#i imagine light put up the pillow wall between them

[hay-bails]

there are monsters nearby

#death note #death note fanart #l lawliet #light yagami #artists on tumblr #lawlight #i imagine light put up the pillow wall between them #art #fanart

[disasterofastory]

Yours (Brahms Heelshire x Reader)

Yours // Brahms Heelshire Masterlist Brahms Heelshire x Reader Kinktober 2023 - 8/14 Warnings: virgin!Brahms

Summary: You want a special night with Brahms.

"Can you do that, Brahms?" You ask him for the second time when, instead of answering your previous question, he pouts at you with a slight, moody wrinkle between his brows. "Can you promise you won't spy on me for a few hours?" The corners of your lips twitch as you listen to your own words. You can't even imagine what other people would think of Brahms or you if they heard you right now. Or any other time. "But why?" His voice is higher with a couple of octaves than before. His hands on your waist tighten while you keep your arms around his lean waist. "Because I want to surprise you," you tell him. "It's just a few hours, Brahms. Please." His chest stretches with a heavy sigh. "Fine." "Great!" You squeak out, reaching up for his neck to pull him down for a quick kiss. "You won't regret it." It's funny you say that; Brahms already feels the regret eating at him when you disappear upstairs.

You have been waiting for this day ever since you decided to stay with Brahms. Well, you like to think you had a choice in the matter. You had doubts when he dragged you into the shower with himself the first time, but after the first kiss you shared, you knew it for sure. He has no experience with women and intimacy. You weren't even surprised. The man lived most of his life behind the walls of Heelshire manor. In the beginning, he had barely any idea what to do or how without your guidance. It was fine, though. You love the power you had over him and his pleasure. You built him up patiently and softly. And today, if he is okay with it, you are ready to take the next step. You are surprised he hasn't initiated it yet. Brahms has no patience when it comes to what he wants, and you learned it rather quickly.

So, you take the first step.

You start with your room after making sure Brahms doesn't lurk behind the walls. You gather more pillows and blankets, adjusting them on the bed to your liking. You even go and unpack the lights you ordered since Brahms is not really comfortable around fire. You put the lanterns and fairy lights all around the room until you are satisfied with the result. By the time you are done, it's already dark outside, and your room looks like a cozy nest with dim lights and the scent of fresh strawberries because of the tray of snacks and drinks on the bedside table.

You are really satisfied when you leave your room to get Brahms, who is already in the living room with his mask on. You can't help but frown at the sight of him. "What's wrong, honey?" You ask him softly, cradling his face in your hands as he accepts you stepping between his legs. His warm palms find their way to the back of your thighs immediately. When he doesn't reply, you continue. "Do you not want to see my surprise? Do you want to do something else?" He shakes his head.

Ever since you earned Brahms's trust, the man avoids wearing his mask around you as much as he feels comfortable without it. By now, you only see it on him when something is wrong.

Biting your lip, you think through your next step. "Do you want to take a bath with me? Bubbles and everything." Finally, he nods. "Good," you smile at him, taking one of his hands in yours to link your fingers together. "Come, then." He follows you up to his room like a lost puppy, watching you prepare his bathroom without a word. "You can take off your clothes," you tell him, glancing at his towering figure over your shoulder when you check the water's temperature for the last time.

You didn't share your plans with Brahms, but maybe he can feel it in the air. He knows something is coming, and you want to give him the chance to say no. "You know," you start. "We can watch a movie, too. Or I can read." Both of you are in the bathtub, enjoying the warmth of the water. The air is heavy with steam and the scent of the bathbomb you used. The water is green and glitters a little under the light of the lamp hanging from the ceiling. "No," he says. The porcelain of his mask is cold on the side of your face as he rests his head on your shoulder. His arms are around you while your back is against his broad chest. His hands are cupping your breasts, just holding them for his comfort. "But you can change your mind at any second, okay?" You ask him. "What is our safeword?" "Doll." "Good boy," you praise him, reaching behind you to pet his hair.

You take your time in the bathroom, making sure to wash his worries away until his body is relaxed in your hands. You massage his shoulders, caress his chest, and play with his curls while he lets you pamper him until the water is almost cold and you have to get out. "Do you feel better?" You ask him, leading him out of the room with his hand in yours. "Yes," he replies. He still wears his mask, but you don't mention it. You know he will take it off when he is ready. "Did you change your mind? We can go to sleep, too, baby." "No. I want to see your surprise." "Okay, love," you smile at him soothingly.

You step into the room first so you can see Brahms's reaction. You know it's nothing fancy or grand, but you want to make him feel comfortable and cared for. Even after all the things you did together and with each other, you want to make his first time special.

Brahms doesn't even know how to feel at the sight of your room. He can see the pale face of the moon through the window above your bed, which is full of soft pillows and warm blankets. Small lights hang from here and there, mixing with the dim glow of the lanterns. He had never seen anything so inviting and comfortable.

"What do you think?" You ask him after a while. Your heart thuds against your ribcage since you can't see his expression. "I love it," Brahms answers, caging you in his arms to pull you to his body. His chest is still bare, and your fingers rake through the soft hair. "I love you." "I love you too," you grin at him, kissing the cold lips of his mask. "Do you want to lay down a little?" You ask him. "We have snacks." Brahms follows you to the bed, resting his large body among the soft fabrics while you put the tray in the middle between your bodies. He still feels amazed because of everything you did for him. "Comfortable?" You ask. He nods. "Thank you." "Anything for my baby," you grin at him cheekily just to lighten the mood. "I'm glad you like it, though. And I'm proud of you for keeping your promise." "How do you know?" He asks, pushing his mask away a little to eat some grapes. The fruit pops under his teeth, flooding his mouth with its sweet taste. You shrug, not knowing how to answer. You just know it. Brahms became such a deep part of you that you simply feel him whether he is around you or not. But you are right, though. Brahms wanted to respect your wishes even if it drove him bad most of the day while he waited for you. "Do you want me to read you?" You ask him. "Just a few pages." Even though he is much more relaxed than before, you can still notice his fidgetiness. "Please." So you read him for a while, letting the remaining tension leave his body as he almost melts on the bed. Every now and again, you have to glance at him to check if he is still awake.

"Come here," he says when you pause for a second. "I want you close." Putting away the book, you crawl up on him to straddle his hips. "Do you feel better?" You ask him, playing with the hair on his chest. Your thumbs rub over his nipples a few times. "Yes," he hums, watching you. His shirt is big on you, but he can see the soft line of your breasts and the pretty pebbles of your nipples. He is already pulling on the fabric to get rid of it, but you stop him. "No," you say, and he can't help but be surprised. You never say no when he wants your tits. "What?" "I said no," you tell him. "We will learn new things today, Brahms." He doesn't like it but keeps quiet. You already did so much for him. "I know patience is not your strong suit, but we will work on it today." Oh, no, just not on my patience, he thinks, grimacing under his mask. "And we will learn about building," you grin. You don't have to see the man's face under you to know he doesn't like what you say. "Do you trust me, Brahms?" He nods without thinking. You are the only one in the whole world he fully trusts. "Then believe me when I say you will like it." He nods again.

Brahms watches you with interest as you grab a strawberry from the tray. The fruit is red and ripe. "Do you want to take off your mask?" You ask him. When he shakes his head, you continue. "Then push it out of the way a bit." He can do that. He lets you feed him fruit after fruit while he stares up at you the whole time. He is surprised at how intimate the act is despite its innocence. "Good boy," you break the silence after a while. "Now, the next step." You can feel his body tense under you with anticipation. Putting another strawberry in your mouth, you lean on his chest to reach his lips. For a second, Brahms just stares at you, not knowing what to do before smoothing his hand on your hips and accepting the fruit from your mouth. Both of you munch on it until your lips meet in a soft kiss. The edge of his mask pokes your face, and you want to take it off and throw it as far as you can but decide against it. It has to be Brahms's choice. "Do you want another one?" You ask him. Your words brush over his lips, and he wants another kiss but nods anyway. Repeating your previous actions, you stay capturing his lips with your own. You let yourself taste the fruit on his lips, licking into his mouth with a satisfied hum. Brahms's nerves are on edge as he lies under you, holding onto your hips while you play and tease him. He barely has time to deepen the kiss when you back away to nibble on his bottom lip, biting into the soft flesh softly and soothing the slight pain with your tongue. "Y/N," Brahms says your name with a dreamy sigh as your lips trail down on his bearded jaw and hairy chest. Your tongue flicks over one of his nipples, and he gasps at the new sensation. "Oh!" "Did you like it?" You grin at him, caressing his abs. He is warm under your palm and curious fingertips. "Yes," he grunts. The curve of your lips widens when you see him reaching up to his mask to tear it away from his face and letting it drop next to the bed. "And here is my handsome boy," you croon. "Hey." His heart flutters and the shade of his cheeks darken under your appreciative gaze. "Hey." You lean up to kiss him again, letting him dominate the motion for a few seconds. Your bottom still rests over his crotch. His erection twitches and throbs every time you rub against it as you move. "How are you feeling, Brahms?" You ask him while peppering his face with small pecks. His fire-marred skin is rough under your lips. "Good." Brahms stays with the easiest answer when he can't find the right words. He is excited and hungry for you, but at the same time, he feels soft, and his heart could burst out at any moment because of all the things you make him feel. Your nails crawl over the front of his body, sending goosebumps all over his skin as you move down until you hoover above his knees, and your face is level with the obvious tent in his pants.

The world starts to spin around Brahms with you in the focus when you tug on his pants, and his cock springs free. His desperate grunt is loud in the quiet room when you hold him in your hand and stroke up on his shaft. "I want to see you," he says breathlessly. For a second, you want to deny him but decide otherwise. Quickly, you get rid of his shirt while you stay bare on top of him.

You are so beautiful, he can't even breathe. Your skin looks soft under the dim lights, and every dip and curve of your body seems to beg for his touch. His palms tingle with the need to reach out for you. And he does. A moan escapes your lips when he sits up a little to knead one of your breasts. His thumb runs across your skin, following the curve of your flesh before rubbing over your nipple. "I want it in my mouth," he breaks the silence again, hoping you will give in to his wants once again. "Not yet," you shake your head. "I want to prepare you first." He feels prepared enough, though but can't argue when he chokes on his own saliva when you focus your attention back on his cock. For a long second, he hears nothing but the ringing of his ears as you stroke up and down on his length. Your thumb follows the line of one of his bulging veins until you reach the tip. "You are so pretty," you hum under your breath, still teasing the bulbous head of his cock. You can feel him throbbing in your hold. Brahms's chuckle is breathless and hoarse. "Me or my dick?" You grin. "Both. And you taste good, too." The man saw you take him in your mouth several times already, but the sight of his cock disappearing between your lips is still mesmerizing. You are warm and wet around him. Your tongue is flat against the underside of his shaft. "Y/N!" He gasps out your name, tightening his hold on the blankets around him. Black dots dance in front of his eyes as you suckle on him, gathering his pre-cum on your tongue to gulp every now and again. You take your time, though. You don't chase him to his orgasm, and he never imagined suffering so sweet.

A desperate whimper escapes his closed lips when you move away from his cock. He wants to cum so badly. "It's okay, Brahms," you coo, smoothing your hand over his chest. "You will get your reward for being so patient." The man watches with wide eyes as you settle back above his crotch. Your pussy is nestled against his cock, soaking him with your juices. Something curls in his stomach with anticipation as he stares at the motion of your hips. You rock back and forth, letting your wet heat slide over his cock repeatedly. The tip of his cock nudges your clit every time. "How do you want me, Brahms?" You ask him, panting. The slow pace you set is hard on you, too. Your pussy aches, and your walls flutter with need. After all these months, you want him inside you. Brahms's lips open, but no word comes out. His mind does not want to work. "Do you want me to stay on top?" You ask him. "Or you want to change position?" "Top," he grunts. Your hips rock and twist the whole time. "You." "Okay, baby," you nod.

Lifting yourself from his lap, you still hover above him with your hand between your legs this time. You slide your fingers over your pussy, rubbing your clit for a few seconds before pushing into your hole. A relieved sigh leaves your lips at the familiar stretch, but it's not near enough. You finger yourself above Brahms while the man can do nothing but grip the fabrics around him to keep himself from cumming. At this point, you don't even care about the slight pain you cause yourself. You add another and then a third finger until you are sure you are prepared enough to take his cock.

"Okay," you break the silence, mostly talking to yourself. You need several deep breaths to push down the impatience crawling up your spine. You want it soft and gentle, and if you lose your head, it will be anything but. "Are you ready?" You ask Brahms, glancing at his face. His eyes are glassy, and his lips open. Sweat sticks his curls to his forehead. "Yes," he grunts. "I want you, Y/N." "Good, love." Your smile is shaky. "I want you too." You never wanted anything so much in your life.

A heavy groan is punched out of him when he feels your entrance at the tip of his cock. Your hold on his shaft is steady and firm as you press him into you. You slide down on his slick cock inch by inch, enjoying the pressure in your walls and the way he slowly fills you up. Brahms doesn't even dare to breathe. He just lies under you, watching his cock disappearing in your tight hole. The noises escaping his throat are a mix of groans and whimpers. You are warm and wet around him, squeezing his cock all the way to the base. "How do I feel?" You ask, sitting on him with his whole cock in you. Your question is shaky. At this point, Brahms can't form words anymore. His brain is a mush of pleasure and need in his head. You envelop him tightly. He can feel himself rubbing against your inner walls as you start to rock your hips. They are small movements, but fireworks spark behind his closed eyelids at the feeling. A throaty groan is the only answer you get from him. "You can cum anytime you want, baby," you tell him, watching a vein bulging on his neck as he clenches his teeth together. "No," he growls, slipping his hands to your waist for a squeeze. He wants to feel your pussy when you cum around him. "But please," he continues, gasping. "Move!" To give some weight to his words, he grinds deep inside your wet hole. He reaches every nerve and every spongy spot that steals your breath away. "Fuck!" You wheeze, pushing down against him as you begin to rock back and forth on him more rapidly while his cock twitches and throbs.

"Brahms!" You cry out his name, bracing yourself on his chest as you lift yourself a little and drop back on his cock again. "Fuck!" You both groan at the same time. The man's hands slide up to your tits, palming and kneading your soft flesh. He works on you mindlessly, rubbing and pinching your nipples in reflex. "Again!" He demands, and you repeat your movement several times until you bounce on his cock with his hips pushing up in rhythm into your pussy. You can see as his stomach tightens and your juices soak the trimmed hair at the base of his shaft.

You feel light and drunk on his cock. Your eyes are half closed, and your limbs shake as you force yourself to move. Your pussy squeezes around the grith of Brahms's cock, wanting it to stay inside you until he floods you with his seed. Brahms wants that, too. There are moments as you grind to each other that he is sure his dick will fall off because of the way you work on him. There are no thoughts behind his teary eyes as he stares at you, moaning and groaning. His hold on your breasts is painfully tight, but you have no mind or energy to stop him as he slides in and out of your drenched pussy.

Your vision blurs as you gasp for air. "I'm gonna- I'm-" Your toes curl in pleasure, and the burning coil in your stomach snaps in two. Your pussy flutters around his cock as you reach your climax, still bouncing and rocking. You cry in ecstasy as you fall into a deep spiral, twitching and jerking. Pleasure flares in your veins as you fall apart on his erection while he bucks into you deeper. You can't even tell anymore where your moans end and where his groans start. Your walls clamp around his cock while he empties himself inside of you. Hot spurts of cum fill your hole, and every shot makes you tremble and cry some more.

Brahms's cock still jerks and twitches inside you when you go limp on his body. Your mixed juices flow out of your pussy, soaking his balls and the sheets on the bed. Your muscles burn, your pussy aches from the stretch, and your limbs tingle. And while you fight with your heavy eyelids, Brahms has to learn how to breathe again. His chest heaves under you, and a low groan escapes both of your lips when you lift yourself from him and let your body fall close next to his. "How do you feel?" You pant. "Fuck," he groans, holding your thigh in his hand. You are soft and sweet against him. You grin. "I'm glad." You want to put away the tray that is still on the bed behind you, but there is no way you can move.

"Thank you, Y/N," Brahms breaks the silence after a while. "It was… I just…" "I love you, too, Brahms," you hum, cupping his cheek and raking your finger through his thick beard until both of you fall asleep in each other's arms.

#brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire imagine #brahms heelshire smut #the boy x reader #the boy imagine #kinktober 2023 #slasher fucker

[jamespottersmixtape]

rosekiller microfic: goldilocks 1,632 words

a bit of soft rosekiller!! this is inspired by @myrows rosekiller art which you can find here! it made me want to weep a little when I first saw it, so naturally I had to write something haha :) ngl this has been sitting in my drafts for a while and it's by no means perfect but enjoy!! <3

Barty has always cherished quiet nights at Hogwarts.

When the chatter in the halls finally dies down enough for his thoughts to come back to him and homework has been carelessly tossed aside to save for tomorrow.

There’s a sense of serenity to it all that Barty rarely finds elsewhere. A break that he craves most at the end of a particularly stressful day.

Sixth year courses have been—to put it lightly, beating his ass—no matter how well he does. Today, it had taken him ten tries to get the nonverbal spell to work in Transfiguration. Ten.

Usually Barty needs no more than six tries for complicated spells, less than that for complex potions. Disregarding that he still did it faster than over half the class, now he’s just fucking tired.

He groans and shoves his schoolbag off the bed, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud, then flops backwards dramatically onto his pillows. The dorm room is dim, save for a few small candles on his bedside table. Cloaked in various shadows that dance around the room from the flickering flame.

Barty closes his eyes, taking a spare second to just breathe. There’s the soft white noise of the shower running in the background—Evan is taking forever, as usual—and sometimes Barty imagines he can hear the push and pull of the black lake against their walls. Lack of windows be damned.

It isn’t long before the water shuts off, and Barty feels the smallest smile tug at the corners of his mouth. It’s just the two of them for now, Regulus off doing god knows what at this hour. So naturally, a lot of built up restraint is needed for Barty not to rip open the bathroom door. To go and take in the sight of a freshly showered Evan and gather him in his arms before he can be stopped.

He’s been in there for less than thirty minutes but fuck it, Barty misses him.

Grumbling, he goes to change into the first clothes he can find. Settling for some years old joggers and a loose tank top, the soft fabric already making him drowsy.

The bathroom door creaks open and his head snaps up, immediately catching Evan’s eye. Barty really can’t help it when his heart skips a beat.

Evan raises his eyebrows, chuckling when Barty takes no subtlety in checking him out. His hair is dry, most likely done by magic. A thin blue t-shirt hangs off his shorter frame and each step taken towards Barty casts golden shadows over his skin.

Looking like everything warm and comfortable; the smell of his shampoo in the air so familiar that it hurts.

Barty’s smirk is wicked when he tugs Evan by his shirt into a light kiss. He makes a startled noise but melts into Barty’s touch regardless, fingers cupping his chin. The kiss is short but effective in making Barty’s head go all fuzzy.

“What happened to hello?” Evan asks when they pull apart—though not very far—now standing chest to chest. Evan’s bare feet fit in between his socked ones.

 Barty makes sure to slather his words in extra charm, grinning. “Hello, gorgeous.” 

“Wow, smooth talker,” Evan deadpans.

“You know you love it, Goldilocks.”

Barty takes a blonde strand between two fingers, tugging lightly at the end and earning him a deep scowl.

“I told you that nickname is stupid.” Evan rolls his eyes but Barty catches the blush high on his cheekbones. A light dusting of pinks and reds that work to compliment his freckles. Barty pokes him on one cheek.

“And I told you I don’t care.”

“Brat.”

Barty hums noncommittally, threading their fingers together. Warmth settles in his chest from the steady weight of Evan’s hand.

He leads Evan past the emerald green curtains of his bed and down onto the soft mattress. It’s a routine they’ve created over the last few months, and every time Barty wraps the covers around them it becomes harder and harder to let Evan slip back into his own bed. Something about having him in his arms means a night free of restless tossing and turning.

They lie facing each other for a few minutes, minimal space between them and their heads resting on one pillow. Quiet voices and even quieter laughs, a sacred bubble that neither of them dare to pop.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Barty laughs, his voice barely above a whisper. “You told Cresswell what?”

Evan frowns, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “I told him…that if he feels the need to keep staring at you in class then maybe I should tape his fucking eyes open. You know, that way he wouldn’t miss it when I inevitably snog you right in front of him.”

“Evan!” Barty can’t help it, his laugh is loud when it bursts from his chest.

“Well, maybe I left out that last bit…”

It takes him a minute before his laughter dies down, the quiet settling back in. “You jealous?” Barty teases, raising an eyebrow.

Evan purses his lips. “No.”

Barty stares at him knowingly.

Silence.

Evan averts his eyes.

“Mhm sure, come here.”

He drags Evan in by his waist, the pair of them fumbling around until Evan’s head relaxes in the crook of Barty’s neck and his forearm rests over his chest. Their sides pressed together, Barty smiles—fully content now.

Wordlessly, Barty ghosts his hand over the warm skin, relishing in the way Evan shivers from the cold metal of the ring on his middle finger.

