his hand and pulled him towards Altair and Toothless.

“You know how last month the lightning strike caused the large forest fire?” Stopping in front of the dragons the fae all but buzzing in excitement. If her wings were visible they’d be fluttering.

“I did a thing!” She couldn’t wait to show him.

#threads #thethreefaes

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absolute-flaming-trash · 1 day ago

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Pairing: Yandere!Mahito x Disabled!Reader

SFW

Word Count: 1172

Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapping, Confinement, Ableism (what else do we expect from him), Invasion of personal space, Stockholm Syndrome (if you squint), Reader uses a cane to walk, Reader suffers from chronic pain.

Additional Notes: Mahito has feelings he doesn't understand.

“Why are you broken?”

The sentence wasn’t an unfamiliar one. In fact, it was one you’d grown quite accustomed to over the years, in all manner of phrasings, but the sting of it never lessened.

‘I’m not’ is what you wanted to say - to insist that nothing was wrong with you, but such a bald-faced lie would do nothing for you.

“I just am.” You replied, not looking up from the thread you were pulling at in your nest - piles of discarded clothing and fabrics Mahito had no use for. It was makeshift bedding that did little to aid the pain you experienced on a daily basis.

Mahito’s whine caused you to look up in time to see him roll his eyes at your answer, his unsatisfied huff blowing a few strands of his bangs out of his face.

“Yes, I know that.” He bent at the waist, arms extended out, and propped up on the handle of your cane as he rested his weight on it in front of you. For a moment you were reminded of a noir film star in the silent picture era. ”I’m asking why.”

A frown pulled at your lips while a grin stretched across his.

“I’ve already told you.”

“You told me nothing that made any sense, I want details.”

“And what about what I want?” The words were impulsive - gone before you could register how bad of an idea they were.

Luckily, although sometimes you supposed ‘unluckily’, Mahito’s interest in how you spoke to him far outweighed any potential consequence they’d have. It was different, he’d once told you. Brave, yet stupid - like how a small dog would try to fight something much bigger than itself.

A squeak sounded around the cold concrete of the sewer as Mahito squeezed the foam covering of your cane’s handle, and it was hard. Hard not to let anger simmer in your soul at the nonverbal taunt, because that’s what he wanted. A reaction.

Your reaction.

“Why are you broken?” Mahito repeated, his tone and inflection the same as before while he cocked his head.

Again, it was hard not to react.

“I have… problems. In my spine.”

‘Problems’ felt like the best term to use here. With him. Though even still, the word choice caused his expression to practically twist with glee.

“Problems?” He repeated, so much condescension dripping from a single word that it made your stomach churn. “Want me to solve them for you?”

Fear and disgust swam in your heart as much as they did in your gut, and you knew he knew. You knew he could sense it because of the way he looked at you. Hungry for anything you’d give him, both on your own volition and against it.

It was another thing you had grown used to, yet had to swallow down along with the bile that threatened to rise.

“...Not particularly.”

“Why?” This time his tone was petulant as the excitement on his face gave way to disappointed irritation. “It wouldn’t hurt much.”

“Because you don’t even know what it is you would be fixing.”

Mahito drummed his fingers along the cane’s handle. “And whose fault would that be? Don’t you want to get better?” He finished with a coo so mocking your lip twitched - the first of many cracks.

He smiled.

“Of course I do.” Your fingers bunched in the fabric settled in your lap as you practically hissed the words. “But I can’t.”

Mahito hummed and twirled the cane in his hand. “I just offered to.”

You sucked on your teeth. “How generous.”

“Have I not been with you?.” Laughter mixed with every one of Mahito’s words as he dropped the cane and crouched down in front of you. The nail of his index finger dug into the flesh of your cheek as he poked it, uncaring of the scrape it left behind as he dragged it down your face. “I have yet to hear a single ‘thank you’ for anything, actually, it’s quite rude.”

This time it was your eye that twitched and you had to look away from him.

What was there to be thankful for? Sparing you, maybe, though arguably that was worse than being immediately killed. Learning what he was, what he could do. Ignorance was bliss, and it was difficult to stay that way when the screams of his experiments could go on for hours at a time.

The food he gave you was another possibility, but even that was laughable. They were scraps at best, and not even given on a regular basis. A large part of you was convinced the half empty bags of chips he'd toss to you was only done so the noise your stomach made would stop interrupting whatever he was reading.

Not that you'd ever tell him such things. You knew it could be worse. Much, much worse.

“Thank you.”

“See? That wasn't so hard!” Mahito patted your cheek twice, making you grimace. “But what are you thanking me for?”

You inhaled deeply. “Everything.”

Mahito’s sharp bark of laughter echoed along the walls, and his fingers grasped your jaw to turn your face back to his.

“��Everything’?” He cooed, mimicking the pitch and tone of your voice. “I don't think you mean that.”

That was a trap. You knew it was because, once more, he looked at you with that awful hunger in his eyes.

“I do.”

Mahito tutted, “I don't think you do.” His voice almost a sing-song as his nails dug into the skin where your jaw connected to your face. “If you did, you'd let me fix you~.”

“It's not about that.”

“Then what is?” Mahito leaned closer, to the point his nose nearly brushed against yours. It felt like he was trying to look directly into your soul with how intently his eyes bore into yours, and maybe he was. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done such a thing.

Each second that ticked by felt heavier than the last. It made you realize just how dry your throat had been this whole time, and you attempted to wet your lips before speaking again.

“...If you fixed me, you'd get bored.”

Mahito merely continued to stare at you after that. With how close he was, it was easy to watch his expression shifting in real time with his thoughts - a detail that was simultaneously intriguing and frightening.

Eventually he sighed, like an owner disappointed with their pet.

“Bored, huh? That's what you're worried about?” The hand holding your face squeezed your cheeks hard enough to force your lips into a pout. “One little flaw changed and that would be that?”

He didn't wait for you to answer, even if you could.

“If you think I'd ever get bored of you…” He trailed off, nothing too unusual when he was deep in thought, but it was the way he did it that made you want to wish you'd never said anything in the first place.

“Well. You don’t need to worry about that.”

#riri writes #Mahito #Mahito x Reader #Yandere!Mahito #Yandere!Mahito x Reader #Jujutsu Kaisen #JJK #tw yandere #tw kidnapping #tw confinement #tw ableism #tw stockholm syndrome #tw noncon touching #tw invasion of personal space #oof yeah I'm hard projecting here #but it's been a hot minute #it's dangerous to go alone #take this

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reyesstrand · 2 days ago

Note

I wish you would write a fic where they remedy the 'he fell asleep during sexi-time' situation

(so. reading this back i’ve realized something possessed me and this is probably not what you were hoping for anon 😭 but once the idea got in my head i just ran with it. sorry!!)

“So, how are we doing today?”

It feels like a reprise of their first session. It’s raining, today, and the gentle tap tap tap of it against the windows feels like a comforting embrace. Not just for the serenity, but because things have been good, recently. The pit of hope that they can make it through anything has only bloomed inside him since they first saw Dr. Spencer, and it keeps him afloat as he leans to the side so he can keep holding Carlos’ hand.

The first few questions are geared toward Carlos, as Dr. Spencer—Helen, she keeps reminding them—asks him about his work; about any changes he might have made recently after previous revelations about grief and finding answers at the bottom of a case file. It still takes a few moments for Carlos to put his thoughts together, to be vulnerable, but he reflects on all that’s changed in the past two weeks as TK gets lost in staring at his husband.

He crosses one leg over the other and feels at peace, as he reminisces on this morning’s brunch at a new place uptown, where they ate on a colourful patio and shared chilaquiles while sipping on iced lattes. TK absentmindedly plays with his wedding ring, twisting it around his finger with his thumb, as he takes in the way Carlos looks younger, now that he’s here in this office out of uniform.

He still grapples with a weight too big to name, visible in the slight hunch of his shoulders and his need, today, for his glasses, but he looks beautiful just the same—curls not tamed by any gel, his arms bursting in his maroon t-shirt.

“You look like you agree, TK,” Helen says, snapping him from his reverie. Carlos had been talking about how there’s still work to do, but they’re good, again. More like how they used to be.

“I do,” TK nods, squeezing back when Carlos grips his fingers tight. “It started on the night of our anniversary, actually.”

“Tell me about it,” Helen encourages, pen poised above her notepad but her warm gaze focused on them both.

“We just…connected, again,” TK starts, gazing over at his husband to find Carlos already looking at him.

That night is something rich in vivid colour to him, a treasured keepsake that he cradles in the space between his ribs and his heart. He remembers his pulse jackrabbiting when Carlos looked imploringly at him; when Carlos spoke the words TK’s always believed to be true, that every moment they share is a gift.

TK also remembers the kiss. The moan he fed into his husband’s mouth when Carlos’ hand gripped the back of his neck and pivoted them so TK was pressed against the dining table; the shivers that traveled up his spine when Carlos’ knee pushed between his legs.

“You had a long day,” TK gasps, as Carlos bites down on the hinge of his jaw. “You’re sure you’re—”

“Baby, I’m sure,” Carlos tells him, lips ghosting over the shell of his ear. He steps away, then, and walks toward their bedroom. With a crook of his finger, Carlos’ voice sounds wrecked as he half-pleads, half-commands, “Come here.”

TK can still feel the weight of his husband: on his body, against his thighs, on his tongue. TK looks at Carlos again, and feels a dimple carve into his cheek as he shrugs one shoulder and tells Helen: “He didn’t fall asleep on me this time.”

Carlos rolls his eyes playfully, but strokes his thumb over TK’s knuckles. “Never living that one down, huh, babe.”

TK grins, and wants to sit in the familiarity of their teasing longer, but something more prods at his brain.

“We aren’t—I don’t think we can be what we once were, exactly,” TK admits, looking now at the patterned carpet under their feet. “But we aren’t the same people we were before my mom died. We aren’t the same people we were before we lost our first place together. And I think this path we’re on…I think it’ll take time, but, we’ll be better. We always make it through.”

Carlos gives him a watery smile, and presses a kiss to the back of TK’s hand. “Always.”

(i wish you would write a fic where…game!)

#answered #tarlos #my fic

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justastraymoa · 3 days ago

Text

Yet Unnamed

Chapter 3

Masterlist

Korean is in italics.

Warnings for Yet Unnamed: Kidnapping, cuffs, injuries, drugging by injection, mentions of needles, lots of swearing, kissing, fluff, angst, idiots in love all around.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl. Pics off pinterest.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

When you woke next, it was morning, and you were in Chan's bed. Well. Your bed. You could smell the unmistakable scent of breakfast foods.

Groaning through a stretch you were awake, but not ready to get out of bed yet. You were warm and comfortable. The mattress on this bed was so good!

Your muscles were sore from stress and using them to the max to fight off the kidnappers. The ache only making itself known after a hot shower and a good nights rest.

"Y/n! Breakfast's ready!" Someone shouted from outside the room.

You groaned again trying to decide if you were hungry enough to get up. Also weighing the odds of the others leaving you alone if you didn't make an appearance soon.

The second question was answered not even a full minute later when your door opened and a mass off messy blonde hair crawled into the bed next to you.

"Did you hear Lino?" Felix asked as he snuggled up to you.

"Mhm. Comfy." You grumble.

"I helped him." Felix revealed with a hint of pride.

You snort. "I remember your attempt at pancakes."

"I've gotten better since then. Been practicing." He whined. The sound made you giggle.

"Is everyone here?" You had met most everyone last night, but you were still nervous today.

Today there would be questions. And small talk. Getting to know each other and not knowing how to act around the other. Talking about the future.

Felix flung a leg over me. "Yah. Hyune and Lino are excited to officially meet you. Lino insisted on carrying you to bed last night and everything."

You blushed at the thought of THE Lee Know carrying you to bed princess style. Your head resting on his chest and possibly drooling all over him. You probably drooled on Felixs lap too. Ugh!

Eventually you both got out of bed.

"You are tiny." Lee Know stated as soon as he saw you.

You look down at your body. You were average height and weight. Overweight by Korean standards for sure. You wouldn't say tiny at all. "Um, thanks?" You weren't sure he meant it as a compliment, but generally being 'tiny' isn't a negative thing.

Lee Know handed me a plate of food. "You need to eat."

You shrugged not arguing. Breakfast is supposed to be the most important meal of the day after all. "Your food is very good." You complimented as you sat and started on your food.

You smirked as Lee Knows cheeks reddened tomato red. He rubbed his nose and turned away with a nod, not saying anything.

Hyunjin sat across from you with a shy smile. You smiled back easily, insides melting at how cutely shy he was being.

Felix sat near Hyunjin, picking at his plate of food instead of getting his own. It was oddly domestic and adorable to watch. And it must have been a normal occurrence because Hyunjin seemed to be moving bits of food closer to Felix for him to grab. Making sure he got a good mix of all the items available.

Everyone chatted idly as you ate but seemed to be giving you some space. You were thankful. Not awake enough yet for the world and its insanity. At the same time, you kinda felt anxious, like the moments before removing a band aid when you know its gunna hurt so you are clenched tight and psyching yourself up.

It was time to rip off the band aid. Proverbially. "I am sorry for kicking you out of your own home last night." You looked at Lee Know, Hyunjin, I.N, and Seungmin when you said this. Even if I.N and Seungmin ended up coming home early.

Hyunjin waved your apology off. "Don't worry about it. Lee Know and I had a wonderful date night." He smiled over at Lee Know when he said this, who had a soft look on his face.

That reminded you of one of your questions regarding this soul bond group. STAYS had theories of course, but neither JYPE nor Stray Kids have ever confirmed any relationships within the group. "So, you two are together?"

Hyunjin nodded and shrugged, mouth full of pancake.

"We are all kind of in an open poly relationship thing with each other." Chan tried to explain.

"We don't so much think about labels as much as being with who we want , doing what we want. What feels right in that moment." I.N helped out.

You nod in understanding. It wasn't unheard of in soul groups. Other famous people have described it as finding the person you needed in that moment. I.N was saying the same.

And it explains why they never confirmed relationships to the media. Honestly STAY loved it though. They could ship whoever they wanted, and they would be right. Even if they didn't know it for sure.

"Is that...is that okay?" Felix asked. He looked worried, studying your facial expressions for a negative reaction.

You smile. "Absolutely. I was just thinking that no matter who STAY shipped they would be right. And we go feral for ships."

"Are you STAY then?" Changbin asked. He was sat close beside you.

You thought about it. You were in kind of an odd position now. "Yes? I mean I was, you know, before. And I guess my love of your music and stage personas hasn't changed."

"And JYP didn't make anything any easier." Bin scoffed.

"He went about it wrong, but he was only trying to help everyone." Chan was trying to play devil's advocate so there wouldn't be a more hostile work environment than usual. It was understandable.

However, Bin was not having any of it. Chans words seemed to piss him off. He snatched my arm and thrust it towards Chan. "He hurt y/n! Kidnapped her, drugged her! Left physical marks on her!" He snapped. Even angry his grip on my arm was gentle, careful of the bruising.

Reminding himself of all this seemed to really upset him and Bin pulled you into his lap, arms around you loosely in case you didn't want to be there.

Your heart skipped about 7 beats and you could feel your face burn, but you didn't move to get off either. As odd and new as all this was, that place in your chest felt good whenever one of them was affectionate with you.

Instead of overthinking it you let yourself lean back into Bins chest, dragging your plate of food closer so you could continue eating.

"I know exactly what he did, Bin. And I said he was wrong. I only meant that his intentions were in the right place."

"Plus, I mean, he did bring y/n to us." Han pointed out.

"And because of what JYP did we almost lost her, and we have to keep her a hidden. Keep her tucked away like a dirty secret." Bin squeezed your middle tighter as he said this, his voice thinning as he talked about almost losing you.

Absentmindedly you rubbed his forearm in comfort. You couldn't exactly say he was wrong. You knew the consequences of anyone finding out how you got to Korea. The kidnapping would linger over the group for a long time.

The room was silent after this. The air thick with sadness and frustration.

"I really want to show you off." Felix mumbled. The broken look on his face squeezed your heart uncomfortably.

"Its not possible. Not right now." You reply into the following silence.

"Easy fix. We show you off! Screw what anyone says!" Lee Know snapped glaring at you.

I looked away. "What he did - how this started - it will always hang over our heads if we let it get out."

"It doesn't have to! You are making it!"

You knew he was lashing out in hurt, but you couldn't help the defensive anger building in your chest. You push away your plate and sat forward. "And when they question our soul bond? When it ends Stray Kids? Everything you have ever worked for. It's dangerous enough even keeping me hidden!"

The reminder of the consequences seemed to bring everyone up short. You don't think anyone really thought that far ahead. Didn't think of how the world and its harshness would tear apart everything they were everything you all were.

Chan took a shaky breath. "She is right. It would end Stray Kids, and we can't risk it."

Lee Know hit the table with his fist before storming off, a door slamming a couple seconds later making me flinch lightly in surprise.

Sighing and blinking back frustrated tears you pat Bins hand before standing up. "I'm going to go talk to him." You whisper.

"Third door." Seungmin responded.

You knocked on my door lightly, knowing everyone was listening. "Lee Know?" You called.

"Go away!" Came the reply.

"Do you really want that?" You would leave if he wanted, but for some reason you didn't think that was what he really, truly wanted.

There was silence before the door opened just enough for Lee Know to pull you in and shut the door again firmly.

You immediately had and armful of Lee Know as he wrapped around you and hid in your hair with a suspiciously wet sniff.

"Just got you and I don't want to leave you behind."

You rubbed his back gently. "I'm sorry, Lee Know. I can't be the reason all your hard work goes to waste."

"What's the point of it? It won't ever feel like we are whole when we are away!"

"You will still have each other. That will never change. And you will always come back to me."

"It hurts. Without you, it hurts. It's like you are the center - the heart of our soul group. And it hurts when you aren't with us."

You knew it hurt, you knew because even thinking and talking about them leaving you behind hurt. But there was no other way. Not until someone came up with a way to hide your origin story.

"You will get used to the hurt eventually. And you will be too busy while you are working to really notice it. It will become normal." Even if you never wanted it to feel normal. You never wanted to be left behind, abandoned all alone in this apartment. In this country and city you didn't know.

Lee Know didn't answer, just kept holding onto you, sniffing occasionally.

Your moment was interrupted by raised voices from out in the living room. Sounds of slamming and shouts in Korean muffled through the closed door you were behind. You pulled apart and glanced at each other before leaving the room cautiously. Lee Know took the lead, hand reaching back to keep you behind him and so he knew where you were.

What - or rather who - you saw made you wish you stayed in the bedroom.

JYPs nasty self stood in the doorway.

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A/N: I had originally planned on posting every Friday. However, I can already see that I am not going to stick to that.

Since this one is already written and all I am doing is typing it up and changing/adding things as I go, I am already up to chapter 7 being ready to be posted and it makes me itch to have them just sit them.

That being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and look forward to more in the future. (the near future most likely)

Yet Unnamed Taglist: @fackeraccount @velvetmoonlght @hyunjinstolemyheart @vampkittenb82 @happy-jj @estella-novella @demigoddreamon-blog @tiana-maxivar @ms-flowergirl @jennibahng @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @mimimiloomeelomi @simpforskz143148 @xxeiraxx @lil-bear08 @brbwritingfanfic

General Taglist @stellasays45 @beebee18 @weird-bookworm @velvetmoonlght

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meiguicha · 14 hours ago

Text

Would You Fall in Love with Me Again?

Mydei x Reader - Reincarnation AU

No matter how, where or when, you'll always be his greatest love.

cw: major character deaths, descriptions of wounds and illness, spoilers for Mydei's backstory, mild allusions to sex, cussing, ten million liberties taken and written pre 3.1

//happy cny have a borderline thesis. reader has like three thousand past lives/j so i named them for my own convenience (and symbolism but who cares in this economy). n e ways. mydei really reminds me of mobe-- *im immediately knocked out and taken to the back

The inability to die is oftentimes the answer many offer when asked that ridiculous question.

It's easier to sensationalise it, to imagine the feats one could achieve without the fear of death rather than consider the suffering and agony of a feeling body. Though the flesh is willing, what occurs to the mind is far more detrimental than the sensation of pain.

Perhaps for those with a weaker will that is so, but Mydei is not the kind to linger on the hopelessness nor the what-ifs of impossibility. He can endure the hardships those cannot, so even if he has experienced ten thousand deaths, he will keep pushing on.

Though, just like a man, and no matter how much they might spin the tales, he is still a man, within his damned beating heart springs forward a doubt at every turn of the decade.

In countless lives, on countless battlefields, it is always you who wrests that uneasy hesitation from somewhere long forgotten.

Soldier, healer, scholar.

Kremnos, Okhema, Aidonia.

He could count the lives you spent by his side, the names you have taken, the forms you have borne. Yet such trivial things did not matter, inevitably you would learn of him and you would return to his side. And somehow, perhaps through some ancestral wiles, you would coax his very soul around yours, make your very being an integral pillar to his life and cruel as you are, it is only you who could make his head bow.

