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illyrian-dreamer · 10 months

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Our girl – Part 2

Azriel x Cassian x Reader angst

Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Reader unwell/not eating, depression and lots of angst.

Keep reading ⬇️

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You slept through any offerings of daylight the next day.

The bustle of the infirmary was a hum to your ears, your exhaustion keeping the world a distance away. Even the healers couldn't stir you when the frequented your room, changing your dressings and checking your pulse.

You woke for a meal of simple broth in the evening, and were glad to have kept it down. You still fought feverish sweats and chills, and the ache in your stomach and chest was persistent. Madja would oversee your care as she had the evening before. She had given one instruction – the more rest, the better.

Night set on the ward again, and you were glad to be enveloped by dim lighting and quieter activity.

Unsure of when sleep had found you, you awoke in an open field. It was bright, the high-pointed sun drenching the landscape in gold, the lake in the distance sparkling and inviting. Familiarity warmed you more than the sun, yet the scene around you remained hazy.

Ears pricking at a ripple of laughter ahead of you, your heart fluttered with excitement. It was instinct to chase that voice, your bare feet pushing from the warmed grass beneath them as you broke into a run. Your skirts kicked beneath you before you hiked them above your knees, both your speed and smile growing.

Ahead was the source of the laughter, a child who also ran, her long locks bouncing with a distinct curl. Meryl. She was no more than 10 years of age, her childish laugh echoing in your ears as your heart pulled at the sight of her.

“Meryl!” you called, continuing the chase, your heels pounding to the ground as you tried to speed up. “Slow down!” You heard your own voice then, also of a child.

The setting around you flooded with detail as a lost memory found you. Your visit to your parent’s good friend in Spring Court, an Uncle of sorts, his charming lake-side cottage where you and your sister would spend hours swimming and playing – and chasing! Of course! Each day you raced to see who would reach the lake first, and Meryl had always been that little bit faster.

Meryl responded with another laugh, so innocent and carefree, as a child should be. You reached a hand out, your heart pounding as you struggled to catch up. You ached for one more chance to speak with her or to hold her, or even to see her face. But she bounded onwards without ever turning her head.

A harsh breeze blew from behind, and the golden glow of the once-memory quickly turned grey and harsh as a storm threatened the sky. The water of the lake was now violent, thrashing with unforgiving waves. You halted your run, yet Meryl bound forward, her laughter drowned by the roar of the wind.

“Meryl!” you called again, your voice now of your adult self, urgent and panicked. As you tried to resume running, you almost toppled over, your hands catching you before you could fall. Something had anchored your bare feet to the ground.

With a yell of frustration, you tried to pry your legs free. Up ahead, your sister’s figure grew smaller, her direction set for the dangerous waters.

“Please! Meryl stop!” Tears began to well in your eyes as you fought to free yourself. You saw them then, the swirls of shadows that kept your legs pinned and unmoving.

“Wha-? Get off me!” You frantically clawed at them, but instead they climbed your arms too, forcing you to the ground.

Hands were on you then, tugging at your clothes and pulling at your limbs. Shadows mixed with siphons blue and red, and swirls of night clouded your vision, between it peeks of Meryl slipping further and further away. You clutched at the roots of the grass, desperate to pull yourself free.

“Stop! I have to save her!” you begged, your voice breaking with despair. But those hands were unrelenting, so strong in their grip as you tried to summon your power. That too rendered useless, cracking to a quick fizzle without so much as a sting.

Before you could call one final plea to your sister, shadows and hands and magic smothered your mouth, drowning your cry in their hold. All you could do was watch in horror as Meryl dived beneath the thrashing waves before your vision was overcome with smoke and night, and finally black.

————

Azriel and Cassian watched as you writhed in your cot, the feverish sweat on your brow glowing in the soft fae light of the infirmary wing.

“What’s wrong with her?” Cassian whispered, his face etched with concern as he stepped closer to you. He gingerly bought a callused hand to your cheek, running one gentle stroke down the length of it.

Azriel’s frown deepened as he heard your sister’s name muttered on your lips, followed by a whimper and ragged breaths. “It’s a fever dream.” he answered, his arms folded as he kept to the edge of your cot.

Cassian looked down at you, noting the tears that stained your cheeks.“We shouldn't have come here,” he said, his jaw tight from guilt. “She’s still unwell, we should let her rest.”

He and Azriel had easily snuck into the ward, winnowing straight past the few healers on night shift, and even slipping past Madja who was buried in paperwork at the desk near the entrance of the infirmary. But now Cassian eyed the door, just as eager to leave.

Azriel was only half listening to his brother as he commanded his shadows. They climbed at the base of your cot, swirling inwards as they found their way to your face and limbs, cooling you as you continued to stir, now a little more gently. Azriel did not show his satisfaction as he watched you sigh, finding some comfort in their touch.

The sound of a curtain being harshly drawn caused the males to jump, revealing an incredibly unimpressed Madja. Azriel cursed himself silently, having used all of his shadows to soothe you without setting guard to the room.

“I don’t want to hear your sorry excuses,” she said coldly to the males, pushing past them and setting a pale next to your bed. She shooed Azriel’s shadows as if they were a mutt on the street, and they quickly scattered back to their master.

“How is she doing?” Cassian asked, eyes pleading.

“I will not disclose that to you,” the healer answered tightly. Wringing the towel within the pale, Madja wiped the sweat from your brow. Your stirring had stopped at least, and you seemed to have found a deeper slumber than before. Madja sighed now, before casting a half look to the boys. “She’s improving, but is still quite weak.”

The males nodded, your sickly skin, limp body and slick hair as evident as the healer’s prognosis.

“Do I need to have words with the High Lord and Lady of their emissaries overstepping my regulations?” Madja asked without looking their way, wringing the cloth yet again before pressing it to your neck and bust. “Not to mention violating patient privacy,” she added.

Cassian hung his head low. “I’m sorry. I don't know what we were thinking.” Azriel refused to look at the healer, his eyes never leaving you.

Madja continued to care for you in silence, allowing Cassian and Azriel to grovel for a few more moments. Picking up the pale, she made to leave your bedside before answering the males. “I have worked with enough Illyrian’s to know of your possessive nature. But I won't be so forgiving if she wakes to find you here. Already your scents have caused more harm than good. She must not know you came, it will only upset her and might unravel her progress.”

“She’s that upset with us?” Azriel asked, his gaze beyond the healer before him, still fixed on you.

“Yes,” she answered plainly. Neither of the males knew what to say. “Now leave, before I regret showing any patience for boyish brutish idiocy.”

Azriel took the risk of another tongue lashing to send a final shadow to caress your cheek, before clasping his brother’s arm and winnowing back to the House of Wind.

————

You were kept at the infirmary for another four nights without any further disturbance from your family. They asked to visit, of course, practically begging through letters and pleas to Madja. But each of their requests were left unanswered, and you too buried your need to have them by your side while you healed.

It gave you time to think of a plan – you could not stay at the infirmary forever. When you had first moved the Velaris, while training as a spy, you lived in a small apartment in the cliffs that faced the Sidra. You hadn't visited there in almost a decade, but your once-home was written to your name, and vacant.

Madja insisted on settling you in, helping you climb the stairs to your room as fatigue still lingered.

Prying the stiff wooden door open, you almost smiled at the sight of your old home. A mattress lay on the floor in the corner of the room just as you had left it – you had never been able to afford a frame on training wages. A small chest of drawers was pushed up against the wall, and the kitchenette was lined with those charming blue tiles just as you remembered.

You were thankful Madja had sent a maid ahead of time, and while the musk of an unused apartment lingered, you were glad to not have to dust in your current state. The small fireplace contained fresh logs of wood which meant there was no urgent trip to the markets either.

“This is it,” you spoke more to yourself as you ran a hand along the kitchenette before making your way over to the chest, prying a stiff drawer open.

Madja was less than impressed. “Child, perhaps you would consider more comfortable accommodation? One where the bed is not on the floor?”

“I’ll be fine here,” you answered, distracted as you searched through your old drawers, finding them empty.

“The High Lord and Lady have offered to accommodate you elsewhere–”

“I don't want their help,” you snapped, shoving the drawer back into the chest with notable anger.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. “You don't need to suffer at the cost of their mistakes, Y/N.”

You sighed then, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I won't accept their fortune any longer. This home is mine, I worked hard for it. I will be perfectly fine here while I figure out a plan.”

Madja nodded, scanning the room once over. “Do not forget to take your medicine,” she lectured before turning to the door, knowing better than to linger. There was no remedy for how quiet the apartment fell when she left, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Mustering the little energy you had, you set your kettle to boil, waiting patiently for the steam to whistle from the tin, the only sound to fill the apartment beyond the distant hum of the town below.

After a few sips of tea, exhaustion found you again. Setting the mug of tea aside on the cold wooden floor, you crawled into bed, pulling the too-thin covers over your head and leaving your drink unfinished. With your back to the world that beckoned outside, you faced the wall instead, tracing a crack that ran across its length.

How motivated you had felt when you first moved here. At the time, you were grieving Meryl of course, but you had a plan – a one way ticket to ensure a balance in the world, to fight for some sense of justice. Never had you thought it could fail so miserably.

So you traced that crack with a weak finger, remembering your sister, mourning her with a fresh wave of pain.

Grief continued to weigh heavy on your chest the following few days. You had intentions on visiting the market, buying some food and sustaining yourself while you made a new plan. But instead you felt anchored to your mattress, the idea of cooking and bathing and facing the outside world completely overwhelming. Instead, cups of tea brewed only to be left untouched, yours eyes heavy as you watched the steam rising from the mug swirl and dance, and by the time it finally cooled you were already asleep.

And the cycle continued. In the moments you had the strength, you wept. And in the moments you didn’t, you slept.

It was after five days that Madja visited to replenish your medicine. The healer opened the door to your apartment when her knocks went unanswered, casting the first bit of natural light in the room in days. With your back facing outwards, you didn’t stir as she walked over and immediately collecting the assortment of mugs on the floor.