There’s silence for a few minutes. Evan’s hair brushes the side of his face and his warm breath fans across his chest, their hearts only slightly out of sync as they beat so close together.

It’s a lot for Barty to take in sometimes—the whole idea of them. Having someone so delicate, yet so utterly untouchable, be his. If anyone took the time to ask him, though, he wouldn’t change it for the world.

Barty knows Evan’s eyes are closed, can see the shadow of his eyelashes. He takes the opportunity to trace over his freckles; a messy constellation that follows the high points of his cheeks, crosses sporadically over the bridge of his nose.

Evan scrunches his face up, which should not be so endearing. “That tickles.”

Barty turns his head, placing the quickest of kisses atop of Evan’s forehead, debating whether or not he should just give in and lick the side of his face. Then ultimately deciding against it—Evan did just take a shower—he’ll be nice for once.

“I wasn’t jealous. I don’t get jealous,” Evan mumbles, his voice lulled and tired sounding.

“Of course not, Ev.” Barty resists rolling his eyes, Evan can’t see his face anyway. 

“Besides,” Barty continues, “If you were jealous, I don’t mind you threatening people for me…it’s kinda hot.”

Evan smacks him lightly across the chest, but snuggles deeper against his shoulder. Which definitely does not do a weird flippy thing to Barty’s stomach. Nope, not at all.

“Mm okay,” Evan yawns. Which, Barty can’t blame him. Exhaustion is slowly taking over his body the longer they lie here. At this point all he wants to do is blow out the candles and fall asleep. Keep Evan next to him the whole night.

“Hey Goldilocks.”

“Mhm…” Evan must be too tired to even rebuke the nickname.

“Reg is going to freak out if he finds you here in my bed.”

Evan huffs, not very different from a petulant child. He makes no move to get up or even open his eyes. “I don’t care.”

This time Barty can’t hold back his yawn. He shuts his eyes and allows his body to sink further into the bed. Further into Evan. “Maybe we can tell Potter how madly in love with him Reg is. Then they can finally leave us alone.”

“Payback,” Evan snorts.

They both fall asleep without really meaning to. Tangled limbs beneath the covers and hands that aren’t inclined to let go. As his mind quiets down, something in Barty feels settled. A puzzle piece slotting into place after searching and searching for the edge that matches. Evan tends to have that effect on him, he’s come to notice.

All is quiet for a while, the whole school in a coinciding state of slumber. A time when portraits snore softly and only ghosts roam the halls, the usual lively presence of magic at bay for now.

But not even thirty minutes later they’re awoken with a loud thud and a significantly darker room—Barty had blown the candles out after all—just in case.

“Lumos,” someone whispers.

Regulus stands at the end of Barty’s bed, hands on his hips and a look of annoyance on his face. His wand is now lit and shining far too bright for Barty’s liking.

“What the fuck, Reg?” he asks groggily. Evan groans beside him and tries to hide his face.

“Not my fault I tripped over your fucking books, Barty,” Regulus hisses. “And you guys are gross. You said no PDA in the dorm.”

Barty squints and gestures for him to lower his wand. Regulus does so slowly. “Yeah, well I’m a fucking liar. Let us sleep.”

It’s with a lot of grumbling and a sharp glare that Regulus turns and stalks to his side of the room. When he shuts himself in the bathroom Barty reaches for his own wand and spells his curtains closed.

He has Evan back in his arms in no time, steady and real and here. Absolutely not going anywhere, if Barty has a say in it. His fingers resume their path over his arm, tracing nonsensical shapes that neither can decipher. Before they both drift off again a thought pops into Barty’s head.

“We are definitely getting him back for this.”

#ahhhh another microfic i missed them #this is silly and self indulgent but i love them sm #so soft i'm kinda dying #shoutout to evan's freckles for being the sole inspo #and myro's lovely lovely art ofc #rosekiller #rosekiller microfic #barty crouch jr #evan rosier #barty x evan #evan x barty #rat's silly microfics

[dsireland86]

There is Beauty in the Pain

Chapter 5 PT.3

WARNINGS: sexual content

Summary: Noah and Sophie find each other in the most unprecedented circumstances. Whether it's the Universe, fate, destiny, or pure luck, they can't deny that their souls were simply meant to be

TAG LIST: @lma1986 @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @missduffsblog @bngurngheart @thatamazingvampirestory

**if you want to be added to the tag list, let me know :)**

--Link for chapter 6 at the bottom--

Noah:

"Are you sure you're ready for this?"

I watched Sophie grip the doorknob to her apartment, debating on whether she should insert her key or not. She was scared; her panic attack moments ago proved that. I couldn't believe how fast it hit her without any warning. It was almost cruel. Somehow she trusted me, again, to help her through it; my arm tucked under her arm and my hand planted firmly on her chest, whispering encouragement into her ear and feeling her breathing slow.

"I don't think I'll ever be ready," she answered, looking up at me with tears in her eyes. 

I gave her a warm smile and laid my hand on the middle of her back. 

"I'm not going anywhere," I said, confidently.

"You promise?" 

"I promise," I answered her without hesitation. 

 As soon as we entered, Sophie turned on a light, and the brightness revealed just how fucked up her place was. I took a long, deep breath when I saw it all; the broken furniture, the holes in the walls, and everything that was torn up and destroyed. I had a feeling this wasn't from the struggle that happened between them. 

Sophie stood beside me, silent and still, tears streaming down her cheeks. I couldn't imagine how she was feeling.

"Oh God, Noah!" she cried, bringing her shaking hand to her mouth. 

"Hey, it's okay," I said, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and pulling her in close. 

"It's just stuff; we can replace it. But we can't replace you," I reassured her, giving her a light shake.

"I know, but it was my life, my stuff. Look at what he did to it all," she whimpered, picking up a torn pillow and tossing it on the couch. 

The he that fell from her lips sent waves of anger through me. Perry was a sadistic, fucked up asshole who deserved nothing but pain and misery for all the hell he'd put Sophie through. I hoped that one day he got what was coming to him. 

"I know when I pushed him off me he fell into a bunch of crap, but this," she paused, looking around her living room, "Noah, he did this out of spite."

She was absorbing all the brokenness and wreckage like a sponge, no doubt tucking it away in her memory. 

"We'll fix it, don't worry," I consoled her. 

Her eyes widened. 

"We?"

"Yeah, we," I said again, boldly confident.

A smile appeared and lingered a little before fading as we turned toward the kitchen.

There were red stains and broken glass all over the floor and for a moment it looked like dried blood.

"Don't worry it's wine," Sophie said as if reading my mind.

I nodded, a little unnerved.

"This is where it all started that night. He was so angry when I told him we were over and the past was the past; swept the wine glasses right off the counter like they were pieces of paper." 

Sophie disappeared into the past, willingly telling me everything that happened on the night that brought her back to me. I know it was messed up of me to be a little happy about what happened, but if that night never happened the way it did, then she and I wouldn't be standing here together. She would have slipped out of my life forever and I would probably still be a sulky, miserable mess.

"Noah, I can't live like this anymore, I don't want to," she stated once she finished.

I was leaning against the counter, gripping the sides so hard from the anger I was feeling, that my hands started hurting.   

"I was terrified he was going to kill that night and I'm lucky he didn't. But I don't want to keep taking these chances. I want to live my life without Perry haunting me, without fear." 

She broke down, sobbing into her hands, and I caught her right before her legs gave out, holding her tightly.  

"You're coming back to the house with me. You're not ready for this, Sophie, you know you're not and you don't have to pretend like you are. Nobody's expecting you to. Coming back to this busted-up life and trying to live normally when the cuts are still so fresh is stupid; it doesn't make sense. Let me help you."

I stroked the back of her head while her tears seeped into my shirt. The grip she had on my arms was strong and a little uncomfortable, but I didn't dare move because I didn't want to let her go or have her pull away. Trying to understand why she felt giving herself time to recover was difficult and the last thing I wanted to do was push her into making a bad decision, but she had to have known that taking time to heal was an obligation, not an option.

"Sophie, listen to me," pulling her back a bit. 

Fuck, she was gorgeous and immediately I forgot what I was going to say. Her eyes were wet with tears as she chewed on her bottom lip, fighting to calm herself. The slight crimson covering her cheeks and the moisture that lingered on her lips painted the perfect picture of my craving, causing my cock to twitch and begin to harden. I wanted to dive in and devour every part of her and make her forget all of the pain and misery she was feeling. 

A little embarrassed about what she was unintentionally doing to me, I sat us down in some chairs, ready to prove my point.

"This environment you're used to living in is not safe in any way; you have to know that. It's not focused on you growing or becoming a better you; it's focused on control and fear. Perry knows this and as long as you continue to let him in and use you and abuse you, you will never become the woman you want to become. You have to know when to say enough's enough." 

Sophie wiped her cheeks without taking her eyes off me. I wanted her so much, the urge to feel myself inside her running through my mind in a never-ending loop.

"Sometimes, you end up losing yourself trying to hold on to someone who never cared about losing you, and knowing when to let go can be a motherfucker. But when you find yourself again, you hold on to it for dear life, because people are going to try and tell you who you are your whole life, Sophie. You've just got to fight back and tell them who you know you are."

"But what if I don't know who I am anymore, Noah? What if I'm just a lost soul destined to wander alone for the rest of my life?"

"That's not possible," I said, sliding my hand around her neck and pulling her closer.

"Why?"

"Because," I continued, licking my lips and lowering my face towards hers, "all the things I find beautiful have a darkness about them, and you," grazing over her face with my lips feeling her take her last breath before holding it, "your darkness is beautiful; it's what drew me to you, Sophie; it's what pulled me into your life and yours into mine. The Universe is trying to tell you that you're not meant to be alone. I'm right here with you, willing to do anything you need me to do. It's telling us something, and I wish you'd open up and listen to it."

Sophie was silent and I was afraid I'd lost her, already hating myself for being so honest when I knew she wasn't ready. 

"Noah, I," she sniffed, dropping her head so I could no longer read her face. 

Waiting for her to finish was torture, but worth it when she raised her head and I saw in her eyes burning with a desire I had never seen before.

"Noah, tell me why I feel so safe with you, even though being around you makes me so nervous," she begged, taking hold of my hands. Hers were cold but soft and felt like ice in mine.  

I shook my head. I couldn't explain what was happening between us any better than she could. Chuckling, Sophie rose to her feet. After pushing her chair back, she stood over me, staring down as if trying to find the answer she was looking for in me somewhere. And then, after placing each leg on either side of mine, she sat in my lap, straddling me as she brought her hands up and ran her fingers through my hair, pushing it back and lowering her head until our foreheads met. 

Sophie's body trembled beneath my fingers as I brought my hands to her sides and held them with a firm grip, forcing her to stay right where she was. I was so hard; the feeling of my cock pressing against her sweet spot took my breath away. However, I tightened even more when she opened her eyes and licked her lips, taking the bottom one between her teeth. 

A deep growl escaped me as I tightened my jaw, and tried my best to control the urgent need for release that was quickly rising in my chest. My hands moved to her back and slid down to just above her bottom, resting there for a moment. 

"Because you've been wounded Sophie, you're broken, and you understand that I don't want to do those things to you; I want to protect you. You deserve that." 

Our eyes met again. I cupped her face and dried the remaining tears with my thumbs just as she brought her hands down and placed them over top mine.

She smiled, leaving my gaze to look away. 

Running my hand down the side of her face, I wrapped my hand around her neck, bringing her face closer to mine. 

"The moment I saw you in the crowd with that bright-ass blue hoodie, a part of me walked out of my body and wrapped itself around you. Sophie, you took part of me with you when you left, and I was wounded at losing it to the most beautiful thing I would never see again." 

Just when I thought she was going to pull back, Sophie brought her hands back to my neck, gliding her fingertips over my tattooed-covered skin and up into my hair where she gently ran her fingers through. 

I yearned for her and wanted more of what she was giving to me. Her eyes, dangerously alive, skimmed over every part of me, making me feel naked yet unafraid, and as her face hovered so close to mine, I could feel her warm breath on my lips, tempting me; teasing me. I bit the inside of my cheeks to suppress the moans that were dying to escape, cursing under my breath at how hard she had made me. I was losing the battle of resistance against her. 

I bucked, pushing my cock into her and receiving the force of her sex pushing back.

"Ughh, fucking kiss me now, Sophie! Please, god, stop teasing me; let me feel your mouth on mine," I begged. 

She whimpered and pulled back, causing a gap between us. 

"Fuck, don't pull away, please, I just... You just... you and me..." 

"Noah, are you speechless?" she teased, sliding her fingers down my cheek. 

"Yes, yes I am. If you would just fucking kiss me then maybe I could finish it."

"Kiss you, you want me to kiss you," she whispered, pressing her body down on me as she closed the gap between us.

"I want you to do more than kiss me, but you can start with kis...,"

My words were cut off by the pressure of her lips as she slammed her mouth into mine, letting me know she hungered for me just as much as I hungered for her. Every endorphin in my body exploded as our lips moved slowly, yet so eagerly together, but I wanted more; I wanted what was inside her mouth. 

"Open," I demanded, squeezing Sophie's ass and pushing her into me. She grunted over the feeling that ripped through her and obeyed, allowing me to slip my tongue in and taste every last bit of her.

The moan that escaped her only made my briefs a little wetter, telling me I was fully ready for her.

"Shit! Sophie, I'm so close," I confessed, breathless.

"So close to what, Noah?" her soft voice just about pushing me over the edge.

I was shocked at how quickly my body was picking up what Sophie was laying down. It wasn't like I'd never had sex before, but all of this was new; this connection was completely new.

"So close to cumming," I growled in frustration, grabbing her hands and squeezing them tightly, controlling the urge to ravage her the way I was dying to. 

Her tongue grazed the inside of my bottom lip, begging to enter my mouth which I immediately gave her. 

"Do you want me to stop," she whispered in my ear after a few moments of tasting the inside of my mouth. 

"No, I don't," confessing unapologetically. 

She leaned back and grinned. I took in the way she looked; all worked up, hot, and beautiful. It was at that moment I knew I was done for. I had fallen for Sophie, completely fallen for absolutely everything about her, and it had only been six days. What the fuck was wrong with me? 

My head was reeling with how easily Sophie had me undone like putty in her hands and the intoxicating scent of vanilla that escaped from beneath her t-shirt aroused deep hidden feelings I'd forced myself to bury a long time ago that I just didn't want to feel anymore. I was afraid. The fear of being used and abandoned again began to creep into the crevices of my heart, creating overthinking thoughts that I didn't want at the moment. 

Finally taking a moment, I slid my hands around her waist as Sophie slid hers around my face, cupping it between her fingers, and resting her elbows on my chest. Her thumbs caressed my lips and I relished the feeling of her touch, closing my eyes briefly and laying my head back. 

"God woman you're going to be the death of me, if that happens again," I confessed with a breathless chuckle, feeling her fingers slide down my throat. 

"Did it hurt?" 

I raised my head looking into her eyes as she sat back placing her hands on my chest. Her lips were a perfect shade of pink, evidence of being savagely kissed over and over again.

"Like a bitch," I replied. 

"Then why did you do it?"

I shrugged.

"Why not do it?"

She was skeptical about my answer.

"Was it the worst one to have done?"

"No, that would be my back. That motherfucker took hours, days, weeks, shit, I don't even remember that's how long it took."

Sophie's laugh rang out through the apartment, breaking the quietness for the first time. 

"I'm so so sorry," she whispered, an apologetic look in her eyes. 

"For what? For making out with me? I'm not sorry," I chuckled, but I could see she was a little nervous.

"Hey, it's okay," I said, trying to reassure her that everything was fine.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Sophie." 

"I don't? Are you sure?" she asked, her voice a little unsteady. 

I shook my head.

"No, you don't. Why would you think that?

She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Sophie, look at me."

She did and she seemed lost. The glow that had just been there was suddenly gone.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing; it's just that," she hesitated, stopping her sentence short. 

"Perry never allowed me to touch him the way I just touched you. I was always the one being used and he would take from me what he wanted and leave the rest. I don't know what came over me Noah, and I apologize if I did anything that made you uncomfortable."

My mouth fell open at her words. Never in my life had a woman said anything remotely close to what Sophie just said, and I didn't know what to say. 

"Okay, first, Perry never allowed these hands, these wonderful, soft, amazing things touch him?" I said, taking her hands and bringing them to my lips where I kissed her fingertips, earning a sweet giggle from her. 

"He's a fucking idiot, Sophie. You know that was his issue and not you right?"

She was blushing and I couldn't resist the urge to grin. 

I slipped my finger under her chin, bringing her face up to meet mine.

"No woman has ever touched me the way you just did. You made me feel exposed, hell you almost made me cum," I admitted with a laugh.

Sophie giggled and then sighed in relief.

"If anything felt wrong I would have stopped you. But if we're being honest, I was dying for something like that to happen; since I first met you."

"Really," she looked, raising an eyebrow.

Chuckling, her lips turned upwards into that fucking beautiful smile again. 

"I've never done this before Noah; what we just did," admitting shyly. "Perry and I never made out. It was always straight to the sex with him while calling all the shots. I never had a say."

My shoulders dropped with the words of her confession.

She smiled as if it was a natural thing to happen. I guess it was to her.

"What a sick fuck. Sophie, I'm sorry you had to live like that."

She sighed 

"It is what it is, right? Hopefully, it's not my life anymore." 

She got up out of my lap and instantly I missed the feeling of her body against mine. Reaching out her hands to me, I took them and she pulled me to my feet.

"Come help me pack? I'll leave all this for another day. I don't want to deal with it right now."

Agreeing, I followed Sophie to the bedroom where she entered her closet and emerged with a duffle bag. After talking for a while as we packed up clothes and essential items she would need, she zipped up her bag, ready to go, but not before grabbing a stuffed raccoon from her bed.

I gave her a questioning look.

"What? Don't judge me," she scolded.

I threw my hands up in defense. 

"I'm not, you do you," taking her bag and slinging it over my shoulder, shooting her smile.

She playfully slapped me in my stomach, causing me to flinch. 

Moments later, I stood next to her in the living room again, watching as she picked up little pieces here and there of her things, trying to salvage what she could.

"Hey, Sophie, listen; when you're ready, I'll get the guys together and we'll come over and help get this place cleaned up. Maybe by then, you'll have a few things figured out."

She nodded, wiping away the few tears that slid down her cheeks. 

"That would be really helpful, Noah, thanks," standing up a lamp that lay partially broken on the floor. 

"Maybe Perry will be in jail, by then too?"

"What do you mean," surprised by her statement.

"I called the police a few days ago and gave them my statement of what happened. I gave them all of Perry's information and mine. I told them to come here and see things for themselves. They came yesterday."

"Oh shit, Soph. That must have been a hard decision to make; a brave one for sure, but hard. Why didn't you say anything?"

"What was there to tell, Noah," she shrugged.

"None of this is on you or your friends to feel or handle; it's mine. My mess, my problem, my life, as fucked up as it all is. You guys have already done so much for me, not only by giving me a place to heal and rest but a safe place to get my mind together and figure crap out. That's more than anyone has ever done for me."

I stood there quietly, thinking of so much I wanted to say, but in the end, I just said okay and promised her the mess in her apartment would be handled. 

 Since meeting Sophie, I came to realize how strong of a woman she was mentally and emotionally. She was putting on a good front, pretending that things weren't so bad, but I was already a player of the convincing game enough to recognize the signs of coming undone; and she was close.

Whatever happened those few days she stayed locked up in my bedroom wasn't enough to keep her together and it was just a matter of time before the damn in her head and heart broke. But I made a promise to myself, as I followed her out the door, that no matter what happened or how difficult it would be, I was going to be the one to pick her up and love her when her world came crashing down. No matter what, I wasn't going anywhere, because I'd already made my mind up and staked my claim on Sophie's heart. She was mine and I was hers and my intuition was telling me she felt the same way. It was only a matter of time before the universe would decide to put all the pieces that had begun to form around us together. My only fear; Sophie wasn't ready. Was she?

CHAPTER 6

#noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens band #nicholas ruffilo #nick folio #jolly karlsson #bad omens cult #fanfic

[kingmagnificoofrosas]

I have a question to ask our majesty, King Magnífico. Before the interview with Asha. Could you tell us more about the previous interviews? How did they go? What were your observations for rejecting those people?

The only thing I heard was a man crying after his last interview with you. I would like to know more details about that 👀

"Oh dear ...." *sighs deeply* "Unpleasant memories ... but since you asked, I'll answer. Please, have a seat." *gestures to a couch with lots of pillows in different sizes* "I didn't think looking for an apprentice or assistant would go ... hmm ... well- end up in a catastrophe to put it nicely."

“An apprentice?” Amaya’s head falls into a surprised tilt.

“Why, yes! With my kingdom constantly growing, my responsibilities and my work grows as well. This is the perfect timing! And I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while now.”

“It’s just … you’re so very specific about your work.”

“Exactly!” Magnifico says with a snap of his fingers. “If I could find someone who shares my ambitions and goals, is eager to learn from me and help me … just imagine!”