The first of your lives was advantageous to your nascent mission, the child of a Kremnoan sergeant who served as a childhood playmate. Androphonos, your mother named you. Androphonos, your father declared you.

Fleet footed and much so of wit, he remembers those eyes that bore the flames of day, bands of gold decorating lean arms and that voice akin to the howling wind. Your smile that could assail a thousand men, your parents named you well, for even the sight of it seemed to thrust a great lance into his heart. And yet still, he will never forget the look you gave him when he bested you in combat, the joy and relief on your face when it was he who pinned you unmoving, for that was what struck that final blow of this battle they call love.

“I’m glad it's you,” Admitted to him in the quiet of the afterglow, you had pressed a soft kiss to his palm just before, and though the years have passed, he still remembers your warm breath against him.

He kept his own voice murmuring, carefully returning your affections with a cradle of your jaw, “You are? What kind of people have you been surrounded with that you’d prefer me?”

Your gentle touch was so foreign to him, he couldn’t understand what you saw in him. There was nothing but conflict that predated and awaited him, and if you joined him, you would only scorn this life. The extent of your affection seemed cursory, a kind of obligation rather than true desire. It had troubled him at first, but your words truly held a persuasion unlike any other.

You had only laughed at his response, the ends of your eyes crinkling together as you bared teeth and mirth. Like a teenage boy, the scene of you bathed in warm light, draped in crimson robes and hair undone, had made him feel ever more aware of you, of himself.

“I’ll take no one else, I’d rather die than to be deprived of you.”

Warm as the great skies and embracing as so, the eyes in which he looked upon you could no doubt be described as nothing more than reverent as you pressed kiss after kiss along muscle and sinew. You yielded to him once more, providing little protest as every breath from your lips were more like whisperings of greater divine.

Hands that have ripped the flesh of mortals clawed and drew blood, yet what you left were not scars of shame but that of pride, proof of your conquest. No matter that they were temporary, you merely left more in their wake. He pushed and prodded until even the stars of Kephale bore themselves in your vision, wherein just the sight of your dishevelled and splayed bliss had him comprehend Nikador’s infatuation with Bepsis.

No, though he has never laid sight upon her, he knew you were more beautiful then.

Androphonos they called you, and were it possible, he’d lay dead at your feet for even the thought of your returned ardour was more powerful than any weapon.

Androphonos, a name he thought of within that cell.

The jail of the palace was decrepit, damp and worn. Prisoners did not remain here long, and though he remained undying, that did not mean he did not worry for those beyond it. He has grown weak from weariness and exhaustion, now even copper could restrain him without fault.

That man has gone mad with delusion and paranoia, it seemed he was keen on following after their god along a treacherous path.

From afar his ears picked up on rushed steps against stone, fabric rushing along the wind before all that filled his senses were the swift fall of armour clanging against the floor. The cry of slain guards accompanied the symphony of combat and perhaps to another, this would not be a sound as comforting. But the winds favoured one, the fleet footed and the lean armed.

It was you who appeared before him, a shield and spear in arm with eyes blazing with fury. Breaking open the door with a simple slam of your shield, you had rushed in with little explanation and set to work.

“There’s arrangements for you outside the walls,” Your voice was harsh, yet still you refuse to let your affections be absent. As you released him from his binds, your hands moved swiftly as you wrapped your cloak around him. “I’ll remain here to buy you time.”

To stay there would be the same as a death sentence, and though glory only awaited those who perished in battle, he did not wish for you to pass on away from him. Not in such a dishonourable place, not if he must leave you like a coward to fight his battles.

“Do you think you're invincible?!” Mydeimos retorted back, pulling down your spear as he forced you to face him.

He had not seen sorrow so palatable on your face before. Though tears did not fall from your flaming eyes, the severe furrow of your brow and the grip of your calloused hands were all he needed.

Your free hand, wet with the blood of faithless men, held his face. This body of his cursed to suffer a thousand deaths, his path bathed in blood and fraught with hardships, he should have foreseen your own would be drowned with it. Yet even then, you will hold him as though the most precious thing in this world.

A smile tinged your lips, flesh pulling wide like a mockery of joy. “My love, I will not be killed so easily.”

“Your people need you, you must go.”

He doesn’t know when you dropped your weapon, but the clatter of it meant little in comparison to your touch. So gentle, you were so gentle with him no matter the strength you bore. Chapped lips pressed against his own as iron filled his taste buds, yet you would not let him have this moment any longer, pulling away before he could even convince you otherwise.

“I’ll be with you soon, and if not, I will not join Nikador until I find you in my next life,” your last words to him were whispered against his lips, a quiet promise.

Your laughter is the last thing he hears before you shoved him away, howling in the rushing wind as you bear your spear and shield once more.

Mydeimos would not let you have that last word, and before he escaped, he had yelled, trying desperately to reach you in your fervour, “You won’t die, don’t say as if it's so!”

You did not hear him.

Killer of men. The historians will not write down your name nor your feats, but he will chisel your very being into his memory.

The second of your lives tucked you away in the steppes of Cypris, a healer amidst the townsfolk fleeing from the black tide. Eleemon, the children dubbed you. Eleemon, the soldiers cried for you.

Slender handed and poison tongued, you shielded yourself with a veil, legs akin to a hind and a temper to match. Your reputation preceded you, but nothing could have prepared him for the fire in your eyes when you first forced his gaze. It was not humour that greeted him, not even curiosity, nothing but pitiful vexation.

“You are a fool,” Spat to him in your private tent, you had sat him down atop a makeshift bed to conduct a checkup. Even now he remembers the cool of your palm, nails dragging along his skin as you surveyed his form.

Mydei only retorted back, and in that time he had not known why he found himself unwilling to let the brash bite of his words stain his voice, “And so are you for thinking I need your help.”

He had never met a healer as audacious as you, uncaring of class nor occupation and critical of all. With the detachment only having just been born, taking in the survivors of Cypris was foolish but the sight of your shrouded form enticed the final decision. It was purely logical but not even logic could explain the familiarity in your eyes nor the weight of your speech.

“Not so much as you,” Sneering, your acerbic spite was bared through teeth and a slight mirth. And as you regarded him with a glare that could only rival Nikador’s, he felt some part of Kremnos remained with you.

“Only the foolish think themselves unnecessary of rest.”

The days of travel grew weary on all, wearing down on morale yet you would not allow for even a minute of complaint. Your own pouch of water hung noticeably lighter than the soldiers’ when rest was needed, portions of rations smaller than the children’s, yet you denied the care of your elder and your assistant.

In a past life, he promised to care for you as you would him, so no matter that your lips spewed poison upon each proprietary act of service, he could ignore the flush on your ears for the sake of your fragile pride. If you did truly mind after all, you would not hunch yourself so protectively over his form when the rest hours fell.

He knew you meant it when you declared that you would find him in your next life.

Eleemon they called you, if the gods above were anything like you, perhaps Amphoreus would have no need for Chrysos Heirs like him.

Eleemon, a name he thought of when a youth handed him a cup of wine.

The goblet was made of copper, he remembers, a knuckle’s worth of deep red wine sloshing in the vessel. Your elder had decidedly presented it as celebration when the bright light of Kephale’s gifts grew ever closer. Not even you were immune to the solemn look of the older man, perhaps you had long known he wouldn’t be able to bask beneath the warm sun once more.

You were quiet when your assistant handed him the cup, eyes narrowed at the contents before they directed themselves to your own.

There was that look in your eyes, spiteful and vexed, yet you said nothing, merely pursed your lips and set your drink in front of him. Instead, you busied yourself with pushing his own further and further away from his grasp, and when he shot you a look, you persisted.

“Do you want to deprive me of drink?” Mydei snorted at your almost feline display.

With a sneer, you simply hissed, “Don’t touch it.”

He followed the direction of your gaze, and when all he was greeted was with the back of your assistant, you snatched the copper goblet from the makeshift table to dump out its contents. There at the very bottom were ground up leaves, stained red and certainly not part of the wine if he considered your unusually irate expression.

You never told him what it was, but for the rest of that meal, you spent it staring at that youth.

Far sooner than he imagined, he was left bereft of your snarky comments and acerbic smirk, slinking away from his side with nothing but a tap of his arm. Though he supposed when the target of your withering glares disappeared in the afterglow of festivity, you would be foolish enough to give chase.

Yes, foolish indeed.

When he had finally managed to follow after your tail, you were already in your tent, voices raised to a pitch that even from afar he could hear your enraged roar. You who was so often described as mercurial and high-strung, whose words were already armed with barbs, was truly and utterly wrathful. Tearing into whoever was idiotic enough to incur your already short impatience without care for reason.

Yet, with how grave your expression was before you left, even though he knew you were more than capable, worry still crept up on him. The last time you ran off, far away from his sight, from his grasp, you left him. And now? Hearing the shuffle of limbs and the crash of items, something roiled in his veins.

If anything happened while you were just within reach, he thought, he really would have failed you again.

As he stepped closer towards the entrance of the tent, a familiar voice threw accusation after accusation at you without recourse. Muffled by the light cloth, it did nothing to hide the disgust in their tone, dripping with palatable odium.

“Even now you defend him? What has that patricidal coward done to you?”

Though he couldn’t see your expression, he imagined you were sneering again, baring teeth and pride, “Says you! What have you to your name beyond attempting to kill the man delivering us?!”

“Just because you laid with him does not mean we are happy with this!” They hissed and as though picking up something, you rushed to hinder their path. Even then, this person pleaded, begged, “Don’t you see that it is their god that harms us?”

“Elis!”

That person barely managed to enact their rampage before being swiftly put down, knife thrown off to some distant place and arms dislocated. What happened to them, he doesn’t remember more so than the thudding in his chest, his heart attempting mutiny on his ribs as he rushed into your tent.

He hated that you were always quiet about your grievances. You never let a peep out when you were lacking in food or drink, injured or exhausted. If something bothered you, you’d merely up and leave to sort it out yourself.

Mydei hated it most at that very moment.

He could care less what others did to him. Cut his stomach open, leave hemlock in his cup, curse and call him every name under skies. Nothing could possibly hurt him more knowing that you would take that same suffering in stride, that you would not even tell him.

Even in this life, you were the one protecting him.

Hand held limply over your abdomen, you sent him a weak jibe, devoid of any actual mocking. Your anger and your regret melted away as easily as your strength.

“It's too late, don’t bother,” Murmured through your obvious pain, you made a weak attempt at batting him away as he approached.

“You’re a fool,” He gritted through his teeth, arms desperately scooping your limp form into his embrace. The ceding heat of your limbs was too quick, the spillage of your life more so. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Shaking your head, you refuted him again. “Elis wouldn’t have listened otherwise.”

“I have suffered through worse, a stab would be nothing.”

If he had not known you as well as he did, he could not have possibly discerned what emotion blinked in your glassy eyes.

Sorrow. It was always sorrow.

With a strength that did not belong to you, you squeezed his arm as you forced him to look at you, forced him to look away from your organs spilling out. Still so stubborn in the face of death, he still doesn’t know why you were so wilful, why you refused to even let him help.

“Don’t let them burn my body,” your voice waned.

“They won’t, there will be no body.”

“I wanted to see Okhema, bury me there.”

“You’ll be there to see it, just shut up and stay awake.”

“Mydei.”

That simple call of his name snapped him out of whatever delusion he had entrapped himself with.

“I really….” A strangled laugh wheezed from your throat, your fingers loosened their grip from his arm and even then he could not find the strength to let you lie so defeatedly, holding your hand in his as he watched your eyes cloud. “..liked you.”

And as you reached out to cradle his face, sticky with your own blood, he let himself lean into the last part of you he had. You were gentle, so gentle. He didn’t deserve your gentleness, he’d rather your anger and your poison once more. Maybe then, it wouldn’t have hurt that much.

A tear he had not even known existed fell on your mouth, your lips lifted as you used what little energy left to curse him one last time.

“... don’t look so sad, I’ll be back to torment you before you know it.”

The merciful. Cypris is a name devoured by the black tide and the sands of time, but you will live on in the prayers of countless.

Your most recent life placed you closer still, an Okheman scholar who found the research of Castrum Kremnos life work. Ambologera, your peers sighed. Ambologera, your neighbours laughed.

Fair faced and soft hearted, you bore the mind rivalling Cerces, fingers littered with rings and form almost vulpine like in movement. He heard your name first before all else, the moment the detachment returned to the eternal city, the exasperated groans uttered alongside the call was all he knew of you. And from the roofs of red tiles and billowing silks was you, as though a gift from the heavens presented straight to his hands.

“To think you all would keep me from seeing him!” The incredulity of your tone was exaggerated, offended even at the idea. How could anyone possibly think of stopping you on your endeavours when you…

…when you could only bring blessings upon those you favoured?

With little care for the procession of homecoming, you leaped down from your perch to squeeze your way to the front. Dancing between the tight lineup of armoured soldiers, it proved such a simple task for you to emerge in his vision, effortlessly keeping up with the pace despite one trait he had neglected to consider.

You appeared older, noticeably so. Light wrinkles decorated the ends of your eyes, grey hair peppered amongst your bound braid, and yet he could not tear away that image of you. It had brought such an odd giddiness that for a sparse minute, he believed himself poisoned.

“My lord, it would be my honour if you would spare me some of your time!” Offering a bright smile, the excitement on your face was like pure adrenaline through his veins. A joyous lilt tinged the end of your words as you mused, “I wish to hear everything of the Castrum Kremnos, everything you know!”

Involuntarily, the corner of his lips had quirked at your antics. You were so spirited, for a resident of Okhema to not only greet the Kremnoan procession with little more than genuine enthusiasm but to approach the very leader of it as though little more than a random stranger on the street. It was still you.

At that very moment, just before he could reach for you, a youth rushed out from the alleys to pull you away, then another and another. Despite your age, it seemed as if an entire village was required to hold you back. You would not even allow them to take you back quietly, chiding them for not respecting their elders and still desperately trying to catch the prince’s attention.

Yet, they had such a striking resemblance to you that in that very moment, fear struck far more lethal than any possible mortal weapon. Was it possible that this time, you had finally decided to give up on him? Or had he taken too long?

A treacherous thought surfaced then, whoever it was that married you, could they possibly be more powerful than he?

Within a few days, you appeared before him again, furiously scrawling notes above the marketplace. The sight of him returned the levity of your mood far swifter than any arrow, far swifter than a stranger should. You forced him to join you, and without any more delay, set to questioning on this and that, who takes on the dominant role in households, what materials were most abundant, how trade operated without much farm land. He could have talked of the number of steps in the palace and you would have still made him tell you the exact floor plan of the room.

Odd. You really were odd. But you meant it, you meant your curse.

As if to make up for the lost time, you would find some manner of requesting his presence at all times of the day. Dragging him to here or there, yapping his ears off with talks of your research and any idle old topic, smiling and laughing at him so sweetly that every night he’d dream of you. Your nieces and nephews could have glared at him until Okhema fell to the darkness and still then he believed he would have rather been struck dead that very moment than leave your side.

Torment was a light definition for the ache that lingered at every thought you occupied.

Ambologera they called you, and were it possible, he’d have liked for it to be true if only to spend more of this odd life with you.

Ambologera, a name he dreaded to hear when he returned.

He had been set to engage in another campaign, and though he worried, no, all but agonised over the state of your health, you would not let yourself be part of his hesitation. Mydei took your energy for granted, he hadn’t thought that though the threat of external conflict was absent, there was one foe even he could not defeat with his own hands.

Your house was quiet when he returned, devoid of your usual chaos filling the rooms, and though your nephew had greeted him with a solemn nod, it was cold comfort. He wasn’t used to it, to the silence that seemed to cling to the white walls or the tidy corners of every room he passed. Your bedroom loomed closer and closer, and though he had seen sights that would turn the stomach of even the most grizzled of soldiers, seeing you so weak, so helpless, brought a sliver of despair onto the fortress of his affections.

The windows were wide open, letting in the warm sunlight to wash over your form. Your hands, still adorned, lacked the strength to even wave at him, all you could offer was a tip of your head and that smile of yours. Beckoning him over, he could do nothing but indulge your request, more so when you asked to see the marketplace from the roofs once more, the same roof you leapt off of, the same roof you admitted your illness to him.

You were so light, bundled even in blankets and coats, you were so light. And when you tugged them closer to your form, he simply held you closer. Even as he trekked past curious bystanders, your silence was deafening.

Having settled you comfortably, he watched your hand pull out a small vessel, and when you struggled to open it, he took it off your hands to pop the cork off. The smell that greeted him was acidic, cloyingly sweet and burning his senses all at once.

Mydei scrunched his nose at the item, directing a furrowed brow and grimace at your grinning face. “Should you really be having alcohol in this state?”

“I haven’t had wine in forever, least of all my niece’s,” You just laughed, gesturing for the bottle and taking a swig from it as carefully as you could.

A swig was an understatement, you drank from it as if it was the life-giving waters, anymore and he worried you would have tumbled down from the heights in drunken confusion. You let him snatch the copper vessel away with little protest, and suddenly the action felt so wrong.

“You can’t have more than this.”

“I’ve got the whole amphora in my kitchen, give it to your men, they’d like it.”

He didn’t have the heart to look at you after that exchange, and were it not for the hushed breath ridden with rue, he wonders even now whether you would have known how much it pained to even see you lose your will to fight with him.

A light poke at his arm pulled him from the momentary lament, and your eyes, your bright eyes that had still yet to lose its brilliance crinkled together in an approximation of reassurance.

Reaching back into the depths of wherever you pulled the wine from again, you hummed, “I have something for you.”

“Is it more wine?”

It was not more wine, but rather a hefty bundle of letters, tied up in golden thread. Your handwriting littered the outside, detailing dates and times neatly at first until he got to the last few, lines shakier and less steady. The dates started the day he agreed to help you with his research, but your eyes rifled through the bunch until you pointed out a few.

“Could you read these first? You can read the rest when I’m gone.” He listened, gingerly removing them from the rest and unfurling it.

Parting hour’s second quint, tenth month

‘I dreamt of Kremnos last night, I don’t know whether it was a part of my dream but it felt like it was. I was younger, I could run so much faster and I could do so much more. You were younger too, but you were chained up in a cell and I had to come to your rescue. Could you believe that? Me? Saving you?

You looked so angry but I couldn’t hear you. I can’t remember much but I remember crying a lot, cursing while I fought off guards? I think they were guards, you’ll have to tell me what Kremnoan guards wore when you come back. My back hurts a little bit, my body probably thinks I was actually hurt.

Praise be to Kephale, wishing you safety upon your journey.’

Entry hour’s first quint, tenth month

‘I dreamt of you again. Maybe this is a sign of me missing you? This dream felt real, I think I’ve had it many times before but this was the only time I could recognise who was there with me. Did you know I wanted to be a doctor when I was younger? I only curse my vanity for my being a scholar now.

You were holding me so tightly while I said things, I don’t remember but I know you kept telling me to stay awake. I wish you were here, maybe I could see how you would react to these ridiculous dreams. Would you tell me I have a hyperactive imagination? Only the gods know how many times I’ve heard that from Potnia in my youth. I have a feeling you would indulge me just a little bit though.

Praise be to Kephale, wishing you a most swift return’

Curtain-fall hour’s fourth quint, eleventh month

‘I can’t sleep and I hadn’t the energy to write this morn so I thought to do so now, funny because Skotia keeps telling me I need to do more than sleep the day away. I remembered hearing a debate between my peers arguing on the matter of the afterlife back in my schooling days. One of them said all souls join our gods but another said that souls must return to the living, otherwise our lands would grow barren of life. They argued like that for about an hour until they were forced to leave. I completely forgot about it but with so much time alone, I couldn’t help but to think about it.

I keep seeing you in my dreams, myself as a warrior or a healer, but you remain the same. I dreamt of marrying you beneath the warmth of Kremnos one night, and I dreamt of carrying a young child through the mountains with you on another. The details are consistent, and I can only surmise that perhaps my peer had been correct about reincarnation.

When you come back, I want to know about the beaches of Cypris and the courting traditions of Kremnos. You should know, right? It's okay if you don’t remember, I just want to talk to someone for longer than an hour again.

Praise be to Kephale, I wish to see you most soon’

Gripping onto the furled scrolls, he managed to meet your eyes, gentle. Still so gentle.

“How did you know?”

With a wistful sigh, you dropped your gaze to your hands, flexing them as your rings glinted in the light. “I recognised the architecture, it really was as beautiful as you say.”

“My third life huh… Who else can say that?”

“I want to have more time with you. Maybe fourth time’s the charm.”

“Maybe next time you won’t get a wrinkly old thing like me,” You sounded so amused, yet your voice carried that undertone of remorse.

Next time? He never knows whether there’ll ever be a next time.

Outrage– no. Rage was an emotion too simple for what he felt then. It was fear, desperation, regret and guilt all honed into one lethal lance to be thrust into him, and such a wound was not one that could be utilised against the wielder, for one could not tear the machinations of death.

His voice trembled, and those walls crumbled ever more in the face of your acceptance, “Don’t say that, no matter what form you take, I’ll–”

“You don’t have to lie to old me.”