“Have you left this room at all?”

You offered a small shake of your head, unable to lift it from your pillow, your eyes red and stiff with dried tears.

“Have you eaten?”

Your stillness was her answer. Madja sighed. “Well we simply can't have that. I understand a loss for appetite, so I will bring some additional brews to keep you sustained.”

“I don't want them.” It took all your strength to turn over your shoulder and look at the healer, your voice hoarse having gone days without speaking.

She simply shook her head as she looked down at you. You do not have a choice, her expression read.

“Might you try to get some fresh air? Or bathe? I can assist with both if you–“

But you were already turning your shoulder to the wall, immediately exhausted at the thought of leaving your bed. “I’ll do it tomorrow Madja,” you sighed. “I’m too tired in this moment.” You didn't have the energy to wonder if she bought your lie or not.

The healer said nothing as she closed the door quietly behind her.

————

“I’m concerned for her wellbeing.” Madja sat opposite the High Lord and Lady in their study, a large willow desk between them. Rhys sat with his hands laced together tightly, a deep frown etched on his face. Feyre beside him held a sleeping Nyx, doing her best to not stir the babe while she exchanged looks of deep concern.

“She isn't eating. She barely drinks a thing, and has failed to take much of her medicine. If she continues at this rate, she will fall much more ill.”

“What can we do?” Feyre asked gently, stroking Nyx’s hair while he snoozed at her chest.

“I don’t suggests interfering at this stage. I am only here to warn you of my concerns.”

“And what happens if she worsens?” Rhys asked, his violet eyes holding the stare of the healer in front of him.

“I will call for you then. I hate to suggest the use of your daemati abilities, but if it comes down to life or death…” Madja trailed off, her hands clamping even tighter in her lap.

“We understand,” Rhys responded with a single nod, casting a knowing look to his mate. “Thank you for coming here, Madja.”

The healer stood to leave. “Do not thank me. Again, I am clear to not involve myself in what has occurred between you and Y/N. I am here purely as her healer.”

The High Lord and Lady stood too, seeing her to the door.

“Please keep us informed, and if there is anything that we can provide,” Feyre added quickly, almost desperate to convey her care.

Madja responded with a tight nod, turning to leave. And had she left only moments earlier, she would have found two Illyrians by the door, overhearing the entire conversation. But they were already on their way.

————

Lost again in deep sleep, you didn't stir as the Shadowsinger and General entered your apartment, Azriel’s shadow’s having easily pried the lock open.

The sight of your trembling figure curled up on the mattress pulled at both their hearts, your hands fisted at the covers with deep yet disturbed sleep.

Azriel stealthily made his way across to the bathroom, the sound of running water soon filling the room. With no dining table or chair in sight, Cassian set the meal they had bought in the small kitchen before quietly approaching you. He knelt down on two strong knees, brushing the backs of his fingers against your cheek before gently shaking you.

“Y/N, wake up doll, it’s us,” he spoke with a hushed voice.

Stirring slightly, you were slow to wake, blinking through the darkness as you were sure you were still dreaming. But as your eyes cleared, the large figure in front of you revealed itself – wings tucked in, hair pulled back in a signature bun, leather strapped up to his knuckles. Cassian was the definition of strength met with comfort, and it took you a few moments to come to your senses.

Your body froze before you sat up quickly, shoving his hands off of you. “Wh-wh?” you stuttered, your eyes dancing between his.

Cassian raised his palms in surrender. “It’s alright, don't panic. We’re just here to help you with a few things.”

Your found your voice then, deep from within your chest, hoarse and broken from days of crying. “Get out,” you spat.

Azriel appeared from the bathroom, watching from the doorway. You flashed your eyes to his, rage quickly filling your veins. How dare they intrude.

“We just want to make sure you’re all right sweetheart, and then we’ll go,” Cassian reasoned. He stood now, offering you his hand.

Days without eating meant the hurry you stood in caused your head to spin, black dots now dancing in your vision. But you held your ground, your voice even icier than before. “I said get out.”

“C’mon doll, let us help you for five minutes.”

“You’re idea of help undid everything I ever worked for.” You shoved at his chest, and he let you push him a few steps back, your hands trembling as you pulled them back.

“Y/N when was the last time you ate?” Azriel’s voice was gentle too, your vision reeling as you whipped your head to glare in his direction. Shaking your head, you curled your hands to fists. It was none of their business.

“Please, sweetheart,” Cassian reached for you then, which earned another shove from you.

“No Cassian! No! Do you understand you have done? Did you even consider what would happen when you decided I wasn't good enough?”

“It wasn’t like that Y/N. We had to keep you safe.” Azriel stayed by the bathroom door, his arms now crossed as shadows slowly seeped on the wooden floor towards you.

Days of isolation and exhaustion had tears pricking at your eyes already. “You are cowards. And I want nothing to do with either of you.”

“Please Y/N–,” Cassian tried one more time.

“Get out of my life.” You had never uttered words so cold. You shoved the General again, but this time he stayed put. Your gritted your teeth, seething at him. “You broke me!”

Cassian looked down at you, his brow pulling in sorrow.

“You shattered my world.” Another unsuccessful push, and you were crying. “Now I have nothing, I am nothing.”

Both of them watched you as your face crumpled, your anger rising as you punched at Cassian’s chest, too weak to cause any harm. “I hate you!”

Cassian’s eyes welled as he stood still, taking the beating without so much as a flinch. “We’re so sorry,” he whispered.

You shook your head, ignoring his apology as you began pounding against him with weak fists. “I hate you both!”

Tears now rolled down the General’s cheek as he let you continue your assault. “We’re so so sorry Y/N.”

You kept shaking your head as Cassian caught both of your wrists, holding them as he took to one knee in front of you.

“We love you,” Cassian cried, prying your fist open and kissing your palm, kissing up your arm, his thumb stroking your hand in the way he knew soothed you. “Please forgive us.”

You broke at his plea. He was a good male, they both were. But they had turned your heart to stone, turned you to someone so damaged, so unrelenting and unforgiving, someone you never wanted to be. You were a monster of their own making, and there was no undoing it. Sobs racked through your body, and it took everything you had not to crumble to the ground.

Azriel was behind you then, his shadows curling around your exposed skin, soothing you where they could. You did not fight him, not as he took your hands from Cassian, not as he too kissed your tears away while murmuring his own apologies, not even when he lifted you from under your knees, carrying you to the bathroom. You hated him, your mind screaming at you to yell and hiss and spit, to swear him from your home and from your life. But in this moment, where exhaustion and isolation loomed, you had no more fight to give.

Azriel didn’t speak as he undressed you before placing you in the tub. You were still crying as he washed you, scarred hands so attentive to your body, the sound of water sloshing and pouring over your head mixing with your laboured breaths. You kept your knees to your chest, your head turned away, but you let him scrub you clean.

He gently pulled you from the tub into a fresh towel, wrapping you in the soft cotton before lifting you again. Your apartment had come to life with a small fire Cassian had lit, low flames flickering with warmth.

Azriel moved to sit on the bed, keeping you bundled in his lap. Cassian was crouched in front of you, his hands holding a vial of stew, the steaming contents bought to your mouth on a spoon.

“Eat this,” Cassian said gently. You wanted to be stubborn, to fight them more than the pathetic amount you already had. But your stomach cramped with hunger at the scent of the stew, and you were to weak to refuse it. So you let Cassian feed you, your body growing more and more slack the fuller your stomach became. A vial of medicine was quickly tipped against your lips too, and you swallowed its contents with a small whimper.

In your exhausted haze, your hardly noticed Azriel dress you in fresh clothes, even braiding your hair before he lay you down, pulling the covers over your.

Cassian and Azriel were watching you as you fought your sleep, heavy eyes lifting to find them.

“I meant what I said.” Your voice was a mere whisper

They exchanged a look, before Cassian crouched to pull the covers closer to your chin. “We know.”

There was a beat of silence. “I want you to leave me be.”

“Not until you start taking care of yourself,” Azriel spoke, his voice soft yet strict. You didn't have any energy to fight back, to tell him he could blame himself for the spiral you had entered.

“Go,” your rasped before turning your back to them, enticed by the comfort of sleep with a full belly, clean clothes and warm apartment.

“Rest up Y/N.” Cassian’s words were a lullaby you couldn’t fight.

“We love you,” Azriel added, and the last thing you felt was the caress of cool shadows at your neck before you drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

————

Waking to sunlight, you felt notably stronger than you had in days. You knew it was because of the care Azriel and Cassian had provided, which frustrated you to your core.

Azriel’s words rung clear in your mind. They would not leave you be until you started to take care of yourself, so you would leverage the strength you had to come up with a plan.

It only took a few days for your Uncle to reply. Yes, he still had his home by the lake. Yes, you could stay with him as long as you needed. There was work to be done in Spring Court, rehabilitation and building after Hybern had depleted almost every resource from the lands, Tamlin not yet strong enough to recoup his court after the war. You could find sanction there, help others and distract yourself with work. And most importantly, distance yourself from the people you once loved.

With your next steps laid clear, you sent a letter to the River House, asking for one final favour.

————

Rhysand was waiting at the River House terrace alone as promised. Cloaked in signature black, he watched the stars dance in the night sky with a gentle grip on the railing, his back to you as you approached.

This was the same terrace that had hosted many evening drinks, jokes and conversations shared with your family, and even offered the much needed escape away from the buzz of various balls and celebrations. A twinge of pain stabbed at your heart at those memories. Today, it was just a terrace, a mere meeting point before you stepped towards your new life.

It was unsurprising Rhys had heeded your instruction to meet you alone, you knew he would do it. You wondered if he lied about his whereabouts, or if he instead warded your presence from the others. He had likely hidden your scent from Cassian and Azriel, but what about his mate?