Amaya follows the king's energetic pacing. He would always start to pace when he’d become passionate about something. And this went both ways. He could be very convincing if he wanted to.

“I’m sure there are many willing to work for you, mi rey.”

“Yes, but I’ll have to make sure they’re right for this job.” He stops in his tracks, “I’ll give interviews!” And swiftly turns back around to face the queen. “Give the news. One applicant at a time. Starting today!”

“Today?”

“The sooner the better, don’t you think?” Magnifico chimes as he moves away toward the large set of stairs.

“Where do you want me to take the applicants then?” Amaya asks with a gesture of her hand.

“To my study.”

Her face falls slightly, “all the way up your tower?”

“All the way up my tower.” An amused smirk spreads on the king’s lips as he rests his arms behind his back. “See it as the first test. My assistant would have to walk those stairs every day.”

Amaya gives a little agreeing shrug. “Fine. I will bring the news.”

“Splendid!” Magnifico starts to head upstairs and adds, “Oh, and please tell Dahlia to send me my tea, like always.”

“Yes, mi rey.”

Yes, getting an assistant was a good idea. He’d been longing for someone he could share his passions with for years now. It was almost strange to him, why he hadn’t gotten that idea sooner.

Magnifico enters his study, crosses over to a reflective wall and waves his hand. The glass slides to each side and opens. Light of the early morning sun floods the room and makes the colorful liquids in their glass cases throw dancing rainbows on the stone tiled floor.

His gaze immediately lifts to a little sea of blue balls, hovering at the ceiling, and he smiles.

Warmth spreads in his chest as he watches them. His heart swelling with gladness and contentment.

His people.

His subjects.

He’s successfully kept them safe for over a decade now, and he would make sure it would keep staying this way.

Keep them safe. At all costs. Never let the past repeat.

Suddenly his sensitive hearing picks up a quiet chatter and rips him out of his trance. He almost chuckles to himself about how quickly Amaya found an applicant. Straightening his shoulders, he turns swiftly, ready to meet whoever was now in his study.

Magnifico waits until he hears Amaya close the doors and then enters.

Near the doors stands a young man something between eighteen and twenty-three. A gangly and shy looking thing, but that shouldn’t be a criteria.

The boy’s head turns. For a moment he freezes but then his mouth opens and Magnifico flinches at the squeal erupting like a sudden trumpet call.

“It’s you! It’s really you!” The boy cries, flailing his arms.

“Yes, it’s me.” Magnifico strides down towards the boy.

“I can’t believe it! I’m really here! I’m seeing this! Oh my goodness, I’m such a big fan and-”

“Thank you!” The king chuckles, “I appreciate your excitement. Now, you’re here today bec-”

“Because I’m going to be your assistant!”

“Because I’m looking for an assistant!” Magnifico corrects the boy.

“I know! This is incredible! You’re so awesome! I can’t believe that I’m here and that I’m talking to you and-”

Magnifico watches the boy rambling himself into a frenzy, almost hyperventilating. “That is … really nice! But let’s calm down a little, hm?” He rests his hand on the boy’s shoulder with a warm smile but instead of calming down, a high pitched squeal escapes the boy’s throat.

His eyes widen and his face goes pale. “He touched me!” He squeaks before his eyes roll back in their sockets and he slumps to the ground faster than Magnifico can grab him.

“Oh dear! That was unexpected.” The king dives down to shakes the boy’s shoulders gently. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Fluttering, the eyes of the boy open again. He mumbles something, seemingly disorientated.

“Are you alright?”

The boy meets the king’s concerned face and starts losing it entirely. Magnifico withdraws in bewilderment. He’d witnessed many swoon and faint at his mere appearance but he hadn’t anticipated his first applicant to fall into that category.

For a moment, Magnifico can do nothing but stare. To his relief the doors to his study fly open and Amaya bursts in. Rowan, the chief guard, at her heels.

“Alright Kiddo, let’s go!” The broad man effortlessly plucks the squirming boy off the ground and escorts him out as Magnifico adjusts his bangs and exhales through his lips.

“Oh my …” Amaya saunters over to the king. “Are you ok?”

“Yes … that was … What was that, Amaya?”

“I don’t know!” She shakes her head and joins his stare at the doors, as if the boy would burst back in any moment. “He was so calm when he stepped up!”

Magnifico clears his throat. “Anyway … that was enough for today! Maybe I was too quick with this ... I’ll receive the next applicant no sooner than next week. See to it that you won’t let another lunatic into my study!”

“Yes, mi rey!” Amaya dips down into a slight bow.

He nods, turns and moves back towards the glass wall. Back in the laboratory, he stops in front of one of the tall windows.

“Your tea must be ready.” Amaya adds quietly.

“Thank you.” He doesn’t turn around but keeps his gaze fixated on the horizon - over the teal rooftops to the glittering ocean in the distance.

This was only the first applicant. He tells himself. The next will go better.

☆ ~ ☆ ~ ☆

“You’re here today because you want to become my assistant.”

The man, somewhere in his thirties, nods.

“Tell me, why do you think you’re right for the job?”

“Uuuh … I don’t know?”

Magnifico’s smile drops slightly and his brows lift, “You don’t know?”

“My family and friends told me I was just right for the job! And now I’m here.”

“Uh huh.” The king’s brows lift higher, “well then, why does your family and your friends think you’re right for the job?”

The man shrugs his shoulders and Magnifico feels his patience run thin. “Ok, another question!” He pushes himself away from his counter, “what are your strengths? What are you good at?”

“I’m a good listener.”

“Good, what else?”

“I’m nice to people?”

Magnifico inhales, wipes over his face and massages his left temple for a few seconds. “That’s good that you’re nice to others, but there is much more to being my assistant than just being nice and good at listening!”

“Well, I can play flute!”

“You don’t say.” Magnifico’s expression falls into boredom.

“Would you like a demonstration?”

“No, I think we’re done here!”

“Oh, great!” The man chimes, “then I’m back home just ready for lunch! My wife makes wonderful baked potatoes with-”

“Yes, wonderful-” Magnifico quickly guides the man back to the hallway where Amaya waits.

“And her apple pie is outstanding too!”

Amaya’s brows furrow as the man passes her down the stairs without any complaint, happily proceeding to ramble to himself about the meals his wife can cook and if the laundry is already dry. “Uh …” Confused, she lifts her gaze back to the frowning king.

“I asked for an assistant, not a clueless court jester!”

“But he was nice, wasn’t he?”

“How are baked potatoes, apple pies and being able to play flute about to help me with my work?” Magnifico gestures and Amaya snickers.

"You like good meals."

Grumbling, he strides back into his study. “Very funny.”

◇ ~ ◇ ~ ◇

“Oh! Your majesty, it’s such an honor to meet you!”

Magnifico watches the woman in her twenties bow. “Thank you. I assume you know why you’re here?”

“Yes! Of course! Can I see the wishes now?”

“Excuse me?” Magnifico's face falls.

“You do get to see the wishes when you’re brought inside, right?”

“Who told you- One second!” He lifts his hand, “Don’t tell me you only came here in hopes to see the wishes!”

The woman fondles her fingers, “Well, and maybe get one granted too!”

Part of Magnifico aches for the fact this woman only cared for the wishes in the first place, the other is angered. Without another word, he passes the woman and opens the doors to his study, gesturing into the hallway. “You may leave!”

“Do I have the job?” The woman chirps and he has to fight his composure.

“No.” He says monotonously before shutting the doors again.

-

“The audacity!” Magnifico vents while striding up and down, waving his hands. “Can I see the wishes! Is this all they see in me? A source for favors?”

“They trust you, that’s why they ask you.” Amaya says.

“That’s not the point!” He turns, “You don’t understand how it feels! You’re not in my position! I want my assistant to see eye to eye with me! This is important to me!”

“Mi rey, this has only been the third applicant. More will come. A little more patience.”

“Patience! If every single applicant will end up like that then I won’t get an applicant at all!” Magnifico snaps with a flick of his cape. Then he calms and exhales through his gritted teeth. “I’m in my room. I'll see you at dinner!”

Amaya lets him leave and sighs.

The doors to the kings private chambers fall shut with a loud bang that for sure echoes through half the palace. Groaning Magnifico stomps into the middle and keps pacing. Back and forth and in a few tiny circles.

Why didn't anyone seem to really listen to him? Why did no one ever seem to really understand him? Finding an assistant and apprentice wasn't a decission he'd make lightly.

I must protect my people at all costs! Never again ... never again ... I must not let it happen again!

His shaking hands run through his hair and he paces again.

I need to calm down. Everything is fine. Nothing's happened. I'll find a good assistant. It's in my hands.

His eyes lift outside to the glowing horizon. Sighing tiredly, Magnifico drops onto his bed. Was it really that hard to find someone who'd see things like he did and feel the way he did?

~

“I’m a quick learner! I’m very ambitious and highly interested in alchemy!”

“Good! Very good!” Magnifico smiles. So far everything has gone well. “Go on!”

The girl nods. “If I don’t know something, I can learn it. I’m also ready to do smaller tasks!”

“Promising. But if you want to become my assistant, I need to be sure that I’m seeing eye to eye with you. And I need to be able to fully trust you!”

“You can, your majesty. That’s the point in having an assistant, no?”

Magnifico considers, then he nods as well. “Come, I want to show you something.”

Excited, the girl follows him into his laboratory and to the wishes. Her eyes widen as she spots the alchemy items around her. “Woah!”

“Normally I don’t bring anyone in here, but I need you to understand why I’m doing what I’m doing so I can-” He stops, “Don’t touch anything!”

The girl, who stands close to one of the glasses filled by some green liquid, quickly pulls her hand back with a sheepish grin and Magnifico shifts his gaze back up to the hovering balls. “The reason I keep the wishes in here is-” He hears glass clink and turns his head over his shoulder once more with a slightly stern pout, “Don’t touch!”

The girl reaches for another glass.

“No.”

Another glass.

“Don’t touch that! That either! Listen, if I tell you not to touch anything, I mean it! Do not touch anything, that’s an order!”

The girl nods energetically. “Yes sir! King Magnifico, sir!”

Magnifico sighs and rolls his eyes. Patience. He reminds himself. Give her a chance, she’s just curious, curiosity is good. “I was saying … Keeping the people of Rosas safe and sound is my highest priority! Everything I do is to make sure that-”

Amaya, who had been on her way to inform the king of a letter from a neighboring kingdom, almost trips at the last step as a loud explosion erupts behind the closed doors of the king's study. Eyes widened, she dives for the handles. Out of the slit between the doors a bluish smoke leaks into the hallway. As she opens the doors, she’s immediately wrapped in a cloud and stumbles back coughing and waving her hands.

Back inside the laboratory, Magnifico stands still as a pillar. His lips are pressed together firmly and one of his eyes twitches. Upon a twirl of his hand, the smoke flees through the open windows. For a few seconds, he closes his eyes and clenches his fists, biting down the anger that slowly bubbled up in his chest like lava in a volcano. After a deep breath, he turns to look at the girl, who still holds two - now empty - glasses. Her hair all poofed up like the tail of an angry cat, her face and clothes dyed blue.

“I’m sorry,” She chirps, “I couldn’t help myself! This liquid sparkled and I really wanted to know what would happen if I mixed it with this purple one …”

Magnifico doesn’t reply. He examines the wish bubbles to make sure they’re fine and then strides towards the girl, taking the glasses from her and placing them back on the counter.

“Am I in trouble now?”

“I told you not to touch anything!” He snaps, “you disregarded my order, endangered not only the wishes but me and yourself as well!”

“I’m really sorry, your majesty!” The girl bows.

Suddenly his posture relaxes and his gaze softens. “It’s ok.”

“Really?” She looks up at him in surprise.

“When I was young, I caused more than one explosion. Mistakes are there to be learned from, I hope you’ll learn from this one.”

“Oh!” The girl relaxes as well, “So I’m not in trouble?”

“No.” Magnifico sighs, “but I assume you already know that I will not take you as my assistant.”

“Yes, of course.” Again the girl bows, “and I’m truly sorry!”

“Apology accepted. Come, I’ll bring you to the doors.”

“Mi rey?” Amaya carefully slips into the study, “What happ- Oh!” clasping her hand in front of her mouth, she tries not to laugh. Magnifico is just as sprinkled in blue as the young girl next to him. One part of his hair hangs loosely down his forehead, the other resembles a lion struck by lightning.

“Don’t say anything!” He grumbles as he shoves the girl towards her, “bring her back down. No more applicants for today!”

Amaya nods. She almost reaches out for the girl's shoulders but pulls back so as not to get her hands blue as well.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

After the last incident, Magnifico didn’t bring anyone into his laboratory and wishroom anymore. The safety of the wishes was too important.

The king leans against his desk, tiredly rubbing over his face. The last few minutes had cost him not only a few of his nerves. The recent applicant, which he’d sent to get some tea, had flooded him with questions about nearly every item in his study. And how was Magnifico to explain magic items he’s kept for over a decade to a boy who knew nothing about it? Or some of his thickest books he’d spent months studying?

The doors to the study open and the young man comes back with a little tray and the highly anticipated tea. A relieved smile spreads on Magnifico’s lips. Oh, how he needed this strong herbal tea now. Nice and hot.

The boy puts the tray down and hands the cup to the king, who eagerly takes it.

“Thank you!” Magnifico replies before taking a sip. Instead of a pleased sigh however, his eyes widen and he spits the liquid back into the cup just as quickly as it had entered his mouth. “This is cold!”

The boy fumbles his fingers nervously, “Really? B-but it was hot when I took it from the kitchen!”

“Are you saying Dahlia gave me cold tea? She’s never once, in the past six years, served me cold tea!”

“Uh … who’s Dahlia?” The boy frowns.

“What?” Magnifico's brows draw together in confusion, “I told you to go and get me tea. And that tea comes from the kitchen and Dahlia Lee is my royal baker! She’s responsible for making my tea, so if she didn’t give you the tea, who did?”

“I did?” The boy scratches his neck, “I thought I was supposed to make the tea myself.”

Now the whole situation makes sense to Magnifico and he sighs, putting the cup back onto the tray. No wonder this tea was ice cold. But, he could throw this little mistake over his shoulder. After all, he knew he was specific with his tea, and it had taken a little bit of trial and error for Dahlia as well to get behind how the king loved his drinks and food.

“I’m sorry the tea wasn’t to your liking, your majesty.” The boy says and Magnifico snickers.

“Oh, don’t worry. Just bring me a new one. And please,” He hands the boy the tray, “go and ask Dahlia to make it. Herbal blend number three. She’ll know.”

The boy nods and hurries to the doors.

“And if you’re at it, let her give you some lemon tarts. The ones with whipped cream!”

“Yes, sir!” The boy disappears.

Inhaling deeply, Magnifico makes one of the books from his shelf float to him. He opens it and starts reading mindlessly. Once in a while, he twirls his index finger and the feather pen starts writing some notes simultaneously.

After a while, the doors open again and Magnifico turns his attention from the book to the applicant, who carries the tray with cake and tea across the room.

“Finally!” With a graceful movement of his hand, the book floats back into the shelf.

The boy gasps in wonder and surprise. One second of his attention moved from watching his steps was enough to make him stumble over his own feet and trip. The tray flies out of his hands and tea and cake land right on the king's chest, rather than on the desk next to him.

Magnifico flinches, and the boy's face falls in horror.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to- I’m really ... I didn’t-”

“Yes … obviously!” Magnifico does his best to swipe off some of the cake from his clothes.

Too clumsy. He couldn’t allow someone like that to become his assistant. The job was too important and if someone became careless the moment he saw magic, he had the potential to be a danger.

“May I help you …” The young man takes a few steps closer but Magnifico lifts his hand.

“No. You may leave!”

“But-”

“I do have another applicant waiting.” Magnifico walks to the doors and opens them.

Amaya, who already stands ready at the railing cringes at the soaked, cake smeared chest of the king.

“Bring Asha to my study and tell her to wait a little. I’m ready in a few minutes.”

“Yes, mi rey.” Amaya sighs and beckons the young man to follow her. “Alright, come on. All is well! Don’t worry about it! It happens to the best of us”

Amaya gives one last look over her shoulder as she nears the kitchen and finds the young man has stumbled.

“Ay … are you alright?”

The boy whimpers but rises to his feet again.

Shaking her head, she straightens her shoulders and enters the kitchen, where she is greeted by a cloud of flour. Amused, she watches how the group of teenagers that had, by now, gathered in Dahlia's space, hurry in a line to bow.

“Asha, the king is ready for you.”

“Now? Am I late?”

“You’re fine!” Amaya says calmingly. “The last interview-”

“It was a disaster!” The last applicant wails as he hurries past the kitchen. Apparently he’d managed to get down the stairs without falling another time.

“Finished early ...”

"You see now? And Noah O'Nail has always been melodramatic." *takes a sip of tea* "What? Yes, of course I know all the names!" ....

"Honestly, the saddest thing about his failed interview was that Dahlia's wonderful tea and cake was wasted ... she puts so much effort in everything she makes and it's truly a shame that I didn't get to eat the lemon tarts." ....

"You never had them before? Oh, that should change! You're not allergic to lemons, are you? Or milk? Anyway .... I hope this answered you questions." *leans back*

#king magnifico #anon answered #ask to magnifico

[callsigndragon]

The Christmas Date | Chapter 6: My Sad Christmas Song

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Fem!Kerner!Reader

(Ron Kerner is Slider, Iceman’s backseater)

Wordcount: 2.4k

Summary: Y/n “Athena” Kerner and Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw hate each other. Everybody knows. What happens when they have to fake date for a whole week to avoid Iceman and Slider’s matchmaking plans?

(there won't be smut in this series)

Warnings: Solo being obsessed with Thena, ALMOST sexual assault, mentions of naked reader (no descriptions), body shaming, car accident, mentions of blood, injuries, scars, death...

A/N: this chapter wasn't supposed to be like that, but here we are. it's a much needed talk this two need to have before they turn into something else. i'm considering to write down ''emotional rollercoaster' as a trigger warning for this series.

Taglist:@ducks118 @milestellerwife @craftymoonchaos @littlebadariell @xoxabs88xox @alexxavicry @tayrae515 @shrimping-for-all @mak-32 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @harper1666 @purplevortexx @abaker74 @ssprayberrythings @melllinaa @loveless-simp @k-k0129 @mygyn @castle-bookworms-world @chaoticversion @one-sweet-gubler @loveforaugust

@taytaylala12 @benhardysdrumstickrumstick @diggorycullen @green-intervention @waatermelon-sugaar @smells-like-perfect-senses

(If you want to be added, write in the comments! Those in bold I couldn't tag you)

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Rooster doesn’t enter the room until you go and open the door yourself. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since the pub. 

“Are you gonna stand there all night?” 

“I wanted to give you some time alone,” he mutters, looking down. 

You feel like an asshole now. “Shit, Rooster… I’m sorry. Please, get in” 

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t have expected Grumpy to act any other way” 

You roll your eyes. He smiles. It seems like some things never change. 

You sit on the bed, waiting for him to get out of the bathroom in his pajamas. It’s hard to understand what has happened. How can someone say those things in front of everyone? How can someone be such a douchebag and act like that in front of your boyfriend? Well, he thinks he’s your boyfriend, and he didn’t seem to care about it. 

You don’t want to imagine how he would act if Bradley wasn’t there. 

“Hey, you’re sitting on my bed,” Rooster signals to the blanket under your legs. 

“Can I ask you for a favor?” he nods, and you inhale deeply. “Can you sleep on the bed? I will put pillows between us, it's just… I-I don't think I can sleep alone tonight." 

He sits down next to you, looking at the wall. "Want to talk about it?" 

You let out a shaky breath, moving further up the bed. You pull the covers away enough to slip underneath them, and make yourself comfortable. "Come here, and turn the lights off. Please" 

You're not sure if you're going to tell him everything, but you sure can't talk about it with the lights on. You don't want to see his face when he judges you. 

Following your request, Bradley turns the light switch, sending the room into a comfortable darkness. A faint blue light from the neighbors' Christmas lights keeps it from being completely dark. 

"This isn't your side, fly girl" he whispers, standing behind you. 

Your heart warms a bit every time he uses that name to address you. Stupid chicken, he needs to stop. 

You move to the other side, and he occupies your previous position in the blink of an eye, tossing a bit, trying to find the perfect posture. Your mind is going through all your history with Solo, carefully deciding which things you can share with Rooster. 

"You don't need to tell me anything if you don't want to" he states, probably having seen your troubled expression. 

You shake your head slightly. "You need to know. You almost got into a fight because of me" 

He scoffs. "I've been wanting to punch that idiot since the last day we saw him at the base" 

You lay on your back, your eyes fixed on the white ceiling above you. "We dated for a month" you finally confess, after seconds of silence. "He had been flirting with me for weeks, he was really nice, and... I thought he had a cute smile. So I gave him a chance." 

You tell him how easily Solo made you fall for him. How he seemed to know what to do and when to do it. The perfect words in the perfect moments. You never thought too much about it; why would you? He was like the perfect guy. He listened to you, he brought you flowers on your dates, and he even remembered your coffee order. He was what every girl looked for. 

Until it wasn't. 