“You’re not that old,” Mydei insisted, pulling you closer when a shiver wracked through your form. He wanted to bring you back to your room, how the mildest of winds could dissuade you, but even now he knew you would have fought him on this one decision.

As though playing along with a young child, you shook your head and smiled, “Yes, yes, I’m as youthful as you and beautiful as Bepsis.”

“You are,” He insisted once more. “There is no one more beautiful than you.”

It was clear you still didn’t believe him and maybe if you’d have more time together, he would have spent more effort convincing you otherwise. He settled for the softening of your features, even after the passing of the years, you still looked as radiant as the day you fell from the skies.

Resting your head against his shoulder, your voice grew quieter.

“I feel like I could make you do anything now.”

“Will you find me? Next time we meet?”

“No matter where you are, I will bring you back.”

“Then, will you marry me when you do?”

“If you wish so, we can get married as soon as I find you.”

“Will you–” Usually so eloquent, your words lodged in your throat as you turned away from him. “Would you really keep loving me? Even if I change?”

He took your hands in his own, pressing a kiss to each of your palms and drank in the sight of your widened eyes and parted lips.

“I will sooner die than ever stop.”

For all his years in your presence, that rendered you speechless. And so you resorted to merely lying against him, muttering in rambled pace as you asked him about cremation or burial, on eulogies and your will to him. When the descent hour eventually fell, and so did your last words from your lips, Mydei could only tuck you closer into his embrace.

Delayer of old age. Your work will be tucked away in the shelves of great libraries, but it is only your most private writings that will remain immortal.

This time, he’ll be one who searches for you. He had nothing, for all he knows, you could have been reborn in Janusopolis or some long thrown region like Cytheri. Even then, he was willing to traverse the whole of Amphoreus if it meant he would be able to see you once more.

But Mydei finds you, far easier than he had expected, in the depths of the Marmoreal Palace just as the crimson thief star falls. That feeling that tugged at his tendons and played with his heart grew harder to ignore as he wandered sleepless amidst the ivory halls, and though he knew what it meant, he did not know where to go.

Tucked away amongst shelves and shelves of records with the hum of flowing waters to accompany him, that rush in his veins came to a stand still all of a sudden. Hunched over a random table and multiple open scrolls, he supposes that he’ll have to keep his first impression of you drooling onto what seemed like important accounts to himself.

It was endearing, he had to admit. Lashes fluttering as you babbled some nonsense he couldn’t quite hear, he took a few steps closer and your hands swatted at the dust around you. Anyone could have just snatched you away and you would have none the wiser. He stayed, somewhere further of course, otherwise who knows who might come to rob you naked.

And if the sight of seeing you resting so peacefully helped his own slumber, he won’t tell.

Child of Aidonia, follower of none, sharp witted and deathly reticent. Eye bags hanging ever present, arms constantly holding onto baskets of scrolls and ever ready to abandon your duties for a quick nap, the chief accountant is a position few envied and for good reason.

There was only one matter that troubled him, and that was exactly the nature of your job that meant seeking you out would be out of the ordinary. For what reason could he possibly devise to approach you? You reported directly to Aglaea and the council elders, all inquiries were directed to your subordinates and unless it was a matter that was urgent and required utmost discretion, you hid yourself away within the confines of your work desk.

He had once debated requesting your services to directly manage the accounts under his name, but when he thought of your drowsing form still writing and babbling about your work, he decided against it.

As the entry hour welcomes the new day, Mydei thought he got his chance when he saw you scampering towards Demetria with your basket, hair half done and the scowl on your face all but indicative of the current state you were operating in. The transaction is quick, barely any words exchanged as the older woman drops two pomegranates into your basket of scrolls while you drop a sack of balance coins by a crate.

Your scampering grows louder and louder, and perhaps he shouldn’t have been so entranced with even that sight of you since his first real, proper greeting is a hard thump into his shoulder. The contact does little but to send the contents of your basket flying, and though he has the reflexes to catch a few of your documents and the fruit, not everything is so lucky.

Dropping to your knees, your hands flew across the ground to gather everything back as you yammered, “I am– I am so sorry. I wasn’t– I haven’t–”

And when he offers what he has on hand, you snatch them back just as quick, blanching at him before rushing off, at least not before wheezing out a pathetic, “Sorry!”

You’re skinnier, he belatedly notices. Your face should not look so gaunt, nor should your grip be so weak. It was as if the mildest of winds could have drifted you away if you weren’t paying attention.

The thought of how to approach you lingers in his thoughts even as the Chrysos Heirs gather to discuss the state of their mission. He can’t even properly retort when Phainon says something ridiculous, offering a weak remark about how he’s not a single good thing in that head of his rather than scathing snark.

There isn’t much information recent nor shocking enough that he feels the need to fully push you away from his internal contemplation. Tribbie is about to say something when there’s a rhythmic thump that cuts through the air, and yet despite the interruption, no one pays you much mind when you all but slip yourself to the front, arms still filled with that basket.

“Lady Aglaea, I apologise for my interrupting but I have the reports you required.” Your voice is soft, marred with some elements of sleep but still reaching the ears of your intended. “I will leave them by the table if that is okay.”

“It is quite alright. Now that it has come to this, I believe we can bring this meeting to an end.”

Though everyone else trickles out of the room with varying levels of enthusiasm, he finds that he can’t tear his eyes away from you, even as an aggrieved expression crosses your face, the sight a fleeting minute but more than enough to spark a streak reserved for you. The grimace barely lasts, but it doesn’t diminish the desire to remove the source of your troubles yet still.

As you’re looking around, shiftily, as though you’ve done something wrong, your eyes meet his in a misplaced act of carelessness. In an instant, your tendons and ligaments shrink as you visibly tense at the brief eye contact. He wants to apologise, but then the thought of scaring you even more springs up on him far more shameful than any trap and so he doesn’t.

The goldweaver is quick to usher you away to somewhere more private, your tucked in shoulders only further highlighting the difference in your states. It was as if you were trying to make yourself smaller, trying to make yourself near unobservable to anyone else.

An approach of familiar steps is what ultimately snaps him out of his foolish trance, humour and some hint of disquiet seeps into a man’s voice, and when he brings himself to consider another presence beyond your own, he is graced with the deliverer’s amused grin.

The young man muses to no one in particular, blue eyes sparkling with mischief, “This is the first time you’ve lingered so long after a meeting.”

“That’s none of your business.” Biting back, he averts his gaze from your now laxed form. The diversion lasts but a second, before from the corner of his perception, he catches how the resigned breath that leaves your lips as you slip back out from whence you came.

Phainon follows after his abandoned trail with ventured interest. “Who knew that you of all people could get so googly eyed at…” Yet it is only when he gets a proper look at who exactly has captured the attention of his companion, his voice trickles off to little else but confusion, “The chief accountant?”

A huff escapes him, now that you have left, there was no point remaining here. “I’m leaving.”

Metal thumps against marble floors, for someone to slink out of his awareness so quickly, let alone you, would be impressive if not for the fact that he really still has no clue how he was going to talk to you without somehow upsetting your seemingly skittish senses.

“Hey! Wait!” Chasing after him with the fervor of a loyal dog, the only clue of how far exactly his search for you has taken him is by Phainon’s unprepared wheeze that even he has to admit, forced an even smaller snort out of the Kremnoan prince.

“If you really want to talk to them, I can get you just that.”

Mydei has the decency to face him, a brow cocking up in disbelief as he urgently suppresses that ugly feeling he only knew existed a few decades ago. “You? How would you even be able to do that?”

“You’d be surprised by the kinds of deals they cut,” The youth smiles, still panting as he slaps a friendly hand over his shoulder, a move that he doesn’t push off as the younger man begins his ‘master plan’.

Phainon’s plan sucks.

The warm light from hanging vessels of ever flame shine upon your features, bound up hair absorbing the light as you lead him through desks and shelves of sprawled books and people alike. Hands move at a pace bordering languid scrawl and eyes heavy with listlessness scan across multiple rows of work. Yet when they notice his towering form following after yours, their idle activity picks up to a peak, a notion that seems to surprise you judging by your raised brows.

You’ve exchanged little else but pleasantries the moment you saw who had called upon you, and once more he curses that white-haired idiot in his head for not even telling you. For someone so brilliant, this was the best he could come up with? He could have sworn he was lying but when he insisted up and down, swore on his name that he was telling the truth, far more desperately than he’s ever seen now that he looks back in hindsight, he relented.

You keep a steady stride despite the way your hands pick at your nails, and though you remained silent for what seems like the entire walk, you deign to give a younger man some matter of note as you draw closer to what appeared to be your office.

As Mydei is ushered in, the feeling of being trapped closes down onto him before anything else. The room is upsettingly small, made only more so with the looming bookshelves filled to the brim with records and books. He barely has the space to fully stretch out his limbs unless he wants to knock some important matter or two out of its place, and if he does, he has no doubt you would boycott any further interactions with him for life.

Beyond that, this pathetic excuse you called an office only had one other chair, a poor little thing he had to shift baskets upon baskets just to sit properly on.

You couldn’t seriously live like this, could you?

You don’t seem to mind any of it, settling down into your own seat as you hum to yourself, “Having someone they actually respect is the only way they’ll listen nowadays, they’re certainly doing much better with you here than when Lord Phainon offers his services.”

“You make it sound as if you’re being tortured,” All he manages is a brash riposte, and for a quick moment he almost believed you would shirk from his presence again.

Yet, you do little else than to bark out a sharp laugh, shaking your head as you murmur some incomprehensible vent. Glancing at him from beneath your lashes, your attention now fully directed to the sprawling scrolls across your desk, you tip your head to the side to urge his heed.

“Anyhow, I have food on the platter by my desk if you get peckish and an amphora of water on the shelves.”

“If you’d like, you can wander around though there isn’t much to see.”

For the next four hours, you’ve essentially shut him out from your perceptions as you pour over documents with names that did not belong to you, calculate matters as big as annual tax rates and small as the price of the ambrosia served in the palace.

There’s little else for him to do beyond reminding you to drink water, a notion you only mildly indulge him in, and glaring at any slacking fool that comes looking to dump more work on you. The only person who he lets come in is the youth from before, a young blond who only periodically drops by to take baskets of completed work off your hands.

The distress of your working conditions, and living conditions now that he’s been privy to many more of your little life within the marble walls, haunts him for days. It appeared that you weren’t the only one plagued with such woes, but you are certainly the one most affected by the inefficiency that infected your department. And yet, you did nothing to counter it, allowing your meagre office to grow so encroached with the faults of others all the while you smile and suck it up.

Another issue that can’t be solved with his hands.

When the hours grow late and the thief stars threaten to race across the bright skies once more, he finds the opportunity to ask you. The response hurts him more than he would like it to, and he wishes more than anything that he could take this suffering from you.

“Does it not bother you? That you have to do all the work?”

You smile at his question, the corners of your eyes crinkle together as a sardonic smile tugs at your lips. The flames of light dances within them, infusing your weary features with a spirited edge. In these quiet little moments where your every expression belongs only to him, no matter what emotion you present to him, he selfishly indulges in every inch of annoyance and mile of rue.

Vexation of the utmost resignation falls from your lips, droplets of water clinging to the soft skin. “I have little say over it, and it seems like with every new person that gets added to my team, my pay gets lower and my work gets heavier all because some old coots want their perfect little children to have the joy of a prestigious job without any of the miseries.”

“Do I look happy?” You hum.

Of course you don’t. He’s known you couldn’t possibly be happy the first time he’s laid eyes on you. But foolishly, he had hoped that you could find some sliver of joy from your work.

You are about to return to your work when he gingerly rises from his seat, offering an open palm to you. Your face twists, but it brings your hand to a standstill.

Mydei offers once more, “Come.”

“What?” Despite your confusion, you put down your pen and take his hand. Your palm is warm, slotting perfectly in his as he waits for you to straighten yourself out.

“I’m going out for something other than recycled air, and you look like you need a break from your self mutilation.”

A smile, one devoid of your neverending complaint or your heavy burden, blooms across your lips. And so he spirits you away from these walls of shelves and marble, jewellery and fabric dancing behind your rushed steps as though two lovers eloping from the eyes of the world. When you are eventually unable to keep up with him, he hefts you over his shoulder with nothing more than a brief stop, returning back to your fleet-footed journey.

The squeak that leaves your lips and the giggled mirth falling as easily as rain against him sends pleasant shivers through his bones, and he’s certain that he’ll think of those sweet sounds when you must eventually part.

He only sets you down when you’ve reached a garden hidden away from anyone who could possibly disturb you. Surrounded by the virtue of life, basking under the grace of heavenly light, free from those confines, he thinks he’s fallen in love all over again.

There stands you, leaning over marble railings and smiling at him, and now he’s all too aware of every movement he makes, every little twitch of your fingers and every inflection in your voice.

“I think I would’ve fallen dead over my desk if you didn’t drag me out here,” You laugh, joy and relief flickering in your eyes as you urge him over.

He listens. Of course he does. You could have him leap off this ledge and he would have done so if it means pleasing you.

You talk of everything and nothing. Your work, your meals, the pleasant conversation you’ve had with Phainon, how sweet the cloying wine you sneaked one night was. You spoke as if given a deadline on your life, and he held onto each and every piece you would give him, even as you devolved into petered silence.

That wretched star appears across the west, Mydei leans closer. “If there’s anything you want done, tell me.”

You only brush him off, as if indulging a child, “I couldn’t, you’ve done so much for me already.”

How can he tell you that he wants to be your shield and your spear? How can he tell you that beyond anything else, he wants to ensure that every waking day you spend, it is one that is filled with nothing but felicity. And if you would let him, how can he tell you that he wants nothing more than to lay by your side once more?

“Okhema would probably collapse if you die, and I can’t have that,” He continues, and you only laugh once more.

Perhaps not Okhema, but he would.

That too, he keeps to himself.

‘Got the day off and they’re doing a promo on those pancakes, you want?’

When Mydei’s teleslate lights up with your name decorating its screen, he scarcely has to even read before he’s racing off to your side.

The face you give him when he does appear, in front of a plate of golden honeycakes and a chalice of what he knows is apple juice, could only be described as incredulous. No matter that this must be the thousandth time he’s done so, you always act as if it was the first.

“You’re here fast,” You hummed with a pleasant squeeze of your eyes.

“You asked me out, and knowing you, you’d probably have to abandon ship to get back to work.”

He delights in the mock offence that immediately twists your features, the dramatic show of your arms, you even go so far as to hold a finger up, sipping from your cup before continuing. “Don’t curse me, I’m really looking forward to these.”

It's cute, he is certain you don’t realise that your dramatics are something he looks forward to even now.

Picking up your fork with poorly hidden anticipation, the metal surface spreads an even amount of sweet fruit syrup over the tower of cakes, and as you cut away a small piece, your teleslate rings to life upon the table.

A glower pulls onto his face, and what feels like the nth time, he understands in his gut how annoyed you must have been the first time this happened. His own irritation could not possibly compare to that of your own, the sheer chagrin that manifests in every limb is only masked by the sufferance you’ve honed so long ago.

As you pick up the call, your eyes close and your fingers press against your temple. “Hel– Hey!”

Still careful to not accidentally yank too hard, he snatches the device from your hand and checks the contact. Not Adon. Free game.

“They’re with me, if you have anything important it can wait until tomorrow,” Hissing into the speaker, he hears the person on the other end sputter out some remark about ‘unfinished reports’ and ‘mistaken data’ before he merely snorts and hangs up.

As if you were the one making some asinine mistakes easily fixed, you leap out of your skin, stealing your teleslate back before rushing to pack up. “I don’t even know who that was! Shit! I have to go back, I’m sorry but–”

Mydei has to grab you by the arm before you start running off on him again, an act that has you staring at him wide-eyed and betrayed.

“You said so yourself, you have the day off. And you’re spending it without worrying about what some freeloading idiot’s dad thinks,” He says, as clear as day and obvious as the skies.

“If anyone has a problem with that, they can talk to me.”

It takes a little more than that to convince you to stay, in fact, it requires footing your bill and being fed more than half of your pancakes for you to not go running off without his discretion again. But, there’s a noticeable lightness to your shoulders, and watching you eat so well is more than enough for him.

The descent hour has fallen upon this day, and your eyes keep glancing between him and the passing folk, then lower and back to the streets. You tense again, shrinking within yourself when he meets your gaze with little more than a raised brow. Acting as if you’ve been caught stealing, your ears flush hot as you rush to break the eye contact between you two.

Mydei leans closer to you, he notices some remnants of red syrup clinging to your lip, “What?”

“Nothing! I was just…” You swallow hard. “...just thinking about what to gift my cousin for their wedding.”

Somehow, he doubts that but he’d sooner drop dead than get you to admit what goes on in that head of yours. Instead, he settles for wiping off the stain of sweet fruit from your bottom lip with his thumb, licking it off when he pulls away. That only worsens the burning beneath your skin, and for the rest of your time together, all he gets from you is wide-eyed stares and rambled sputtering.

The Kremnoan leaves you at your doorstep that day, pomegranates pushed into his hands and a very, very oddly, high pitched farewell.

For the days following up to an annual get together, your actions have only gotten more and more odd to him. It isn’t quite the same in which you used to be, bothering him for this and that despite being able to ask anyone else, no. This course of mannerism you have chosen to go with is odd in the sense that it's confusing.

Although Mydei still joins you in your office whenever he has the chance, your voice doesn’t fill his ears quite as much. He has grown so used to your hushed mutterings of percentages and one sided conversations that now, he absolutely hates only being able to hear your writing. Every now and then, you would glance up at him and look away, murmuring beneath your breath before you’d squeeze your non-dominant hand tight.

He writes off your new behaviour as the effect of an overloaded workload. You’re still asking him to join you on your days off, you’re still staining your hands red with fruit to give him, you’re still welcoming his presence. He can accept that.

Your absence from his side during said get together is the only thing that worries him most, the glimpses he gets of you from afar just barely satiates that hunger to see you, to be near you. There’s still that flush aglow beneath your skin, your eyes crinkling together as you smile and laugh along to whatever it is that blond assistant of yours said. The warm lights cast a radiance onto your features, onto the valleys of your chest and the curves of your shoulders, a sight that once belonged to only him. Your lips wet and plied with drink, your tongue swipes over them but even that sends a heat through his form.

It's an ugly feeling, worse than anger or regret. Those had reason to exist, could be made into something bigger than petty disgust, but this… whatever this emotion is, can only be left to stew. He thinks he hates it more than anything else.

The prince must force himself to look away from you, an agonising feat he hadn’t even thought was possible until now. He makes that treacherous mind of his listen to the conversation to be had, endures Phainon’s teasing and the curious looks, anything to shift those thoughts of you out of his head. He makes himself smirk at snide remarks and offers advice, he makes himself ignore the intrigued look on that white-haired idiot’s face when he follows after his meandering gaze.

It doesn’t work, of course it doesn’t work. It is as if every part of him was made to search for you, and just sitting here knowing that you are but a few metres away is a torment he would not wish on anyone. He would rather you claw his heart with your own two hands than this, at least then you would be pouring your undivided emotion into him, at least then he would be the only one to have this part of you.

You’re the last remaining by the time the gathering dies down, with Adon trying and failing to pull you out of your seat, your hands waving him away as you mumble out something. And as he approaches you, you seem to perk up at his presence, a matter that he preens at internally.

Smiling at him, baring teeth and joy, you gesture for him to come closer with little care for your assistant’s nagging. “You’re here.”

A glance is all it takes for the blonde to throw in the towel, shrugging his shoulders before slinking out. Mydei takes this opportunity to bask under your gaze far swifter than logic should dictate, his form sidling to sit beside you and yet, you are faster, pressing yourself to his side as a strap upon your shoulder slips down.

“And you’re sitting here like you’ve been abandoned, because?” He manages a response, shooting his eyes upwards as he tentatively pulls up your fallen strap.

You don’t seem to notice, your arms drape around him as the weight of your body slumps, “I’m sleepy. And wine makes me say things people don’t like.”

He can feel your chest pressing into his arm, he can feel everything if he was to be honest with himself. Your gentle touch dancing on his skin, the warm breath from your lips, his every vein and bone, he’s so keenly aware of it all that he’s certain that a weaker man would have been rendered dead by your feet.

Your wide eyes meet his, watery with slumber and fiery with something distantly related to reliance.

“...come, I’ll take you back.”

Just like a time long before, he scoops you into his embrace and carries you through marble walls and flowing waters. Your feet dangle and kick along your mirth, and when you shiver from the wind, he simply holds you closer. This pleases you ever more, and knowing that even that could elicit such sweet sounds from you forced a flush of his own onto his cheeks.

With you like this, he can pretend that you’ve accepted these feelings for you the moment you met. He can pretend that he’s carrying you back to your shared home where he can place you into your sleepwear and lay next to you. He can pretend that what you feel for him is more than cursory friendship.