Saying goodbye to Feyre and Rhys at the same time had felt far too painful, impossible even. While they were equals, High Lord and Lady as well as mates, they were still very different beings. Feyre was too forgiving, too caring and loving to have reached this point on her own. It needed to be Rhys, you needed to direct this at someone who could take it, someone who deserved it.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, turning now, hands sliding to his pockets. You ignored his question, stopping a few paces away. Tension hung heavy between you.

“Thank you for meeting me,” you said tightly. Rhysand didn't speak, but offered an arm to the seating behind you. You sat down silently, your last act of obedience.

“I can no longer serve the Night Court,” you said plainly.

Rhysand didn’t flinch, wise enough to have known this was coming. “That does not mean you don't have a home here,” he answered calmly, as if that logic was reason enough to stay.

You shook your head stubbornly. “Please accept my resignation.”

Rhysand sighed then, leaning forward on his elbows to level a look at you. “I’m aware, Y/N, and I accept. This formality isn’t necessary.”

You knew that, it wasn't why you were here. Rhysand waited patiently for you to continue.

“I need a favour.”

“Anything,” he responded almost instantly.

“I need you to let me leave.”

Rhysand sat back now, a small frown pulling at his brow. “The choice has always been yours.”

Shaking your head, you looked up at the High Lord. “I don't trust that wherever I go, I won't be followed.”

Rhysand raised his brows.

“After recent events, I know Azriel and Cassian won't allow me that freedom.”

Rhysand let out a quick breath before nodding once, violet eyes finding the nights horizon. “I’ll ask them to adhere to your wishes.”

“As if that is enough,” you bit back, ice laced in your tone. “Pull rank, use your power, lie or cheat or trick, I don't really care. Just make it happen, it’s the least I deserve.”

Rhysand breathed quietly as he studied you. “Consider it done,” he said finally.

Gratefulness was an instinct, but you stubbornly bit down your thanks. Instead, a moment of silence fell between you.

“Where are you going?” Rhys pried.

“Do not ask me that.”

“I care for your safety.”

“I don’t want your care.”

Rhysand audibly sighed then, one hand reaching at the distance between you, finding place on the chase. “Tell me, Y/N. Say it out loud.”

You flashed your eyes to him. He looked back at you, his expression worried, concerned, pitying. Gods you hated that look.

“There is no point,” you said coldly, struggling to hide the grit of your teeth.

“I can take it,” he said softly.

Rage coursed through you at an uncontrollable speed. “You think I'm sparing you?” You let out a cold laugh, moments away from that savage, lethal switch, your power now stinging at your fingertips.

“I think you’re far from having faced the truth.”

A snarled escaped you, and you could feel your power surge, igniting your irises with a brilliant yellow. Had you not been so blind with anger, you might have realised this was exactly what Rhysand intended.

“It’s the truth you seek then?” you began. “How about the fact that you have plagued my heart with more hate than I ever believed possible. Shall I tell you of the shame that haunts me day and night that I let myself trust you for all these years? Or that I was naive enough to think I could find another family after Meryl’s death? But it would seem the only family I have is dead, and it has in fact always been that way. You broke me Rhys, you all broke me. I was a fool to have loved you so dearly, and ignorant to believe you ever loved me in the same way.”

Hot, angry tears streamed down your face, washing away the current that glowed in your eyes. Pressing a hand against your heart, you tried to smother the ache that throbbed at your confession. “You preach of a better court, one of choice and freedom and honour. But you snatched that away the moment it was mine for the taking.”

Rhys had kept his eyes on you, his face breaking with a little more sorrow at each sentence you spoke. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re absolutely right.” He waited a moment before placing a gentle hand on your knee. “Mother above cannot convey how sorry I am Y/N.”

You shook your head, tears welling and blurring your vision. It wasn't enough, you knew that, and Rhys knew it too.

His voice was even more gentle as he leaned forward. “I love you Y/N. Well all love you.”

Your voice was small now. “Not in the way I loved you. Not in the way family should love one another.”

“I disagree,” he countered. “You have to understand, as your High Lord, I would never send you to your death knowingly.”

“I wouldn't have died in vain,” you quietly, breaking his gaze with a flicker of shame. “All I ever wanted was a chance to make things right.”

You shocked yourself with the weight of your words, the extent of your willingness to avenge Meryl was something you hadn't even admitted to yourself. You would have died with content knowing you had at least tried to kill Alvar. But Rhys had seen that in you, well before you understood it for yourself. And together your family decided instead to keep you safe.

“I was hoping your motivation no longer overthrew your will to live,” Rhys admitted. With a deep sigh he cupped your chin in a parent-like way. “Look at me.” Whether you liked it or not, your eyes found his.

“Imagine I had taken the time to let you kill Alvar and instead he escaped, and innocent Velarians were hurt because of it – would you forgive me for putting your needs above their safety?”

Your eyes welled. “How could you ask me that Rhys?”

“I’m not trying to upset you. I’m just trying to show you the weight of the decision I had to make.” He offered you a broken smile, reaching to swipe away a tear that rolled down your cheek. To your own surprise, you let him.

“That is not the only issue here.” Your voice was thick, your throat strained as you contained the sob that jerked within. “You’ve asked me to see it from your perspective, now please consider mine. You collectively decided that the mission would be kept a secret. You banded together to act dishonestly, knowing it would ruin me. How can I ever trust you again? How am I supposed to see you as my family?”

Rhys closed his eyes as his brows gave a painful tug, a deep breath pushing out through his nose. A large hand rested gently on your knee, his thumb swiping in a sympathetic way.

“I’ll admit Y/N – I knew that this would hurt you, but I never thought we’d lose you entirely.”

You sniffed. “Then you underestimated me.”

Rhys’s violet eyes found yours, sincerity and admiration shining in the stars that beheld them. “I did. I absolutely did.” He took another deep breath before speaking. “I’m a fool to have underestimated your loyalty, your dedication and your bravery. Over 500 years in existence, and I should have known that was never mine to control.”

You stared back at him, and while the ache in your heart was far from cured, a small sense of calm washed over you. It was relief you desperately needed – to finally be understood. “Thank you for saying that,” you croaked.

Rhys watched you with a pained smile. “I only want good things for you Y/N, wherever you choose to be. You will always have a home here if you want it, if you can ever forgive us for what we did.”

And in those words, a new well opened in your heart, one that you had not seen coming.

Hearing Rhys acknowledge your decision to leave the Night Court was devastating, so much so that your hand instinctively pressed agains your heart again. There would be no more fighting or pleading, no more fists thrown or cries of rage and confessions of love. He would let you go, because you had asked it. It was the least you deserved, yet it hurt in an entirely new way.

Ahead of you, the path of solitude lay clear. You had fought for it without any idea how painful it would be to take that first step. You couldn't help the sob that escaped you as you dropped your head to your hands.

“I never wanted to leave,” you admitted through ragged breaths.

Rhys bought a gentle hand to your back. “Then stay.”

“I can’t! I can’t stay here. I am so angry with you, all of you! And I don't think I’ll ever be strong enough to forgive this, not fully.” Your cries were uncontrollable as you tried to quiet them with your hands.

Rhys was stroking your hair as he said ever so softly. “I know.”

You sniffed, blinking up at your High Lord. “There’s nothing left for me here.” There was a cold bite to your words, even as you let him comfort you.

“I know,” he repeated with that same softness and understanding.

You watched him for a moment longer. Here he was, everything you needed in a High Lord – a leader and a friend, saying all the right things in all the right ways. But he was flawed, like anyone, and that flaw had been your downfall.

“I will be leaving Velaris tonight. Please, don't ask for my whereabouts. I need… I need a clean break.”

Rhys brow twitched before he nodded tightly. “You have my word.”

Gathering yourself, you stood to smooth your skirts before looking up at your High Lord for the final time. “I will miss Nyx dearly.”

Pain sliced across Rhysand’s face in a way you had never seen, tears immediately pricking at his violet eyes. He swallowed, containing himself still. “I wish it could have been any other way Y/N, truly.”

“As do I.”

And that was all that could be said. You turned from him, pacing towards the exit while casting your eyes to the magnificent array of stars, searing the Velarian night sky to memory as you admired its beauty for the final time.

“You must know!” Rhys spoke out, a hint of urgency in his tone. “It was fear Y/N. It was fear of losing you, not ever a lack of love.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you nodded once, a broken smile on your lips. “I know,” you spoke, biting back the quiver in your lip. “I know that now.”

And you let those words be your last at the Court of Night.

--------

Part 3>>>>

AN: Thank you so much for your patience with this, I hope you guys like it! ❤️

YES there will be a Part 3. Update: Part 3 is out. I’m super keen to explore how things go for the Reader in Spring Court, and maybe even weave in a little bit of redemption for a certain blondey?? Besides, there are still some things that have gone unsaid between the Reader and the boys... and she needs to figure out these powers! Watch this space 👀

Comment to my tag list (either general or for Our girl) 😊

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sunboki · 2 months

Text

— KEEP IT BUSINESS. TEASER a Lee Minho fiction

Lee Minho x f. reader

TROPE. best friends to lovers, coworkers! au, first kiss..? au (hehe), domestic minho (what’s new) who is sooo soft for reader :(

WARNINGS. cursing, making-out?? annoying coworkers (lol)

WORD COUNT. around 5k-6k words

AUG'S NOTES. really really love minho so so much you don’t understand i’ve officially gone bonkers i- 😭😭 …if you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to send an ask/dm/comment!!!

SYNOPSIS. Life can be a mess, and with you and Minho as the only two singles in your office building, an impertinent Valentine’s day leaves no choice but to make a pact.

or alternatively :

If we’re still single by twenty-five, we date each other.

Four years.

It’s been four years since you first met Lee Minho, working with him at the same company, becoming the best of friends. And yet, the same dread lay specially reserved for the same season.

The season of love, or, to most people, Valentine’s day.