As the song goes, he was a nightmare dressed like a daydream. 

He didn't listen to you because he cared. Solo was obsessed. He listened carefully to learn everything about you. That's why he knew which flowers were your favorites. Your coffee order. Your favorite food. 

Your size. 

Your address. 

You thought him getting you a dress in the right size was pure coincidence. But you never invited him to your house or told him where you lived. You've never been more scared in your life. 

"Did he go to your house?" Rooster asks. 

You shake your head. "I think he tried to come one night, but he saw Phoenix's car and left" 

"How do you know it was him? I'm not doubting you, just asking" 

"My favorite flowers were on the door" 

"Fucking bastard" he mutters. "Did he ever do something to you?" 

You open your mouth a few times to speak, closing it soon after as no sounds come out of it. It feels like the lump of emotions in your throat is getting bigger and is choking you with a strong grip. You want to tell him; you want to tell anyone, but it's so hard to talk about it. 

"Hey," he whispers, his finger whipping away a stray tear that fell from the corner of your eye to your temple. He must have been paying so much attention to you to see that small tear in the dimly lit room. "It's okay if I hug you?"

He waits until you nod and brings you closer to him and the warmth of his body. "I'm sorry."

"Y/n, don't. You have nothing to be sorry about. Try to sleep a little, okay? I'll be here. Nobody will hurt my Grouchy tonight." 

You nod, smiling a bit. You think he can't see you, but he's looking at you.

And he does keep looking at you, stroking your hair to help you fall asleep. Having you in his arms is the only thing stopping him from getting into his car and killing that son of a bitch with his bare hands. 

When you wake up the next morning, you are still in Rooster’s arms. It has been the first night without nightmares in a while. You don’t know how to feel about it. Glad? Surprised? Pissed off because the guy you hate is literally the perfect teddy bear? Big. Warm. And he smells like cinnamon. 

The first thing you see when you open your eyes is his neck. Well, the scar on his neck, to be more specific. That was the scariest wound of them all. If you close your eyes, you can still see it bleeding. 

Your hand moves on its own, your fingertips slowly tracing the mark. 

“That tickles,” he whispers, making you jump a bit. You didn’t realize he was awake. 

“Sorry” 

“It’s okay. Did you sleep well?” You nod, your eyes never leaving the scar. “Good” 

Something inside of you doesn’t want to leave the little bubble you two seem to be wrapped in. So you ask him something you’ve been wanting to know since yesterday. “Did you really buy the suit?” 

“Yeah. I didn’t want you to go to prom alone” he confesses, but you get the feeling that there’s something more there that he is not telling you. 

“Why?” you still don’t understand why someone would do such a thing for you. 

He swallows, one of his hands caressing your hair absentmindedly. “I liked you back then. I mean, wasn’t it obvious? I spent more time at your house than with any of my friends” 

“Wasn’t it because my dad almost adopted you as his own kid?” 

He scoffs. “Is it that hard for you to accept that people can like you?” 

You sigh, hugging him closer. “You have no idea” 

There’s a moment of silence only filled by your breathing. It’s not awkward, actually. Neither of you has anything else to add, and the comfort of each other’s arms is enough to make you stay in bed for a little while. 

“Is it because of him?” 

He doesn’t say the name, but you know who he is talking about. “The day I realized he was a creep, well... It was Halloween” 

“The Halloween party at that old pub?” he asks, trying to find the memory. “Didn’t you go home early that day?” 

“I didn’t want to leave. Solo took me to his house. He said he wanted to... be alone with me” you whisper the last part, not knowing why you’re opening that part of your heart to him. Only Natasha knows about this. 

“Did he…?” he doesn’t finish the sentence, and you know that his mind is filled with the worst ideas right now. 

“No. He tried, though. He tore up my dress… Then he saw the scar and thought I was horrendous. He called me a monster” 

“Thena” 

You can’t hear him. “He said nobody would ever want me” 

“Thena, stop,” he insists. But it’s too late. 

You’re in that living room again, late at night, trying to cover your body with the torn material of your costume. Everyone decided to dress up as their call signs or relate to them in some way. Yours was a good one, you liked it a lot. You never wanted to take it off. It made you feel like a real goddess.

But Solo didn’t ask for your opinion. He didn’t care if you didn’t want to take things to the next level. He didn’t care when you said no. Repeatedly. He didn’t care when you yelled at him to stop. It didn’t matter that you were trained to fight men taller than you. It didn’t matter how many self-defense moves your father and Iceman taught you when you were a teenager. 

Your first instinct wasn’t to defend yourself. Your first instinct was to run. But he knew his house better than you, there was no escape. 

He only shattered that dress, but it ripped you to pieces. 

And then he had the audacity to laugh at that scar on your belly. He pointed at it with his lewd fingers. He called you ugly. Hideous. Repulsive. He said that nobody would ever love you. No one other than him. 

You punched him in the throat, not caring how dangerous that was. It could kill him, but you didn’t care. He had killed a part of you that night. 

Phoenix didn’t go to the party. She had a cold and decided to stay at home. She lived a few blocks away, you ran to her house, hoping that she wasn’t already asleep. 

“Did she open the door?” 

“Yes. She stayed up with me all night. Later she drove me to my house, and spent the night with me. That’s when Solo left the flowers at my door.” 

"Wait, wasn't it the next day when Iceman kicked Solo out of the squad?” Rooster recalls, finally understanding what the pilot did to be pulled out of a mission like that. 

“Nat told him. Iceman wanted to kick him out of the Navy, but there was no physical evidence of what he did, so he kicked him out of the mission. At least, I could be three months away from him” 

“Does your father know?” 

You shake your head. “Only Phoenix and Iceman know. And you.” 

He kisses your head, his hand moving to your face to wipe the tear stain on your cheeks. “I’m sorry I made you be in the same room as him” 

“You didn’t know, Roos” 

“You won’t have to see him again. I promise” 

You thank him in a whisper, somehow relieved to finally tell the story to another person. Phoenix guessed it all by herself. Iceman learned the story through her. You never got the opportunity to get that weight off your chest. 

“Try to sleep a bit more; you deserve to rest,” he whispers, moving his face so that he can look you in the eye. It’s the first time that you’ve had those hazel eyes on you since last night.  You can see them lit up with rage. He doesn’t need to tell you all the things he would do if he had that man in front of him right now. “And I think that you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, fly girl” 

“Even with the scar?” you mutter, looking away. 

He grabs your chin between his fingers, preventing you from avoiding his eyes. “Specially with the scar”

You want to ask why he is being so nice to you now. Why now, after all of this constant bickering and teasing, after years of pranking him and him returning those pranks ten times worse. What made him change his mind? A part of you doesn’t want to know. You’re never going to admit it out loud, but you have never felt more secure than in this bed, with this stupid chicken that is proving to be more sufferable than you thought. 

And it seems like stupidity is contagious because you do something really dumb: you close the gap that separates his neck scar from your lips, pressing a soft kiss to the mark. “This isn’t a reminder of how you almost killed us, Bradley. It’s a reminder that we’re alive. You saved me” 

“I drove to your house. Drunk. And you tried to drive me back to mine, but we got into an accident. If I didn’t go there in the first place…” you can hear in his shaky voice how much he needs to close that chapter of his life. 

You pull away from his embrace, sitting on the bed and looking at him. “Were you driving?” 

“No, but-”

“No buts, nugget. We fell down that hill, the car rolled over several times, and you covered me with your body when you saw we were heading straight for that tree.” You remember him, tired of him blaming himself for something he didn't do. 

He seems confused, sitting on the bed, his eyes moving quickly. “Did I do that?” 

Now, you're the confused one. “Wait, you don’t remember?” 

“Not that part. I tried to save you?” he asks in a whisper, more to himself than to you. 

“You broke your arm, but that could have been my head. You saved me” 

He wipes a tear from his eye and lets out an airy chuckle. “It’s too early in the morning to fix each other’s traumas, isn’t it?” 

“If it makes you stop being all broody, then it’s worth it” you try to joke. 

He looks at you, squinting his eyes. “Did you call me nugget?” 

“As an insult” you say, trying to dodge the bullet. Did you do that?

“Oh, but I think it is cute. Say it again” 

“Never” you retort, laying down again, your back facing his way and pulling the cover over your head.

He moves closer, whispering in your ear. “I’m gonna touch you, if that’s okay” you don’t respond, giving him silent permission to do it. He circles your waist with his arm, pulling you closer. “Don’t even try to deny it, you love my cuddles” 

“Shut up, nugget” you snap.

He laughs happily, and you hate that hearing him laugh makes you smile. 

You better not fall for him again.

#top gun #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster top gun #rooster x reader #rooster fanfic #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw fic #top gun rooster #rooster x female reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #the christmas date #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic

[tencrushesperday]

So this it is the part 2 to what i wrote on tuesday, i still don’t really have a name but i was thinking “pulling threads” but i’m not sure. if anyone has any idea for the name i’m opening to hearing it ofc. i’m also thinking of writing a part 3 :) anyway i hope you enjoy it !! how did i get to 1.9k words ? idk don’t ask me

(this has not been proofread)

~

You stayed next to his bedside for the next few days. As soon as you were alone, you held his hand, needing to feel his pulse, to make sure he was with you. However, you avoided showing too much in front of the others. They haven’t caught up on your feelings for him for centuries and if you didn’t want things to change now you would have to be careful. Even if your soul screamed for you to hold him all the time.

You forced yourself to go to sleep in a guest bedroom at the House of Wind and to go eat every meal in the dining room. But being apart from him even during those few hours was painful. You thought not knowing when, or even if, he would wake up was the worst feeling ever. But then again fate proved you wrong. How dare you underestimate your bad luck?

Azriel woke up when you were having lunch in the dining room and you cursed yourself for not being there when he did. But you were not there. And maybe things would have turned out differently if you were. But again, you were not.

Rhysand and Cassian rushed into his room in front of you. It was a sweet sight to behold : one bringing Azriel a glass of water, the other rearranging his pillow to help him sit up. But you couldn’t enjoy it when a part of you was jealous of them for stealing this from you.

During the hours you spent at his bedside, you often imagine Azriel waking up with you holding his hand, then feeling him squeeze it, the soft sunshine illuminating his beautiful features as he smiled up at you, happy that you were the first person he saw. You planned on finally addressing what you felt in the throne room, if he felt it too, because you didn’t dare face that thought yet, didn’t dare face it alone. How delusional of you…

Once he noticed you he smiled at you and asked if you weren’t injured yourself. At that, you nodded, a timid smile on your lips. His beautiful features were still illuminated by the soft light, a comfortable smile adoring his face. But the smile wasn’t for you. It was not your moment.

Once you came back to your senses, you rushed out of the room on the pretext that you were going to get Mor and Feyre. You had to put distance between the two of you, simply in order to not break down in front of the guys. Every one of your instincts told you to check on him for injuries, to be near him and hold him and kill every person that ever hurt him. But the implications of these feelings were not things you wanted to acknowledge. Not at that moment, and again not alone.

Feyre answered your mental call and she and Mor soon arrived at the House. In the meantime, you went to the kitchen to grab something for Azriel to eat because after an injury like that he needed to regain forces. You got to know him well in all the centuries you’ve known each other. Therefore, you knew he wouldn’t stay in bed for a long time.

It took him only three more days to fully recover. Majda had to argue with him so he’d stay the third one too but she finally won by threatening him to not give him his sleeping pills again. So the third day was reluctantly spent gathering information thanks to his shadows. It was a good way to ease back into work. And the day after that, he acted like nothing ever happened. He picked up work again, with the war looming over us there was certainly business to attend to.

You didn’t do anything about it. If he felt what you’ve felt he would have let you know. So you buried yourself in work just like him, when you actually wanted to close yourself off in your apartment and cry and tear the walls down. Because it didn’t change anything.

After almost losing him, you were more convinced than ever of your feelings for him. You could not live if he died. But he lived and yet you still felt so broken you wondered how you managed to stay on your feet. The pressure on your chest was so tight that it made it hard for you to breathe sometimes.

But you wouldn’t be the one to bring it up.

So you helped reconstruct the city after the attack. It was always your duty to protect this city. Amren might be Rhysand’s second, Mor his third, Cassian his general and Azriel his spymaster, but you have always been responsible for this city. Your job was to administer it and all the paperwork and important decisions, like the construction of new buildings or bridges, went through you. You’ve loved doing this for the past centuries.

Velaris was a beautiful city and you would never forget the moment you first set your eyes on it.

You were only 8 years old when you first arrived here. Your parents had moved here from the Autumn Court as Beron’s reign was starting to feel “suffocating”, as your mother had once nicely put it. You missed the rich colors of your home and its warm and comforting scent at the beginning. But you’ve always seen Velaris’ beauty, even through your teary vision.

They had moved here for a better life and everything was going great until the war happened. Your father volunteered to join the Night Court’s army, he wanted to defend you, and your mother, and the city your family has fallen in love with so quickly. He never came back.

She held on for you, worked day and night at the docks for the merchants that never had enough, that always wanted to make more profit, that overworked her until she caught an illness. It was an illness from the human lands, brought by a merchant that your mother had worked for. It was unheard of in all of Prythian, so nobody knew how to heal it. She did not suffer a lot from it, except in her last moments when she was suffocating because her lungs were collapsing. You cried for days, mourning her for as long as you could afford. Then, once you did not have anything to eat for dinner, you understood you had to work. Your parents didn’t have a lot of savings so you had to pick your mother’s post at the docks. And maybe because you were young and knew how to flatter people, or simply because of your skills, you managed to climb the ladder. Soon enough, your job consisted of identifying every boat that arrived at the port. Then, thanks to a promotion, you were the one who was deciding who was allowed to berth there and who wasn’t.

You first met Rhysand as the new port’s manager after he was freshly crowned High Lord of the Night Court. As novice sensed novice, you bonded over your young age and lack of experience.

After a few times going out for drinks, meeting the Inner circle, and a very chaotic and drunk Starfall celebration where you, Mor and Rhys spilled all your trauma, how difficult it had been for you to move courts, how hard life had been at the Court of Nightmares for Mor, and how Rhys grew up in the Illyrian camp, treated with fear but never respect, you finally felt like you’ve found a new family.

You refused at first but the High Lord soon insisted on promoting you to being the city manager, assuring you that nobody knew the true value of Velaris like you did. So you had accepted. Because this city, who welcomed you when you were a child, who allowed your parents to dream of a brighter future, who had made you feel like you had a place in this world, meant so much for you, you couldn’t just give it because you were afraid of failure.

So then, after the attack, you had to help the people reconstruct it. Being in an office and doing paperwork was impossible as you couldn’t keep still so you went out in the street, with your people. And you thought it would heal you. This city has saved you so many times why wouldn’t it heal a broken heart now.

Well because it got worse.

You always thought Azriel didn’t reciprocate your feelings because he was not ready for a relationship. You knew of his difficult childhood and assumed that pining after Mor, who never answered his feelings for her, loving someone unattainable was a way to protect himself, a defensive mechanism. Maybe you were projecting yourself onto him.

But then lovely and sweet Elain Archeron appeared in the equation. She was mated to Lucien. So once again, she was unattainable in some way.

Yet she reciprocated his attention. Even in her catatonic state, he was the one she answered to. They went on walks together and they spoke and you couldn’t blame her, because Azriel was such a calming force. He could put anyone at ease and even silences were comfortable with him. Whenever he was giving you an ounce of his attention you, too, raveled in it, enjoyed it as much as you could. He did fly you up to the House of Wind sometimes but that was short and most of the time he was busy with the threat of war from Hybern.

Each time he put you down, after flying or winnowing, his arms slowly releasing you, a piece of you left, as if it stuck to him, as if your body and soul didn’t wanna be pulled apart from his. You didn’t know if it was you or maybe him, but you always took your time. His hand lingered on your back when he set you down on the balcony at the House of Wind, or you squeezed his hand a little harder when he winnowed you to your apartment.

Yet he didn’t say anything, his behavior didn’t let anything on and it was driving you crazy.

Maybe you hallucinated what you felt in the throne room. Maybe because he was dying, it was a one time miracle so he could stay alive. Maybe it had merely been wishful thinking. You were in love with him for so long that in your tired and beaten up state you had imagined it to give yourself hope and keep yourself alive.

But none of that changed the way you were feeling towards him. You were hopelessly in love and no amount of work or convincing yourself that it was unrequited would have changed that.

You could not do much to help with the upcoming war apart from trying to keep this city safe. You knew how to hold your ground in combat after being friends with four of the most powerful people in the world for centuries. Cassian has spent a good decade teaching you all the fighting techniques you could master. You were a slow learner, as nothing physical has never been your strength. But once Azriel started with strategy, defense and manipulation to keep your opponent far it got a lot easier.

Because of your logical and strategic mind, Rhys took up to consult you for his military actions, so you participated in meetings alongside him as his strategic advisor. You always thought he gave more credit then due but he listened to you and trusted you and that was priceless. So did everybody else in the Inner Circle.

Until the day you thought you’d really lose Azriel.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel

[imarvelatthestars]

Fondness

Pairings: Clone Trooper Veteran Tai (from Kenobi) x f!Reader

Warnings: Tai has PTSD flashbacks, mutual pining, awkward tension

Notes: I think this chapter will be a much better one just because I finally watched TCW. Shout out to Rex, who got way more mentions than I had planned but that's okay because I love him.

[previous chapter] [next chapter]

In all his years, after all the shit he's been through, he never imagined anything quite like this. He never imagined kindness quite like this. But then again, Tai had never met anyone like you before either. This realization doesn't keep his head from spinning, though, because now he's in your space, standing awkwardly in the entrance to the shithole you and a hundred other people call home. White walls stained beige with age, a floor that creaks every time you shift or step, windows that allow a disheartening view of the neighboring building and little else. It's crummy and probably falling apart, but it's better than anything he's had in at least seven years. He's not complaining.

"Sorry for the mess," you say a little shyly as you start bustling about the place, picking up trash and discarded clothes and wholly avoiding his eyes. "I don't really have people over."

Better than the dumpster I've been sleeping under, he wants to say. But that would be rude. And he knows you're trying to be polite, trying to put your best foot forward, and he appreciates it. And you. Definitely you.

"I don't have an extra room or a bed or anything, but I have a couch. And lots of blankets and pillows." You're going through a cupboard in the hall now. "I can turn the air on. Or the heat. I dunno what you prefer, but we can make it work." And something grabs Tai by the heart and refuses to let go because there's that 'we' again. The one that makes his chest feel tight. "Whatever you need to be comfortable."

He blinks and you're standing in front of him, eyes big and wide and shining in the sliver of light coming over his shoulder from the window. The two of you are caught for a moment in the gentle electricity humming between you. It's cautious and unsure, a little reserved and a little exciting, like you shouldn't be opening up your home to him and he shouldn't have accepted, like he shouldn't even be here. It registers vaguely in the back of the head that he's probably right. You don't know him, not really, and he doesn't really know you, no matter how much he pretends he does. And he's old enough now to be finding gray in his beard and at his temples. So what the hell is he doing here, what is he doing with you, the sweetest thing he's ever encountered? He feels like a creep.

But all of that passes when you smile. It wipes his mind clean. You turn to drop the sheets on the arm of the sofa, start unfolding them and throwing them over the cushions.

"I can-"

"I got it," you counter before he can even stop you. "I don't mind. You can make yourself at home, Tai. Get a drink, take a shower, whatever you want."

It takes him more breaths than he'd care to admit for his brain to catch up to his ears and his heart. He's so kriffing nervous here, taking up precious space in your home, tracking the grime of the city into your floor, and he knows that this is a gift that can be taken back. He's earned this privilege and he can lose it in a blink. So he decides to let you do this for him, just this once, if only to give himself some space and time to clear his head.

The bathroom is fucking tiny. The walls are crowding in on him before he even closes the door. The mirror is dirty with water spatters and steam streaks, the counter a little dusty in the corners, but you're everywhere in here - from the vase and fake flowers to the spread of cutely labeled products and the carpeted mat under his feet. Which reminds him to take his shoes off, which then prompts him to shuck off his armor and let his body breathe.

The man staring back at him in the mirror is both familiar and a stranger. He remembers that jawline looking sharper at one point, his skin smoother and firmer, but he also remembers the day he got the scar on his chin. He remembers the last day he saw Rex, remembers a string of images that make him want to pluck his eyes out just to quiet the way padawan blood screamed at him from the ground, remembers the day the Empire replaced him with a faceless, unfeeling Stormtrooper, remembers the first time he held out his helmet and begged for scraps. And before he even realizes it, he's stepping into the shower and basking in the shivering cold of the water. Maybe it'll wash away the black marks on his soul he's earned over the years. He can hope, at least.

٠ ¤ ٠ ¤ ٠ ¤ ٠

Tai feels more levelheaded when he gets out of the shower. He doesn't look at the mirror. He does, however, notice a slip of paper half stuck to the floor with the residual steam and his heart does a weird little flip when he reads it. There is indeed a stack of clothes and a crate for his armor just outside the door. He can tell with just a look that the sweatpants won't fit him, but the shirt, a striped and faded mess of cotton wearing thin at the bottom seam, fits well enough and he makes a point of not noticing how it smells like you.