You wave at those sacked with the late shift all the while you babble about this and that, of your increased salary and the new flavour he must try when you get your next chance. There was no rhyme or reason to your rambling, but it is still yours, and so selfishly, he takes it. The Kremnoan man tries his best to respond, humming along to your prattle or offering an answer to your rhetorical questions, and even if your pace simply outpaces his own, he can’t help but to indulge you.

“Y’know, my family keeps asking me when I’m going to get married. But they don't even know that the only people I see consistently are my staff, Lady Algaea and you and I can’t possibly get married to any of you!” Your voice is louder than usual, as though scared he wouldn’t listen.

“And sure sometimes I dream of you and we’re always doing some sappy bullshit but those are dreams y’know? I’m pretty sure it's some weird past life thing but that feels worse. So there’s no way you could possibly love me when you have a face as handsome as that but every time I wake up it feels so nice so when I see you in my office I pretend you really are in love with me.”

You close your eyes, he’s not sure whether the glow on your cheeks is from the alcohol or emotion, and you giggle into your hands, “I had this dream you even took me once! No way is that happening!”

He can barely believe his ears at this moment, barely process your speech. His brain has almost likened your drunken chatter for a different tongue that he can’t even muster a response. All he manages is a choked out, “You…”

“Ahh, it's fine. I’m sure you’ll get tired of me one day, they always do.” Resting your head as casually as if uttering the weather rather than implying he could do anything other than love you, you turn those watery eyes onto him again, and like a death sentence, he feels his heart ache. “If I fall asleep, can you stay? I’d feel bad if you didn't.”

Mydei doesn’t get the chance to respond, still too struck with the weight of your words to realise you’ve fallen to slumber in his embrace.

‘...I pretend you really are in love with me.’

Pretend. How foolish of the both of you, that two separate minds would both desire the other’s love yet be too cowardly to seek it out, to pretend that the other is in love with you.

Then the next part fully registers in his head, and then the last.

He opens the door to your house, closing it behind him as he settles you into your bed. The prince is half tempted to steal into the night, but when his eyes inevitably drift to your sleeping form, drool leaking onto your pillow as you mutter nonsense to yourself, he can’t bring himself to leave you.

How could he ever grow tired of you? If anything, with every passing day he spends in your very existence, he falls deeper into the abyss called love. He can scarcely remember what your past lives looked like anymore, in his memories they all have your face and your voice, and he wonders now how much of it is because of this ache in his chest.

Your gentle touches, your barking laughter, your sharp remarks, your rambling speeches. The way you look at him as if he is nothing more than a mortal man.

In your befuddled slumber, his name falls from your lips, again and again until something he never thought he’d ever hear comes tumbling out, “...I love you too, Mydeimos.”

He wants nothing more than just to be a mortal man who loves you.

That him of the past that once said torment was to be in the same room with you yet unable to be by your side could not possibly have known that there is greater affliction.

He awoke in your house with the sunlight streaming through your window and your blanket carefully draped over him, the smell of your soap clinging to the fabric and his senses. There was a cup of water on your bedside table, left there with nothing to accompany it. He half expected to hear you shuffling back in or your faucet running from somewhere, and yet there was no one but him left alone once more.

Every morning he passes by the fruit vendor, Demetria is bound to ask about your wellbeing and not even he can find the heart to tell her. So he affirms her theory of your rush and takes your pomegranates, leaving the exact amount needed to pay despite her protests.

Every morning he is barred entry from your office, and all he can do is leave your fruit in Adon's hands.

You’re cruel. To have offered all your love onto a golden platter then snatched it away the moment he thought he could finally have it. He’d rather never have your love than to never see you again.

Since becoming so keenly intertwined with your life, he waits until the thief star appears upon the eastern skies to find you. He knows there won’t be anyone, and foolishly, he hopes that means you’ll be honest with him.

“As I’ve said, they aren’t currently taking visitors right now. Not only that, but it's literally the crack ass of curtain-fall, go back.”

But as always with you, it seems that Adon is somehow always there to be his obstacle. The youth is obstinate in his insistence that Mydei not even be allowed to leave a message, and for a man who has rarely ever wished violence on those undeserving, he’s starting to wonder how much you pay him if it means that lap dog would stop his path so earnestly and whether its worth it.

With closed eyes and an exhausted sigh, you emerge from your office reprimanding the blond, “Adon, who the hell are you arguing with? Just because Lord Mydei hasn’t been h–”

You must have been expecting someone else to so easily hang his name by his lips, but it's clear that his appearance is not one you appreciate right now.

The first thing he notices is the tear tracks down your face, akin to fiery magma when illuminated by the torches hanging above. They’re fresh, still dripping from your lashes as you gape at him. Your lips have been bitten entirely raw and bloody, crimson staining beneath your nails.

Your assistant scowls and twists to shove you back in, but you catch him before he can do so, averting your eyes as you hiss, “Let him in.”

Only then does the blond relent, still sending him a nasty look before you send the youth one yourself, effectively hushing Adon.

Your office somehow feels even smaller than it did when you first met. You seemed to have abandoned the thought of organisation as now even the floor is littered with scrolls and baskets. He, and you, have but a small patch of clear space, an arm’s length away.

There is no pomegranate by your desk, not even the carcass of one at this late hour.

Faced with your back, with your clear sorrow and misery, the thought of spilling his most vulnerable emotions vacates.

“You’ve been crying.”

“You’d cry too if you had to do what I’m doing.” You only retort, voice barely above a whisper as though to not betray that facade you always put up, “Is that all you came to say?”

You won’t look at him.

Mydei calls your name and your shoulders shrink onto themselves, a repressed weep wracking through your form. He calls for you again, “Is someone bullying you? Who is it?”

You still won’t look at him.

He wants to throw his pride off this ledge, he wants to lay his head by your feet, he just wants to bring your face into his hands and take your suffering from you. Because if Nikador has cursed him with this undying body, then let him put it into good use for you.

Not daring to reach for you, his voice fractures at its very foundations, “Please. Tell me what is bothering you, if I have done anything to wrong you–”

“Wrong me? Mydei,” You rasp, words all too shaky as your eyes spill more of your salient despair. “It is exactly because you didn’t that I can’t stand looking at you.”

You’ve never been particularly eloquent, not with him, not now. Not as you choke on your own emotion and words, pawing at your bloodshot eyes and clawing at your scalp. “I– I can’t– I’m not– why are you—”

Your knees weaken, and before they can give out on you, he reaches forward to soften your fall. Mydei pays no mind to the brief shock of pain that comes from the sudden action, instead focusing on how much harder your chest heaves and your desperation for breath as you collapse into yourself. It only worsens when you see him by your side, when you realise what he’s done for you.

“Breathe, you have time.” He forces you to sit up, keeping his distance despite how badly he wants to hold you.

You shake your head, trying your best to speak as clearly as possible, “I can’t– I’m not– the kind of person people like you should care about.”

“And why not? Do you think I would be so cruel to you?” He asks, like an idiot.

“I don’t know!” You snap, because really, your patience for him should only go this far. “I can’t throw myself into glorious battle for you, or protect you. I can’t do anything for you! For all I know, the only reason you’re even here is so you can fulfill what a version of me wants.”

“But guess what? That me is dead! Every single version of me you love is dead! And all you have now is a pathetic fool who thought they could have that too!”

He stares at you, your wet eyes and wet anger, your humiliation he now understands burning at every single rational thought that could possibly cross your mind.

Mydei has failed you.

You’re finally looking at him but your sorrow shrouds you, you still won’t look at him.

He doesn’t know what to say, he knows that at this very moment you might not believe him but you have time, you have time together and that’s all he needs.

Inching closer, he takes your lack of movement as a sign of acceptance.

“I could care less about what you can or can’t do for me, I love you no matter who you are, regardless of who you were.”

They’re warm, he finds your hands and cradles them within his own and he can feel every line and scar that has marred the soft skin. The soft act rips another flinch from you, but you don’t move away, staring at him with wide eyes and quivering lips.

He presses his lips to your non-dominant hand, littering gentle kisses along each and every bloodied mark as he murmurs, “You could tear every tendon from my body and I would still crawl back to you.”

Your dominant hand, the one that wields a weapon far more lethal than any lance, is most deserving of this. “If you think my love for you is that shallow, I am willing to spend the rest of our lives proving otherwise over and over again.”

More tears only streamed down your cheeks when he finishes, but the way you lean closer into him, it is as if you’re all he can see and all he will know. He would like that, for the world to fall away for just this moment so that he can show you how much he adores you on his knees.

“Would you…?” You don’t finish your question. You don’t need to.

‘You’re beautiful here, under warm lights and with wet eyes, in your too small office and your undone hair’, Mydei thinks, selfishly, ‘and in his arms’.

He holds you against him as tight as he can, as if slackening his hold would let you slip away from him. The arms that drape themselves atop his shoulders seem to share that very same fear, and when a hand of his slings itself on your hip, a soft sob escapes your sweet mouth. Your body is still twisted in some odd angle, spine trying to compensate for the distortion before he simply shifts your legs proper himself.

Your eyes upon him, reflection bearing only him, you’re looking at him. Before he can say anything, you lean in for a clumsy kiss.

Teeth clack together as the taste of your blood and tears fill his senses, his lip catches on your canines at times but you’re quick to correct course, adjusting your head to avoid nipping him anymore. He responds in kind, squeezing his arms around you harder as he presses into the kiss.

You kiss like a starved man, taking everything he gives you as if he’d take it back the next. The prince yields to you, providing little protest in a way he will only ever for you.

Murmuring against your bloodied lips and sharp teeth, he promises to you, “...over and over again, as long as you let me.”

Adon received the title of vice-chief the day a few days after your honest confrontation. You had vouched for the young man in an effort to reward the new talent but based on the youth's horror struck face, you’re half certain that he’s been cursing you out in his head since the revelation.

Anyhow, with Adon being able to exercise a higher degree of power and the threat of actually being sacked hanging above some staff’s heads, you happily filed a request for leave and immediately took off the moment it got approved.

At least, that must be what your love was hoping for.

Kneeling by the desk of your office, you gestured towards a few baskets surrounding it as your eyes darted between the documents on the table and Adon’s dying hope. “These need to be done and in Lady Aglaea’s hands before I get back, if not, we’re all going to get it.”

“Yeah, yeah, congratulations on your wedding too, don’t die I guess,” Without wasting a minute, he rolls his eyes as his hands start the first few stages of preparation. And as if you were deaf, he mutters under his breath, “What kind of world are we living in that you get married within three months?”

“A nice one that rewards people who get work done.”

The blond just sneers, “Pah, if I didn’t know better I’d ask which old bag you shacked up with to be looking like this.”

There was a kernel of truth to such an acerbic statement, truth be told ever since your feelings have been pitched down by the weight of your lover’s clarity, you’ve had the excess time to put more effort into your appearance. Well, effort is an understatement as now you’ve been receiving and wearing the many gifts as per customary of the wedding process. Golden hairpieces, necklaces with deep sapphires, rings to adorn your fingers, robes of smooth sheen draped over your shoulders, to the untrained eye, you appeared more of a nobleman’s spoiled wife than the chief accountant of the Marmoreal Palace.

“And if you did know better you wouldn’t have said that,” Your voice comes out a hum, less interested in disturbing the boy from his work than waiting for a certain someone.

When the sounds of chatter die and the scrawl of writing starts, you still feel lightheaded at the thought of him, at the sight of him. Striding amidst the now hard at work, a smile breaks onto your face as you urge for him to come closer.

“My love!”

Mydei sends a triumphant glance at the now grimacing Adon as he enters the cramped room, ignoring the fake gagging and retching with an open hand offered to you. “Have you sorted everything? Or will you leave me high and dry for the palace’s ‘negative’ cash flow again?”

“That was one time!”

“Of course, as you say,” He only raises a brow and grins at your rebuttal.

You’ll dig yourself out of any grave for him. Thanatos will have to fight you tooth and claw for you to consider ever leaving him again. How could you possibly leave him here? Even thinking about it spirits you.

You want to spend the rest of your days with him under the bright light of day, you want to fuss and talk his ears off as he looks at you with those lovestruck eyes, you want to return to his homeland and learn all there is about him. You want to be a person who loves him more than ever.

Taking his hand into yours, you bring it up to press a soft kiss to his palm, gentle and cherished. A small smile is all you can muster, “You’re going to have to try harder than that if you want to get rid of me now.”

“As if I could ever.”

Mydei leans closer, as though fettering himself to you for the rest of time untold.

“Can you two get out?!”

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr mydei #mydei #mydeimos #mydei x reader #x reader

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daryltwdixon · 2 days ago

Text

Summary: In the cold of a nearby neighborhood, Joel’s condition worsens, and tensions rise as you and Ellie do everything you can to keep him alive. Desperation and doubt linger as you search for answers, only to uncover something you never expected—a letter in Joel's bag.

Inside the still coldness of the basement, somewhere east of Colorado State University, where you’re certain those men won’t track you, you’re huddled over Joel. You and Ellie rip into any fabric nearby—blankets left behind, clothes from your bags—anything you can find. The dim light filtering through a small, dirt-smudged window barely illuminates the room, but it’s enough to see the blood soaking the small mattress you found for him.

“Keep pressure, El,” you say, your voice trembling as you fumble for another strip of fabric. The cloth in Ellie’s hands is already soaked through, dark red seeping into her fingers as she presses down on the wound. Turning back, you grab more, switching out the saturated material for something marginally cleaner.

Joel’s body shudders under your touch, his groans low and guttural. His skin is pale, slick with sweat, and every fevered sound he makes feels like a knife to your chest. Seeing him like this—fighting, slipping—makes you want to scream. But you don’t. You can’t.

“Ellie,” you say suddenly, your voice barely above a whisper. She looks up at you, wide-eyed, her hands still holding firm against Joel’s side. “We need a first aid kit. Something to stitch this up. If we can’t stop the bleeding—” Your voice cracks, but you force yourself to continue. “There’s no use.”

Ellie’s face pales, her breath catching as your words sink in. For a moment, she looks as though she might crumble, her lips trembling as she stares down at Joel. “Okay,” she says finally, her voice small. “Okay. I’ll go look.”

“There was a mall,” you tell her, speaking quickly now. “About a mile away. I saw it when we were riding in. Go there. Take Callus and your gun. Take Joel’s, too.” You grab your bag, yanking it open with shaking hands. “Take whatever you need from here. You’ve got this, kid. Do you hear me?”

Ellie swallows hard, her jaw tightening as she processes your words. “What about you?” she asks, her voice wavering.

“I’ll stay,” you say, your throat tightening as you glance down at Joel. His face is pale, sweat beading on his forehead, and his breathing is shallow. “I’ll guard him. Keep pressure on the wound. Keep the bastard alive.”

“But what if they—what if someone—”

“I’ll handle it,” you cut her off, your voice firmer now. “Joel can’t be moved like this. We’ll just slow you down. You’re faster, Ellie. You can do this.”

She hesitates, her eyes flicking between you and Joel, the fear in her expression so raw it twists something deep in your chest. But then she nods, determination setting her jaw. “I’ll be back,” she says, gripping her gun tightly.

“I’m counting on you,” you whisper, holding her gaze. “Be careful, Ellie. And don’t take any risks you don’t have to.”

She nods again, her lips pressing into a thin line as she grabs the supplies, slinging her bag over her shoulder. With one last look at Joel, she turns and disappears through the doorway, her footsteps fading into the distance.

As the silence settles around you, you glance down at Joel again. His face is slack, his breaths shallow, but his eyelids flutter weakly. “You’re not leaving us, Joel,” you whisper, pressing harder against the wound despite the tremble in your hands. “You’re not leaving me, dammit. Not like this.”

Somehow, the basement feels even colder now, the chill creeping in through the cracks and settling into every corner. You sit beside Joel, your back pressed against the wall, your knees pulled to your chest as you watch him shiver uncontrollably. His teeth chatter, the sound sharp and rhythmic, and every breath he takes comes out in foggy bursts of air, a stark reminder of how cold it’s gotten.

You shift closer, tentatively placing a hand on his arm. His skin burns under your touch, feverish and damp with sweat, and it makes your chest tighten with panic. His body feels wrong—too hot, like he’s burning up from the inside out. Every labored breath he takes sends another rush of fog into the cold air, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

“Joel,” you whisper, leaning closer. “Hey. You gotta stay with me, okay?”

His head turns slightly, his eyes fluttering open just enough for you to catch the faintest glimpse of brown beneath his heavy lids. He doesn’t speak, just groans softly, his teeth still chattering so hard it seems to shake his entire frame.

“Shit,” you mutter, brushing damp hair away from his forehead. His skin is slick, his breath shallow and ragged. You glance around the room for something—anything—to help stabilize him. But you’ve used everything, and there’s nothing left. Panic swirls in your chest, but you push it down, forcing yourself to act.

You tug at the zipper of his jacket, pulling it open as you slide your hands beneath the layers. His body radiates heat, and for a moment, you hesitate. He’s feverish, burning up, but the freezing air around you is a bigger threat now. You need to keep him warm—keep his body from going into shock. His skin may be hot, but you know the cold is getting to him quickly.

Carefully, you maneuver yourself closer, slipping beneath his jacket and pressing against him. The heat from his body is almost overwhelming, and the dampness of his clothes clings to your skin, but you ignore it. Wrapping your arms around him, you adjust until your chest is flush against his side, your head resting just beneath his collarbone.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, your breath brushing against his neck. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Joel stirs faintly, a soft groan slipping past his cracked lips. His arm moves weakly, holding you against him.

“Save your energy.” you murmur, holding him steady. “ Let me do the work for once, alright?”

The words are shaky, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. His body is too hot, the fever taking its toll, and it makes you feel helpless. But you press closer, letting your body warmth stabilize him as best as you can.

“Just stay with me, Joel. Please. Don’t—don’t leave me like this. Not when I...”

You falter, the words catching in your throat as tears threaten to spill. Your head rests gently against his chest, and you close your eyes, letting the quiet between you fill with everything you can’t quite say.

“Ellie needs you.”

Hours later, Ellie’s voice pulls you from the restless fog of sleep.

“Hey,” she whispers, crouched beside you with a medkit clutched tightly in her hands. You blink, grogginess weighing down your limbs as you untangle yourself from Joel’s side, slipping out from under his jacket. The cold rushes in immediately, biting at your skin, but the sight of Ellie’s determined face and the kit in her hands ignites a spark of hope.

You sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you reach for the kit. The unmistakable smell of alcohol wafts out when you open it, revealing gauze, a small bottle of antiseptic, and the tools needed for sutures. Relief floods through you, threatening to spill over in the form of tears.

“Ellie,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you glance up at her. “You found it.”

She lets out a long, shaky sigh, her shoulders dropping as she nods. “Yeah. Took a bit, but I got it.”

You press your lips together, a mix of pride and gratitude swelling in your chest. “Good job, kid,” you murmur, setting the supplies beside Joel. He’s still feverish, his breathing shallow but steady, and you brush his damp hair away from his forehead before reaching for the suture needle and thread.

“I’ve done this before,” you say, your voice steady despite the nervous tremor in your hands.

“You have?” Ellie asks, her wide eyes flicking between you and the needle.

“It’s been a long time,” you admit, your mind drifting back to distant memories of your father and Frank. They’d come home with their share of injuries—cuts, gashes, wounds from their stubborn insistence on doing things the hard way. “But yeah. I’ve stitched up worse than this.”

Ellie swallows hard, her face a mix of determination and apprehension. “What do you need me to do?”

You glance at Joel, your fingers brushing his cheek as if to steady yourself. “I’m going to need your help holding him down if he wakes up,” you say softly, looking back at her. Your voice is calm, but the gravity of the moment weighs heavily in the air. “He’s not going to like this. It’s going to hurt.”

Ellie nods, determination settling in her expression. “I’m ready.”

You draw a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. The needle feels foreign in your grasp, but the movements come back to you as muscle memory takes over. You glance at Ellie again, her hands poised to steady Joel, and together, you begin. The room is filled with nothing but the sound of Joel’s uneven breaths and the faint clink of the needle as you work, every second stretching into an eternity.

Everything is quiet except for Joel’s ragged breathing and the faint rustle of your movements as you sit by his side. The air feels heavier now, the kind of stillness that presses into your chest and makes it hard to breathe. Ellie had gone out to scavenge, her promise to return with whatever she could find still echoing in your mind, but the hours since she left feel like an eternity.

Joel’s skin is pale and slick with sweat, his fever unrelenting, and every shallow, uneven breath feels like it could be his last. You keep checking his chest, watching it rise and fall, each movement anchoring you to the present, holding you back from spiraling into fear. But even that tether feels fragile, like it could snap at any moment. He needs antibiotics, and he needs them soon.

You try to focus, your trembling hands moving to your bag as you search for anything useful. Nothing, it was everything you remembered you’d put in there. Nothing useful.

You move to his bag. Spare ammunition, rags, water—anything to help. Your fingers brush against random odds and ends: loose bullets, a dented canteen, an old, frayed cloth. None of it is enough. None of it feels like it will make any real difference.