Alarm set for 6:30AM. Work from 8:30AM to 4PM. Every day of the week, every year.

Initially, the experience was relatively enjoyable. It paid well, wasn’t too harsh on hours, and other coworkers minded their own business (at least in your case) without being a pain.

Then the loneliness set in.

It was subtle at first, a tiny pang in your heart when you returned home to a dark, cold apartment while others would be greeted by a pet, a loved one.

So when Lee Minho, a new member of the company assigned as your apprentice came along, you tend to think meeting him was, in a weird, spontaneous manner, meant to be.

And four years later, when he had grown from that apprentice-ship and became established as an employee, you still hold onto that “meant to be” philosophy.

Busied chatter fills the downstairs cafe, familiar faces alike brimming with conversation, breath coffee-stained.

Peering across the various assortment of tables, you spot him, two identical cups in each hand, wearing that bemused expression as usual.

At this point, Minho has memorized your order by heart, arriving early after his daily stop by the nearby animal shelter (whose manager knew by heart). Most morning’s you’d await a picture of the newest addition to the feline section, a photo he proudly shows off like his own trophy.

You’re genuinely surprised his residence isn’t a constantly growing cat-kingdom.

“Looking forward to it?”

Brows furrowing, you sidle to his right and dish the warm beverage into your grasp.

“Looking forward to wha— wait wait don’t say it. I want to pretend it doesn’t exist.” Hurriedly waving your hands, Minho cracks a grin.

The cursed word in question being: Valentine’s day.

You can’t say you hate it. It never did anything to you, nor did it leave you heartbroken. To put it simply, the office over the first few weeks of February was a close-resembling spinoff to Singles Inferno except, much spicier and way too inappropriate in broad daylight.

Meaning, for the past five years (four joined by Minho), merely mentioning said season of love urges impending dread and deep frowns.

“All I’m gonna say is I would not want to be a doctor over Valentines,” You wince, sipping the warm drink with a squeamish face.

Minho sighs vehemently, propping an elbow against the computer cart behind him.

“I bet you could witness more vibrators in that hospital than in an Adam and Eve,” He grumbles, watchful eyes surveying the daily crowd occupying tables and chairs in the building’s downstairs café.

Slamming a fist to your chest to correct your breathing, your eyes practically bulge from your skull, evidently caught of guard.

Leave it to Minho to make you suffocate before your shift even begins.

8am is prime time for socialization—otherwise before Mrs. Song decides to unleash her wrath on newbies. She has good intentions, sure, but let’s just say most anyone was petrified upon first meeting her.

Luckily, your department with Hyeongmi, Minho, and Felix was secluded on the far side of the building, leaving you out of the woman’s hair, free to work as you please.

Yet, Mrs. Song wasn’t the problem, not when it came down to the month of February.

Your phone’s alarm signaling to start moving momentarily wards off the thought, and either of you begin toward the elevator, flat expressions describing the sinking feeling better than words.

Back at it, again.

Because by your lunch break, you can’t fathom entering the cafeteria, not if it costs you your life.

Everywhere you look someone is making out, confessing their love, or, worst you’ve seen it all day, genuinely fucking in the bathrooms.

Perhaps you’d send Minho a text you’re making an escape by eating in the office, invite him up for some solace.

Except, it seems he had the same idea.

Scrambling through the door, you enter at the same time, heaving sighs of exasperation upon securing much needed privacy.

Making prolonged eye contact, your thoughts come spilling out.

“If I witness another make-out in the stairwell I’m ending it all.”

“Boxes of chocolates are officially ruined for me now.”

Four years and it never gets old. Same old painful memories, same old excitement for the day to come and go. And it’s not like you hate the holiday itself, you two just.. heavily dislike the immense bucketloads of PDA and office hookups that come along with it.

Not-so-gracefully flopping down onto your chairs, you practically shovel food down, gladly accepting the few rolls of gimbap Minho places onto your plate.

Customary sharing. You give him some of your food, he gives you some of his.

In those brief minutes of silence do you get the opportunity to fully comprehend your own thoughts, prior to Minho clearing his throat.

“Drinks at my place?”

Your grown loudly in agreement.

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averagewriter-inthedark · 3 months

Text

Me & The Devil P.1 🌘| Harry Potter Imagine

Set during Order of the Phoenix to DHP2

Harry Potter Masterlist | Part 2 Here

Characters & Pairings: Black!Sister reader x HP characters (platonic)

Content Warnings: death, violence, profanity, angst, slight cannon divergence, mentions of torture and blood, set during the book timeline of the 1990s | female!reader (she/her) | wc: 6k

Requested 📨 yes/no

Premise: Everyone has light and dark inside them. That’s what Sirius told Harry that night in Grimmauld Place. It was how one chooses to act that sets the stone of who they are as a person. It’s something Harry has to remind himself when he encounters Sirius’s cousin, the youngest of the Black sisters, Y/n. After 14 years in a cold, dark cell, Y/n’s accepted she no longer believes in angels. And the Devil himself wouldn’t want to cross her

Note: this is part 1 to a 2 part imagine where I had the idea that Sirius had another cousin, Bellatrix & Narcissa's youngest sister who has quite the age gap between them and was forced to become a death eater but has no loyalty to either side since both failed her. Part 2 should be out later this week so i hope you enjoy this!

—————————

The floors of 12, Grimmauld Place creaked beneath Harry’s shoes as he entered the room at the end of the staircase he had been following Hermoine and Ron down. What drew his attention in the first place was the wallpaper. A green based mural branching out in the form of a tree. As Harry got closer he made out the portraits embedded into the wall, as were their names, birthdates and date of death if they’d passed. Some areas were black, covering up the picture seated above the name.

Harry flinched back upon notice of the house elf, Krecher, nestled inside the room. He mumbled something he couldn’t quite make out, then said, “Harry Potter. The boy who stopped the Dark Lord. Friend of mudbloods and blood traitors alike.” Unsure of what to say, Harry just stood looking down at the elf in silence. “My poor mistress--.” A loud voice cut him off.

“Kreacher!” It belonged to Sirius. “That’s enough of your bile.” Waving a finger, he dismissed the elf. “Away with ya!”

Clasping his hands, Krecher lowered his head, “Of course, Master. Kreacher is pleased to serve the Noble House of Black.” He stalked off and away from the two. Passing Sirius on his way out.

Entering the room, Sirius gave an apologetic look, “Sorry about that. He never was very pleasant--even when I was a boy.” There was a slight pause, “not to me.”

Surprise took over Harry’s face, “Wh-wha-you grew up here?”

“This is my parents' house,” his Godfather explained, “I offered it up to Dumbledore as headquarters for the Order.” A hand trailed the edge of the doorway, “About the only useful thing I’ve been able to do.” Dark eyes landed on the mural, seeing it was the object of Harry’s attention, “This is the Black family tree.”

Sirius couldn’t help but land his gaze on the branches depicting his cousins. Andromeda’s was burnt out, much like his. The only cousin he was still fond of.

Well…..she wouldn’t have been the only one.

For Narcissa, under her name was Lucius Malfoy, with a branch leading to their only son, Draco. Sirius’s eyes narrowed on the one beside Andromeda’s.

“My deranged cousin,” Harry picked up on the distaste in his tone. Following Sirius’ gaze where it landed on the portrait of a young woman with wild curly hair and high cheekbones. Bellatrix. Beneath her name was Rodolphus Lestrange. “I hated the lot of them.”

Looking past the next portrait, though Harry caught his posture stiffen when his eyes glazed over it, Sirius maintained his composure. Focusing back on his hateful family, “My parents with their blood mania.” Raising his hand, his fingers brushed over the blackened spot where his face once laid. Sadness laced his voice, “My mother did that after I ran away. Charming woman,” his arm dropped back to his side. “I was sixteen.”

Part of him wanted to question his Godfather’s reaction to the portrait, but knew it wasn’t the right moment. He was curious. Especially since the name was unlike the other members of the House of Black. Like Narcissa, she wasn’t named after a celestial body or constellation.

Frowning, feeling the hurt radiate off Sirius, Harry instead asked, “Where did you go?”

“To your dad’s. I was always welcomed at the Potters,” A small smile curled on Sirius’ lips as he glanced over Harry. Kind eyes the boy had grown accustomed to. “I see him so much in you, Harry. You are so very much alike.”

The next few minutes involved Harry confessing to Sirius his connection to Voldemort. Voicing concern of the possibility he was turning into him. Sirius assured Harry he was a good person, who’s had bad things happen to him. Followed by educating the boy on how everyone had their own angels and demons. Light and dark. Good and bad. How the only thing that matters is what part people chose to act on.

The entire time Sirius explained this to Harry, he thought of the portrait behind him. Almost like her painted eyes were boring into the back of his head. Reminding him of how he failed her. Much like everyone else in their family.

Once good. Turning bad due to the odds against her.

Maybe there was still some good deep down. Sirius prayed so. But the chances of him ever discovering were about as slim as convincing the Minister Voldermort was back.

“Sounds like you know from experience,” Harry said aloud, eyes trailing to the portrait behind Sirius. The one he noticed him trying to avoid. Yet managing to show how deeply this relative affected him.

Sighing, the man turned on his heel, staring at the portrait. No longer able to visibly hide his emotion as he read the name Y/n -- 1967.

“My cousin, Y/n,” his tone lacked malice compared to when he spoke of Bellatrix. “The youngest of the Black sisters. My aunt and uncle were shocked to learn they were expecting a fourth child--nearly twelve years after they had Narcissa.” Fingers brushed over her name, smiling softly as memories surfaced in his mind like a film. “Drove her parents wild with her energy. I was eight when she was born, and as I got older she’d follow me around the house. A little shadow if I must say.” Harry heard him chuckle to himself, “one summer I brought her to meet your father and Remus--didn’t tell her mother mind you. I nearly met my end at the hands of Druella’s wand when we returned that night.” It was as clear as if it were yesterday.