The sofa is made up like a bed in a palace, or as close as you can manage. The sheets are threadbare but soft, lightly scented with citrus, and he swears there's half a dozen pillows piled up in the corner. You've left out a glass of water and lit a candle, too.

He doesn't let himself cry until he double checks that you are in your room with your door closed. How has he deserved this? He's fallen so far. He was once a proud soldier of the Republic. Now the Republic is dead and so are most of his brothers. He doesn't even know if there are any left. What would they say if they could see him now, living on the streets of an empty, soulless planet, huddled in some civilian's apartment like a rat? It's embarrassing, shameful. Rex would have his head for this, surely- except... Except he knows that's not quite true. He knows that Rex, soldier though he was, would never have judged him. Rex would have tried to help him.

He looks down the hallway where a sliver of light shines out from beneath your door and he almost dares to smile. Rex would have liked you, he thinks.

٠ ¤ ٠ ¤ ٠ ¤ ٠

One night turns into two. You're not used to having anyone in your space quite like this, certainly not a man, so it's awkward. You keep having to remind yourself not to leave your more feminine products out in the open where it might startle him. And even though you have no reason to believe Tai would ever be in your room, you make sure to hide your personal effects in there too. Just in case. Best not to give him the wrong idea. But it's okay, it works, the two of you.

Two nights turn into a week. Tai's efforts to leave the following morning are growing weaker every day and your requests for him to stay become more and more persuasive. You know it would be best for him to go, more logical, safer even. But you feel safer having him around.

And maybe, just maybe some selfish part of you wishes he would never have to leave. You choose not to delve into the reason why.

A week becomes a month and you come home from work one evening to find Tai passed out on the sofa, snoring away as usual. It sucks that your schedules are so opposite with him heading off to work right after you get home, but sometimes it's not so bad. Sometimes you come home early and you get to see him like this. The stress and age and trauma doesn't weigh so heavily on his face when he sleeps.

You're grabbing a drink when you notice the pile of credits dropped onto the kitchen counter. It's not very much, but it's also not yours. Your eyes flicker in Tai's direction. Is this his monthly pay? Being a janitor in a dankhole like this place ought to pay more. He also needs a better place to put his money than on the counter, he'll end up losing some that way. You briefly wonder if he needs a wallet and if maybe you should get him one before you snap yourself out of it.

He's a grown man, you tell yourself, he can get his own damn wallet. You're not his mother. And if you'd been caught saying that out loud you might have sounded furious, but the only anger you can feel is directed solely at yourself. Because you're letting yourself fall too deep and too fast for a man who is still a stranger in many ways.

You shake your head and take your things with you into your room, careful to close the door as quietly as you can manage. You don't want to wake him, but you also don't want to face him. Not now. Not with the too many thoughts buzzing around in your brain. Not when you're realizing just how much you think you might love him.

٠ ¤ ٠ ¤ ٠ ¤ ٠

" 's for you, y'know," he gruffs the following afternoon.

You look up from the stove, over your shoulder, and frown. "Huh?"

He nods his head at the pile of credits that still haven't moved. "For rent."

The galaxy spins around you for a moment. He took money out of his probably terribly paying job to help you with rent? Seriously?

You stumble over your own mouth while your brain plays catch up. "Tai... You didn't have to do that."

He shrugs and doesn't look at you. "Figured I used enough hot water to warrant a bill."

His smile is faint, but you can still see the outline of it. You wish he'd smile more. He looks so pretty when he smiles. And then you wonder what he thinks of your smile, if he even thinks of it at all. Does Tai think of you the way you think of him?

"Saw an apartment opening up downtown." His voice slices through your thoughts violently enough to completely shatter them. Your entire body feels like it's been dunked in ice water. "Thought I might have a look."

He wants to leave? Ice cold panic grips you by the base of your spine as you start cataloging through the last few days, trying to find any moment, any second glance that he could have interpreted wrongly. Because why else would he want to leave when you've tried so hard to make your home welcoming to him?

"Don't want to overstay my welcome."

And your anxiety calms a hair. Okay, so maybe you were jumping to conclusions for a second there.

You rest your hip against the cupboard. "You could never. You haven't." You glance back at your food as if it'll protect you from your own heart. "You can... You can stay here as long as you want to, Tai. Or as short as you want. Whatever you want. But you'll never wear out your welcome."

Well, that's about as close to a confession as you can safely get. Not that you were trying to confess anything, not that you have anything to confess. Even though you know that's a kriffing lie.

The kitchen goes stale with your shared silence. The wheels in Tai's head are turning so fiercely that you can hear them working. You're sure he can hear your heartbeat by now. Thank the Maker he can't hear your thoughts. And then-

"There's a bar by the market. I think it's called Spice. Have you ever been?"

You blink through your confusion. "I don't think so."

You blink again and suddenly Tai is standing, coming around to your side of the kitchen until he's all you can see. There's that blaster shot right through your chest again because he's closer now than he's been the past month. He smells faintly like your shampoo and his own natural musk and dank farrik, that's just not fair.

"Come with me tonight? Do you have work?"

"No. Yes. I mean-." You're so breathless, you can't get your words out in the right order. You laugh and have to turn your head to avoid the intensity of his gaze in order to focus. "I mean, no, I don't have work, yes, I'd love to go with you."

٠ ¤ ٠ ¤ ٠ ¤ ٠

It's strange to be handing over credits in exchange for liquor. The GAR never paid their troopers and neither did the Empire, so the only alcohol he ever got his hands on was the free crap 79's handed out. Not that this place offers anything better, but this time he can actually pay for it with credits he's earned himself. And he can buy some for you, too.

The speakers are playing some upbeat, young person tune he's never heard before and the lights are flashing 50 different shades of neon across your face. It hurts his eyes a little and it's another reminder that he's not the young clone he once was and this isn't 79's. He's not on Coruscant anymore, Fives isn't chatting up some attractive civvy just around the corner, Jesse and Tup aren't hurling their guts out in the bathroom, Rex isn't nursing a drink in a corner booth. It's just him. In a dive bar on Daiyu. He's a janitor. He's homeless. And you're here with him, brightening up the space around you with just a smile and that tipsy twinkle in your eyes. It hurts, but it's manageable. Entirely because of you.

You down your third drink of the night with a giggle and a burp, turning on your bar stool so you're facing him properly with your knees splayed. They frame his legs just right. Tai pretends this one simple movement doesn't light a raging fire in the pit of his stomach. He tells himself it's the alcohol sending heat through his veins. Definitely not because you're fluttering your eyelashes at him. Because he's not the young man he used to be. He's a dirty old man. He's lucky just to be allowed to bask in your presence. He's lucky you haven't figured out he has it bad for you and that you haven't kicked him out as a result. You're just drunk, he tells himself. He's drunk too. That's all it is.

That's all it is until it's suddenly so much more. "Come on!" you exclaim with a smile that could hang the stars in the sky. You're tugging him out onto the dance floor, you're holding his hands, you're kriffing touching him like it's the most normal thing you could be doing. And Maker, he'd go anywhere you asked, do anything you wanted if you looked at him like that. "Dance with me!" you shout over the music, shuffling yourself even closer to make sure he can hear you.

He's shaking his head like an idiot, arms withdrawn and poised mid-air. "No, I can't-"

"Dance with me, Tai." You look up at him through your lashes and smile a smile he doesn't think he's ever seen on you. "I want to dance with you."

He swallows. Hard. "You're drunk."

"So?"

"So." Quick, trooper, think of something! "You wouldn't be asking me if you were sober."

"That's just 'cause I'm shy," you laugh and your hand runs up his arm to his shoulder. A shudder runs through him at your touch. "I wouldn't ask you if I was sober, but I'd still want to. So dance with me."

Your hand presses against his cheek right where his scruff is growing in and his eyes slip shut for the briefest of moments. He's not at 79's, he's not young anymore, but for this one moment he can pretend that doesn't matter. He can pretend that this night is everything he wants it to be. So he takes you in his arms like he's the confident young trooper he was so many years ago and he dances with you to music he's never heard before. And he lets himself love you, even if just for the night.

#clone trooper x reader #clone trooper veteran #kenobi clone trooper #clone trooper veteran x reader #clone trooper tai #star wars #i was gonna have them kiss this chapter but i changed my mind again. just let the story take me where it wanted to go #i really like how this turned out! i hope you guys like it too

[animangaandchillsblog]

I have this sudden headcanon about Naruto and Hinata's conversation in the other dimension. Since Kawaki sealed them away, and we won't know about them until the end of the show, I want to put my imagination on this tumblr space. On the side note, the recent information spoiler informed us that Kawaki told Boruto that both Naruto and Hinata won't get old and he won't be able see them 🥹. Meaning that, time is frozen there but what happen if they can do whatever they want inside that space and that dimension is a world created by Kawaki because he made a promise to a certain powerful otsusuki that he'll protect that family in exchange of his life? He acted as if he wanted to kill Boruto and have his own plan to save him. What if?

Hinata opens her eyes. There is a painful throb in her head. She grimaces, trying to stir out the dizzying sensation Next to her is Naruto; sitting on a sofa. He is staring at the vacant wall and somehow, Hinata is able to correctly guess his deep thoughts.

She surveys around. It doesn't look like their beloved home. It's a different place; but the one they're situated in is more spacious. Aghast, Hinata casts a skeptical look at Naruto. A moment ago, they were pulled in by a dark and strong whirlwind and now they are in a different place.

Which means one thing.

They are in another different world.

"Na.. Naruto-kun.. I don't want to believe this but Boru.. Boruto.. Him.. Himawari.. they're!" She is fighting back tears. The lump formed in her throat makes it harder for her to suppress the overwhelming emotion.

I can't cry now. Not now. Not when Naruto is trying to act tough in front of me. If he sees me cry, he'll try to calm me down by saying that everything will be fine. He'll put up a valiant knight in shining armour's face and throw that mask away when he's convinced that I'm asleep. Soon, he'll make the pillow wet because of the leaked acid rain running down on his cheeks.

Hinata takes a deep breath and observes her husband . They're 32 now and had been married for 14 years. She knows him too much. From the way his obvious, keen eyes shined when she cooked a special flavoured ramen for him to the way a soft crease formed on his forehead whenever he's worried or anxious about something.

Hinata tries to utter something; anything that can break down the silence but Naruto is quick to address the situation. He turns to her, closes the small distance between them and reaches out to her; his hands wrapped around her back and nose burrowed into the thick cloth which covers her body.

Naruto have that habit whenever he's dejected or needs her attention. To Hinata, he acts like an innocent puppy sometimes. She likes it though. She's a woman with a heart full of love and those feelings are born from seeds of hope and joy whenever she saw Naruto during their childhood days. The seeds grow, becoming a land full of blooming roses that makes her strong and brave. Those feelings are her strength and will only be imparted for her precious ones.

She does not have any fear towards Otsutsuki or villains who hold grudges. The only important thing for her is her family. Their safety and well-being. Only her family, not other people. She cares about them a lot. She'll do whatever she can to protect her family even if it involves risking her life.

"Hi.. Hinata! I am sorry. I am so, so, sorry..." Naruto apologizes.

She caresses his head. For the umpteenth time, she refrains from letting her cheeks get wet. She bites her tongue from whimpering. The pain in her throat exacerbates every second but she won't let it win by making her a crying mess. She had enough of being someone who sinks in Naruto's light. This time, she HAS to be the one who protects his light.

"This is all my fault. I don't know what went wrong. Kawaki, he... he was just getting used to our company. I was convinced that he changed, but... what went wrong? I'm useless. I didn't know what to do. Funny, isn't it? When I was 16, I refuse to give up. Everyone told me that he's a criminal and he should be punished severely. Now that I finally have my own family, I didn't know what to do. It's hard. I want to be the perfect Hokage for the villagers. I want equal rights for everyone yet... when things didn't go just like how I planned it, I questioned myself a lot. My real family was suffering. It's difficult to accomplish my goals as a Hokage. I am worried about Boruto and Himawari. Will they be okay? I believe Boruto will manage to handle the situation but he's in pain. He's going through a lot. Himawari just started to attend the academy. Haha.. I'm a failure as a parent and Hokage, right? I couldn't even do my job properly. I couldn't save my kids. I was so determined not to repeat the same cycle again. I don't want both of them to suffer in loneliness just like how I went through during my childhood days. Children... they should be loved and cherished not abandoned. I.. I just..." Naruto bewailed over the situation and about his current life.

Hinata bites her tounge harder but in vain. Grief devours her as a flood of tears gushes down her ashen cheeks. Upon listening to her husband, broken and bruised by life-altering decisions, unfulfilled dreams and crushed visions, she lets the blue feeling eats her ego.

Without even disengaging himself from embracing and burrying his head on top of her chest, he could sense that Hinata was trying very hard not to cry earlier.

"Hinata, it's okay. Ou.. our kids are not... not here. You can cry with.. with me. I.. I know you.. you too.. too much, you.. you can't hide. It's okay. I have you.. you and.. and you have me. We.. we are not.. not alone anymore. It's ok.. okay to be vulne.. vulne.. vulnerable wh.. when it's just.. just the two.. two of us." Naruto's voice is wracked with onslaught sobs and tears. He could barely speak.

"It.. it seems like we are in another world. We are not in a dangerous place. This living room we're placed in is more spacious than ours. There is a chandelier and the design of this room is aesthetic. I haven't survey this whole house yet but I have a feeling that Kawaki built this though I'm not sure how."

"I don't.. know what he's thinking anymore. I am so, so.. sorry for making you witness all this mess."

"Naruto-kun, I just want you to know. Remember when I fought so hard with Pain just to release you from the rods that made your chakra drained? I did that knowing full well that I'll die. I love you so much, I won't let anyone hurt you. I'll do the same with Boruto and Himawari. I won't forgive those who hurt them. They're my babies.. and they need us. I am worried like you too, Naruto-kun but don't ever think that your effort is in vain. You did so much back then. Without you, we won't be able to live in peace. Remember how you changed the Hyuga clan? How you forged ties with Konohagakure? How you lead the entire Shinobi to defeat those who attacked innocent victims? How you persistently tracked on Momoshiki's traces so that they won't harm our kids? You're still the Naruto I love. Not all parents are perfect. You did your best as a father. You have your own way of protecting them and I'm sure they understand it. Don't be too hard on yourself. Remember when you said that to me?" Hinata closes her eyes, reminiscing her past life. Somehow, those memories are her only luxury now and it succeeds in vanishing her involuntary whimpers and tears.

Naruto taps Hinata's back lightly, indicating the sudden shift emotion in him. Hinata's words always makes him calm. He knows he shouldn't rely on his wife too much due to the stress she had to witness yet he enjoys her company every second.

"I know. Love is always your strongest weapon. That's what I love about you. Your name means white lily, a flower that symbolises strength and support other than purity. That's so you. How I wish I can at least break down the wall of this dimension but I can't. It's not just a simple one. I.. I wish Kurama is with me now but I lost him too."

Hinata twirls the yellow strands on his head. "You have me, remember? You're not alone. Ah.. I can't relax. Right now, my mind keeps on wandering at our home. Himawari. Boruto. They're not safe. What if another war will break down and we're not there to protect them? What if Boruto keeps on eating burgers? He'll suffer from having a serious stomach disease! Himawari isn't a well-experienced shinobi yet. She's too innocent sometimes. She doesn't know how dangerous the life of shinobi is. She cries hard when Jaggy dies. I don't think she can recover from the ill feeling of witnessing death. My poor babies."

Finally, with eyes full of hope, Naruto focuses his sight on Hinata's elegant and beautiful face. He straightes up and traces her cheekbones that sculpted her face.

Naruto rubs the tears on his face. He is still worried about his beloved children's safety, but his wife needs her at the moment. "Your father is there. Hanabi. Kakashi sensei. Iruka sensei. Shikamaru will find ways to solve the issue. Ino and Sai are there to evacuate everyone and I'm sure they won't neglect our kids. Sakura-chan and Sasuke are there. Boruto is strong. After all he's our child. He will protect Himawari and Himawari will soon learn how to be strong like you. I also.. have something to tell you."

"What is it?" With curious eyes, Hinata watches the way Naruto's eyes wrinkles when he smiles. Her cheeks are still stained with tears. Naruto wipes them away with the sleeves of his shirt.

"Once this is all over, I am going to quit my job. I think I had enough. I've restored peace and developed our village. I'll still have my penchant money and we can use that to travel around the world. You said you wanted to open a restaurant right? You should just do it. You've created a recipe and it's too good to just be served for me and our children. I'll support you."

Hinata chuckles. "You're a bad cook. I can't let you barge into my kitchen. You'll become the manager, then. You're a social butterfly and everyone knows you. I'm sure our new restaurant will attract more customers. Oh and.. we have to save up and fulfill Boruto and Himawari's dream too!"

"We'll save up to hire new sensei for them. If Himawari wants to open a clinic or a research center I'll build one. If Boruto wants to become a chief policeman, I'll give my full support."

"Naruto-kun.. did you always thought of this?" Hinata couldn't stop her lingering curious thoughts from being silent.

Naruto kisses her forehead. He kisses her cheeks, mouth and nose.

"Ah.. Naruto-kun, stop it. Answer me!"

"Sorry. You and your wide curious eyes never fails to amuse me. They're too cute."

"Naruto-kun!"

"Okay, okay. Yes. I've always thought of it but then this village becomes messed up and one by one challenge came. When everything is resolved, I'll quit. You know that I never go back on my Ninja way, right? I never break my promises. I'll do it. I'm so tired. I'm tired with all these bloodshed and noise. I want tranquillity and peace. I can only achieve that with you."

It feels like yesterday was just the day Hinata met Naruto in front of the academy's gate. Time flies too fast. She wants to scream and cry because she couldn't do anything but it'll just exhaust her more so she puts her hands on both of Naruto's cheeks and let her forehead touches his.

"Promise. Promise me we'll go through this together."

"I never broke that promise. I'll promise to fulfill your dream instead. Just wait. I'll make your dream comes true."

"My dream is just for Boruto and Himawari to be safe."

"Sorry. I'm a weak man right now. I can't afford to do that. Kawaki caught me off guard but I will fulfill their dream too. I don't care what methods I'll be using. I don't know what's his plans or secret but I'll solve this as soon as I get there. After that, I'll send my resignation letter."

"Oh, Naruto-kun. Whatever you do, I'll always be by your side always. Do whatever that makes you happy. We'll go through this together."

"Forever." Naruto holds her hand. Their foreheads are still in contact but he doesn't want to break their intimate moment.

"Forever and always."

Tears still roll down on both of their cheeks but this time, they know that they are not alone. Nothing could be done; only hopes and flashbacks become the root of their strength at the moment.

#naruto #hinata #naruhina #naruhina drabbles #incorrectnhh #incorrectnaruhinaisback! #boruto #himawari #kawaki #sunshine family

[fangirlstuff]

Too Early

Summary: the reader (no y/n, just first person imagine) wakes up wet, so Austin and Eddie help her out.

Pairing: Austin Butler X f!Reader X Eddie Munson. There’s no implied relationship between Austin and Eddie, but you can picture it if you’d like :)

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: smut, clearly- oral, female receiving, squirting, fingering? But it’s not very graphic because I can’t bring myself to write those words. Also, a bit of light bdsm.

The California King was usually empty when I woke. The sheets would be cool, the other two sides of the bed made. I would wake up alone, hair thrown about the pillows, and I would go find them both in the kitchen or the office, hard at work or just having fun.

Today was not one of those days. I woke to a bright room, though the blinds were still down. Slivers of sunlight came in through the spaces between the walls and the windows.

I checked the clock: 7:16.

I felt in my stomach- low and warm, just between my hips- why I didn’t wake up early. It had been like this for a long time, I wake up wet and can’t get back to sleep unless I- or one of my boys- took care of it. Or I could just get up… but that isn’t happening. Not this early.

I stuffed my head back into the pillows, but I knocked my head on Austin’s. I groaned and pulled back, rubbing the bridge of my nose. I didn’t think he’d be there, well into my third of the bed.

His eyes fluttered open, and he winced in pain. “Good morning,” he said sarcastically. I smiled, even though I doubted he was looking at me.

“Good morning.” I grumbled.

He looked at the clock over my shoulder, then back down at me with a question in his eyes. The heat in my stomach only grew. I rolled my eyes, though I knew he had seen the pink flush over my cheeks before I turned away from him.

He put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me back to face him.

I looked him in the eye and it was a mistake. I blushed hard, and he noticed, giving me a soft smile. “Do you want me to fix it?” He asked. I supposed he wasn’t fully awake yet, throwing around questions like that.

But still, I nodded. “Only if you want to.”

“I do.”

He threw the covers off, then sat on top of them. I followed, and he patted his thighs for me. Instead, I put my head between his legs and laid on my back, facing away from him.

He leaned down to kiss me, which I knew hurt his back, but he made no effort to make himself more comfortable.

I took his tongue into my mouth as he slowly pulled my loose t-shirt above my chest. He broke us apart to pull it over my head, then made the kiss all teeth and tongue.