And then your fingers touch something else, something that stops you cold. The texture is different—thicker than paper, folded neatly, as if it were placed there with care. Your breath catches as you pull it out, your heart pounding in your ears.

It’s a letter.

The edges are worn, but the folds are crisp, precise. Just as you remember. The weight of it in your hands feels disproportionate, as though it holds something heavier than just ink on a page. Your throat tightens as you turn it over, and the sight of the handwriting makes your stomach drop.

It’s unmistakable. The scrawling, familiar penmanship. Your father’s.

You blink rapidly, your vision blurring as the realization settles in. It’s addressed to Joel. The neatness of the fold, the careful way it was placed in his bag—it all feels deliberate, significant. You knew this letter. You’d given it to Joel yourself, back in the relative safety of your own home, trusting him to understand whatever your father had needed to say. But now… now it felt different, heavier.

He had kept it. Not as something to glance at once and discard, but as something worth carrying. Even through all this. Even now.

For a moment, you just sit there, staring at it, your mind racing. Why had he kept it? What did it mean to him? The questions tumble over each other in your head, tangling with the emotions already threatening to overwhelm you. Your fingers tremble as they grip the letter tightly, and you realize your heart is racing faster than it should be.

But before you can process it fully, Joel stirs beside you.

“Joel,” you whisper, leaning over him. His eyes flutter open, glassy and unfocused, but there’s something there—some faint spark of awareness. “Hey, you’re awake.”

His gaze flickers to you, his lips parting as he tries to speak. His voice is a raspy whisper, barely audible. “Go,”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “What?” you choke out, leaning closer, your throat tight and your eyes beginning to well. “Joel–” you whisper and your heart aches, a desperate kind of panic seizing you. You’ve never felt so useless in your life. If only you could do something, get medication, food, anything.

Joel’s hand shoots out, his fingers clutching the collar of your jacket with surprising strength. He pulls you closer, his eyes burning despite the fever dulling his gaze, “You take that girl and you go.” His voice cracks, but he doesn’t show weakness. He shoves you back with more force than you expect. You stumble, landing hard on the cold cement floor, your palms scraping against the rough surface. It stings, but not nearly as much as the ache that’s growing in your chest.

Your fingers twitch, tightening around the letter still clutched in your hand. The emotions bubbling inside you threaten to spill over, a storm of sadness, frustration, and anger knotting in your chest. How could he do this? How could he think you’d leave him behind, like he’s just some burden?

You swallow hard, blinking rapidly to chase away the tears stinging your eyes. But it’s no use. They gather anyway, blurring your vision as you look back at him.

Joel’s head lolls slightly, his breathing shallow and uneven, but that fire—his unrelenting stubbornness—still flickers in his gaze. It makes the ache in your chest even worse, anger and anguish twisting together into something almost unbearable.

You push yourself up slowly, your legs unsteady as you stand. The letter feels heavier now, the weight of it digging into your palm. Without a word, you turn toward the stairs, your movements stiff and mechanical.

Ellie’s voice breaks the silence as you reach the top. “Hey,” she calls, stepping inside, her breath visible in the cold air. “I saw a deer! But, uh... I lost it.”

You force yourself to nod, your expression unreadable. “Good,” you say, your voice quiet and strained. “That’s good.”

Ellie frowns, glancing between you and the stairs leading to the basement. “What’s going on? Is Joel okay?”

You avoid her gaze, brushing past her as you grab the rifle leaning against the wall. “He’s fine. I need some air,” you mutter. “Watch over him for now. If anything happens, you know what to do. If anyone shows up, lure them out on Callus before doubling back, you hear?”

Ellie’s eyes widen, her concern obvious. “Wait—what? Where are you going?”

“I’ll get the deer,” you say, your voice tight. You adjust the bow in your hands, avoiding her questioning gaze. “Just... stay here. Keep him safe.”

Ellie hesitates, her mouth opening like she wants to argue, but she doesn’t. Instead, she nods slowly. “Okay,” she whispers. “Be careful.”

“I will,” you reply, already stepping outside.

The cold hits you immediately, the sharp wind biting at your cheeks as you walk into the trees. The letter feels impossibly heavy in your hand, each step making its weight seem more unbearable.

You don’t go far, just enough to put some distance between you and the ache still sitting in that basement. When you find a tree at the end of the yard, you sink down against its trunk, the rough bark pressing into your back.

The letter is crumpled slightly in your grip, your fingers shaking as you stare at it. For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to unfold it. But the emotions swirling inside you—grief, anger, love—demand an outlet.

With a deep, shaky breath, you smooth the paper against your lap and carefully unfold it. The familiar scrawl of your father’s handwriting blurs as tears prick at your eyes. Slowly, you begin to read, the world around you fading as the weight of his words pulls you under.

#the last of us #the last of us Joel miller #Joel miller #Joel x you #Joel miller x you #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller tlou #tlou #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction

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forgotteneffigy · 1 day ago

Text

The Most Convenient Inconvenience

⋆ kento nanami x coworker!reader ⋆

word count : 2k+ ⋆₊˚⊹

Nanami sighs softly through his nose.

He can hear you moan your complaints into the side of his arm. Usually, he wouldn't allow for such unprofessional behavior, but since you were basically hobbling forward on one shoe and wearing his jacket for warmth, he'll allow it. Only this once, though, Nanami mentally tells himself.

As if to add to your embarrassment and suffering, the bakery you wanted to go to was closed. The sign on its glass doors taunting you with big, bold letters notifying the public of its closure for the night.

“Oh, come on!” He hears you say, Nanami can feel your grip on his arm tighten when you reach the bakery you promised to take him to after work. “It's not even that late!” You roll your head to the side, looking at the bakery doors as if looking at them long enough would make them magically open.

“You are not a child (L/N).” Nanami says calmly, gently pulling you away from the bakery doors. He didn't want to draw any more unnecessary attention towards the two of you.

Nanami wasn't blind. It was already an odd sight for those around you already, you clinging onto his arm for balance as you walked through the city. The weight of strangers's eyes on the way you held onto his arm didn't go unnoticed by him.

For some reason, Nanami had a feeling that Gojo was teasing him already for what he was about to do.

Nanami looks around for a nearby bench. Once he spots one, he leads you to it, helping you down to sit down. “I've been in the area before.” He states, kneeling down to button up his coat.

“Stay here and stay warm. You're in no condition to walk, and I don't want you to get sick.” After you give him an answering nod, Nanami gets up, dusting off his slacks.

He hated working overtime, but he just had to make sure you were okay. He had to.

The mission you just had was intense, even for him. Another reminder of how shitty working as a jujutsu sorcerer work was. A part of him was glad that his suit didn't get caught in the crossfires during the fight.

The other part of him wished he could've done more to protect you.

Nanami pulls out his phone as he waits in line with his basket. He checks his phone for any signs from you. Nothing. He didn't know if he should be worried or glad that you weren't wasting your energy recovering to text him something.

He didn't think he'd be in line for this long, but he keeps his dissatisfaction to himself as he waits his turn, the old lady at the convenience store counter lighting up in recognition of Nanami when he sets his basket down on the counter.

“Back again?” The old lady asks rather cheerfully despite the setting sun creeping in through the automatic store doors. “Only for a little.” He replies shortly out of habit, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “I'm here with a..friend.” He adds the last part rather hesitantly. Why would it matter if he told the old lady in front of him if you and him were friends?

Were you friends?

You were coworkers, sure. Went to the same school for four years, diverted onto different paths, and yet here you both were.

Together. Fresh from another life-threatening mission. Just another shitty day in the book for Nanami to grumble about once he's home.

All it took was some words from a convenience store old lady to make him question his entire history with you.

“A friend?” She repeats, bagging the items Nanami had carefully picked out for you. They weren't what he'd typically pick from a convenience store, but these things were for you. Not him.

“You have a good night, you hear me? You and your friend.”

With a friendly, store-approved smile, the old lady hands Nanami his change alongside the plastic bag with the things he had picked out for you inside it.

“I will.” He responds, taking the bag and leftover change.

Nanami walks back to where you were. Legs crossed, his suit jacket still hugging around your shoulders loosely. Something in him softens. He has to remind himself not to mix his personal feelings with his professional ones.

Nanami was a man of his word.

He tried to be, anyway.

He places the bag down on the bench, allowing you to look inside the bag yourself. Lightly, he taps the corner of your phone to get your attention. “Don't waste your battery, I want to make sure that you're home safe.”

He watches as you shuffle your hand around in the bag. Your eyes widen when you pull out a pair of slippers. “Eh? What's this?”

Nanami sits a respectable feet away from you. The only thing separating him from you was the multi-colored plastic bag with the convenience store's logo plastered on the front.

“I got you those as a substitute for your current...shoe situation.” He doesn't bother to look down at your shoes.

Somehow, in the middle of your previous battle, the curse managed to steal one of your boots.

“It's certainly not luxury, but I do hope you like it. It's the least I can..”

“Are you kidding me?”

You laugh, holding up the pair of slippers in your hands like you just struck gold.

Immediately with newfound excitement, you tear open the packaging eagerly, tossing it off to the side so you can try them on. Seeing you so genuinely happy makes Nanami ease up in his seat. The lines on his face seem to soften at the sight of you sliding the slippers on.

“In my favorite color too? How'd you guess, Nanami? You spoil me.”

“I'm just looking out for you, (L/N). Can't have you wobbling around on one foot, can we?”

There's a slight playful hint in his tone, barely hidden by the neutralness of Nanami's usual professional tone. “You really saved me back there. It's the least I can do.” With a tilt of his head, he gazes down at your shoes.

The colorful socks you wore were now accompanied by the new pair of slippers he had just bought you. “They have everything at those stores. Wow.”

You look down at your shoes, your fingertips sliding towards his, against the grain of the bench without noticing it. But Nanami notices. He notices, and he doesn't know if he should pull away or slide his closer.

“Thanks, Nanami. You're still looking after me after all these years, huh?”

Nothing bad would happen to either of you if he just stayed still, right? If he just enjoyed this moment with you as people walked by you without a care.

Undeniably, it felt nice to be with you this way, just sitting next to you. Nanami wonders if you feel that way too, if you truly saw the care behind the practicality of his actions. He was just looking out for you, after all. Just like he said.

Practically and propriety came to him naturally. Nanami tries to convince himself of that as you smile down at your shoes.

Your hands slide down the leg of your pants, adjusting and stretching the fabric of your colorful socks. “Man, I'm starving. Do fighting curses make you hungry too, Nanami?” You ask, your eyes meeting his. You say your question naturally as if it were as normal as asking a friend for a sip of their water.

“I wouldn't say so exactly.” He answers, not quite agreeing or disagreeing with your words. “If you're hungry, just grab whatever. I didn't know if you preferred sweets or…” Nanami cuts his own words short when he sees the look on your face.

The unadulterated look of happiness and appreciation as you grab yourself a snack makes him feel like he's short circuiting.

It's all rushing back to him now, memories of the past he thought he buried down long ago.

The way you fawned over food, reminding him of back when you were both classmates. The shine in your eye as you tried to talk about the smoked salmon stick, haphazardly held in between your fingers, the packaging peeled away messily made Nanami remember all the times you bugged him for his meals during lunchtime.

You were closer to him than he thought.

You were more than a friend to him. And he didn't know if Nanami should laugh or hate himself for not realizing that sooner.

“You shouldn't eat so quickly (L/N).” He fishes out a napkin from the bag. He hesitates to lean closer, to be the one to wipe the crumbs off of your face. You never changed since those days when you shared meals with him, those days where he used to be annoyed at the way you ate like your life depended on it.

Nanami could never be annoyed with you.

He leans closer. As gently as he could, he wipes the crumbs off of your face. His thumb brushes against the corner of your lip. “The food isn't going anywhere. You don't have to eat so quickly.”

Nanami pulls away again, back into the box he pushes himself in.

“Sorry, Nanami.” The chub of your cheeks puff out as you smile, looking content with your meal.

“Just..” He looks at you, and he sees the same face he's grown used to for years. The happy chub of your cheeks.

You felt comfortable enough to be like this with him, and he didn't know how to feel about that either.

“Be careful.” He finishes, clearing his throat and adjusting his tie to give him a chance to look away and collect himself.

“Don't choke, please.” He adds, his hands stiffly laying on his knees. In the tail of his eye, he can see you laughing. He didn't know if it was because of his stiffness or his tone, but he didn't mind. Not when it was you.

You sit quietly next to him, wiping the crumbs off of your face and tossing the remains into the bag like a makeshift trash can.

“Nanami.”

You punctuate each vowel as you say his surname. He can playfulness radiating off of you in waves.

“Yes?” He looks over at you, indifferent gaze meeting yours.

“Do you think I have a kind face?”

Your words linger in the air between you.

“What that curse said back there really... threw me off.”

You let out a carefree laugh as you speak, despite the fact you stood face to face with death.

Not only that, but you saved him too.

Nanami stares at you for a moment, his gaze unknowingly softening slightly.

“You have the kind of face people would sacrifice themselves for.” He replies, hoping that you'd leave it at that.

But you don't. Nanami has to pretend that he has to adjust his tie, he has to pretend that you were nothing more than a coworker to him.

“You're not saying that because I busted my ass saving you, are you?”

“No, I'm not. Your kindness..it exceeds more than just your appearance (L/N). I'm glad I work with you. I appreciate you for saving me.”

“I appreciate you too, Nanami.” Hearing those words coming from you makes something in his chest bloom. It goes quiet between the two of you again. Nanami feels your fingers brush against his.

“I should wear a mask, huh?” You suggest, mirth visible in your eyes. "Keep them from seeing how nice I look."

“Don't. I think you'd look better without one.”

Nanami smiles back, the tiredness in his eyes lifted the longer he looks at you.

The way you smiled at him made him feel like he was the one that saved you, not the other way around.

Most jujutsu sorcerers died with their regrets. But from that day on, Nanami knew he wouldn't be most sorcerers.

⋆ i love this man sm :3

#🥀#written by the lamb #read to your hearts content! like the fic? reblog and show your love in the tags!!#nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #kento nanami fluff

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marauder-misprint · 3 days ago

Text

Letters that never arrived i

Sebastian Sallow x Ravenclaw!reader

part 2

14.7k words

cw: HL spoilers, swearing, miscommunication, fluff, angst, Y/N

There were flashes of red and green lights and you screamed his name. “Sebastian!”

Then you woke up, drenched in sweat. It was still pitch black outside. You slowly sat up, shaking from your nightmare. A gentle breeze chilled you to the bone as your pajamas clung to your body. Sebastian was not there, but you still looked around the room, filled with worry. The last you had heard he was staying at his late uncle’s house in Feldcroft. As you sat up, you tried to remember the dream that had awoken you. You didn’t know which end of the lights the boy had been on. You shuttered.

You got out of bed and shuffled over to your trunk. You took out a small box of neatly arranged vials and picked out two. You debated which potion would be better to take: Sleeping Draught or Dreamless Sleep Potion. The former would get you back to sleep faster, but the latter would likely keep you asleep. You put the Sleeping Draught back with a sigh. You had taken one of those before bed, and your dreams hadn’t been pleasant. You drank the other potion in one gulp and went back to your bed. Its immediate drowsy effect allowed you to feel more relaxed. After a few minutes, you were back to sleep.

In the morning, you cast a protection spell over your tent before making the trek to Hogsmeade. You could’ve flown on your broom, rode your graphorn or a thestral, or even taken the floo network from the closest hamlet. You had taken to walking everywhere. There was something about being on the ground that reminded you that you were alive and it was all real. The last time you flew on your broom you had ended up lost in the clouds above the ocean. It had taken you over an hour to get back to your tent; it was an event you never planned on repeating.

You entered J. Pippin’s Potions and greeted the shop’s owner, Mr. Pippin.

“I have your order ready. Just let me go grab it,” he said, disappearing to grab a bag from the back. When he returned, he asked, “Can I ask what you are brewing? This is a fair amount of lavender, sopophorous beans, nettle and asphodel?”

You handed him a small pouch of galleons and took the bag he handed you.

“I’ve got a few potions I’m working on,” you said nonchalantly. “I like to have my own stock and with school starting up soon, I need to get busy.”

Mr. Pippin nodded, although he noted that you didn’t really answer his question. “Starts next week, if I recall.”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“Enjoy your brewing, Y/N. And I’m only an owl away if you need help.”

After leaving the potion shop, you visited various other shops around the village to pick up supplies that you had ordered for the upcoming school year. You had quite the stack of packages when you stumbled into the Three Broomsticks and nearly collapsed at a table in the front corner. Sirona Ryan was quick to bring you a butterbeer.

“Looks like you’ve had quite the day, hmm,” she said, setting the mug down.

“A walk in the park compared to last year,” you replied with a tired smile.

Sirona knew a fair bit about the messes that you had found yourself in last year. She had witnessed parts of it herself, like when Rookwood barged into the pub and demanded to speak with you. You sat back in your chair with your hands grasping the warm mug. It had just been a day of picking up school supplies and small talk, yet it still drained you. The mundane always felt worse than battling poachers, goblins and trolls.

A few butterbeers later, you felt ready to go home to your tent. You were about to wave Sirona over to pay her when the door opened with a jingle and familiar voices filled the air.

“We won’t stay long, Ominis. I just want one drink before we go back,” Sebastian Sallow said.

You were glad for the pile of supplies in front of you, blocking you from their view. You could barely see them yourself through bits of space between your packages.

“One drink. Then we have to go back to Feldcroft. I do not like walking that far through forest when it’s dark out,” Ominis Gaunt responded to Sebastian.

“You’re blind! What difference does it make?”

Ominis scoffed. “It is more to do with the time of day. You know it is less safe at night.”

To your relief, the boys chose a table further into the pub. You felt safe to wave Sirona over.

“Some of your classmates just came in. You know you can move tables without telling me,” she said with a soft smile.

You shook your head. “I need to get going. It’s been a long day and there is a bed calling my name.”

You handed some galleons to Sirona and worked on stacking your packages in a way that wouldn’t make them too cumbersome to carry. You could bewitch them to float and follow you, but you would worry too much about them getting stuck on a tree or boulder. As you got your grip and headed to the door, you heard Ominis speak across the bar.

“Is that Y/N’s voice I just heard?”

You didn’t turn around and hurried out the door before you could hear Sebastian’s answer. You hadn’t parted on the best of terms and you wasn’t ready to face them yet.

“Huh? Maybe?” Sebastian said, looking at the door as it closed. “I didn’t see.”

Sirona heard them and walked over. “Yes, that was Y/N who just left. Bit surprised myself that she didn’t say hi to you boys.”

---

The next week seemed to fly by. You spent most of your time brewing your collection of potions and triple checking that you had all of the required supplies. Your worries about returning to the castle caused you to be more paranoid. You were looking over your shoulder whenever you left and moved your camp. The dangers of living in the highlands weren’t as severe as they had been, but they still persisted. Even without a leader and definitive cause, goblins and ashwinders were posted in various locations, and if one thing made them furious, it was you since you were responsible for their leaders’ downfalls. And poachers were always a given.

The day before you would return to the safety of the castle, you set up camp in a treasure vault you had discovered a while ago. You had recalled this one being free of spiders, inferi and standing water. You conjured a door and locked it, hoping to deter wild animals. You knew that any wizard determined to get in could, but some would move along at the sight of a simple lock.

You sat next to a small fire, hugging your knees to your chest. One of the things you loved most in the world was watching the flames of fire dance erratically. It was more soothing than you could ever explain with words. It allowed you to get lost in your mind without the daunting feeling of falling into an endless hole. You could think and reflect. Sometimes you thought it was your ability to control ancient magic that allowed fire to have this effect on you; to you, fire was the oldest magic there was.

You decided on a simple Sleeping Draught for the night. Your mind was wide awake with nerves and dreamless sleep would be pointless if you couldn’t sleep. You passed out immediately after drinking it.

Waking up, you felt groggy. Your sleep wasn’t the most restful but it had been sleep. The nightmares were more mild. Stress of exams and forgetting homework. Embarrassment of being late to class or losing Ravenclaw points. Awake, you wanted to laugh at how trivial these were, but they still frightened you. You knew people expected the world of you, and you’d be damned if you let them down.

You condensed all of your things down into one trunk with an extension charm on it. You figured you would mill around Hogsmeade until it was time to go to Hogwarts. Most students would be arriving by train. Once you arrived in the village with your trunk, you made the decision to hole up in the Three Broomsticks. If it was slow, you could chat with Sirona. It ended up not being slow enough for Sirona to chat for more than a few minutes at time, but that was sufficient for you. Even more so, you were glad that you didn’t see anyone that you really knew all that well, which meant no one else was stopping by your table.

---

“Y/N!” a voice shrieked from across the Great Hall.

You looked up from the Ravenclaw table to see Samantha Dale and Constance Dagworth running toward you.

“It’s good to see you’re still alive!” Constance said, engulfing you in a hug. “I tried to write to you but my owls couldn’t find you!”

“I had the same issue!” Samantha added.

The girls sat on either side of you, awaiting your answer for their inability to reach you.