Young 14 year old Sirius with Y/n, aged six at the time, on his hip as they made their way to Diagon Alley to buy sweets she was not allowed to have. She instantly fell in love with James and Remus, as did the boys adore her. She was so different from her older sisters--who had graduated Hogwarts ages ago and were off with their own lives. Meaning the child was alone majority of the time with only the house elves tending to her. Her father worked and her mother did the bare minimum. That’s why Sirius would visit her often. To make sure she was okay. Y/n clinged to Sirius like a puppy. Much like that day where she begged to go with him to meet his friends. She wanted to explore the outside world her parents isolated her from.

Y/n didn’t display the blood mania her family was known for. And when her parents would preach it, the girl kept her attention on her dolls and drawing pictures with her crayons Sirius had smuggled her. The older cousin prayed she’d never turn out like them. Only he knew with the tensions of a certain Dark Wizard making rounds in London, Sirius feared for Y/n’s safety. And sanity. Especially after overhearing Bellatrix’s plans to begin teaching Y/n the dark arts before she entered Hogwarts.

If only Sirius took her away. Brought her to the safety of the Potters like she wanted. “You can’t leave, Sirius,” she cried, the now eight-year old grasping his pant leg to prevent him from leaving the house. Tears painted her chubby face. It broke his heart to see. “Please don’t leave me here--I-I’m scared of them. P-please, cousin. Take me with you!”

Oh how he wanted to. If he did then he’d save Y/n from her fate. From Bellatrix. From Voldemort. But a kidnapping charge he’d surely receive by taking Y/n Black away from her parents would have Sirius spend the rest of his life in Azkaban.

A reality he’d face years later for a different reason.

“What happened to her?” Harry’s voice brought him out his thoughts. The man shrugged his shoulders to shake off the tension in his muscles. A frown painted his features.

“She’s serving a life sentence in Azkaban.” It hurt him more to say it out loud. The reality had sunk in. As though it had been a dream the past 14 years. Sirius remembered how his heart dropped when the news spread of Y/n’s imprisonment. Bellatrix’s was no shock. He’d been hoping his deranged cousin would be locked away.

But his sweet baby cousin who cried when she saw her father yelling at the house elves. That he could’ve never imagined. Even when the headline on the Daily Prophet told him the truth in big, bold letters, ‘Life sentence for 15-year-old Death Eater, Y/n Black. Cousin of notorious mass murderer, Sirius Black and younger sister of Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange.’ Sirius didn’t believe for a second Y/n acted on her own accord.

“She was never like the rest of them,” He told Harry after a moment of silence. Noticing the boy’s worried look, Sirius softly shook his head. “My cousin is a rare case, Harry. A prime example of becoming everything she hated as a result of the circumstances around her. Not a day goes by where I don’t feel regret by not being there for her. Had I been so…,” he pictured what could’ve been, “She’d likely be here with us. The Order.”

Harry pictured it too. Sirius’s tone gives him indication that Sirius still cared for Y/n. Wishing fate had turned out different for her. For both of them.

Hermoine appeared moments later to announce they had to leave. Sirius ended the conversation with a promise to Harry that when all was over, they’d be a family again. Living in Grimmauld Place in peace. With a hug goodbye, Harry exited the room, but not before catching his Godfather gave one last glance to Y/n’s portrait.

Crouched in her cell, hands over her ears like they were most days, Y/n shook from the cold wind. Willing the voices in her head to disappear. A constant battle she faced everyday since the chains were first put on her. Some of them were the distant echo of Azkaban's prisoners below. Others she was sure she kept imagining.

The first two years Y/n cried every day. By the fifth year she stopped reacting to everything around her. Once the tenth year of her sentence passed, only a shell of her remained. Staring at the wall with her hands covering her ears. The same routine. Everyday.

But today was going to be different. The voices were louder than usual. Causing difficulty to keep them at bay.

Suddenly Y/n winced with a light shriek, a burning sensation erupting along her forearm. Gaze dropping down, the ink of where her dark mark laid bolded. The feeling intensified. Y/n didn’t know how to react. Only experiencing numbness at what it meant.

A loud explosion caught her attention on the left side of her cell. Followed by the maniacal laughter of her sister. Rising from her position, Y/n’s bare feet brushed against rocks and freezing water. Rats scurried past as she walked toward where the window of her cell had been. The wind grew stronger with each step, nearly sweeping her off balance.

When she breached the area responsible for the explosion, Y/n had a clear image of the sky above her. The ocean’s treacherous waves beneath her. And dementors flying rapidly in the distance. There was no stopping the smirk from painting her chapped lips. Her eyes that were normally empty pits of nothing, suddenly emerged with an emotion unable to contain.

She was free.

It was the only thing on his mind when he read the paper that morning. Plaguing his thoughts with a newfound fear. Everywhere he went that day Neville saw the headline, “Mass Breakout From Azkaban.” Following the names of the high security prisoners freed from its confines. On the front page below the headline, moving images of two women were enough to have some of the students shivering. Bellatrix, with her wild curly hair, appeared crazed. While the woman in the image beside her was in a state of despair. Neville shuddered when his eyes locked on hers. Y/n Black.

She couldn’t have appeared older than he was now. Fifteen.

Curiosity getting the best of him, Neville turned the page to read up more on the sisters. When he got to Y/n, Neville was shocked to learn the girl had been the youngest prisoner in Azkaban in its entire history. Aged fifteen, in her fifth year of Hogwarts. Juveniles were never sent to the hellish institution. Yet, due to the nature of her crimes and association to Voldermort, the Ministry bent laws to lock her up.

Reading the summary dedicated to her upbringing, Y/n had been sorted into Slytherin House at Hogwarts, skilled in Charms, and is alleged to be an Occulmens. It’s said she failed to return to Hogwarts during what would have been her fifth year. Not long after it was reported Y/n Black had been part of the group to torture esteemed Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom to gain information on Voldermort. Alongside her sister, Bellatrix, her brother-in-law, his brother and Barty Crouch Jr. During her arrest and trial, Y/n insisted she’d been forced to use the curse for fear the others would kill her.

Which was true. Bellatrix made it clear to the young Black what the consequences for stepping out of line would be.

But it wasn’t enough in the Ministry’s eyes. Not when the other Death Eaters, Bellatrix included, testified Y/n had complied with no resistance. And so the first juvenile, the youngest Death Eater, was locked away in Azkaban. The sentence: eternity.

Now she was free.

Later that day, during DA practice, Neville found himself in front of the mirror showing pictures and news articles relating to their cause. The others saying goodbye and making their way out of the Room of Requirement. Neville, however, remained. His stare on the image of the original Order of the Phoenix. His parents.

Harry came up beside him, neither addressing the other at first. Then, after a moment of silence and confidence, Neville confided in his friend.

“Fourteen years ago, a Death Eater named Bellatrix Lestrange and her sister, Y/n Black, used the Cruciatus Curse on my parents. They tortured them for information, but they never gave in.” Looking down at Harry, Neville added after a pause, “I’m quite proud to be their son, but…I’m not sure I’m ready for everyone to know just yet.”

Harry nodded, understanding what his friend was asking of him. Swearing to secrecy. “We’re gonna make them proud, Neville. That’s a promise.”

The Hall of Prophecies was dark. Eerie. The only light emitting from the group's wands and orbs lightly glowing in their stands. The group had rushed to the Ministry upon Harry’s vision Sirius had been taken hostage by Voldemort, tortured into telling him where the prophecy was. They were in for a shock when they arrived.

Sirius wasn’t there. Neither was Voldemort.

It was Neville who alerted the boy of the glass orb dedicated to him. Grasping it in his hand, the voice of Sybil Trelawney echoed through the silence, “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. And the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal but he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not…..and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives….”

“Harry!” he turned to his friends, finding them frozen as they stared at the figure approaching. Harry pushed past, standing in front of the group. The figure was masked by a silver face, cloaked from head to toe.

A Death Eater.

“Where’s Sirius?” Harry questioned him,his wand raised.

“You know you really should know how to tell the difference between dreams…..” the man removed his wand from a familiar cane, waving it in front of his face to remove the mask. Revealing none other than Lucius Malfoy. “And reality.” Everyone tensed, anxiety starting to consume them. “You saw only what the Dark Lord wanted you to see. Now hand me the prophecy.” Harry stood his ground.

“You do anything to us I’ll break it.”

Suddenly a maniacal laugh entered the scene. Intensifying their unease. The shadow of someone behind Lucius coming toward the dim lights. “He knows how to play. Itty. Bitty. Baby. Potter.” The group’s eyes landed on the face of one of the women plastered on every front page of the Daily Prophet. Neville was the first to address her.

“Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“Neville Longbottom, is it?” she mocked with a wicked smile, “How’s mom and dad?” Lucius rolled his eyes at her antics. Neville, however, was enraged.

“Better now that they’re about to be avenged.” In a split second he lifted his want, hoping to cast a spell on the one responsible for his parents torture. Harry was quick to stop him, just as Bellatrix raised her own wand to defend herself.

“Now let’s…” Lucius slowly held his hands up. “Everybody just calm down. Shall we?” The group lowered their wands slightly, but not completely. “All we want is that prophecy.”

“Why did Voldermort need me to come get this?”

“You dare speak his name?” Bellatrix’s eyes widened, appalled by the boy’s courage. “You filthy Half-blood!!”

Again, Lucius attempted to de-escalate the scene, “It’s all right, he’s just a curious lad. Aren’t you?”

Before anyone spoke another word, footsteps from the side filled their ears. “You know what they say about curiosity?” her voice was raspy and void of any emotion. Almost robotic. Harry slowly turned his head, mentally preparing himself to face his Godfather’s youngest cousin. Beside him, Neville paled. Unable to comprehend being in the same room as the Black sisters. It was suffocating.