He worked his hands down my neck, down my chest. He rolled my nipples between his fingers and I sighed into his mouth, already almost breathless. He smiled against my lips, knowing the power he held over me already.

He pinched them and I moaned lightly, and he sighed. I felt him become more relaxed, but he kissed me harder.

He kept moving his hands after that, down to my stomach. He rolled his hands there, harshly, just under my belly button. I moaned into his mouth, feeling a rush of heat between my legs.

I didn’t even try to back up before speaking. “Austin,” my voice was breathy, almost not mine. “Please-“

“I got you, darlin’. I’ve got you.”

He pushed his fingers into my waistband, and I was glad I only slept in underwear and a t-shirt. It made mornings like these much easier.

He pulled the thin, pink fabric down my thighs, and I kicked them off from there. The soaked fabric landed somewhere on Eddie’s side of the bed. Somewhere in my muddled mind, I thought ‘he would love that’ just before Austin slipped a finger down to where the heat pooled.

I gasped at the feeling of his cool fingers against my hot skin, then unconsciously rocked my hips against the pressure.

“Fuck, darlin’, you’re so needy.” He said, gathering my slick between two fingers.

I gasped at the words and the feeling of more of the stuff leaking onto the sheets. I couldn’t help it, even if he had barely touched me. I was so worked up I could hardly plead for him to keep going.

He understood anyway, pushing the two fingers into me and rocking them before I had the chance to even moan.

My back arched and I pushed his fingers in further, all the breath in my lungs gone.

He kept at it, and when he hit that sensitive spot somewhere within me, I moaned louder than I ever had. He curled his fingers and hit that spot every time he pulled out and pushed back in. He had me melting on his fingertips, moaning his name uncontrollably.

I felt a rush all of a sudden, starting from my neck and going toward where his fingers were.

“I’m close-“ I panted. I hoped he heard me, because I sure didn’t hear myself.

Then his fingers stilled. All his motion stopped and he pulled his face away from mine. I whined, opening my eyes to curse him out.

But then I saw why he had.

Through the door to the bedroom, the very way I was facing, was Eddie. His eyes didn’t meet mine, and I could feel the direct line onto my lower half where they lied.

He shook his head, hair flying about, and looked at Austin, who still held me, but not like I wanted him to.

“Do you want me to take it from here?” Eddie asked, coming toward the bed. He hit his knees to the mattress before Austin answered.

“I got it.”

But Eddie hummed anyway, bringing a hand up to my inner thigh. “I can help,” he said, before pushing my lag onto the mattress, spreading them further. “You’re up too early, baby, is that it?” He put pressure onto my thigh and I sucked in a breath. “Or was it Austin that made you moan like that?” He pinched the skin and I arched my back. I felt it go straight to the little pool that was forming between my hips.

“Both,” I breathed.

Eddie gave Austin a look, and he took my hands into his as Eddie nodded. He held me above my head tight, and I was glad he did because I knew I would be thrashing about the bed, trying to grab something. He tightened his knees around my ribcage, and I knew I would be seeing stars the rest of the morning.

Eddie smiled at me, still between my legs but not giving any attention.

“Look at our baby, all spread out for us,” He didn’t look at Austin or me when he said it, just into the morning air around the bed. My hips bucked at the words, and I spilled more onto the sheets.

“Eddie, please do something.” I said, squeezing Austin’s hands. He squeezed back, and it was more than Eddie had done already.

“You want me to baby? Because I’m having fun just watching you get so wet our sheets are a different color.”

I almost cried out. I almost took my hand from Austin’s and did it myself, but he wouldn’t let me go.

“Please-“ I moaned.

Eddie nodded, and started kissing my thigh where his fingers had left marks just seconds ago. He put his hand onto my other thigh and pushed it out as far as it would go, then stroked the skin there with his thumb.

After he finished sucking a hickey into the skin there, he moved his tongue to my folds, leaving another searing kiss on the top, where the slick didn’t even reach.

When his tongue slipped down one side of me, I moaned loud and grasped onto Austin’s hands harder, and he held me there.

Eddie worked his way down a bit, to the spot where Austin’s fingers had been a few minutes ago. He worked his tongue around the spot, sucking up everything I had given both of them and swallowing against me. I spilled more at the sight, and he eagerly lapped that up, too.

Before I could think, or even spill more at the thought, Eddie stuck his tongue inside me.

I just about screamed, the heat of his heavy tongue against my own heat felt heavenly, though the sounds around the room where quite the opposite.

Eddie backed up for a second. “Can you make her quiet?” He asked before diving right back in.

Before I had the chance to moan again, Austin’s lips where on mine. His tongue worked my lips apart, then roamed throughout my mouth at the same time Eddie’s did inside me.

My chest was heaving and I couldn’t catch my breath, I was squirming even under Austin’s grip to get a better angle from both of them.

I slammed my hips down onto Eddie’s tongue. His nose hit me in a place that made me see stars, and he noticed. He rolled a finger there and I moaned loudly into Austin’s mouth.

Austin backed up, letting me breathe a bit. He let one of my hands go before quickly taking it into his other. I felt two fingers on my lips, coating in saliva, pressing down.

I opened my mouth and Austin put them in, letting me take down half of them.

Austin kissed my forehead and moaned as I swirled his fingers with my tongue, and as I bit them when Eddie hit that spot inside me.

“Right there,” Austin told him. Eddie nodded and kept going at that spot, adding his own finger to the mix.

I felt the coolness of his ring against me and I gushed more into his hand, and I moaned around Austin’s fingers.

He slipped the rest of his fingers into my mouth, and I gagged a bit around them, but got on with it just fine.

Eddie kept hitting that spot inside me, not letting up until my breath was gone, and all I could give as a warning was to stop sucking on Austin’s fingers as the warmth spread around me.

“She’s close.” He said.

Eddie added another finger, but took his tongue out. He fucked into me fast, his fingers curling and hitting that spot every time.

“Are you gonna cum for us, baby?” He cooed. “Show us how much you like this.”

And as soon as Eddie hit that spot one more time, he pulled out as my stomach squeezed. My back arched and Austin let his death grip go on my ribs.

I squirted onto Eddie’s hand, onto the sheets, all across my thighs. I closed my legs and my stomach squeezed again. More slick came rushing out and coated Eddie’s hands. Austin took his fingers from my mouth and wiped them next to me on the sheets, letting me breathe for a minute.

“Holy shit,” Austin laughed. Eddie did too, low and lovely.

“You liked that so much you squirted?” Eddie asked. I nodded, but buried my head as far into Austin’s thighs as I could. I was bright red with embarrassment and pleasure, still trying to come down from my high.

Austin set his hand between himself and I, and pushed my face back up to meet his eyes and Eddie’s.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, baby.” Austin said. I nodded, but I still wanted to close my eyes.

“You did great, both of you. You were very loud, though.” Eddie joked. I smiled, and Eddie leaned down to kiss me. When he let his tongue into my mouth, I could still taste myself on him.

Then he pulled away, and got off the bed. He started taking the sheets off as Austin helped me stand up without blacking out.

“Go take a shower, darlin’.” He said. I nodded and started making my way toward the bathroom.

Eddie poked my side as I went by. “I have breakfast downstairs, and this time you won’t have to heat it up in the damn microwave.”

“Maybe I should wake up early every day.” I mumbled, and both boys laughed.

#austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler smut #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #soft dom austin #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #dom!eddie #no y/n #smut #stranger things #elvis 2022

[hatsumaki45]

Really loved your recent 2yoo request, any chance you can do a part 2 where dami uses a longer strap for yoohs ass?

Awww thanks, nice to know you liked it, anon n.n Is it ok if I make it light? I don't feel like writing lately, college killed my creativity ;-;

♠️ Imagine the dildo just now is a sizable 13cm long x 5cm in diameter, enough to say they're playing hard. However, Dami removes the stap, leaving the dildo inside Yoohyeon's ass. She then looks for a new strap-on and opts for the thicker one is about 18cm long x 7cm in diameter.

♠️Once she puts on the stap, she is ready to remove the toy from Yoohyeon's ass and replace it with the new one.

♠️ She goes in this time with plenty of lube and keeps asking Yoohyeon embarrassing questions to see how he gets more and more needy. I imagined him saying, "You like being ass full don't you?" "See how well you take it in? Maybe I should use both of you play inside this time" "Can you handle more, slut? Is that what you want?"

♠️ And Yoohyeon's answer is "Yes " to everything, as she pushes her yielding back and drops her torso completely on the mattress.

♠️To still hearing her well, Dami will turn her over and bring Yoohyeon's knees against her chest. That makes the moans come out louder and clearer, and Dami can't bear to go harder. The bed shakes. It hits the wall. It might seem like enough, but the rapper wants more of the girl underneath her.

♠️Dami will definitely get up enough to see Yoohyeon's face, and then look at the open, shiny, wet pussy like a waterfall thinking about how nice it would look in full as well. It's a matter of time before she uses another strap on there too, making Yoohyeon brace herself hard with each onslaught.

♠️ Light massages on Yoohyeon's clit make her come between pretty moans, but by now Dami is too far up to stop and keeps fucking the blue-haired girl's holes. Yoohyeon sobs, too stimulated, but accepting her place as a nice toy for Dami. That's when she hugs her tightly and can't stop jerking her hips. Shiver after shiver.

♠️Dami grunts into Yoohyeon's chest from exhaustion and adrenaline, then reaches with his free hand for a pillow on the disastrous bed. She hits one and puts it under Yoohyeon's waist, it is inefficient for the posture to improve and they both know it, Yoo's jerks go straight to the two dildos that fill her, and Dami exhausted falls violently on her crotch.

♠️The delicate body of the vocal leader suffers a strong orgasm and squirts, soiling everything around her. The dildo in her pussy comes out slowly so as not to hurt her, and then Dami puts her in doggy style once more, pumps gently listening with satisfaction to Yoohyeon's moans….

♠️ And in that lovely view, she rests one hand on Yoohyeon's head pushing it down, and with the other she starts to distribute spankings on Yoohyeon's buttocks, decorating them with red marks. The subtle movement of her hips provokes strong reactions from the taller girl.

♠️When sees that enough is enough, decides to stop teasing and finally pulls out of Yoohyeon. They both fall into bed, and Yoohyeon falls asleep as soon as she calms down. The next day she'll probably have trouble walking, but she's fine with that.

#dreamcatcher scenarios #yoohyeon #yoohyeon smut #Dami #dami smut #DamixYooheyon #2yoo #2Yoo smut #dreamcatcher smut

[electricbluebutterflies]

putting ear over their heart for the prompts :')

Early-era Jessica/Leto, PG-ish, also on ao3.

Jessica stays, after.

She’s been doing that more and more often, on the nights she is asked for. Like most of the behaviors she’s picked up in these few years, this one surprises her, another new shade of a life she may be defining in her own way. So much unexpected, so much-

She stays, and the strange part is she actually wants to.

They have cultivated routines, which is to say that she knows what she’s good for and she was lucky enough to be placed in a situation where that is respected. Some core part of that man’s soul likes her, damned if she knows how, and-

Now is no time for analysis of the dynamic, she decides. She’s tired, pleasantly worn out from recent activities, and she doesn’t want to move, and she can’t-

“Did I harm you?”

Such caution unprovoked, if not outright worry. She has done nothing, she reminds herself, she has done so close to nothing and still-

“Not in any way that seemed intentional,” she replies after a few moments. A glance down at her body reveals what may be a few light bruises on her hips, but if she can’t feel them then they don’t even count, and-

“Not quite what I asked.”

Her current position is challenging for eye contact anyways, and she shifts her body and buries her face against a pillow. “Your concern is a kindness, but… an unnecessary one, for now.”

She feels fingertips on her back, pushing her hair away from her skin – she has observed a tactile need in that man, always doing something with his hands, touching her far more than necessary, she ought to get rid of that habit, she ought to-

“You’ve gotten softer. It’s strange.”

He does not mean harm, Jessica reminds herself. That is not their way. Such a comment from anyone else might make her tense or self-critical, but in this moment, their bodies so recently separated…

“Is it pleasing?”

“I can’t imagine you could ever be anything else.”

There’s something concerned in his voice still, like he doesn’t yet know more than he should but he will in time, like she would still be treated the same if she exposed her vulnerabilities. There are so many conversations they have not had that might make domestic functioning easier if that is to be their path, and… some of those may be unnecessary, Jessica thinks. She’s done some underestimating too, failed so slightly but anything less than perfect is damnation, and yet-

“I could be,” she says after a comfortable silence. “If I had reason enough.”

She turns her head again just in time to see a look cross his face like he doesn’t quite believe her, and she knows she has done something wrong but she can’t quite pin what, and-

“I’m not sure that would work.”

Two years, she thinks, two years of being underestimated by every living thing she’s had to deal with on this planet – no, underestimated has been the better option, there are some who fear what she might be and still see her as a threat even though she’s all but made herself one with the walls, even though she has been perfectly-

“How so? I am more than capable of-“

“I would like to think I’m well aware of your capabilities,” he murmurs, fingertips tracing patterns on her back like he does when emotions start to come up. “That is… perhaps a part of the problem. You have been frightfully easy to fall in love with, thorns and all.”

Well, now he’s gone for it. If ever there were a reason to run damage control, to lace her voice immediately and nip that feeling before it turns contagious…

She can’t. She won’t. She’s not sure there’s a difference between those two little statements.

What harm is there in expressed affection, she wonders. It is as real as anything could ever be, she knows that much, built over time and she hasn’t made it easy but something in that man wanted her from the moment their lives became entangled, perhaps even needed her, not to possess but to exist alongside and isn’t that the original meaning of her official status anyways and-

“And if I can’t respond in kind?”

“You have responded enough. You didn’t run, you’re still here in my bed and looking in my general direction, you’re not even yelling yet and-“

Don’t tempt her, she wants to say and won’t. Both of those overreactions crossed her mind, and she still didn’t-

“I do care for you,” she breathes, shifting her body closer, shifting so her head is on his chest and she can focus on his heartbeat somehow perfectly steady despite everything. Something inherently calming, she thinks, as she knows she is to him as well, something impeccably balanced as all placed dynamics ought to be and-

“More than enough.”

“I can’t use such strong words yet, but… I do accept the affection. I do trust your heart and your judgement.”

He knows what a strong compliment that is from her, and there’s a pleasant silence as he processes, as they both do, as-

“More than enough,” he repeats like that’s the end of everything and somehow it is. “More than I could ever ask for.”

She wants to believe this too, but she knows this may be one of the only polite lies he keeps against her. The truth is made clearer as she slowly drifts out of consciousness, aware that he does not follow her, and she hears dreams spoken in a quiet voice, ways to bind them, a direction desperately wanted and-

When the time comes, she will respond. Not now. Not yet.

#ebf writes fic #leto x jessica #queue

[coffeebleeds]

Magical Strike

He fiddled with the cigar in his hand, twirling it between his fingers. Black silk draped over his arms, not giving nearly enough warmth for the windows he had to keep open to prevent the smoke from choking them during the shoot. He heaved a heavy sigh, taking a puff on the cigar as he leaned against the wall.

"Don't smoke it all between takes, Jones." Catalina chided.

He glanced over his shoulder at the fully-dressed woman tucked under the comforter of his bed. White sheets contrasted with the dark contour of her makeup, leaving smudges of olive tone on what had once been perfect cotton. He rolled his eyes, taking another puff and blowing it in her direction just to spite her.

Her gray eyes flickered toward him, half-lidded in a glare that sent his heart hammering in his chest. Her red-painted lips drew into a smirk, illuminated by the light of her phone screen. "I'd love to get a video of that, but that'd require a frontal shot."

Alfred's face bloomed red and he turned back around, grinding his teeth. The black robe over his t-shirt and shorts hung loose and untied. It was all about what went unseen, she said. Everything to give the impression, but never the confirmation, of anything in particular. "Just do the damn take before all your foundation rubs off on my pillows." He huffed.

Her snorting laughter would never make it to social media. Like everything else good and tolerable about this woman, it would be edited out. "Alright, alright. Calm your tits. One more take. But don't look at me this time. It doesn't convey the right amount of bastard if you look at me."

Sheets shifted behind him, the same as every other take they'd done this afternoon. Alfred's bare toes on his carpet desperately begged for him to put some socks on, or else to shut the damn window and put out the cigar. Naturally she would give herself the bed for this scene, the cozy bitch. Her part was a silent one, meant to give the impression that she was filming without his consent or knowledge. In an hour or two after posting, he'd 'discover' the video on her account and comment something nasty and degrading, as they'd discussed earlier.

"Action."

At her direction, Alfred took an exaggerated puff on the cigar, blowing out a cloud of sweet, smooth smoke that rolled out toward the (off-screen) open window. He let the sleeve of his robe fall down to his elbow, displaying the lipstick smears like scratch marks down his arms. He kept his focus trained ahead, toward the bathroom door and away from the camera - and the director.

He counted to five. Six. Seven. Eight.

"Alright, I think we've got it this time." Catalina announced. "Come here and tell me what you think."

At last released from his post by the wall, Alfred practically sprinted over to the bed to view the finished product. Catalina's blouse was hopelessly wrinkled from her constant shifting and tucking between the sheets during this endeavor. She wiggled over to sit next to him on the bed, selfishly keeping the warm covers to herself.

The video was a simple one, inspired by the very same TikTok comment that now graced the corner of the screen. "Okay but you know the hate sex between these two must be INSANE." Catalina's sharp brows raised, a close up of her supposedly reading this comment for the first time. The camera switched from front-facing to back, showing Alfred from her perspective. Bare calves and arms, black silk covering whatever the internet wanted to imagine. When the camera flipped back around, Catalina's signature smirk, slightly smudged on the side of her mouth, ended the clip with the quick caption. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Alfred watched the video loop a few more times, both of them scrutinizing every detail for flaws or tells. This now being the twelfth time they'd filmed this video, he critiqued his own movements more carefully. Everything about this take appeared adequate. His shorts didn't show this time, at the very least. He nodded, handing the phone back to her. "Looks good." He said, deliberately avoiding letting his gaze linger too long on her. "I've never looked like more of a douchebag."

Another of her snorts was his reply as she took the phone. "I don't know if I'd go quite that far. You've got a lot of douchebag potential." She saved the video to post during the peak hours later that evening. "Hey, can I try that?"

"Hm?" Alfred stared at her a moment, not understanding what she meant. He followed her gaze to the cigar in his hand. "Oh! Yeah, of course."

She accepted the cigar readily, thick between her tanned fingers. Her lips left red stains on the dark wrapper. The same smoke he'd been breathing in for nearly half an hour curled away from her nose. When he took the cigar back, he wondered if she could taste him as much as he now strained to taste her.

#iced ii. #my writing #drabble #the magical strike brainrot is real

[sunshinemunchkin]

Infatuated Insomniacs

pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

summary: one sleepless night, one filled with discomfort, sam is there to ease your worries and provide peace.

warnings: mentions of dean's death, mentions of sam and dean sharing a bed but IT'S NOT WINCEST YALL, sexual jokes, cuddling, kissing

word count: 1.6k

a/n: my first fic back, and my first sam fic :) hope you enjoy, this takes place after s3, in the four months that dean's in hell.

the hotel room was small, the night muggy. the shorts you wore were itchy and rubbed against your legs in all the wrong ways. the blankets were too heavy, but the room was too cold from the air conditioner on blast.

the boy in the bed next to you had his back to you, his body rising and falling steadily. your eyes traveled over the dark room, the shadows on the wall flickering and your mind running away from you as you fingered the gun under your pillow. when your breathing turned heavy at your imagination spiraling, sam turned over to face you. "hey." he voiced into the dark room, drawing you from your thoughts.

you turned to him with a flip of your hair, blankets half on your body, half off exposing your chest and top of your torso. sam offered a gentle smile, "can't sleep?" he questioned, sleep nowhere to be found in his voice. maybe he hadn't been sleeping after all. you shake your head, heart still pumping from the sudden surprise that his voice brought when he broke the silence. sam sat upright in the bed, the blanket falling down his chest and his large hands rubbing his face from sleep before reaching over and turning on the light that resided on the bedside between your beds.

a pale yellow light flooded the room, your eyes squinting in the exposure, a soft groan escaping you as you shield your view from the lamp. sam's bare chest was now visible, his anti possession tattoo a forest green against his tan, toned pectoral muscle. you forced your eyes away, gulping hard and peeling the blankets off of your body, sitting crosslegged on the scratchy and odd smelling sheets.

"what's up?" you fiddle with your fingers, avoiding sam's gaze that bore into the side of your face. with a heavy sigh, your head tilts back against the headboard, hitting it with a soft thunk. you travel your own stare to sam's hazel eyes, always having admired how many colors swam in his irises. his lips were chapped from chewing on them, a nervous habit of his, pink and full. the slope of his nose was perfect, and you wanted nothing more than to trace your finger over it's bridge down to the cupid's bow of his upper lip.

you remember he asked a question in all that admiration. "thinking. 'bout everything." he hummed, twirling a loose thread from the blanket around his long finger. it had been a hard couple of months for the two of you. dean having sold his soul for sam's life, way back when. it's been a downhill road ever since: searching for the demon that holds dean's contract, sam meeting up with ruby time after time, her eventually getting possessed by lilith. and dean's death at end of it all when each event came crashing into one another, putting yours and sam's life at a jarring halt. and so here you both sat, in an all too quiet hotel room, having gotten used to dean's foghorn snores that usually masked the annoying hum of the radiator.