“I was moving around a lot,” you said. “I guess if you don’t stay in one spot for too long, owls can’t find you as easily as they can if you’re established.”

“Well, you’ll have to tell us all about your summer. We have so much catching up to do,” Samantha said adamantly.

The Great Hall didn’t take much time to fill up as the train had obviously arrived and students had made it to the castle from Hogsmeade Station. The temperature in the hall rose significantly with everyone’s body heat. It was good to see everyone’s faces again and to hear their voices. Students who took the train were swapping stories with those from the local hamlets or had been in different compartments. The animated conversations fell quiet when Professor Black stood at the lectern at the front of the hall. His welcome speech was half-hearted and he quickly passed the spotlight over to Professor Weasley who led the sorting ceremony. You were shocked at the number of first years and paid immense attention to the ceremony, since you hadn’t seen one before unless you counted your own that had been after all of last year’s first years had finished being sorted. The other sixth years around you were less enthralled by the ceremony.

The ceremony ended and dinner commenced. All of the students around you began filling their plates immediately; some looked at the food like they hadn’t eaten all day. You were regretting sitting in the Three Broomsticks all day and drinking your fair share of butterbeer. You made a small plate for yourself and nibbled away at it as you listened to your friends recount their summers.

“William was obnoxious all summer. He was always in the way, no matter what I was doing. I couldn’t read or stitch without him being an absolute git,” Samantha complained. “Maybe we should’ve left his feet as beets!”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “You were beside yourself when he was at St. Mungo’s. Have you considered that maybe he just wants to spend time with you?”

“Absolutely not. If he wanted to spend time with me, he could come over from the Gryffindor table once in a while.”

You cocked your head. “He’s a student here?”

“Did you not know?” Constance asked.

You shook your head.

“He’s a fourth year. Gryffindor, as I just said,” Samantha said.

She turned around to point in his direction. You looked in the direction of the Gryffindor table and saw a boy who looked like he could be related to Samantha.

“I see. I guess he didn’t come up that much last year…”

“You were busy, saving Hogwarts and all,” Samantha said.

“Don’t forget being joined at the hip with her guard dogs,” Constance chirped.

You made a face at your friend. “I still don’t understand why people call them that.”

“Ever notice how people never really approached you when they were at your side?” Constance laughed. “They were protecting you, guarding you. And well, yeah. Guard dogs.”

“Protecting me? Please!” you said in mild disgust. “I do not need protecting.”

“From goblins and ashwinders, no. Overzealous fans? Possibly. But we’ll never know because of them,” Samantha clarified.

“Overzealous fans,” you repeated. “What, am I going to be hugged to death?”

The girls shrugged.

“Might have been to ensure some privacy. Usually when someone gets a title like Hero of Hogwarts, people want to know everything about them,” Constance said.

“Whatever,” you said with a sigh. “Connie, what did you do this summer? Do you have a sibling who goes here that I don’t know about?”

—-

Before going to bed, you made sure to organize your stuff in the closet. You had conjured additional shelves so that your collection of potions could be properly displayed and easily accessed each night. Samantha peered over your shoulder and gasped.

“Merlin, Y/N! Do you have enough potions in there?”

You shut the door, hiding your collection of vials. Constance looked up from a letter she was writing.

“How many are in there?”

“At least twenty,” Samantha answered.

“Been busy brewing this summer?” Constance asked with a laugh.

“I like to be prepared! Don’t come crawling to me when you need wiggenweld and are too embarrassed to get some from the hospital wing,” you defended.

“You have more than enough in there to share. And what was all in there?” Samantha asked, sitting down on her bed. “I saw purple and wiggenweld is green.”

“Just some stuff to help with sleep,” you said with a shrug. “Pretty sure the lavender makes it purple.”

The other two girls exchanged worried looks.

“Are you still having nightmares?” Samantha asked, her voice laced with concern.

You had tried to hide your nightmares from your roommates in the spring. You had placed a silencing charm on your bed to at least muffle the noise. However, they were perceptive and grew concerned over your visible exhaustion. It had been one thing for you to fall asleep in History of Magic as Professor Binns droned on about various goblin rebellions; it was another when you slipped out of your chair and onto the floor in Defense Against the Dark Arts and then in Charms. They called you out on it and you had no choice but to come clean. You had been given a small ration of sleeping aid potions from Matron Blainey.

You had led them to believe that after two weeks of restful sleep you were back to normal. That was not the case. The first night without one of the potions left you riddled with nightmares worse than before. It felt like the two weeks without dreams had compiled into one. In a calm and collected panic, you discussed with Garreth Weasley if he knew how to brew those potions; as advanced as he was, he did not but knew they were to learn more about them next year. Rather than discuss your predicament with Professor Sharp, you turned to the master of mischief, Sebastian. Sebastian was able to find you books with directions and you worked on perfecting the brews in the Room of Requirement. You appreciated that he didn’t ask questions about it.

“They come and go. Not as frequent, but like I said, I like to be prepared,” you lied, allowing your friends’ expressions to ease.

The girls talked about their expectations for the year before getting ready for bed. You were glad to be laughing about the small things that made going to school fun: the drama and potential sources of gossip. They talked about much the school rallied around quidditch, something you had missed out on last year due Professor Black canceling the season. When it was finally time to turn in, you had to sneak open her closet to grab a potion. You weren't going to start the term off with horrible dreams that woke you up screaming.

---

You were excited to truly experience Hogwarts as a regular student. Well, more or less a regular student. You knew that you were treated slightly differently due to your title of Hero of Hogwarts. You were excited for classes and quidditch, unburdened by looming threats outside the castle walls.

After two weeks, you thought everything was going good as you adjusted to a new normal. And it was, until you heard something that made you choke on your morning coffee at breakfast.

“Did you hear that heartthrob Sebastian Sallow made Slytherin quidditch team as a beater?” a third year gossiped with her friend.

“Everything good?” Constance asked, slapping your back.

“Just surprised,” you managed to croak. “Wasn’t expecting to hear that.”

“That Sallow made the quidditch team?” Everett Clopton asked from across the table.

You shook your head. “Heartthrob.”

Samantha and Constance burst out laughing. You shot them a confused look.

“Maybe you’re too close to him to have noticed,” Samantha said, “but puberty took him through the ringer over the summer.”

You raised an eyebrow before turning around to try to find him at the Slytherin table. So far, you had managed to avoid talking to him and, consequently, really getting a good look at him. You spotted a mop of brown hair but it wasn’t enough to confirm Samantha’s statement.

“So he’s a heartthrob now?”

Constance nodded. “Before his sister got sick, he was fairly well-liked across houses. Just a funny, goofy guy who was always up for a good time. Quite popular. Anne gets sick and suddenly he disappears from the spotlight. You show up and he’s sort of back to normal, but it was mostly when you were around. And now, puberty plus his old charm, simple equation for heartthrob status.”

“And he’s on quidditch now,” Everett added, earning him a look of accusation from Constance. His hands went up in a sign of defense. “I’m just saying I’ve heard girls like an athlete.”

Samantha hummed in content. “He’s not wrong.”

“Thank you!”

---

Two weeks later, the girls were relaxing in the common room after a long day of classes.

“Is it quidditch yet?” you asked, laying down on a couch in the common room.

“Nope,” Constance answered her, popping the ‘p.’ “Next weekend, and we’re not even playing yet. Slytherin plays Hufflepuff.”

You sighed. “I want to watch quidditch!”

Samantha laughed at you from a nearby arm chair. “You’ll get your fair amount of quidditch, don’t worry about it, L/N.” She paused. “So are we going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?”

“I’d like to. Not to say I’m tired of the castle already, but I could use some chocolate frogs and butterbeer,” Constance said.

“Yeah, I’m game for Hogsmeade,” you agreed.

At that moment, Andrew Larson and Everett appeared next to the girls.

“Did we hear Hogsmeade trip?” Everett asked, resting his arm on your head.

“Tomorrow,” you said.

“Is it… a girls’ trip?” Andrew asked, looking from Constance to Samantha and then stopping on you.

“Are you trying to get an invite?” Samantha laughed, poking his side.

“Just trying to gauge if it’s worth seeing if you mind if we tag along,” he replied defensively. “Didn’t want to intrude if it was definitely a girls’ trip. We would’ve made a point to avoid you.”

You removed Everett’s arm from your head. “You guys can join us. Make sure you invite Amit too.”

Andrew rolled his eyes.

“Andrew!” you chastised.

“Would you rather we have you invite Puffskein or Mahendra?” Constance asked with crossed arms.

“Amit it is!” Andrew declared.

“Plus, he’ll probably say no,” Samantha said, sitting on the armrest of Constance’s chair. “It’s just the effort that counts. It’s called maintaining a friendship.”

The next morning, only Everett and Andrew sat down next to the girls.

“Sammy was right, he said no but thanked us for inviting him,” Everett said, stealing a piece of toast off your plate.

You smacked his arm playfully.

“What if I was going to eat that?”

“You’d grab another slice and butter it again.”

You narrowed your eyes at Everett before laughing. “I hate you.”

“Hmm, debatable.”

Constance cleared her throat across the table from you. You looked at her with confused looks.

“If you’re done flirting, are we ready for Hogsmeade?” she asked.

You gasped, looking at Everett. “Shit, were you flirting?”

He shook his head vigorously, causing his curls to bounce.

“I wasn’t either.”

“You’re literally my sister.”

You nodded. “Yes, we are siblings. Not lovers.”

“Okay, but Hogsmeade? Are we going?” Samantha repeated Constance’s question.

“Yeah,” you said, standing up while taking one last sip of your coffee. “Let’s boogie.”

As the group walked to Hogsmeade, the girls led the group, walking three across on the path. The boys followed, both of them with their hands shoved in their pockets.

“You really think of her as your sister?” Andrew asked Everett in a low voice, hoping there was enough distance between them and the girls that they wouldn’t be able to overhear.

Everett gave him a sideways glance, smiling. “Just about. She’s perfect but I think I was friendzoned since day one. Made peace with it,” he said with a laugh. “Now, she’s just a good friend when she’s not hidden behind her little guard dogs.”

Andrew made a face.

“Hey, she’s here with us today. Not them…” Everett paused. “Have you seen her with them since the start of term?”

“Uh, I don’t think so?” Andrew replied, thinking about it. “I’ve seen her with Natty and maybe once or twice with Garreth. Otherwise she’s been around Connie and Sam.”

“That’s about what I thought. She’s been pairing up with Natty in Defense rather than Sallow.”

Andrew let out a hearty laugh. “Now that’s a welcomed change!”

You looked back at them, not having heard anything. “Honeydukes, yeah?”

They nodded. The group adjusted their path to the sweets shop. Once inside, the group split apart, each beelining to their favorite candies. Andrew stayed close to you, pretending to look over pumpkin pasties while you debated between chocolate frogs, choco-locos and chocolate cauldrons.

“What do you think, Andrew: frogs or cauldrons?” you asked, turning towards him.

“Hm? Oh, I like frogs better,” he said. “But why not get a few of both? Can’t hurt to have variety.”

You nodded and took a handful of each. Andrew’s eyes went wide; he hadn’t expected you to grab that many.

“Got galleons waste, have you?”

“I’m going to spend them anyways. Either I buy them all now and have chocolate on hand, or I have to sneak out to get my fix in the middle of the week. Do you want me to get caught and lose points for Ravenclaw?” you explained with a laugh.

“Suppose not, although you do earn us a fair share.”

You walked towards the other end of the store and he followed, after putting back the pumpkin pasty that he wasn’t actually interested in.

“How do you sneak out and make it here and back so quickly?” he asked, standing next to you at the doxy floss stand.

“I mean, Moon doesn’t lock the doors too well,” you lied. You weren't going to tell him about the one-eyed witch statue that Garreth had shown you last year. “And then I either run or take a broom. But I’m also not against riding a thestral.”

He ran a hand through his hair nervously. “I always forget that you can see them.”

“Trust me, I wish I couldn’t.” You paused, looking up at Andrew. “They are eerily beautiful creatures and wonderful beasts, but the cost… Some things you just wish you could unsee.”

George Osric. Solomon Sallow. Eleazar Fig. Countless goblins and ashwinders who had attacked her and others. You shivered at the thought of them. Andrew put a loose arm around your shoulder to give you a light comforting squeeze. Then he let go, not wanting to push you past your comfort level.

“I suppose you could say I’m lucky that I can’t see ‘em yet.”

“Yet?” you asked with a soft chuckle. “What makes you so certain you’ll see someone die?”

He shrugged. “I figure I’ll see an old relative die or something. Definitely won’t be in my line of work after Hogwarts.”

“What are you planning on doing?”

“I want to work in legal for the ministry. My uncle works in a different department, but I’ve met some of his coworkers and it’s fascinating.”

“Legal… Not my cup of tea, but someone has to do it.”

“What is your cup of tea?”

“Research, I think. I want to know about ancient magic.”

He nodded and looked around the shop. Constance and Samantha were checking out and Everett already had his purchase in a bag.

“Looks like they’ll be waiting on us soon,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of their friends.

“Oh, yeah.”

You checked out and the group walked outside. They weren’t quite ready to hole up in the Three Broomsticks to drink butterbeer until it was late so they walked around the village. You made them walk over to J. Pippin’s so you could get more lavender.

“What does she need lavender for?” Andrew asked as the rest of the group waited outside the shop.

“She’s got a collection of sleeping potions,” Constance said nonchalantly. “Used to get wicked nightmares last year and now it’s just habit to keep it on hand. Emergency stock, if you will.”

“Remember in the spring, when she was falling asleep in Defense and Charms? A literal walking zombie? Yeah, she hadn’t sleep in like a week because of the nightmares. We convinced her to talk to Blainey and it seems to have helped,” Samantha added.

“Gods, I do remember that,” Everett said. “Hecat was so concerned to see her on the floor. Thought she was cursed or something and then Sallow gave her a nudge and determined she had just fallen asleep.” Then he looked at Andrew and then back at the girls. “Do you know why she hasn’t been around her guard dogs this term?”

“Huh, I suppose she hasn’t, has she?” Samantha asked. “She hasn’t said anything to us, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Everett hummed. You exited the shop with a bag that said you bought more than lavender from Mr. Pippin. Once in the shop, you looked over his inventory and bought everything you thought you might run low on in the next week.

“Looks a bit more than lavender,” Samantha snorted.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I like to be prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” Andrew asked, trying to get a peek in the bag. “Decorating the entire common room and roof with flowers?”

You tightened your grip on the bag. “My ingredient stores won’t be running low anytime soon and when you need billywig stings, don’t be coming to me because you know I’ll have them.”

“Always threatening to withhold things from us!” Everett gasped. “But you cave every time.”

“That was one time and you fell off your broom from like 30 feet!”

“You were the first one there and basically forcing the wiggenweld down my throat,” he reminded you.

“Fine, next time you are in a life or death situation, I’ll stand back and let you suffer.”

The group walked to the gardens outside of Hogsmeade to relax for a bit. You sat on a bench at the bottom of the overlook, the part more in the garden that looked at the enchanted dragon bush. You loved how it moved. You could hear snippets of the rest of the group’s conversation up on the overlook platform. You enjoyed your little bit of solitude, and appreciated that they let you have it.

“Could you pine any harder?” you heard Samantha ask.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Andrew’s voice responded.

There was laughter and you didn’t catch what was said next. From your distance, overlapping voices meant you couldn’t follow the conversation. You were slightly interested in who Andrew was pining after. You weren’t interested in him, but you were nosy and liked knowing other people’s busy, despite wanting them to stay out of yours.

“... sister!” Everett laughed.

You heard one of the gates open and close. You turned to see Sebastian entering the garden. He had his hands shoved in his pockets and he looked frustrated. His gaze was intently set on the ground. You weren't sure if he saw you but you were in no mood to talk to him yet. You stood up and hurried up the steps to your friends.

“I think it’s time for butterbeers!” you announced as you reached the platform.

Andrew’s face was bright red, but the rest of the group seemed overly merry.

“Yes, let’s go!” Samantha agreed, grabbing your arm and the two of you led the group to the Three Broomsticks.

As they walked, you glanced sideways at Samantha.

“So, who is Andrew pining after?” you whispered.

A wicked smile crossed her face. “Oh, that’s something for him to tell you.”

“But obviously he’s told you!”

“Hm, no,” she replied with a soft laugh. “I found it glaringly obvious and confronted him about it last year.”

You stopped walking with your arm still linked with Samantha, therefore causing her to stop walking too. The rest of the group was still a few steps back so no one ran into each other.

“It’s been at least a year?” you asked in disbelief. “How have I not noticed?”

“You’ve been busy and distracted. I don’t blame you.”

You narrowed your eyes at Samantha, causing her to laugh.

“Guys, come on! I need butterbeer!” Constance whined, pushing in between her friends.

She grabbed your hands and practically pulled you into the Three Broomsticks, leaving the boys to trail them once again. You managed to find an open table with enough seats for all of them. Sirona wasted no time in placing butterbeers in front of them.

“I love how she just knows,” Constance said cheerfully, picking up her mug.

“It’s not like she’s going to serve us meade or firewhiskey,” you chirped.

“Maybe for a few extra galleons she might,” Everett teased. “That would require me to have a few extra galleons to slide her way though.”

“Oh, just wait for Ravenclaw to win at quidditch. You’ll be supplied,” Andrew said, giving Everett a nudge with his shoulder.

“What happens after a win?” you asked, foam sitting on your upper lip.

“That’s right!” Samantha exclaimed. “You haven’t been to a Hogwarts party yet!”

You raised her eyebrows.

“There’s usually one after each quidditch game, hosted by the winning house. If it’s in another house, you have to arrange to be let in. Sometimes, if the seventh years are feeling frisky, they’ll have parties at other times. But it’s mainly for quidditch,” Everett explained. “Being that it was canceled last year, no parties.”

“Damn, I feel bad for the seventh years,” you muttered.

“Um, Hufflepuff definitely had a gathering,” Constance piped up. “I think the entirety of seventh years were accounted for.”

“What?” Everett coughed.

“I guess you didn’t get an invite,” she said smugly. “Lenora let me in.”

Gesturing to Constance, Andrew said, “See, you have to know someone.”

“I could maybe go to party at each house if I play it right,” you said. As you listed off your friends, you counted on your fingers, “Obviously I can attend Ravenclaw. Natty would let me into the Gryffindor Common Room. Poppy for Hufflepuff…” She paused to think. “Maybe Imelda or Priscilla for Slytherin?”

“What about Gaunt or Sallow?” Samantha asked, a little too eagerly.

“What about them?”

You knew what they were asking. You just didn’t want to answer it. You saw as everyone at the table exchanged knowing glances with each other.

“Couldn’t they let you in?” Samantha asked, more cautious this time.

“That requires them to want me around.”

The table was quiet.

“And why wouldn’t they want you around?”

You sighed. “Shit went down last year and they haven’t tried to talk to me since so…”

You pressed your lips together, hoping they would glean to drop it from your expression.

“Maybe they tried to write you over the summer?” Constance offered, not changing the subject.

“I doubt that.”

At that moment, Sirona arrived with more butterbeers for the table. They chorused thank yous to her. When she was gone, the table was quiet again as everyone sipped their drinks.

“So… that Potions essay?” Everett asked.

“Oh, don’t even get me started on it!” Constance said.

You sighed and drank your butterbeer, zoning out from the conversation. Maybe they had tried to write you over the summer, but you was determined to not be found.

After a few hours, the group left the Three Broomsticks to make their way back to the castle. Everett had linked arms with Constance and Samantha, joyfully having a loud discussion over why Arithmancy was better than Divination. You thought they were walking quicker than they usually did, putting some distance between them and you and Andrew.

Andrew reached out and grabbed your hand as they approached the road signs a little bit outside of the village. “Hey, Y/N, can I ask you something?”

You stopped walking. “Yeah, of course. What’s up, Andrew?”

You thought he looked nervous.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go to the quidditch game next weekend.”

“I think the entire castle is going,” you replied, a little confused.

“No, yeah, the entire castle will be going. But I’m asking if you’d like to go with me. Like a date.”

“Oh, Andrew…” you started to say.

Then a figure came barreling in between them, knocking Andrew to the ground. You didn’t see who it was.

“Oi, Sallow! What the fuck?” Andrew yelled from the ground.

Turning to see a green and silver cloak disappearing around the corner, you were able to see him flip them off. You helped Andrew stand up and he dusted himself off.

“So?” he asked.

You bit her bottom lip nervously. “That’s really sweet of you, but I don’t think I’m ready to date anyone.”

“Oh,” he said dejectedly, but quickly recovered. “I get that. Hope that doesn’t make things awkward between us…”

“I’ll try to not let it,” you said with a soft smile.

You started to walk again.

“But that was Sebastian who came barreling through?” you asked.

“I’m like 95% sure it was. Not sure what his problem is.”

“You and me both,” you said, shaking your head.

---

You skipped dinner on Thursday to study in the library. You planned on being there for a while and wanted to ensure that you had a good table. You took up half of a table on the upper level. You were happily chugging away on various assignments that you put off during the week. It was fairly obvious when dinner had ended because students started pouring into the library and began taking up any open table. You tried to condense your stuff, but your efforts were futile. With a sigh, you just continued to work.