Y/n Black’s expression matched her tone. Numb. An empty shell was the best description. Not even reacting when Harry pointed his wand in her direction. She simply stalked toward them, finishing her riddle, “It killed the cat. But….something tells me you might be the lucky bastard to live to see it, Harry Potter.”

“Nice of you to finally join us, Y/n,” Lucius narrowed his eyes, watching her move so she was now in between the duo and group. Harry’s wand merely a few centimeters from her chest. The glowing light illuminating her face.

Comparing her to the portrait on the Black Family Tree, Harry noticed all the striking differences. Of course, nearly 15 years had passed since Y/n was locked away in Azkaban. Her baby fat completely gone, likely due from the malnourishment prison had to offer. However, unlike her sister Bellatrix and Sirius before them, Y/n did not come across as a walking corpse. Much time hadn’t passed since her escape, yet she looked healthy. Teeth white and hair silky. Nails long and painted black. Skin blemish free save for a tiny scar on her lip. She was strikingly beautiful.

Harry then remembered reading in the paper that Y/n was skilled in charms. Rumored to have created her own during her time at Hogwarts. She probably had one to alter her appearance. And considering Bellatrix looked rather unsettling, either Y/n did not offer her talent or Bellatrix refused. Judging by Y/n’s reaction to her associates, it was the former.

She ignored Lucius, answering Harry’s question instead, “Prophecies can only be retrieved by those about whom they are made. Which is lucky for you, really.” Her brow raised slightly, “Surely Sirius told you. He’d be foolish not when he knows the Dark Lord desires it.”

Backing away from Harry, Y/n turned on her heel, nudging Lucius with her shoulder causing him to groan. Focusing back on the task at hand, the blonde narrowed his eyes on Harry. “Haven’t you always wondered what was the reason for the connection between you and the Dark Lord?” He moved closer, hands still raised. It was then the group noticed more Death Eaters surrounding them. “Why he was unable to kill you when you were just an infant?”

Bellatrix trailed behind Lucius. Their associates closing in on the students. Meanwhile Y/n stayed behind, not bothering to engage. Harry caught her gaze a few times, noting how disinterested she was by the entire ordeal.

“Don’t you want to know the secret of your scar?” Lucius captured his attention once more. “All the answers are there. In your hand.” Lucius encouraged Harry with a look, “All you have to do is give it to me, and I can show you everything.”

“I’ve waited fourteen years,” Harry said, aware of the approaching footsteps of the Death Eaters getting louder. Waiting for the perfect moment.

“I know.”

“I guess I can wait a little longer--Now!!” Simultaneously, the group all shouted, “Stupefy!!”

After a brief fight against the Death Eaters to escape the Hall of Prophecies, the group found themselves falling to what they thought was their death. At the last second, Hermoine casted Arresto Momentum to slow time for them to safely land, grunting as their bodies met the rock. Scanning their surroundings, Harry spotted an archway with an iridescent glow to it. As he moved closer, voices were heard. “Voices, can you tell what they're saying?”

Confused, Hermoine replied with what they were all thinking, “There aren’t any voices, Harry. Let’s get out of here.”

“I hear them too,” Luna spoke, staring at the arch in wonder. It was difficult to hear clearly what the voices were saying. But they grew louder with each step.

“Harry,” Hermoine pleaded, “it’s just an empty archway.” In the distance, the group heard the Death Eaters approaching. “Please, Harry.” Harry spun around with his wand raised.

“Get behind me!” They followed his order, ready to confront the oncoming threat. They unfortunately, however, were blindsided when the Death Eaters in their black smokey form attacked from behind. Grunts and gasps left the teens, Harry dropping to the ground, clutching the prophecy in his hand. About 15 seconds passed before he opened his eyes to discover he was alone.

Dread consumed him, the boy standing to find his friends. He found them several feet away and spaced out. In the hands of Death Eaters. Ginny and Luna to his right, the Weasley girl gripped at the collar by Y/n Black. Neville struggles against Bellatrix Lestrange, Ron and Hermoine manhandled by the Lestrange brothers. A dry chuckle captured Harry’s attention, watching Lucius Malfoy stroll up to where he stood.

“Did you actually believe, or were you truly naive enough to think….children stood a chance against us?” Lucius made eye contact with the wicked smile of Bellatrix, whereas he met Y/n’s vicious glare. Her hold on Ginny wasn’t as tight as the others, almost like she didn’t view the girl as a threat.

“I’ll make this simple for you, Potter,” Lucius held out his hand. “Give me the prophecy now….or watch your friends die.” Harry looked at his friends, their frightened gazes making his heart fall to his stomach.

“Don’t give it to him, Harry!” Neville shouts, only to be hushed by Bellatrix, who snaps her wand from his head to his neck forcefully.

The Boy who Lived draws his eyes to the glowing prophecy. As if to be contemplating his choices, but deep down knew what he had to do. His friends were more important. He couldn’t risk their lives over a tiny orb. Slowly, he lifted his hand and placed the object in Lucius’s awaiting one. A satisfied smirk appears on the blonde’s lips. He had succeeded in his mission.

Or so he thought.

Bright light filled the area, Harry’s eyes widening as he took in the sight of Sirius behind Lucius. Malfoy’s expression turned to one of pure shock, meeting Sirius’s angry one.

“Get away from my Godson.” And before Lucius could react, he was falling to the ground from the force of Sirius’s right hook. More bright lights entered, members of the Order arriving. Tonks, Lupin, Kingsley, and Mad-Eye.

In the chaos, the prophecy was thrown from Lucius’ hand, shattering as it hit the ground in a cloud of blue-green smoke. The man was in disbelief, and fear at what consequences awaited him.

Beyond him, Y/n released her hold on Ginny Weasley, slightly pushing her away causing the girl to stumble off the rocks. At that moment she met Sirius’ eyes for the first time in nearly 20 years. Their last encounter when he ran from home at 16, and Y/n only 8.

She watched the horror appear on his face. Lingering with regret. She could see him fighting with himself on how to react, she too was fighting that battle. Tears threatened to spill from both their eyes, Y/n’s bottom lip quivering. Overwhelmed by the reunion.

Where they were on opposite sides.

His expression read, ‘I won’t fight you, cousin,” which was enough for the woman to turn on her heel and drop to the ground. Ignoring Sirius shouting her name, Y/n leaned against the rock, waiting for an opportunity to run. Above her Sirius and Harry were dueling Malfoy and Rabastan Lestrange. Bellatrix was being trailed in the air by their niece, Nymphadora Tonks, her diabolical laugh echoing against the walls.

A curse flew past her, hitting the rock causing Y/n to spin around where she met Lupin’s startled eyes. “Y/n….” the tone of his voice indicated he was surprised to see her. Likely assuming she’d been someone else. The werewolf always had a soft spot for the young Black. Thinking about the times she tagged along with them in Diagon Alley. Or when Sirius brought her to the Potter house and the two played with her in their animagi form to keep her entertained.

Now here she was with the enemy. A completely different person plagued with darkness. Lupin sighed, laced with despair, “Oh, love…what’ve they done to you?” Somehow that question was enough to send Y/n into a whirlpool of rage. How dare he say those words to her. When the Order had every opportunity to remove her from the Black household. When they could’ve placed her in hiding like James and Lily. Anything, to prevent the Death Eaters from claiming her.

“What you all failed to save me from.”

Before they knew it the two were dueling. Flashes of light leaving their wands, dodging those sent by the other. Despite Y/n spending half her life in prison with little combat experience under her belt, she was keeping up with Remus quite well. He noted the woman had yet to send a killing curse his way. Come to think of it, it appeared she was avoiding it all together. Unlike her associates who were not shy to use it.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Y/n,” Remus attempted to convince her to yield. Ducking when she shot a curse at his head.

Scoffing, the woman spat, “Foolish for you to think such, Remus.” Her next attempt to get him away with a curse was more forceful, “I know how this dance between us ends, and I’d rather be sent to hell itself than be chained in Azkaban once more. So either man up and kill me, or turn away so I can get the hell out of here.”

Remus became conflicted, “You know I can’t do that.” He referred to both options. Not having the strength or heart to kill his best friend's niece whom he once adored. But also not allowing her to escape.

“Shame then,” she hissed, “I’ll try not to make this hurt.” After much struggle, where Remus had the upper hand in the dool, Y/n managed to send him flying back several feet, taking her chance to run to the nearest doorway.

“Avada Kedavra!!” Bellatrix’s voice made her feeze, turning around in time to see the green light hit their cousin straight in the chest.

It was as if time had stopped. All fighting ceased. Y/n heard a loud gasp--a scream, realizing moments later she was the one responsible for it. Hand raising to cover her mouth. Frozen as she watched Sirius fall back into the archway. Disappearing forever.

The silence was then interrupted by Harry’s wails. Held by Remus, he fought against him as though he wanted to join his Godfather. Y/n remained still. Processing what just happened.

Sirius was dead. Her sister killed him.

Y/n had to get out of there. No doubt the Aurors were alerted. They’d be arriving any second.

Witnessing Harry take off after Bellatrix, Y/n met Remus’ eyes. The man silently pleading to her, completely distraught over the death of his best friend. With James and Sirius dead and Peter’s betrayal to Voldemort, he was alone.

Y/n shook her head, unable to face him any longer. Instead of running into the main lobby of the Department of Ministries, the Death Eater looked up and allowed the black smoke to consume her, flying away from the Order. Her associates followed suit.

When the Minister and Aurors entered the lobby to the horrifying scene, they understood the future became plagued with an unavoidable truth.

The night officially marked the beginning of the Second Wizarding War.

Rain pelted against the ground, falling from the gray clouds painting the sky. Strolling down alleyways of London, three sisters in black were on a mission to locate a certain home. Hiding behind corners whenever cars and people passed by. The one leading the trio was the reason for this side quest. Meanwhile the one falling back voiced opposition. For the youngest in the middle, she was rather bored. Not caring what would come out of this meeting.