"that's a lot of thinking then." you smile softly at his attempt at a joke. you face sam, his eyes meeting yours as you stared at him. "i guess you can't sleep either?" sam's already shaking his head at your reciprocated question as he shifts his legs under the blankets.

"nah, used to sharing a bed with dean. ya know, letting you have the second bed to yourself." you hum, playing with your bottom lip. folding it between your teeth as he spoke, listening intently and trying to quell the awkwardness that filled the air in the room. dean not there to dissipate it with a quip or a joke. "just bone her! bone him! hey, whatever you're into. just ease the tension, for godsake." you could sometimes hear his voice if you listened hard enough, the thought of his joke making you laugh to yourself.

sam eyed you stunned that you were laughing in the dead on night. "what?" he breathes, your gaze hooking onto his. you purse your lips, an action that always had sam's heart stuttering. " just thinking of dean. a joke he would say." sam smiled softly, but sadly at the mention of his brother. yet, he was still curious.

"what was it?" you eye him, him appearing to be listening. you stumble in your words for a moment.

"it was just- uh. a dirty joke. with all the- the silent moments we've had since he... well with him not around. he would just say something about the so called sexual tension." there was another pregnant pause, you decided to fix it. "'just bone her for godsake!'" you mimicked his brother's voice the best you could, sam laughing at the face you made along with it.

when you realized he was laughing with you and not at you, you joined in. the two of you sat on your beds, heads tossed back and eyes welling with tears, both happy and sad, at the joke. happy that you were finally able to laugh for the first time in weeks. sad that the man who was usually mr. jokester was not there to laugh with you.

the laughter had come to a slow as you lock eyes with sam once more. him wiping his eyes with a short chuckle. "he would've said that. definitely." you smile, glad that sam had a moment of relaxation, a chance to breathe. sam was grateful for it too, since it had seemed like he hadn't been able to do so since his brother went to hell. the silence that took over was no longer awkward, but yearning.

"it's kinda cold in here." you mumble, goosebumps having risen on every inch of your body, your arms rubbing over themselves. sam, instead of rising from the bed to adjust the air like you thought he would, simply moved over in his bed, pulling the blankets up and patting the warm spot next to him. you eyed him in surprise before he smirked. "we're paying for two beds." you joke, trying to channel some of dean's energy to which sam rolled his eyes at.

"i tried to fix the radiator, it's busted. it's this or freeze, and i'm cold too." at that notion, you shrug, picking yourself up from the bed you were on and walking the two feet to sam's bed. your fronts were facing one another as sam flipped the blanket over you, encapsulating your frame with his warmth. his warm breath fanned over your slightly cold nose and when your hand brushed against his chest, he shifted back slightly. "your hands are freezing!" sam exclaimed, his larger ones immediately taking yours in his and rubbing them together. the action was basically helpless, but the feel of his hands on yours ignited a flame in your whole body, down to your toes that solved your issue of chilliness.

there was a pause, a moment that was shared between you. dean once called this 'the breaking point'. it was always spoken of and never experienced, something you thought only existed in movies and the exaggerated stories of his fabulous one night stands. you cursed him silently, but jokingly, for always being right when it came to this. especially when sam's hand cupped your cheek, his toasty hands easing the cold that nipped at your skin.

"y/n." you met his eyes, his face mere inches from yours as the two of you laid on your sides. you didn't hesitate. taking the jump, the leap. the dare that was always given and then traded for a truth. accepting the facts that everyone always said was there. that you were in love with sam winchester and, by the way he was kissing you with fervor, you assumed he felt the same. his eyelashes fluttered against your cheekbones, lips sloppy and rushed. you pull back for air when sam's chasing your lips again. his nose pushes into your cheek, his heavy breathing heard over the radiator.

and though his lips were slightly rough, the connection was bliss. it was like air had been pushed back into your lungs, life back into your heart. for the first time in months, you feel alive. you feel confident and at peace. sam's arm slipped over your waist, bringing you closer to his body, your hands slipping up to tangle themselves in his growing hair. when you tugged gently, sam let out a gentle groan, pulling away from you and leaving a string of saliva in his wake.

the two of you giggle, panting against one another as sam's fingers play with the ends of your hair. "so this... it's mutual?" you roll your eyes, cupping the man's face. "no, sam. i'm kissing you to preserve the warmth." he catches onto your sarcasm, the joke dripping off of you as you pepper kisses on his lips, and more than a few on his cupid's bow.

sam says nothing, simply leaning over you to turn the light off once more, drowning the room in darkness. but it wasn't dark anymore, not totally. in your hearts, the light had been turned on. you turned in sam's embrace, your back to his firm chest. and with his arms around you protectively, his breathing into the crook of your neck as you were pulled flush against him, you both fell into a slumber like no other. free of nightmares, and of worry. you knew, deep down, that there would be no more insomnia, no more sleepless nights where you both were terrified to close your eyes in fear of what horrors your subconscious was withholding. no more tossing and turning or jolts back to reality or cold sweats. because you had found peace in the desperation. and somewhere dean was saying, 'i told you so'.

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader

[greyskywrites]

Brother of the Moon XII.

Hearth and Home

6.4k | kofi | ao3 | tag

Eadwin

They arrive at Oxbow just after last light, in spite of their hard pace. Lucian draws his hood over his head to disguise his short hair while Eadwin gets down to bargain with the gatekeeper. This one imagines himself to be a stickler for the rules, which will make this a great deal more tedious than it needs to be. He makes a show of arguing for a while before her gestures back at Lucian. “Please, my wife and I are traveling alone, coming back from a pilgrimage. She’s with child, what kind of husband will I be if I can’t find a roof for her to sleep under?”

This finally seems to move the gatekeeper who (begrudgingly, and with complaint) says they ought to plan their travel better to get lodgings before sundown. And don’t pilgrims know they ought to be on foot?

As he rides past, Lucian puts on his softest voice, the most placating one Eadwin has heard him use. “Thank you for your kindness.” The gatekeeper seems suitably abashed.

They take a room at a tavern that is small, but clean. They see to their horses and eat a dinner that is slightly better than mediocre, largely because it is hot. In their room, Lucian stretches out on the bed with a groan, hair fanning out on the pillow. Eadwin lays beside him, tracing the line of Lucian’s jaw. “I missed the way you carry yourself when you aren’t trying to be a lady.”

Lucian turns his head and smiles. “It feels incredible.”

There’s a satisfaction in the familiarity growing between them, the knowing just how to touch Lucian to make him greedy. Lucian clutches him close and Eadwin winds him tight until Lucian curses and digs his fingernails into Eadwin’s shoulder.

“Oh,” Lucian sighs, drawing his hand down Eadwin’s cheek. “Oh, my priest. My blackbird.” He draws Eadwin down for a kiss. “My husband.”

Lucian touches the chain still around his neck, with the moonstone and the ring. “I wondered if you wanted these back.”

Eadwin traces his finger along the chain, warm against Lucian’s skin. “I want you to keep the moonstone,” he says. “I gave it to you for luck. To keep you safe.”

Lucian gazes at him a moment and pulls the clasp around to unhook the chain and slide the ring free. “Give me your hand.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Give me your hand,” Lucian says again, more insistently. “You gave this to me to say you were coming back.” He slides the ring into place on Eadwin’s finger. “Now I’ll pray that you never have to give it to me again.” He pulls Eadwin’s hand up, kisses his fingers.

Eadwin stirs twice in the night, glad to find Lucian still beside him. He kisses the back of Lucian’s shoulder, sliding an arm around him. He wakes early, the east-facing window putting the sunlight directly into his eyes.

They eat some of what Mother Robina sent with them and ride out just as the day is beginning to warm. With his bow over his shoulder Lucian really does look like a brigand, only missing a feather in his cap, and if it means other travelers avoid them Eadwin won’t complain of it.

In the morning there are thunderheads on the horizon, and by late afternoon the storm comes crashing down on them, pursuing them into the first village they come across. Eadwin might have pushed on for the next town, but it would be reckless and stupid to ride in this weather, and Lucian makes no complaint about trading a few coins to spend the night in a sheep farmer’s barn. They’re fed on lamb stew and make a bed by throwing a coarse blanket down on the hay while the wind rattles the timbers and the thunder booms overhead, their horses shifting nervously.

Lucian lays with his arms behind his head, watching the lightning flash between the gaps in the barn walls. “When I was a child and frightened of storms, Felix told me it was only the angels sparring in heaven, sparks flying off their swords.”

Eadwin laughs softly. “My mother said the Queen of Heaven was moving her furniture.”

Perhaps for the first time, when Lucian reaches for him it’s only to sleep. He’s not completely immune to the pace of their travel, then. Eadwin holds an arm around his shoulders while the storm rages on. At least no one can follow them in this weather.

In the morning the sheep farmer rouses them when he comes out to milk the cow. He brings them raspberries gathered by his children and boiled eggs and a cut of bread from his wife. He refuses to accept any more payment, so Lucian slips a silver coin into the chicken house before they leave, among the eggs. He’s in a remarkably good mood for someone who slept in a barn, singing to himself and watching the sky as they ride.

Lucian extends an arm to point to the northwest. “Hawks,” he says. “Looks like a mated pair.”

#.

Their third night away from Grenacre they spend at a tavern in a town near Wolfwater. Eadwin thinks the pace must be beginning to wear on Lucian, but he won’t utter a word of complaint. He only grows quieter, slouches a bit more when they sit down to eat. Sleeps heavier.

He perks up when instruments come out and music starts up. Eadwin remembers something Lucian said when they first met, that he loved to dance but was seldom able to. Eadwin leans over to tell him that a woman at the bar has been looking their way, and Lucian should ask her to dance. Lucian looks at him in surprise and confusion. “What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Go on and dance.”

After a little hesitation, Lucian seems to slip quite naturally into the role, sliding over to the woman with that crooked grin and speaking to her a moment before they both go to dance. Watching them, Eadwin can’t really fathom that Lucian insisted on marrying him, on staying with him. There are so many other paths that could have opened up for Lucian if he had chosen differently.

Could still open up to him, if he changes his mind.

After a time, Lucian leaves his dancing partner by kissing her hand and making her turn red to the tips of her ears. He comes back to the table for a drink and says, “You have to dance with me, next time.”

“She’s going to think you’re quite the scoundrel,” Eadwin says.

“You think so?” Lucian asks, grinning. “I thought for sure she’d figure me out.”

“She might have. That might be why she can’t stop looking at you.” Lucian still believes everyone thinks like the people that raised him.

Lucian looks thoughtful, settling back into his seat. “I don’t know anything about the world from this viewpoint,” he says, finally. “I thought—” He looks embarrassed. “I thought no one would really want me if I was like—this.”

“Even me?”

“Well. You knew me before.”

Eadwin touches Lucian’s hand. “Very little here works the way it does in the noble houses.”

Lucian considers him, slides his fingers through Eadwin’s. “So we needn’t hide our attachment?”

“No.”

“And what I am—isn’t particularly remarkable?”

“You’ll always be remarkable,” Eadwin says with a faint smile. Lucian makes a face at him, his cheeks turning pink. “So are you too embarrassed to dance? Is that it?”

“It shows that you have training,” Eadwin says, “and it will absolutely show that I do not.”

“Oh, don’t say it like that,” Lucian says. “Then I might have to teach you.”

#.

Lucian

It’s different when he goes to bed with Eadwin now. He’s different in how he reaches for Eadwin.

He had worried that being stripped down would remind him too much of what he had been, that he wouldn’t be able to help slipping back into Margaret’s skin—but that doesn’t seem to be the case. If anything, he feels even less like her when he’s naked. He moves differently, wants more boldly, and evidently it has some effect on Eadwin because the way he handles Lucian now reminds him of that first kiss in the hospital, when it seemed as if some fire roared up in Eadwin. As if some restraint has come off of him. It’s the animal way they went together in the village before they reached Eagletop, but without the desperation, only the wanting.

The riding is hard. It’s miserably hard, nothing at all like a long day’s hunting. The next day—and Lucian is keenly aware that Felix’s promised reprieve is running out, if they even made it that far without Harry discovering his escape—he has to stop just after noon, to sit in the shade because the heat is too much. He knows Eadwin is worried about him, and he hates to be the subject of worry.

He lets his head fall back against the trunk of the alder tree, listening to the stream burbling past them. “I wish we could have left in the spring.”

Eadwin strokes Lucian’s hair. “Then it’d be the rain.”

They wait out the heat of the day, and just barely make it to Wolfwater before they lose light. Lucian keeps to their room, brooding. Harry will know soon, if he doesn’t already, and he will send whatever men he has crawling all over the kingdom looking for any rumor of his errant sister. If there’s even a chance that someone has recognized him in the last few days, Harry will know what direction they went in.

Eadwin lays down beside him and Lucian curls into his side. “It was Lady Catherine that sent you to Grenacre, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

“I ought to write her a letter of thanks.”

Eadwin laughs softly, pulls an arm around Lucian’s shoulders. “I suspect she’d like her name left out of it.” Lucian props himself up, tracing a hand across Eadwin’s chest. “Tell me about when you were a boy.” He’s been avoiding the subject every time Lucian asks.

Eadwin lets out a long, low breath. He runs a hand down Lucian’s back. “Had we had a church,” he says, “it probably would have been a better place to hide than the woods.” He grimaces and says, “I probably know the nature of a forest as well as you do, but for worse reasons. Gave up on running to my mother’s family, my father would always track me down there.”

He talks about his father, and as ugly as it is Lucian suspects Eadwin is still sparing him the details. The thing that worries him the most, Eadwin says, is that he doesn’t know what his family is like now, and he doesn’t know how they will be received turning up at the door unannounced after so many years.

Lucian strokes Eadwin’s hair, running his fingers through the softening edges where it’s growing longer. He thinks it will soften the severity of Eadwin’s face if it grows too much longer. “I suppose we’ll have to find out.” He bends, kissing Eadwin’s temple.

They are three days out of Wolfwater when they hear the news from some wool traders that—quite unexpectedly—Margaret Beckett has died. There are plenty of rumors as to what, or who might have killed her. That it was by her own hand is a favorite theory, or that she threw herself from the church spire when she found out her lover had either died or abandoned her. At that one, Lucian gets up from the table at the tavern and walks outside into the dark. He can’t tell if he’s laughing or sobbing.

Eadwin follows him out. “Are you alright?”

“I suppose they’re not coming after me,” Lucian says, wiping at his face. “Saints, what a thing to do. I suppose it lets him save face.” A dead disgraced sister is better than a vanished one who ran off with her lover right from under his nose. Lucian lets out a slow breath, feeling at once terribly sad and as though some chain has slipped from his shoulders.

Maybe they’re right, that Margaret is dead. He hasn’t felt the need to wear her name since he took this one. It doesn’t seem right to think of her that way, though. “Go back inside,” he says to Eadwin, “I’ll be alright, I just need a moment.”

Eadwin seems hesitant, but he kisses Lucian’s temple and goes inside. Lucian places both his hands on top of his head, looking up at the dark sky twinkling with stars. Lady Margaret killed her betrothed and then threw herself from the church tower for the loss of her disgraced monk lover, how sad. How romantic. If that rumor grows large enough, someone will write a song about her. A warning tale for girls who don’t want to accept their marriages.

He shakes his head. “Oh, Heavenly Mother, if only they knew,” he murmurs. He lets out a sigh and grasps the moonstone. At least a dead woman can’t be hunted down.

Stepping back inside to the light and warmth of the tavern, he finds Eadwin speaking now to pilgrims. He glances up, some tension going out of his shoulders when he sees Lucian.

Lucian goes over to him, sliding a hand across Eadwin’s shoulder and whispering into his ear, “I’m going to bed. Come up, when you can.”

If this is his afterlife, he will make it into a paradise.

#.

They take a gentler pace now, not riding out quite so early or for so long. They follow the water and wait out the heat of the day on riverbanks and by streams, listening to the birds and the insects and the water rushing over stones. Because he can’t stand to wear a hat unless the sun is in his eyes, streaks of pale gold are appearing on the top layers of Lucian’s hair. Less attractively, the tips of his ears have burned as red as the rest of it.

Eadwin stops when they come upon the place where the water they’ve been following joins a larger river, wide and dark and green even under the cloudless sky. “This is the Penbreak,” he says, “it comes down from the Black Lake in the mountains.” He points downriver, to the northwest. “And that way is home.” He lets out a breath, watching the water.

Lucian reaches out to catch his hand. “Then take me home.”

It takes them another day and a half, riding along the river and following its bends and curves. They camp the night under the shelter of a fallen tree supported by its neighbor. The river grows flatter, muddier, more placid the closer they draw to the end of their journey. Lucian thinks he will not like the fish in this stretch of river very much. The waters in Grenacre were always clear, running through coarse yellow sand.

He has to persuade Eadwin to let him go hunting the morning before they would arrive. “We’re turning up like this, we ought to bring something,” Lucian says. He means: I ought to be able to prove that I’m worth something.

“It’s the chase I don’t like,” Eadwin says. “Or that you’ll get down with a stag who isn’t dead yet and could still hurt you.” It’s the wrong season for taking does, they would have fawns hidden away in the brush.

“I don’t think I’m going to get anything quite so impressive as I did in Eagletop,” Lucian says. “I’ll be careful, I promise. You’ll be with me.”

It’s a long morning following deer trails through the forest. They encounter two small does and pass them by, and Eadwin is trying to persuade Lucian to turn back when they chance across a two point stag. He goes down without much trouble, and Lucian makes no effort to hide how pleased with himself he is. Only when the stag is across the back of his horse do they start toward village.

Eadwin seems uncertain at first, scanning the muddy paths that pass for streets. He points out the burial ground, where indeed the new church is standing. It isn’t large, but on the old mound it stands on it’s quite prominent. He says the place has grown since he left, and it takes him a moment to orient before they start toward the place where his home was.

They draw more than a few eyes. The gazes are wary, suspicious of strangers.

Eadwin stops and gets out of the saddle when he sees the place, so Lucian follows suit. They walk the horses up to the small old house. There’s a fenced in yard, where a handful of scrawny chickens are scratching at the dirt, and a small garden. An tall older woman with long thin arms sits in the yard in a chair, shelling peas into a bowl in her lap, and she looks up as Eadwin stops in front of the gate. Her hands stop.

“I can take the horse,” Lucian says, soft.

Eadwin hands him the reins and opens the gate. “Hello, Mother.” The woman turns in her chair to shout toward the house. “Fortune! Fortune, come out here!”

The woman who appears in the door could be Eadwin’s twin, if Lucian didn’t know better. She looks at her brother for a long moment, and then comes storming down to the gate. She slaps Eadwin across the face and Lucian thinks: even I didn’t hit him that hard. “How many years?” Fortune demands. “How many damned years, Eadwin?”

Eadwin draws in a breath and lets it out. “Thirty-five.”

“Thirty-five years,” Fortune repeats, “and the next I hear you’re disgraced, maybe dead, all because of—” Her eyes slide off Eadwin’s shoulder to Lucian and it looks for a moment as if she’s stuck a lemon between her teeth. “Is that her?”

“He—” Eadwin begins, and then hesitates, looking back at Lucian. Lucian meets Fortune’s unyielding gaze. “I was, once. I’m told she’s dead now.”

Fortune doesn’t seem to quite know what to make of that, and her confusion takes the wind out of her anger.

“Could we stay?” Eadwin asks. “We have nowhere else to go.”

Fortune looks at the stag on the back of the horse. “Bring your horses around to the shed. I’ll have my son put something up so you can deal with that deer.”

Lucian meets most of the members of the house while he’s elbow deep in the deer carcass. Fortune’s son, Will, is named for his late father—Fortune’s second husband. He has three sisters, two older and one younger: Bree, Joan, and Sky. Hanne, Prue’s daughter, has a husband and a son of her own. It’s a house packed to bursting with people already, and Lucian isn’t certain how they can squeeze any more in.

At least they’re all enthusiastic about the prospect of fresh venison. It helps to smooth over the fact that they don’t know what to make of him.

Fortune never stops moving, there’s always something she thinks needs doing and often it means she does not have to be out with the rest of them. Eadwin is telling his mother yes, we plan to stay. He doesn’t know what to say Lucian is to him, when she asks.

“We were married in my home church,” Lucian says, cutting away the last attachments of the hide. “What that makes me we haven’t quite figured out yet.” He looks at Will. “Do you have a scraper for the hide?”

“No,” Will says, even more perplexed by Lucian, “but I can run it over to the Tanners. They’ll buy it fresh.”

“Best hurry then,” Lucian says, folding the hide. “In this heat it’ll rot before you can blink.”

They don’t have the means to store the meat, so Fortune sends out the girls and Hanne’s husband to tell their neighbors to come and eat. Any discussion of Lucian and Eadwin will be put off until afterward. Eadwin helps to cut the carcass into pieces that will roast over a small fire, or fit in Fortune’s soup pot. He does know his way around with a butcher’s knife, but it’s also clear that he’s out of practice. There’s time for that to change, Lucian supposes.