You only looked up when someone placed their stuff directly across from you. Seeing who it was, your eyes narrowed despite knowing he couldn’t see it.

“This table is for mudbloods only,” you snapped.

Ominis looked horrified at what you said. “Y/N!” he whispered.

“Ominis, where did you disappear to?” Sebastian asked before suddenly appearing next to him and seeing you sat at the table.

“You know he didn’t mean it,” Ominis said, ignoring Sebastian.

You shifted your glare from Ominis to Sebastian.

“You don’t say something like that unless you mean it. And it sounded like he meant it.”

Sebastian looked uncomfortable and confused, looking from you to Ominis.

“Sebastian, I think we need to find a different table,” Ominis muttered, picking his bag back up. “We will see you later, Y/N.”

Before they were out of earshot, you heard Sebastian whisper, “Is she still on what I said?”

Ominis nodded. You were glad to see Sebastian hang his head. A Hufflepuff seventh year sat at your table after a few minutes passed. You worked in silence, not really acknowledging each other, which was just fine for you since you didn’t know him. You sat working until Madam Scribner announced that the library was closing in ten minutes and students needed to begin packing up. You stole a glance at the boy as you piled your stuff back into your bag. He was decently handsome and tall. You looked away as soon as you saw him sneak his own glance. You ended up heading down the stairs at the same time and leaving the library together.

“Y/N, right?” he asked as you walked through the doors leading to the Central Hall.

“Yeah. That’s me. I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

He held out his hand. “Elias Cotton.”

You shook his hand. “Well, nice to meet you, Elias Cotton.”

He smiled. “It was nice to work across from you. If you ever need a study buddy, have Poppy find me.”

Then he walked away towards the Hufflepuff Common Room. You stood there, watching him disappear down a set of stairs. You blinked a few times to process what had just happened. You hadn’t spoken until then; why did he think you needed a study buddy? You were mildly amused that he knew you were a friend of Poppy. You shook your head before turning to take a long route back to Ravenclaw Tower. You’d have to ask Poppy what she knew about him later.

---

You decided you would ask Poppy about this Elias Cotton during Beasts class. You were learning about Golden Snidgets, which both of you already knew in extreme detail.

“Poppy, can I ask you about someone?”

Poppy hummed, not looking up from her sketch of a snidget.

“Elias Cotton? I think he’s a seventh year and in Hufflepuff.”

Her head snapped up, wide eyes staring at you.

“What about him?”

You felt yourself blush. “He studied at my table in the library yesterday. Just trying to see what he’s like?”

“Probably the sweetest guy in all of Hogwarts, a true gentleman. Definitely a favorite within Hufflepuff. Quite shy though.” She paused. “I think his girlfriend broke up with him last week.”

Poppy eyed you for some time of reaction. Nothing.

“Huh. You say he’s shy? That would explain why he didn’t say anything to me until after we left the library.”

“What’d he say?”

“Introduced himself, said it was nice to study at the same table as me and if I ever needed a study buddy, to ask you where he was,” you listed off.

Poppy thought this was more exciting than you did. Poppy squealed.

“Ms. Sweeting, Ms. L/N, something to share with the class?” Professor Howin asked in a stern tone.

You quickly glanced at the board.

“Sorry, Professor,” you said, realizing that there was nothing to correct on the board and you didn’t feel like telling the whole class that you and Poppy were part of the reason Golden Snidgets were being seen again.

Professor Howin continued with her lesson. You gave Poppy a warning look.

“No more squealing, but explain,” you hissed.

“He was flirting with you!” Poppy whispered, still visibly excited. “He’s freshly single and you’re not being guarded by your dogs.”

You suppressed a groan. “How long until they lose the nickname?”

Poppy shrugged.

“Also, flirting?” You shook your head. “There must be something in the air.”

“What do you mean?” Poppy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Larson asked me out on the way back from Hogsmeade last weekend.”

Poppy light smacked your shoulder. “And you waited until now to tell me?”

You gave her a sideways glance, trying to look like you were paying attention.

“I didn’t think it was that important? I turned him down.”

“Y/N, you didn’t!”

“What?”

“Andrew is fine. Goodness…” Poppy paused. “So you’ve had at least two good looking boys make moves at you. Turned down one, and the other one put the power in your hands.”

“Elias is about to be disappointed too. I don’t think I’m ready to date.”

“You go up against ashwinders and poachers and trolls. I’ve seen you charge completely unfazed into spider caverns, despite claiming you hate them. And you’re not ready to date?”

You flushed. “I know what I’m doing, what I’m walking into with all of that. Dates? No.”

“If you had the choice to go on a date with a boy or give the Hebridean Black her egg back again, which would you do?” Poppy asked, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.

“Dragon. Easily.”

---

You found it odd walking to the quidditch pitch for the match the next morning. Poppy had found you at breakfast to give you a Hufflepuff flag. You were sure that if they had had games last year, you would’ve been a proud Slytherin supporter. But it wasn’t last year. So you accepted the flag and promised to find Poppy in the stands.

All around you as you walked were whispers of excitement to see Sebastian make his quidditch debut. Apparently Imelda Reyes, the Slytherin captain, had been bragging about him all week, only adding to his ‘heartthrob’ status. Despite your mental notes to actually look at him to see if he deserved that title, you still managed to avoid looking at him for more than a moment. The library incident had been the most interaction you’d shared so far this term.

It didn’t take too long to find Poppy within the sea of Hufflepuffs. She saved you a spot at the front of the section and excitedly waved you over once she saw you. You had to awkwardly scoot behind some students to get to Poppy, but you thought it was worth it.

“This better be some game!” you said to Poppy. “You may need to explain parts of the game to me.”

“Red ball goes through hoops for points. Three chasers for each team trying to score. Keepers protect. Beaters hit the budgers, both an attack and protect position. Seeker tried to catch the snitch,” Poppy quickly recapped for you.

You nodded and peered over the edge of the stands as the teams exited the locker rooms. The stands erupted into cheers as the teams mounted their brooms and took flight. Each team did a lap of the pitch before taking their starting positions. As the Slytherins flew over them, you could’ve sworn that you made eye contact with Sebastian. At least in his uniform, he did look a bit more muscular and filled out. You didn’t think that was enough to be suddenly considered a ‘heartthrob’ but what did you know?

“Excuse me,” a voice said near you.

A few students muttered around them. You looked to your left, where no one had been standing a moment before. Elias Cotton had appeared. He smiled at you and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hi, Elias Cotton!” you said. “Just in time for the game to start!”

Poppy leaned forward to make sure that she heard you right.

“Elias!”

“Hi Poppy, Y/N.”

Standing back up straight, Poppy elbowed you in the side lightly.

“Told you!” she said in a singsong voice.

“Oh, shut up,” you laughed. “A Hufflepuff in the Hufflepuff section doesn’t mean anything.”

Your attention was quickly turned to the field as Madam Kogawa blew her whistle, starting the game. Most of your conversation ceased. The section cheered loudly every time Hufflepuff scored, and booed when Slytherin scored. It appeared to be a fairly even match. You did watch Sebastian for most of the game, impressed as he flew with skill and had extreme precision aiming bludgers toward the Hufflepuff team. It would likely come down to who caught the snitch.

After Hufflepuff scored three times in a row, Elias leaned in and whispered in your ear, “You are welcome to come to the party after we win.”

You wanted to respond with something like ‘I know, Poppy’s going to let me in.’

However, you blushed and all you could get out was a flustered, “Okay.”

“Watch out!” someone yelled and you and Elias were pulled in opposite directions as a bludger broke the stands where you had been standing only a moment before.

You looked out into the pitch. Sebastian looked like he had just swung his bat, and his face was seething with anger.

“What the?” you asked, looking from Elias to Poppy.

There was a whistle and Lucan Brattleby announced “Penalty on Slytherin beater Sebastian Sallow, bumphing.”

“In english, Poppy?” you asked, looking at your friend.

“Hitting a bludger at spectators.”

Elias now had to stand a little off to the side so he didn’t accidentally step into the hole the bludger left. He seemed very thrown off. From the stands, Imelda could be heard yelling at Sebastian for being an idiot. Based on how his aim had been all game, you could only assume it had been on purpose, although you weren't sure on why he would send a bludger your way, unless he really hated you.

Hufflepuff made the penalty shot and the game continued. It wasn’t too much longer before the Hufflepuff seeker caught the snitch, confirming their win over Slytherin. Fans clad in yellow and black erupted in wild cheers. As the boisterous crowd headed back to the castle, you could hear Imelda berating Sebastian inside the locker room as you passed.

“Jeez, she is pissed.”

“She should be,” Poppy said as they kept walking. “I’m pretty sure their seeker spotted the snitch as Kogawa blew the whistle for the penalty. The game could’ve been over and in their favor.”

“Why did he hit the bludger toward me?”

“Maybe he’s mad at you for something?” Poppy suggested.

“He was the one who hurt me. I’ve done nothing for him to be mad about,” you defended yourself.

“It was just a suggestion. But you’re coming to the party, right?”

You nodded. “I was planning on it.”

“Cool. It usually starts some time after lunch so you can come down any time, really.”

“Is it alright if I just find you when we’re done eating? I fear if I spend too much time in Ravenclaw Tower, I’ll end up having to bring everyone.”

Poppy laughed, “Of course.”

You had barely entered the Great Hall, not even halfway down the Hufflepuff table to sit down when you heard a commotion outside the hall. Several students turned to investigate, so you felt inclined to see what the fuss was about. As you got closer, you heard people say something about a fight between a Slytherin and Hufflepuff. You pushed forward through the crowd. You were a little concerned that they were calling it a ‘fight’ and not a ‘duel.’ As you got closer, you heard someone say it was Sebastian. Color drained from your face. Once at the front of the crowd that had circled around the boys, you saw Sebastian standing over Elias, who was on the ground, both breathing heavily. Elias, shaking and with a bloody nose, had his wand out, pointing at Sebastian. Sebastian’s wand appeared to be in his back pocket. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, knuckles bloody.

“Depulso!” you cast, sending an unexpecting Sebastian flying sideways into the crowd.

You ran forward to help Elias up.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know…” he muttered, not looking you in the eyes.

You gave him a concerned look. “Didn’t know what?”

“That you’re dating him.”

You turned bright crimson, in embarrassment and rage.

“I’m not,” you said firmly. “I’ll talk to you at the party. Apparently I have to take care of something.”

You nudged him toward the crowd on the side of the Great Hall and you turned to where Sebastian was beginning to stand up.

“Levioso,” you said calmly with a flick of her wand, sending Sebastian into the air.

He struggled in the air, which made you laugh.

“Since when are we dating?” you asked bitterly. “Hell, since when are we talking?”

“Y/N, I-” he tried to say.

“Silencio! I’ve decided I don’t want your excuses.” You walked closer to where he was still hovering. “I keep my mouth shut about you. You should do the same.”

You let him fall to the ground with a thud. He sat up, but didn’t attempt to stand. He had a worried look on his face, knowing that you was referring to the events of the Catacombs.

“And you can tell Ominis this too, you two are not my guard dogs. Stop acting like you still are.” You paused, debating if you had anything more to say. “Might as well… Expelliarmus.”

His wand went flying out of his back pocket. You turned and went back towards the Great Hall, the crowd of students parting to let you through. You found Poppy tending to Elias’s bloody nose.

“It’s not broken, is it?” you asked as you approached them.

“It was, but I fixed it. Now he’s just… bloody,” Poppy answered. “Elias isn’t feeling too chatty. What the hell happened out there?”

You shifted your weight. “From what I can tell, Sebastian attacked him and claimed that we were dating. Which is almost funny being that he hasn’t spoken to me all term. Actually, we haven’t spoken since last term.”

“So you’re really not dating him?” Elias asked sheepishly.

“I’m not dating anyone.”

Poppy shook her head, smiling at you two. She felt pride in calling that Elias had been flirting with you in his own subtle way. You and Poppy both turned your heads when Imelda and Sebastian burst through the doors of the Great Hall having a loud argument.

“You already lost us the match and now you’re trying to get suspended?” she yelled at him.

“Fuck off, Imelda. Some of us have more going on in our life than quidditch.”

“I am your captain! Your behavior and reputation concerns me and the rest of the team.”

“And I can’t be bothered by that.”

The Great Hall had fallen almost silent. A few students looked at you, almost expecting you to go defuse their argument. You just rolled her eyes, sitting down between Poppy and Elias. As Sebastian and Imelda’s conversation lowered into angry whispers, the rest of the hall resumed their conversations. The Hufflepuffs around you seemed quiet for a house that just won the first quidditch match of the season. However, once they retreated to their common room, you gleaned that they were just being polite to the Slytherins.

The common room had loud music playing and a seventh year was handing out drinks. From what you could tell, the younger students were given butterbeer and older students had a few options. Poppy and you took cups of meade; Elias took a cup of butterbeer.

“No fun drink for you?” you asked.

He smiled and said, “I prefer to keep my wits about me rather than summon up false courage.”

“Hmm, noble,” you muttered, taking a sip of your drink.

You, Poppy and Elias milled around the perimeter of the common room, slightly pressed against the wall. You were fairly certain almost all of the Hufflepuffs were in the common room with a decent number of students from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. With all the people moving past you and the room being so insanely loud, you didn’t actually notice when Poppy disappeared from your side. Not knowing many other Hufflepuffs, you nervously grabbed Elias’s hand, not wanting to lose him. When he felt you hand grab his, he smiled and gave it a squeeze. He turned to look at you, but his smile fell when he saw the nervousness in your eyes.

“Let’s find somewhere to sit,” he said, leaning into your ear so you could hear him.

You nodded and followed as he pulled you into the crowd. You went deeper into the common room before finding a spot on a couch. It looked as if furniture had been pushed towards the wall to make a pseudo dancefloor. You were shocked at the number of bodies in the room. Elias pulled on your arm to get you to sit, seeing that you were still overwhelmed by it all. He was sitting on the end of the couch with you next to him. He tentatively put an arm behind you on the back of the couch. You took the opportunity to scoot a little close to him. In this situation, you felt safe.

“Is this your first Hogwarts party?” he asked, his breath hot on your neck. “I don’t recall seeing you at the one last year.”

You turned to look at him. “Didn’t make the invite list, I guess. Although, I was rather busy… and didn’t you have a girlfriend at that point?”

Elias turned a little pink. “Uh, yeah… But that’s over with. I’m surprised you weren’t invited. Definitely had your title by then.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Hero of Hogwarts can sound like snitch sometimes,” you said with a soft laugh. “But the amount of rule breaking I had to do to earn it? Makes it a bit ironic.”

“Breaking rules, huh?”

“Sneaking into the restricted section, sneaking in and out of the castle, learning spells that aren’t on the curriculum, breaking curfew a lot, missing classes, unnecessarily putting myself into danger’s way. You know.”

His mouth fell slack. He was baffled by how casually you talked about it.

“Wait, did you say spells that aren’t on the curriculum?”

You nodded slowly, blushing. “I needed to know how to protect myself and fifth year spells weren’t up to snuff.”

You really didn’t want to expand on how much you had used the Cruciatus curse on goblins and ashwinders last year. Multiple uses of an unforgivable curse would likely earn you a one-way ticket to Azkaban and at that point, you might as well turn Sebastian in as well.

“I’m sure you only did what you had to. Plus, from what I’ve heard from rumors, trouble did come and find you by itself. A troll in Hogsmeade followed by Rookwood accosting you in the Three Broomsticks? That story made its rounds.”

You laughed, feeling more confident.

“Well, that’s all true. I just wanted to get my own wand and school supplies. And a troll attacks the village. Sebastian and I took care of one while Officer Singer and some others led another away from the village,” you recalled, noticing a momentary distaste cross Elias’s face when you mentioned Sebastian. “And then we went to get butterbeers to celebrate. Enter Rookwood and suddenly I had the entire tavern standing up to protect me from him. It really was something.”

Elias reached toward your face and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You certainly are an accomplished witch.”

“Why, thank you,” you said graciously. “So I’ve had plenty of rumors about me spread through school. I haven’t heard anything about you. Tell me about yourself.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t really much to tell,” he said meekly. “Don’t play quidditch. Never was any good at dueling. I’ve been taking alchemy, which I seem to be rather good at.”

“Alchemy… Hmmm. What about your family?”

“Got an older brother who’s graduated, obviously. He’s a magizoologist. Mum and Dad are alive and well,” he said with a chuckle at the end. “What else do you want to know?”

“Your favorite color.”

“Robin egg blue.”

You smiled widely. “I like a guy who knows his shades of colors. So much better than ‘I dunno, blue.’”

“I like a girl who’s accomplished,” he replied, glancing down at your lips briefly.

You noticed and blushed. “Having a silly title doesn’t make me accomplished.”

“But you also won Crossed Wands last year. And are a trove of knowledge,” he said, adjusting his arm so it was draped across your shoulder rather than the back of the couch. “I glanced at your work in the library. You work quickly and diligently. That seems to scream accomplished.”

“So your brother’s a magizoologist?” you asked quickly, trying to change the topic off you.

He nodded, but didn’t say anything more. He continued to look at your face. You nervously looked around, being reminded that you were at a party. No one was looking at you. Everyone seemed totally consumed in their own lives, dancing and drinking and enjoying the party. A thumb stroking your cheek brought your attention back to Elias.

“So being a hero and master duelist doesn’t make you accomplished. Tell me about you and your family. There must be more to you than extreme humility.”

You blushed again. “Don’t have much for family.” Well, not since you erased your parents’ memory of you. “Taking Beasts and Divination as my electives. Although, I’m not entirely sure why I decided to carry on with Divination, not really my cup of tea. A bit unsure of what I want to do after Hogwarts, but I’m thinking research.”

“Very on brand for a Ravenclaw. Would it be something for the ministry?”

You shrugged. “More of a personal thing, I guess. I’d probably write essays for publication. Someone has to understand all this magic around us.”

Some Gryffindors walked towards your couch and tried to sit down. It was tight with four students across. You had hoped they would get uncomfortable and leave quickly, but they didn’t.

“Let me,” Elias said, grabbing under your legs to turn you sideways and then pulling you into his lap.

“Oh!” you gasped in surprise, throwing an arm around his neck to balance yourself.

Your knees were now resting on the armrest, feet dangling. Your face turned bright red.

“Too much?” he asked as if suddenly realizing how intimate this position was.

“No,” you breathed. “Just took me by surprise.”

He snaked one arm around your waist to hold you steady, the other resting on your thighs.

“You’re sure that this is okay? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

You nodded. “Elias, this is fine.” You leaned in closer to his ear. “Much better than being squished up against them.”

Returning to your original position, you spotted Poppy walking through the entry to the secondary room that you were in. She was walking with Lenora, who pointed at you on Elias’s lap. Poppy’s eyes went wide and then they exchanged giggles before turning around. You sighed and rested your head on Elias’s shoulder.

“What are you doing after Hogwarts?” you asked.

“I have an apprenticeship set up in Diagon Alley for a potioneer. I figured it’s something solid to work on while I see if I can actually make anything out of Alchemy.”

“I’ve never been to Diagon Alley. Is it nice?”

He gaped at you momentarily. “What do you mean you’ve never been?”

“Fig took care of getting my school supplies and I stayed in the highlands over the summer so I just placed my orders from Hogsmeade. It’s in London, right?”

“Yes. Merlin, Y/N, you have to go!”

“I just need a reason too,” you said with a giggle.

Elias removed his hand from your thigh and traced his thumb under your jawline.

“I think that can be arranged.”

He leaned in and kissed you. It was gentle and soft at first, but when you didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer to his chest. You kept one arm around his neck and placed your other hand on his chest.

You felt brutally reminded that you hadn’t kissed anyone in years, and even then, you had never properly made out with anyone. You almost gasped when his tongue touched your lips. Having parted your lips in surprise, his tongue slid into your mouth and started to explore. Your own wrestled with it for dominance.

It didn’t take long for you to adjust your position so that you were straddling Elias on the couch. You had one hand behind his head tangled in his hair with the other arm still wrapped around his neck. He had one hand firmly placed on your waist and the other up your shirt, groping your chest. You didn’t mind it.

It wasn’t until a Prefect broke you up did you realize how long you had been snogging in a public place.

“Alright, that’s enough. There are still first years out here,” he said, a hand on each’s shoulder.

You both blushed deeply.

“Maybe they should go to bed then,” Elias suggested, not looking away from you.

You, however, were looking at the Prefect.

“What time is it?”

“Almost curfew,” he answered. “So decide if you’re staying or not.”

You turned an even darker shade of red. You removed yourself from Elias’s lap.

“I’ll see you around, Cotton,” you said flirtatiously, giving him a wink.

Then you left the Hufflepuff Common Room. You took your time as you walked to Ravenclaw Tower. There weren’t many Prefects out yet and you could always use a disillusionment charm if you needed. You liked being out and about in the castle after curfew; it was always much more peaceful and you thought the moonlight gave it an eerie beauty. This meant that it was well past curfew when you entered her own common room.