If Y/n were honest, she just hated getting her outfit soaked.

“Cissy, you can’t do this,” Bellatrix hissed, trailing after her sisters. “He can’t be trusted.”

“The Dark Lord trusts him,” Naricssa rebutted, not sparing her a glance. Y/n simply rolled her eyes.

“The Dark Lord’s mistaken.”

“Shhh,” Y/n interrupted. While she may agree with Bellatrix to some degree, she knew better than to question his judgment aloud. Anyone could be lurking.

Children’s laughter filled their ears, the sisters leaning against the brick walls until they passed. Once clear, they turned the corner and knocked on the door. Waiting for him to answer.

Instead of Snape, the trio were greeted by Wormtail--who was visibly surprised to see them on the steps of Snape’s home. Y/n gave one death glare to the man and he immediately opened the door fully to let them inside. Water droplets fell from their coats, Y/n waved her wand to dry herself, feeling satisfied with a low ‘hmm’.

Wormtail escorted them to the library, where Snape sat in a chair reading the Daily Prophet. Folding the paper, the sisters were greeted by his blank stare. “Run along, Wormtail.” With a flick of his wrist Wormtail was pushed out, door slamming in his face. Y/n smirked, overlooking Snape with a raised brow.

He matched her gaze, the two in silent conversation. Like they each had their secrets the other knew of…

In that moment Y/n thought back to the moment she and Snape reunited after her escape from Azkaban. Neither were fools to the other's facade. Both able to mask it with their talents in both Legilimency and Occlumency.

“I know your true intentions, Severus. You are not part of his cause anymore and haven’t been for fifteen years. Do not stand there and lie to me, I don’t take kindly to liars.”

“Make no mistake then, Y/n, you also have motives not aligned with the Dark Lord. You do not care who wins this battle, only that your freedom is the outcome. He’d not take kindly to your…..deception.”

“Then I guess this means you and I….have a lot to lose if we are not careful. I’ll say no word. I expect you to do the same.”

“You have yourself a deal.”

Wine was poured, Y/n and Narcissa seated in chairs while Snape and Bellatrix remained standing. The eldest sister pacing along the fireplace. Narcissa was the first to speak, “I-I-I know I am not to be here,” Pausing she shot Y/n a hesitant look, which was ignored. “The Dark Lord, himself, forbade me to speak of this--.”

“If the Dark Lord has forbidden it, you are not to speak--but it down, Bella, we mustn’t touch what isn’t ours,” Annoyed, the woman placed the object back on the mantel. Giving Snape a look of, ‘there, happy?’ He turned back to Narcissa, “As it so happens, I’m aware of your situation, Narcissa.”

“You?” Bellatrix narrowed her eyes, “The Dark Lord told you.”

Snape briefly glanced at Y/n, “Your sister doubts me.” The woman smirked.

“She doubts everyone,” she felt Bellatrix’s glare, paying no mind. “It’s not personal.”

“Understandable. Over the years I’ve played my part well--so well I’ve deceived one of the greatest wizards of all time.” Y/n sipped her wine to hide the smirk on her face.

For she knew exactly who he was referring to.

Unlike Bellatrix who simply snorted. Snape dismissed her remark, “Dumbledore is a great wizard. Only a fool would question it.”

Y/n examined her wine, acting like it was the most curious thing in the room. Rather bored by the conversation and Snape’s persistence of convincing her sisters of his motives. Bellatrix obviously had her suspicions. Narcissa, however, took the bait.

“I don’t doubt you, Severus.”

“You should be honored, Cissy,” Bellatrix told her. “As should Draco.” Of course her deranged self would see it that way. 16 year-old Draco tasked with the difficult mission to assassinate Dumbledore at Hogwarts. Punishment for Lucius for failing Voldemort too many times. The most recent being the damn prophecy he was to fetch.

Y/n couldn’t help but feel smug at the Malfoys predicament. Lucius deserved all he got. And while Narcissa may have been her sister, Y/n harbored enough anger and resentment to not feel sympathy for her. Draco was the only one innocent in the matter.

Narcissa’s face fell at Bellatrix’s words, pleading to Snape with her eyes, “He’s just a boy.”

“I cannot change the Dark Lord’s mind,” that was true. Nothing could alter Voldermort’s decision once it was made. Snape did have an idea, “But it might be possible for me to help Draco.”

That was enough for Narcissa. The woman rising from her seat, “Severus--.” She was cut off by Bellatrix.

“Swear to it. Make the unbreakable vow.” She moved toward them, circling Severus as her tone turned to mockery, “It’s just empty words.” Now Narcissa’s face read she wanted the same. Bellatrix continued, “He’ll give it his best, but when it matters most,” her chin rested on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. “He’ll just slither back into his hole. Coward,” she ended as she passed him.

Y/n stared at her associate, watching his reaction carefully. It was obvious the insult poked deep in his core. Though Snape did not let it show.

“Take out your wand.”

The sisters were pleased. Visibly showing this as they looked at each other. Y/n stood from her chair, moving closer as Narcissa and Snape held each other's wrists. Bellatrix withdrew her wand, allowing the glowing strands to encompass their hands.

“Will you, Severus Snape, watch over Draco Malfoy as he attempts to fulfill the Dark Lord’s wishes?”

“I will.”

Water glossed over Narcissa’s eyes, Bellatrix continued, “And will you, to the best of your abilities,” her chin rested this time on Narcissa’s shoulder, the two staring him down like a hawk. Y/n sipped her glass, leaning her head against Narcissa’s other shoulder, smirking slightly at the scene. “Protect him from harm?”

“I will.”

Bellatrix walked so she was directly in front of Snape, “And, if Draco should fail…will you yourself, carry out the deed the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?” The pause was longer, Narcissa practically shaking making Y/n move away.

Finally, Snape made the last vow, “I will.”

The glowing strands disappeared, leaving scars on the two. A permanent reminder of the promise made. To protect Draco from harm and finish the job if it came to it.

Otherwise, the Devil would visit Snape earlier than planned.

#Spotify #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #slytherin!reader #harry potter x reader #Sirius black x platonic!reader #remus lupin x reader #the order of the phoenix #hp imagine #hp fanfiction #harry potter angst #severus snape imagine #hp angst #marauders angst #bellatrix lestrange #narcissa malfoy #tom riddle #death eaters #house of black

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coffeeghoulie · 2 months

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Eternal Heatstroke

chapter 4: let's see how deep we get

Life on the road, in little moments.

(To make up for the angst from last week, I offer 6k of fluff.)

Aeon's not sure when exactly it happens, can't pinpoint the exact moment, but things slowly start to get easier. The Rituals start to blend together, only broken up by the little moments in between, on the road. Slowly, ever so slowly, Aeon opens up to their pack, one by one.

The next time they have a nightmare, words stolen from them in their panic, they haul themself up into Swiss's bunk, curling into the multighoul's side. One of his eyes cracks open, molten gold and faintly glowing in the darkness as he's pushed against the back wall of the bunk.

"Bug?" he mumbles, yawning and baring his fangs.

Aeon chitters, grabbing Swiss's arm and slinging it over their waist. Swiss drags them closer without thinking, eyes cracking further open. Aeon buries their face in his chest, warm through his shirt.

"Bug," he says. "Aeon. Wha's wrong?"

Read the rest on ao3, or start from the beginning.

#Mounty did not want to play nice with me on this one #also the whole pack’s here but I don’t want to clog every character tag #I am very very very excited for next week you have no idea #dot's writing #swiss ghoul #aeon ghoul #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #eternal heatstroke

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willshipanything-blog · 6 months

Text

Breaking the Rules- Chapter 19

It's been a minute! But just shy of a month, and the next 6k word chapter is here!

This chapter, we finally get to see a certain basement that we haven't come across before 👀 I've only been hinting at its contents for a couple of months 😅

Full tags, as well as the fic if you prefer, is on AO3 here.

Full Tumblr chapter index can be found here.

Hope you enjoy lovelies! 💜✌️✨

Chapter 19- The Second Basement

Sleep never greeted you in the night, and for once you were thankful for your anxious mind that hadn’t allowed you to drift off. Al’s soft snoring told you he’d eventually fallen asleep, though his slumber was occasionally broken by sudden jerks and whimpers. Nightmares of you unveiling those secrets he’d kept from you, no doubt. It wouldn’t matter soon- you’d expose them with or without his help, take them by force and drag them kicking and screaming into the open for the both of you to confront.

There was no hiding anymore, no sneaking around to uncover some mystery. It was the weekend, and you weren’t going to wait until Al was at work on Monday, his back turned before you put your plan into action. You were going to find out the truth, and he was going to be aware of every step in your plan. Just as soon as the first hint of morning came.

Your eyes had adjusted to the inky blackness of night; when the dim light of dawn finally came after sleepless hours, it felt blinding, a renewed sense of seeing. As if a new day had brought a different type of light, one that had stripped back the confusion, laid bare the world of you and Al for what it really was. You saw everything as if with fresh eyes now: Al’s comforting hold around you was possessive and paranoid, a desperate plea to keep you close to him and away from the truth at any cost. The secrets he’d hidden to ‘protect’ you were nothing more than selfish, self-preserving lies meant to portray a half-formed version of Al you knew to be false.

You’d slunk around in the hushed hours of the night, reaching for the things you needed as best you could whilst still ensconced in Al’s slumberous hold, inching towards the bedside table; turning covertly; placing the moving parts of your plan in their proper place. Like setting up chess pieces of your plan, preparing the board for a checkmate. It wouldn’t be a game that Al would enjoy, wouldn’t contain the sort of pain that usually excited the both of you, but it was necessary. And it was time.

You turned in Al’s arms, humming softly as your hands threaded through his ashy brown hair.

“Good morning.” you whispered, Al’s eyes opening a crack as he roused from sleep; that sideways smile began creeping onto his face as he saw you smiling up at him.