“How are you?” Eadwin asks, quiet.

Lucian sluices blood off his arms with a bucket of water from the well. “Feels like I ought to be asking you that.”

Bits of fat and flesh that are too small to make use of are tossed to the chickens, who snatch them up greedily.

Fortune and Abigayle set to making flatbread, which they pat out and fry in melted deer fat at a remarkable speed. The bustling activity stirs a memory in Lucian, Felix talking about the end of the war, while the kings were busy making treaties and their camps were uneasy, bristling with tension from having recently been fighting each other. It wasn’t until they ate together that they felt they could all go home with respect for their kings’ new treaty, until the next time they went to war. “It’s harder to have an enemy on a belly full of hot food,” Felix said.

Too many people come to that house for Lucian to have any hope of remembering their names. Some bring their own bread, vegetables, sweets. Fortune puts out beer. There is eating and talking and a great many people seem to recognize Eadwin and are pleased to see him back, though when they ask how that came about all he says is that he left the abbey. When they ask who Lucian is, and Eadwin hesitates, Lucian supplies—“The reason he left.” It makes his new neighbors laugh. They can make their own assumptions about what that means.

The stag is stripped down to the bones, which are cracked for their marrow. One man takes a few for his dogs, the rest will go in the river “for the mermaids to chew on.” Every last speck of that stag disappears down someone’s throat, and the horses are marveled at, and Lucian hears someone congratulating Fortune on having a hunter in the house, now. The visitors linger a long time, and Lucian feels so tired. He had imagined that their arrival would let them rest.

Fortune doesn’t speak to him until after dark, when the last of their visitors have gone home and they are clearing everything and a space is being made for Eadwin and Lucian to sleep in. “My brother says it was your idea to bring the stag. Says you killed it.”

Lucian nods. “I didn’t want to come here as a beggar.”

Fortune considers him, making an expression as though there’s something stuck in her teeth that she’s trying to get out. “What’s somebody like you doing coming here with him?”

“I wanted it more than the alternative.”

“What, silks and jewels and servants to wait on you hand and foot?” Fortune asks, incredulous.

“Dying in the birthing bed with a child by a man who hated me, or taking my own life, whichever came first.” Lucian smiles thinly, his patience frayed by weariness. “Never mind that I could have gotten Eadwin killed, too.” Sometimes, when he closes his eyes at night, he sees that murderous look in Wulfric’s eyes again. If Margaret had killed Wulfric, he wonders, would he be locked away for it? Perhaps it would have been less sympathetic, if he killed Wulfric himself after the affair was discovered.

Fortune sighs through her nose, scrubbing the pan she has in the washbasin. “He also says you’re going to have a baby.”

“If everything goes well.” It doesn’t seem to have come unstuck after all that riding.

“You mean to keep this up, then?” Fortune asks. “This walking around as a man.”

“Yes.”

“Hm.” Fortune picks up the pan to dry it and hang it back on the wall. “We could use a hunter in the family. Your belly gets much bigger, though, that’ll be trouble.”

“If we build a smokehouse, we can keep the meat longer.” Smoke is cheaper than salt, and Lucian has never had much taste for pickled meats.

“You know how to do that?”

“I know what they look like.”

“Mm. I asked Walter to bring some feed for your horses, since he and all his sons were here.”

Lucian doesn’t remember who Walter is.

Fortune snaps the rag she was using to dry, tosses it over her shoulder. “Be trouble to keep them over the winter if nobody can use them.”

“Plenty of time for the others to learn how to ride, then.”

Fortune pauses, looking at him with raised brows.

“If someone needs help from a midwife or otherwise, then it would be good if more of the house were able to ride out and get it.” Lucian shrugs his shoulders. “Would justify keeping the both of them. A good horse is too useful to waste.” And either of those horses would be wasted at the plow, which surely has to have crossed Fortune’s mind.

“I suppose it would,” she mutters. She looks at Lucian with that frown again. “I can’t figure you out.”

“How so?”

“I don’t understand why you’d come here instead of staying in some convent.”

“The sisters wouldn’t have been agreeable to me dressing like this and keeping Eadwin in my bed,” Lucian replies.

“Hm,” Fortune says. “At some more decent hour you’ll have to tell me how it is you died.”

She shows him to the narrow room that, for now at least, is the space where he and Eadwin will sleep. Hardly big enough for the makeshift bed, let alone the scant few possessions they brought. It’s near the kitchen, though, so it’s a touch warmer for its proximity to the hearth. Eadwin comes in just after, looking as tired as Lucian feels. They curl up together under the heavy wool blanket, and Lucian tucks his head under Eadwin’s chin. “How are you?”

“Tired.” He strokes a hand down Lucian’s back. “You?”

“Tired.”

#.

Eadwin

The following morning, while Lucian is out tending to the horses, Fortune sits down with him at the kitchen table. “You could have come when Prue died.”

“I should have.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was told I was needed where I was.” Because Wulfwyn had not yet come into the world, and Wulfric was hopeful he would have a legitimate son. He wanted someone on hand to bless the child right away. Wulfric had sulked for days when she came out a daughter. Lady Anna had pleaded with him to say something that would soothe Wulfric’s mood, to reassure him that they would still have a son.

“Were you?”

“Not as much as they would have had me believe.” He sighs, scrubs his face with a hand.

“Would you ever have come back, if it weren’t for him?”

“I don’t know, Fortune.” He doesn’t know what other paths might have opened before him. He knows that he hadn’t had any plans to part with Eagletop until it became a necessity.

His sister rubs at her wrists, which pain her. “I’ll show you where Prue’s buried.” Her eyes settle on his face. “Do you think he’ll stay, when he realizes how hard it can be?”

“I don’t know,” Eadwin says. Then, “I don’t know that he has any other choice.” Lady Margaret is dead, they say of a broken heart. “I do know it was hard getting here, and he never once complained, except about the heat. And I know that when he had every reason to back down from Wulfric, he wouldn’t stop fighting.”

“Is it true he killed the lord?”

Eadwin shakes his head. “No. He seemed to be trying not to.” They haven’t spoken about that day, about why Lucian went for the shoulder, and not the gut. Maybe, for all that he hated Wulfric and had every reason to, he just didn’t have it in him to kill a person. Maybe he hadn’t been pushed far enough.

“You love him?” Fortune asks.

“So much it steals my wits.”

“You never had much of those to begin with,” Fortune says, standing up. Even when she was a child she could never bear to sit still for long. “At least he’s sensible enough to show up here with good meat.”

Eadwin smiles faintly.

“What?” Fortune asks.

“Only that I had a feeling you’d like him better than me.”

#.

Lucian wants to go up to the church to light a candle in thanks for their safe journey. The church is populated with sisters from a handful of different orders, who apparently made some kind of cooperative agreement to build a church here. The priestess they chose is from the Order of the Fields, dressed in pale green habit. Mother Agnes is near sixty, and of a warm disposition.

The plaster statue is small, but nearly everything in this church is small. It’s still a great deal more than they had. The Queen of Heaven is shown as a young woman, one hand stretching up to guide the sun through the heavens, the other reaching down to pull life up from the land, the broken body of Her husband. Her hair streams out behind Her, dark as rich earth. The Maker of the World, in Her act of creation.

The candles are tallow. They each light one, and stand a moment at the altar to pray. Eadwin gives thanks to the Queen and to St. Luce for showing him the way. He begs the angels to keep his family safe. Whatever Lucian prays for, he keeps to himself.

They go out through the burial ground afterward. Eadwin finds his feet can take him to Charlie Rees’ grave without much trouble, the wooden post bearing his name beginning to show its age. After that, he finds Prue’s. How many people, he wonders, are rotting away in the sides of these mounds while the old kings these hills were dug for have long since turned to dust. From the corpse of the Slain Lord and back into it, until your flesh is returned to the grass that feeds the sheep whose wool will clothe and whose flesh will feed your grandchildren’s children. You were made from death, one of the old poets said, and you will walk hand in hand with it until you become part of it once more.

“You look deep in thought,” Lucian murmurs, sliding a hand across Eadwin’s back.

“Now that I’m not trying to get somewhere else,” he says, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself if I’m not getting up every morning for prayers and teaching someone else’s children how to read and say their prayers.”

Lucian laughs softly. “You’ve gotten up early every morning to pray since we left Grenacre. Even I don’t pray that much.”

“Old habits.”

“You’ll have a new child to teach soon enough,” Lucian says. “In the meantime, I suspect Fortune could make and sell her beer for better prices if there were someone to keep books for her.”

He could do that, he supposes. And he can help to build a smokehouse.

#.

Summer eases onward. Lucian goes out nearly every day and fills the table with duck and rabbit. By the time the first chill seeps into the morning air, everyone in the house has rabbit fur to line their shoes.

Eadwin starts a ledger for the brewing, finds his calm in the ordering of numbers. He argues for better prices on the barley and hops, and he argues with Fortune until she agrees to raise the price for the beer. She does not like to be told what to do, particularly not by him. She becomes more amenable after he argues with Lord Andrew’s tax collector, who he is sure has been robbing the house for years. They begin, by starts and stops, to do a little better.

In the tiny room he shares with Lucian, he puts in a shelf for their books, under the black stag hide. They are the only people in the house with any books. One night as Lucian sits by the window and watches the fading light, he says to Eadwin, “For a while I wondered if they weren’t right that Margaret was dead. I didn’t feel like her at all. But I think she’s still there, just—tired, from all that time she had no choice but to carry everything.” He looks at Eadwin and says, “I want you to call me Margaret, tonight.”

He is the only one who calls her Margaret, now. Only when they’re alone, only when she asks for it.

The rest of the time, Lucian is what he is. His middle swells, and those that didn’t guess what he was when they met him are flummoxed by it, but since no one knows how to ask, they don’t ask at all. Though Eadwin doesn’t half wonder how much of that is that they’re afraid of crossing Fortune, who belligerently corrects anyone who calls Lucian she. He heard her ask the barleyman if he’d left his wits out in the field, that he couldn’t see what was before his own eyes.

Fortune says it’s because they haven’t forgotten how much Eadwin used to fight. Former monk or no, they still see him at sixteen with bloodied and bruised knuckles.

They teach the others how to ride and handle the horses. Hanne and Joan take to it the most naturally, Fortune refuses to go near the beasts. Their mother watches from the garden, shelling her peas and beans and clucking her tongue when Will falls out of the saddle again.

He finds that his mother is gentler, without his father. She smiles more, and she seems especially fond of Lucian, who brings her flowers from the meadows and mushrooms from the forest. They eat well. Fortune sews Lucian a winter cloak.

With autumn come the frosts, and after a fierce argument in which it becomes apparent that he cannot stop Lucian, only ride with him, Eadwin follows Lucian out into the woods to take another deer to put away for the winter.

They come back with two old does and fill up their smokehouse. “Now I won’t need to hunt until well after the child is born,” Lucian says, in an annoyed I already told you this voice.

That night Eadwin draws him near and says, “You don’t know how terrified I am that something will happen to you and I’d never know.”

Lucian strokes his cheek. “Fool. I know exactly how terrified you are.”

He is still glad to wake every morning and find Lucian there beside him. Less glad, perhaps, when Fortune looks at him one morning and says, “After about midnight, I start wishing you two liked each other less.”

The rains start. The Penbreak begins to run fuller, closer to the tops of its banks. Lucian grows restless because he can’t go out in the woods. He spends more time taking care of the horses and going up to the church, talking to the Rose midwife there. They can feel the child when it moves, now. It seems stubbornly committed to life, in spite of everything.

They trade some of their venison for salt pork and mutton. Lucian lets out the sides of his shirts. They eat well.

Eadwin starts to know his nieces and nephew. Will is amiable and tries to keep everyone happy. Hanne is like Prue was, shy and thoughtful, prone to moodiness. Bree takes after Fortune so much it’s hard to believe she had a father at all, though she has a better sense of humor than her mother. She works just as hard. Joan has a restless and flighty personality, Fortune fears that she’ll take off with the first man to ask for her hand. Sky wants to learn to read, so she can be educated. He teaches her in the evenings, after the day’s work is done.

Hanne’s husband, Tom, is the loudest person in the house. It would be bothersome, but he and Lucian take to each other immediately for reasons Eadwin can’t entirely fathom. They act as though they’ve known each other their whole lives.

It isn’t the quiet life he had at the abbey, even with consideration for his involvement in Wulfric’s house. This house is noisy, bursting at the seams, and it is… home. Still, his hope is that they can do well enough for themselves to build a bigger house.

At night Lucian ruminates about Grenacre, about his brothers, about Felix. He talks about Felix teaching him to ride, to shoot.

He starts to complain of his back, and it being more difficult to sleep. Eadwin sits up with him one night in the kitchen, while Lucian writes to Felix and waits for the baby to settle. He sends the letter out quietly the next day on a river barge, on a route that will take it through a dozen hands and mean it doesn’t arrive until spring. Lucian doesn’t want Felix to be able to track him down on a whim.

With winter comes the snow, and ice forming along the slower spots in the river. Lucian hardly leaves the house except for mass, because his feet ache. “Heaven help me if I ever let you put me in this position again,” he grumbles. Fortune insists they take her room, which has a proper bed.

Midwinter is celebrated in much the same way it was when he was a boy, only now there’s a church to provide its center. Mother Agnes performs a midwinter mass, and everyone has brought what food and drink they can spare, to be shared around a bonfire in the burial ground, with the moon shining full and fat in the gaps between the clouds. There’s music and singing and dancing, and Lucian is smiling like it’s all the best thing he’s ever seen. When they go home, Eadwin curls around Lucian’s back and holds him close.

The snow deepens, the river begins to freeze over. The moon wanes and waxes again. They eat well.

#original fiction #prose #brother of the moon #botm

[asikubi-soda]

2022 Xmas『1983』

Chapter 1

There is only one window with a light. The residential area is asleep, and a thin moon floats in the night sky. A silent snow scene covered the area.

The houses that are built in a row are long vertically, and the snow that has been falling since this morning is stored on the roofs that are connected. One of them, the window on the second floor, was drawn with a curtain, and the repeated creak of the bed stopped in the magic-covered room in the leaking light. Embracing each other's rough breathing, wiping each other's sweat, putting on shirts and underwear and lying down.

"Not cold?"

Remus Lupine lifted his wand and pointed it at the bedroom fireplace. The room has a fireplace, a sofa in front of it, bookshelves across the fireplace, and a bed under the window on the other side. The December air was pleasant to my burning body, and it gradually melted into the warm room.

Severus Snape, who was looking up at the ceiling next to Lupine, looked back at his beard. Pulling up the comforter that was pushed against the wall, Snape sat up and picked up the notebook on the nightstand. A cane and a bookmark are sandwiched between them.

There is a nightstand next to the bed. Above it lay a table lamp, Lupin's watch, Snape's half-read book, and a glass.

He leans back on his pillow, puts the notebook on his lap and traces the bookmark. Snape looks down next to him. Then Lupine's arms hugged him around his waist and buried his face in his side.

"Is there anything you want?"

"No."

"nothing?"

"Relentless."

Snape groaned in the back of his throat, and Lupine laughed through his nose, inhaling his lovely scent and thinking about it. Snape's knotty hand stroked Lupine's thoughtful hair, reaching down to his beard. This gesture of stroking him to check his length was his habit at this time.

"I'm so happy right now, I can't imagine..."

As Lupine said this, Snape turned his attention from the letters in his notebook to beard face.

"You are."

"yeah?"

"Is there anything you want?"

Lupine looks up at him as he kisses Snape's hand as he pulls away.

"Hmm... I'm really worried, are you going to give it to me?"

"Otherwise, why are you asking?"

"Haha, that's right."

Lupine looked at the hands he kissed and held them together, looking at the bookshelves in the room and an idea. Then he looked up at Snape, who narrowed his eyes.

"How about another new book?"

"you?"

"No, to you."

Snape furrowed his brows, and Lupine smiled happily again.

"Is there a book you want? I'll look for it again."

"I said no."

"I want to give you a present. I don't know what books you don't have anymore. Is there nothing you really want? ”

This bedroom isn't the only book Snape has. The bookshelves in his room on the first floor are filled with the books he has read so far. In addition to that, the vacant room across the street is also filled with things that overflowed from his room.

Looking away from Lupin's expectant gaze, Snape seemed to be thinking about the bookshelves in his room. Lupine looks up at it and wraps his clasped hands as he speaks.

"I'm going to see my parents tomorrow, and I want to go see James after that..."

Lupine also stared at the bookshelf thoughtfully, then saw Snape looking at him.

"...You should stay the night."

Snape furrows his brows and squints, and Lupine smiles and leans beside him, hugging his shoulders.

"Have you decided which book you want?"

Snape more frowned and looked at Lupine.

"Let's go shopping together. I want Lily to buy something and then go to James."

"Do not ignore."

"No, I want to be with you."

They looked at each other, Snape looking away first. He looks down at his notebook and squeezes back Lupin's hand next to it.

"I thought you were going today..."

"Yeah, but since you came home early, I wanted to be with you."

Lupine shook his hand and kissed Snape on the cheek.

"I'm going to see my parents in the morning tomorrow, so shall we meet outside? Where would you like… Hogsmeade? ”

"There are students there."

Snape shook his head, and Lupine frowned in thought.

"Well then..."

"Don't overdo it. I stay home."

Snape lifted up the wand that had been in his notebook next to Lupin, who was seriously thinking. From the sofa in front of the fireplace, quills and ink bottles follow Snape's wand. It landed on the nightstand.

Snape put his wand on his nightstand and grabbed a quill, and Lupine leaned forward to put his wand next to him. Then he looks at Snape and smiles embarrassedly.

"I want to eat the chocolate you bought me."

Lupine muttered, and Snape lifted his head and closed his eyes on his lips that slowly overlapped. After a tender kiss, Snape lifted his eyelids to see the same bearded face staring back at him. Kiss him again and he smiles happily. That's enough, but...

"Chocolate is sold everywhere."

Snape frowned slightly and dipped the tip of his quill into the ink bottle. Lupine had a loose mouth as he stared at his profile.

"together?"

"Even if you buy it and wait here"

"Nope, let's go together."

Lupine hugged me with his hands, and even when he groaned, I put my arms around my waist and didn't leave. The notebook that Snape looked down on was filled with his writings without gaps. It was something he always had when he started teaching at Hogwarts.

“Are you already in class for next year?”

When Lupine asks, Snape looks down at his notebook and sees the grades written next to each student's name. and put a check mark there.

"Starting next year, we will limit the number of students who can receive advanced magic potions. Those who didn't get a good grade in the next owl don't deserve it."

After checking, Lupine blinked in surprise as Snape looked next to him.

"If you can't get good grades, then you can't expect to be a newt. It's going to take a lot of time and effort. It's better to concentrate on other classes than to continue doing boring classes by inertia."

"Well, I guess it depends on the you,professor, but you must be busy. Are you okay?"

Turning to the next page, Snape didn't look up, but added ink to his quill again.

"No problem. This will make things easier again."

“Isn’t there also a job for the dormitory superintendent?”

"It just puts your dormitory first. The penalties are still a bit tricky...but you'll get used to it."

Under Lupine's worried gaze, Snape seemed to be writing additional ingredients for the class' concoctions.

"Rather than say us, shall we tell you what James and the others have been doing? If you don't know...wouldn't it be helpful..."

When Snape stopped his hand and looked up, his eyes met the face that was looking at the notebook.

"If I can help you, I want to be your strength."

The bearded face staring straight at me kisses my cheek and embraces me as if to be considerate. Snape sighs into his arm and tells the truth.

"Penalties are recorded and kept in the castle."

"I see…"

Lupine let out a small sigh of disappointment.

"But if it's a story that slipped through it, it wouldn't hurt to hear it. Besides, I've heard most of the information."

Lupin's face lit up as Snape spoke.

"Haha, you're right. Of course, I'll tell you all about it. James and the others graduated without a hitch. Would you like to keep it to yourself?"

"I promise."

Snape chuckled, and they both laughed, but Lupine felt sorry for his friend.

"Yeah, tomorrow..." Lupine leans forward and looks at his watch on the table with an itchy smile. "No, it's already today. Shall we meet for lunch and talk then? I'll be able to meet James later."

"Yes, do what you like."

Snape snorted and went back to work.

"Yeah, I'll write down the location and send an owl."

To enjoy this time, Lupine lay down again, hugged him, and fell asleep. Snape read his notebook again and looked down at the sleeping face next to him as he heard soft breathing. He dismisses his bangs and puts his hands on his cheeks, but there is no sign of getting up.

He puts the notebook back and places it next to Lupin's wand. Then he puts aside his arm, who seems to be sound asleep, and lies down. As Snape reached out his arm to pull the string of the table lamp, he awoke behind him and was held close to him. Lupine puts his nose into the back of Snape's neck, takes a deep breath, and falls back asleep... before that…

"...good night, Severus..."

#snupin #remus x severus #ルスネ #translation soda #my novel