You immediately saw Samantha asleep on the ground by the fire. You crouched by her to wake her up.

“Sammy Dale, wakey wakey!”

She slowly opened her eyes.

“Y/N? You’re back!”

You nodded. “Yes and it’s time for bed.”

“I’ll go to bed after you tell me about the fight and the party!”

“Should we go wake up Connie so I don’t have to tell the story twice?”

“Hmmm… no. Tell me now!”

“Can we at least go to the couch? You were sleeping on the floor.”

Samantha nodded and you got settled on the couch. You recounted the fight and breaking it up, although you left out Elias’s comment about you maybe dating Sebastian. You did explain how you put Sebastian in his place and told him he was relieved of his “guard dog” duties. Samantha’s eyes watched you intently.

“I saw you ate with Poppy and the guy Sebastian fought.”

“Elias Cotton, yeah.”

She hummed before saying, “And then you went straight to the Hufflepuff party?”

“Yeah. It was crazy. First off, getting to see another house’s common room? So cool. But also, the party was basically in full swing by the time we got there! You walk in, you’re handed a drink and then you’re basically shoved into the wall unless you’re pushing back.”

“So, how was your first Hogwarts party?”

“I’d say pretty fun. Looking forward to going to others. Drink and dancing, what could be better?” You were purposefully leaving out everything that happened with Elias. You didn’t feel you needed to tell anyone since you didn’t expect it to develop into anything.

Samantha seemed content enough with your answer and yawned. You helped her up to their dorm, where Constance was happily snoring away. Once you tucked your friend in, you grabbed a simple Sleeping Draught. You figured that day had been good enough to guarantee you good dreams.

You didn’t expect to wake up to both Constance and Samantha standing at the side of your bed, shaking you.

“You left out some very interesting details from your story, Y/N!” Samantha exclaimed.

You sat up, looking a little confused.

“She filled me in at breakfast and then we hear from the Hufflepuff table that you were snogging Elias Cotton all night?” Constance said.

“You just said dancing and drinking!”

“It didn’t seem relevant? It’s not like it’s going anywhere,” you muttered, still trying to wake up.

“Based on what we heard, it’s about all you did? Did you even dance?” Samantha asked.

“No… But we were surrounded by dancing. So close enough?”

“No! Not close enough! Plus, now you have to deal with Andrew,” Constance told you.

“Why do I have to deal with Andrew?”

“Boy has been pining after you basically since you were sorted into Ravenclaw. We finally convince him to just ask you out and you say no, only to be snogging someone else the next weekend? He’s a bit upset, Y/N,” Constance explained.

“It was just kissing. It didn’t mean anything!”

“Cotton seemed fairly happy about it at breakfast,” Samantha chirped.

“Great. Good for him. Where is Andrew?”

“Common room.”

“I’ll get dressed and sort stuff out.”

Once dressed, you descended the stairs to find Andrew. Your friends followed close behind, not wanting to miss out on what was most likely going to be very entertaining for them. Andrew was sitting at a table with Everett, playing wizards’ chess.

“Andrew, I hear we need to talk,” you said as you approached the table.

“You can say that,” he grumbled, not looking up from the game.

“Andrew,” you said, trying to get him to look at you.

“So when I asked you to the quidditch game and you said you weren’t ready to date, you really meant that you didn’t want to date me? You could’ve just said no!”

“I’m not ready to date. I’m not dating anyone!”

“I heard you two were pretty cozy at the Hufflepuff party,” he sneered. “He’s surely not trying to hide it.”

“Yes, we made out. A proper snog. It’s called a party. Sorry I had fun!” Your voice was rising and beginning to carry.

“A proper snog?” Andrew gasped.

“Yes,” you said indignantly. “And that’s all it was and will be. Because I am not ready to date anyone. I don’t care what you hear from anyone else. I am not dating anyone.”

Their small argument had drawn attention from other Ravenclaws in the common room. You hoped that this could help cancel out whatever rumors were already spreading about you and Elias. You weren't a fan that he was leaning into them, especially since you didn’t spend the night with him. If you had, that would have been another story.

---

You had spent the rest of the weekend doing homework and informing anyone who came up to you that you wasn’t dating the Hufflepuff. It was certainly more people than you would’ve liked. By the time Beasts class rolled around, you were hoping to get Poppy to spread the word around the Hufflepuff Common Room that you were not dating Elias.

“Yeah, I’ll spread it around. I can even tell Elias to shut up, assuming you’re avoiding being seen with him for the time being. Although, I must say, so much for taking another dragon over spending time with a boy,” she teased with a grin.

“Oh shut up! But, thank you for helping squash these rumors. I figured I should avoid him since that would only add to the rumors,” you said with a laugh. Professor Howin was still talking with a student from an earlier class.

“I’ve been thinking about something though. Was Sebastian around when Andrew asked you out in Hogsmeade?”

“Actually, yes. Andrew asked and then Sebastian comes barreling through, knocking Andrew to the ground.”

“Huh. That only helps my theory.”

You gave her a look. “And that theory is?”

“I don’t think Sebastian likes seeing you with other guys, especially not in a romantic setting. It would explain the bludger.”

You gave her a confused look as you played with the Golden Snidget chick on your desk, still waiting for the professor to start the class.

“Sebastian pushes down Andrew in Hogsmeade when he hears him ask you. He sees Elias standing too close for his comfort during the game? Launches a bludger to force you two apart. I guess Elias must’ve said something while walking to the Great Hall when Sebastian attacked him… I didn’t peg him for a muggle fighter though.” She paused. “Anyways, sounds like Sebastian is jealous or overly protective. Maybe both.”

You rolled your eyes. “Idiotic is what he is. He has nothing to be jealous of since I’m not going to date anyone. And, please, like I need protecting. He’s seen me fight more trolls and ashwinders last year…”

“I know. But just think about it. Have you seen the way he looks at you? Last year, the way you two flirted and were always together?”

“Poppy, what are you implying?”

“You know fully well what I’m implying.”

You groaned.

“You don’t know him like I do,” you said. “There is no way that Sebastian likes me like that.”

And then Professor Howin cleared her throat, apologized for starting class late and began that day’s lecture on Golden Snidget chicks.

---

You learned from a Ravenclaw quidditch player that Slytherin had the pitch booked for practice on Wednesday. You were determined to talk to Ominis about what Poppy had suggested in Beast class. If anyone knew, it would be him and you were desperate enough to swallow your pride. You had taken claim to a spot on the Central Hall fountain outside the library. You waited and watched.

You saw him approach the library.

Standing up, you called out “Ominis!”

He visibly tensed and stopped walking. He turned in the direction of your voice. You were already walking toward him, which he knew because of his outstretched wand.

“Do I need to run or cast Protego?” he asked nervously.

“Neither,” you said shortly. “I have a few questions.”

His body eased slightly. “Okay…”

“Do you know why Sallow is attacking every boy who asks me out?”

“Is it… not obvious?”

“Ominis,” you warned.

“You can say we are not your guard dogs anymore but I do not think Sebastian possesses the ability to just let you go.”

Your eyes narrowed, searching his face for something more than what he was saying. “I’m not sure I’m understanding what you are saying.”

“Let’s sit, shall we?” he offered with a sigh. “Let me tell you about the summer.”

You walked to an alcove up the stairs where no one else was sitting. Ominis sat with his back all the way against the wall, giving him impossibly perfect posture. You, however, sat cross legged on the bench, turned towards Ominis with your elbows resting on your knees.

“So this summer?”

“Utterly horrible without you. Even worse with Sebastian spending almost every moment sulking. I am honestly not sure if he would have done anything at all without me there. Like not eating, bathing, maintaining the house.” He paused. “And he has become increasingly insufferable this term.”

“Okay…”

“Listen, Y/N, he regretted what he said from the moment he said it. I hate to have to define it, but we were both aghast to hear what you had planned. He just chose the absolute worst words to use.”

You didn’t say anything.

“Did you… did you do it?” he asked softly.

“Yes.”

“Where did you end up spending your summer?”

“Traveling. Never in one spot too long.”

He nodded. “I wish you could have seen the number of half-written letters that littered the floor in Feldcroft. I think he tried to send one or two, but the owl came back with the letter.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t reachable by owl for anyone. Constance and Samantha gave me an earful about that. Oops,” you said, not sounding remorseful. “But you mean to say that he would’ve died without you this summer?”

“Essentially. It was like after Anne was first cursed again.”

You laughed dryly, causing Ominis to grimace slightly. “Except he caused this.”

His lips formed a thin line. “He did.”

There was silence for a moment.

“He has a tendency to push away people who care about him, doesn’t he?” you asked softly.

“I suppose you could say that.”

“Solomon, before the Catacombs, obviously cared for the twins. Sure, he only gave them tough love, but I think that’s just who he was. Anne saw what Sebastian did, even if he was just trying to heal her. I’m surprised that you’re still at his side, given everything he’s done. Even if some of it has been with my encouragement. The Scriptorium… And then what he called me. When I’ve been at his side since I met him. I wanted to ensure that I could stay by his side and then he calls me… that,” you said, scoffing at the end.

“He might regret losing you the most,” Ominis said, his voice tender.

“And he shows it by attacking every boy who asks me out?”

“He’s rash.”

You laughed heartily.

“These are not his words, but they seem to have the right feel to them. Sebastian thinks of you as his and anyone threatening that is, well, a threat. So he takes care of the threat.”

You blinked at him. “That I’m his? Merlin, is he really telling people that we are dating?”

“I do not think he has gone that far,” he said, biting his bottom lip nervously. “At least verbally. It is sort of implied?”

You groaned loudly. “Well, if it didn’t get into his head after he fought Elias, you can remind him that we are not dating.”

You stood up and left Ominis sitting on the bench alone. You marched all the way back to Ravenclaw Tower and up to your dorm. You had never been more glad that it was empty. You did not have it in you to talk to Constance and Samantha, nor anyone else. Feeling more irritated than you had before talking to Ominis, you tried to focus all of her energy into finishing your homework. Once you had finished, you decided to skip dinner. You downed both a Sleeping Draught and Dreamless Sleep Potion.

---

As the rest of the week passed, you were still adamantly denying the dating Elias rumors. You had managed to avoid him since the party, not even seeing him at meals in the Great Hall, but that might have had more to do with you not actively looking for him. Perhaps Poppy had given him an earful and he was avoiding you as well. At some point, you overheard someone say that he was in the Hospital Wing, suffering from a nasty combination of hexes. You just sighed and continued on your way to class. You figured that not visiting would enforce the notion that it had just been a snog and that you were nothing more.

The Potions classroom was a mixture of emotions when you walked through the doors. The female portion seemed to be buzzing with excitement while the males were more disinterested. You looked at the board where Professor Sharp had scrawled “Amortentia.” You took your seat next to Garreth.

“What’s the deal with Amortentia?” you asked, leaning over to him.

“Only the most powerful love potion,” he answered. “That’s why,” he gestured to the giggling girls, “they are all so excited.”

“Huh… Doesn’t seem like something they should teach us how to brew?”

“Oh, I’m not,” Professor Sharp said, standing near your station. “I’ll be teaching how to recognize the potion, its effects and its antidote. Those are far more useful.”

Professor Sharp brought the rest of the class’s attention to him and he began the lesson. The first half was extremely detailed. Every characteristic of the potion. Its effects on the drinker. You were intrigued by it; you would never brew it but magic this powerful always drew your attention. You felt that the inventor had been trying to make an actual love potion, rather than the obsession potion it really was.

Professor Sharp paused his lecture to show them a small cauldron of Amortentia. He lifted the lid so they could see its mother-of-pearl sheen and perfect spirals of steam. Then, he invited each student to smell it so they would know what it smelled like to them. Some students were eager to share what they smelled while others were more sheepish. Garreth turned nearly the same shade of his hair, which you momentarily teased him about. But then it was your turn to smell the potion, which would smell like whatever attracted you the most.

After barely taking one whiff of the Amortentia potion, you tumbled backwards into a potion station. You felt as if you were going to faint.

“Professor, may I be excused?”

Professor Sharp looked you over briefly. “Very well.”

You left your stuff behind as you bolted out the door. Sebastian watched you leave before raising his hand.

“Professor, may I be excused as well?”

“Mr. Sallow, are you going to chase after Ms. L/N?”

Sebastian didn’t know what answer the professor wanted to hear so he settled on saying nothing. Apparently his facial expression betrayed him.

“Ms. L/N is a remarkable young witch, fully capable of handling herself,” Professor Sharp told him. “You can speak with her if she returns or after class. In other words, no, you may not be excused.”

“But sir!” he protested.

“Mr. Sallow, no.”

Sebastian slumped in his seat. He needed to check on you. His thoughts were spinning with ideas of what you could have possibly smelled in the potion that made you go so pale and need to leave the classroom to be able to compose yourself.

You kept running. You hadn’t been expecting the potion to be that potent and it felt like you couldn’t breathe. You pushed through doors and ran up stairs, not paying attention to where you were going. Until you stopped and realized you found yourself outside the entrance to the Undercroft. Having left both Ominis and Sebastian in the Potions classroom, you took a breath and entered. It would be empty.

The cold air that greeted you was a friendly welcome. It was almost exactly as you had last seen it. The shattered boxes and destroyed books from your fight with Sebastian were gone. The floor and pillars had more scorch marks than you remembered, but given Sebastian’s love for Confringo, it made sense. You walked over to a couch that you had conjured in the spring. You could still hear the boys complaining about your choice to conjure a worn-looking couch, but you stood by your defense that it matched the general feeling for the Undercroft. There were two cushy armchairs across from the couch and new bookshelves along the walls, holding books and small trinkets.

Sinking into the cushy cushions, you sighed and put your head in your hands. Your brain felt foggy from the effects of smelling the Amortentia. You thought you were just supposed to smell what attracted you. You had expected fresh cookies and a woodfire, with a hint of lemon. With one small breath in, visions of your adventures with Sebastian from the previous year flashed in your mind. Each memory had its own scent that took over. The intensity of it almost made you black out. You didn’t understand why you had been so affected. Every other student was able to still function after they smelled the potion.

You also had to figure out why it showed you the memories with Sebastian. You had acknowledged ages ago that you had a crush on him from the day she met him. Time for a proper Hogwarts welcome, he had told you before you easily won your first duel against him. You adored how he cared for his sister and his determination to find a cure, willing to do whatever it took to a fault. You remembered feeling so completely utterly hurt when he called you ignorant for trusting Lodgok. But he had held you so tight after Professor Fig’s death…

You shook your head, trying to get anything sappy out of your brain. You had to remember your fight after receiving your O.W.L. results. It had been at that moment you swore that you were over him. You thought after a summer of not thinking about him, you would be over him. According to the Amortentia, that was far from true.

***

The three of you had gathered in the Undercroft to open your O.W.L. results together. After studying for hours together, it only felt right. A quick glance at the collections of O’s and E’s and singular A told you that you all passed. You had all gotten the grades you wanted and would be able to continue in your desired subjects. You took great pride in being the only one from the trio to get an O in Potions.

Being that it was your second to last day of the semester, you wanted to spend all day together. You planned on seeing each other during the summer, but spending time in the Undercroft in your uniforms was just different.

“Are you still planning on bachelor padding this summer?” you asked as you lounged on the couch.

“Bachelor padding?” Ominis asked slowly.

“She’s asking if you’ll be staying in Feldcroft, Ominis,” Sebastian clarified for you. “And yes, he is.”

“Ah. Well, I do have to go home to Gaunt Manor for a week, but that is only a quick mandatory visit.”

“You never talk about your summer plans,” Sebastian observed, looking over at you. “I mean, you said you’d come visit us, but never what you’re doing or where you’ll be the rest of it.”

“I have a few options. Haven’t decided on anything yet.”

You didn’t elaborate. Your plan was to visit your parents briefly, but not out of obligation like Ominis. You were planning on using Obliviate on them, a spell you had read about, to erase yourself from their memory. If you didn’t, they would be more than concerned about your inability to sleep without potions and then they would pry until you told them of all the events of the past year. If they knew everything, they would never let you go back and you decided that you couldn’t risk that. After wiping their memory, your plan was to wing it. You had briefly discussed renting a room from Sirona for the summer, an expensive option that would keep you local to Hogwarts. If you decided to go that route, you would’ve seen if Mr. Pippin needed an assistant or maybe the Magic Neep or Dogwood and Deathcap needed help. A part of you was still debating asking the boys if they minded you joining in. Sebastian’s uncle’s house wasn’t the biggest, but you assumed the three of you would make do. And then there was your last option: to rough it around the highlands.

“Are you going to your parents? You’re muggleborn, right?” Ominis asked.

“Yes, and yes. I don’t think I’ll be staying with them all summer.”

It wasn’t a lie but it sure did feel like one.

“So where will you be staying?” Sebastian asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I just said I haven’t decided on anything yet,” you repeated yourself.

“Okay, then why aren’t you spending the summer at your parents? What are your options?” Sebastian asked intently.

“Might get a room at the Three Broomsticks. Might travel…”

Ominis tilted his head to the side. “You didn’t answer the first question. I won’t be at my parents’ because I have a disdain for them. Sebastian, sorry mate, but he doesn’t have any parents, but at least we will be at his uncle’s place.”

You looked down at your hands and picked at your fingernails.

“I’m afraid… they won’t…” You paused, trying to find the right words. You cleared your throat before speaking again with an unsteady voice, “They won’t remember having a daughter in less than a week’s time.”

“Excuse me?” Ominis asked.

“What on earth do you mean?” followed Sebastian.

“I’m going to Obliviate them,” you said, your voice barely a whisper.

They stared at you in complete shock. Sebastian looked at Ominis and then back at you.

“You’re going to do what?”

“Make them forget they ever had a daughter, let alone a witch,” you said, your voice slightly more confident.

“And why the hell would you do that?” Sebastian asked, standing up.

You sighed and then explained your fear that they wouldn’t let you come back after everything and the nightmares.

“It’s just easier this way,” you said.

“So let me get this straight, you have a loving family with both parents still alive. And you are going to choose to leave them? To have them forget about your existence?” Ominins asked in disbelief, shaking his head.

“I know it sounds insensitive, especially given both of your circumstances, but…”

Sebastian cut you off. “No, you can’t do that. You have a good family! You can’t let that go to waste. You can’t.”

“They’ll cut me from…”

“No. We wouldn’t let them do that to you. And we won’t let you do that to them,” Sebastian continued. He started pacing around the Undercroft. “You have a family that loves you and is alive and cares for you and…”

It was your turn to cut him off. “And won’t let me leave the house, maybe not even my room, if they knew how many times I was inches from death. They would block anyone from reaching me. I can’t have that.”

“Y/N,” Ominis said with concern in his voice.

“No. You two cannot convince me not to do this. I have to do this. I can’t lose magic.” Your voice, although sure of itself, was thick with emotion.

“Y/N,” Ominis repeated with more conviction. “You control ancient magic. You literally cannot lose magic.”

“They’d find a way.”

“You can’t push away your family. You can’t. You… you have…”

“I don’t have to do anything you say. I can’t lose this,” you said, gesturing to everything around you. Your voice was getting louder and determined.

“You have a good family, Y/N,” Ominis said, maintaining his calm tone. “I do not think it is wise to…”

You cut him off too. “It’s my only option. You don’t understand!”

“You are experiencing what the family-less look like here and you want to join us… That’s so…” Sebastian was struggling to find words.

“I have felt more at home here than I ever did in the muggle world. That family doesn’t matter anymore. I’d rather be an orphan.”

Hearing you say that struck a nerve with Sebastian.

“You fatuous mudblood!” he yelled at you, regretting it the moment the words exited his mouth, but that didn’t stop the red sparks from appearing at the end of his wand.

The look on your face said it all. It brought you directly back to when he had called you ignorant.

“So that’s how you really feel,” you said, suddenly sounding calm, although tears were beginning to form in your eyes.

You felt anger well up inside you. You launched Confringo at a crate in a corner, to prevent yourself from sending it at Sebastian. It felt good, a cathartic release. You sent a handful of spells towards other crates and a pile of books. Sebastian put a Protego shield around him and Ominis to protect them from your cascading spells. By the time the dust settled and smoke cleared, you were gone.

“Sebastian,” Ominis said slowly. “Please tell me you did not call her what I heard you call her.”

“I-I can’t.” He paused, taking a shaky breath. “I’m afraid I’m not myself right now. Excuse me.”

Sebastian walked out of the Undercroft. His face was stoney.

You had sprinted all the way to Ravenclaw Tower. You packed your things as quickly as you could. You still technically had one more night at Hogwarts, but you didn’t care. You were leaving as soon as you could. Samantha and Constance didn’t see you leave. You were gone before they returned to the common room and were left wondering where you disappeared to. It wouldn’t be until July that you showed your face in Hogsmeade, and by that time, your parents believed that they had never had a child.

#marauder-misprint #hogwarts legacy fic #hogwarts legacy #HL #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #hl fic

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