“G’morning, dove-oh…” Al’s voice caught in surprise as you maneuvered yourself on top of him, his hands sliding down your torso to sit on your hips as you straddled his body. If his hardness pressed beneath wasn’t evidence enough of his obliviousness to your plan, the sudden tight squeeze on your hips and Al’s croaked humming was further proof. Perhaps his drowsy lust was clouding his judgment, though maybe he really did believe all was forgiven after his earnest beseechment last night.

You were happy to play into the fallacy for now, gripping his wrist in your hand and kissing the side of his neck with a ravenous hunger. The desire you felt was half-real, but the need to hide from Al’s eyeline hid an ulterior motive. There was no apprehension in your plans, but if Al had clocked your wobbling jawline or growing wetness in your eyes, he’d have realized too soon the trap you were laying. Instead, with your lips suckling on his neck, your eyes averted from the piercing blue of his, you simply heard the amorous growl bubbling low in his throat, felt the slow grinding of his body beneath yours.

A sudden clack of metal had Al’s breath catching, and you sat up to see those blue eyes, mere inches from your own, widen in surprise.

“Wha-?” Al’s eyes flicked upwards, his neck craning to look at his hand which was now tethered to the bed by a set of silver handcuffs. You’d slipped them from your bedside drawer, quietly clicked one cuff around a wooden slat on the headboard and left the other unlocked, partially hidden beneath your pillows. A covert set-up as Al still slept beside you. It was just a moment of distraction to spring the trap on Al, ambush him when he least suspected it. He’d used misdirection and flattery to first capture you, and you were nothing if not an astute apprentice of the type of magic that Al performed.

When Al looked back towards you, he wore that sideways half-smile, still drowsy from sleep and not fully cognizant of what was happening. Or what was about to.

“Oh, we wanna change up the game today, huh little bird?” His free hand stretched towards you, but your body leaned away from his touch. Still atop Al’s body, you began to scramble off of him and the silky sheets, but your scurrying seemed to give the game away, and Al’s free hand managed to find your fingers.

“Dove?” In that one word question, the suddenly knowing, distressed tone and his immediately clawing grasp, he knew your plan. You’d climbed off of Al and the bed, though your fingers were still enmeshed in his fierce hold, bones creaking under the strain of his desperate grip.

“I’ll come back Al. I always do.”

“No, Y/N, you won’t!” he cried, scrambling himself now, trying to stand whilst still chained to the bed. “Not this time. Not if you see what I did. Please, dove.”

With his wrist clamped firmly to the bed, Al was barely able to fix his feet onto the carpet, stretching awkwardly to keep ahold of you as you tried your best to back up toward the door, your fingers still clenched in his vice grip.

“Stop, Al! I- I have to know. You know I need to do this!” Your surefooted plan was betrayed by the fissuring crack in your voice, but you continued to pull against him, attempting to wrest your hand away from his, pulling tighter and tighter against his shaking grip until a pop! and a pained gasp pierced the air.

You fell backwards, Al’s hold on you suddenly vanished. In an instant you were up, using the chest of drawers near the door to prop yourself up. Only when you realized you were out of Al’s reach did the searing pain in your hand register; when you held it up in front of you, your pinky finger looked wrong. It bent at an impossible angle, contorted like the crooked limbs of the tree that stood in the yard across the street. You swallowed the sudden sour taste of bile in your throat. There would be time to fix such a pain later, and you forced your hand to your side to focus on the current situation instead. Al was still in an uncomfortable hybrid of sitting and standing, wearing a pained look of anguish on his face (because of the physical pain he’d just caused, or his worst fear of his own actions being finally unmasked?). No time to consider such distinctions now.

Your good hand fumbled blindly behind you, trying to locate the handle on the bedroom door. Al had sussed your plan in an instant, and was already making his next move, leaping into a better position on the bed to yank at the chain holding him in place. You watched, transfixed for a moment at the image of him tearing and clawing at the cuff around his wrist, roaring like a snared beast trying to escape its bonds. You almost felt pity for the broken creature in front of you, if not for the necessity of such a trap. In no other scenario apart from this- having Al physically restrained- would you be allowed to freely slip away to search the other house with his knowledge of it. His desperation, his sheer strength over you, might never allow it.

That strength reared its head just then, the sound of splintering wood seeming to startle the both of you. Al’s frantic display, his frenzied and brutal attempts to escape the handcuffs, was actually working, his bestial strangth enough to actually start breaking the thick wooden slats holding the cuffs in place. A short, startled gasp escaped him, breaking you from your temporary mesmerism. The realization that Al might soon break free spurred you into action.

In a moment, you slipped through the door and tore through the house, the blood pounding in your ears almost enough to drown out the sounds of breaking furniture and Al’s animalistic shouts. By the door, beside your own front door key in the ceramic bowl, you picked up the bigger set of keys. It was a moment’s work to use the small gold key in the front door and (after a quick glance up and down the empty, early-morning street), to run towards the front door that had been beckoning you for weeks, daring you to enter. You dared now.

The keys jangled as if in taunt as you fumbled to find the right one, their teeth jeering as you scanned the too-many prongs and ridges for the correct one. In your wild haste, the heavy tangle of metal grazed your broken finger and you dropped the whole set with a strident yelp. A despairing clatter as the keys dropped to the ground. A dared glance back to the house- the door still shut with Al still inside. The image of splintering wood and shattered glass shot through your mind, but you swallowed it down along with the pain shooting through your hand and forearm. Crushing your teeth together in gritted determination, you lurched forward to scoop up the fallen keys, pinching your thumb and finger to grab a single key by its rounded base. You opted for a small brass key most similar in size to the one to Al’s house, and, after a couple of shaky attempts to press it into the lock, it slid in. The door clicked and swung open.

This felt almost too easy, as if you expected more resistance from the secrets hidden within to remain hidden. You pushed the door, a slight creak as the inside of the house revealed itself to you, before you stepped over the threshold.

Just like the other house, the door opened up into the living room, although ‘living room’ seemed a strange name for a place so devoid of life. Dust motes floated like ghosts in the dawn light, blades of pale yellow light stabbing through the ripped net curtains and illuminating the near-empty area you'd stepped into. Sparse furniture resided here; a small stool, its leather seat cracked and pale from sun damage, a filthy rug that might have once been a vivid chartreuse, now damp and dark as seaweed. A couple of small figurines on the dark wooden mantle, covered in enough dust you couldn't say whether they were human or animal in form. The only other thing in here was the smell, sitting stale and heavy on every surface. But nothing incriminating. You noted the layout of the lounge was similar to Al's house (though a silent jeer slithered through you at the realization that this too was 'Al's house'). You figured the other parts of the house might match its counterpart across the street. Where would Al choose to hide the secrets he didn't want seeing the harsh light of day? There must be a basement.

You followed a familiar path to reach the kitchen, the dimensions of this house eerily exact to the one you’d come from. Like a shadowy version of the bright house you shared with Al. Maybe this was an alternate reality to where the Grabber was relegated, only allowed back into the warmth of your shared house when Al’s self-control wavered. Surely it was the unheated house, not the thought of that wraith, blowing a cold breeze through your bones. You continued forward, fingertips brushing the rough walls where faded wallpaper had given up trying to add some cheer to the desolate house, the thick shag beneath your feet replaced with threadbare carpets that you trod alone now.

The kitchen was just as bare-boned as the other rooms, and darker still due to the decrepit blinds suppressing the outside light. Empty countertops were strewn with dust and debris, and an old model refrigerator stood like a grave, no monotonous hum of life emanating from it. You did a double take at that; the refrigerator was standing right where the door to the basement should have been, if this house really did correspond perfectly with the other.

Dismayed, you slammed a palm against the metal side of the fridge pockmarked with rust, only for it to teeter slightly, as if years of standing in one spot hadn’t sunk it completely into the linoleum tile beneath it. The floor, when you scanned it with an astonished eye, had unmistakable marks, two jagged white lines where the refrigerator looked to have been moved a foot or so. Repeatedly, from the etched line where the vinyl flooring had abraded into two clear tracks. Emboldened by this discovery, a fresh wave of adrenaline surged through you, summoning strength you hardly thought yourself capable of. You braced your body against the huge contraption and shouldered and pushed until (inch by torturous, backbreaking inch), it gave. In less than a minute, the refrigerator had been shoved a couple of feet to the left, revealing a maroon door behind it. The color of aged blood. A dull silver padlock, speckled with rust, was the final obstacle between you and the basement.

Your guesswork was getting better; when you plucked a small silver key from the bunch, you found that it slid into the open maw of the keyhole with only a little resistance, probably from the build-up of rust in the mechanism. A clack as the shackle came loose, an even louder thud when you allowed the padlock to fall to the tiled floor. You pushed open the door to be greeted with a musty breath of air and a wooden stairway leading down into the darkness below. This really was the final-

“Y/N.”

Al stood heaving and panting mere feet from where you’d frozen upon hearing his voice. One foot had suspended over the threshold of the basement door, one clawed grip stilled on the door jamb. Your limbs stayed in place whilst your neck turned to look at Al.

Hair clung to his sweat-soaked brow. Specks of red daubed his pale torso on one side, transferred from the messy aftermath of his escape: an abstract collage of skin and metal and blood around his wrist. He’d stopped in the kitchen doorway, but you knew that he wasn’t completely spent, that he could’ve taken a few more strides to grab you, to hold you back from taking another step. But it was a new type of exhaustion carved out on his face, the tired eyes and stooped figure revealing a look of hopelessness, one of surrender.

When he gave a weary, subtle shake of his head, it was unconvincing, as if you both knew that wasn’t an order you were going to obey. Not a rule you were going to follow this time. He’d finally lost, and you saw that realization behind his doleful expression. Like a funeral rite where grief and acceptance shook hands in uneasy union. You returned a subtle nod of your own head before taking a step forward. He let you slip through the blood-coloured door without a fight.

You darted down the stairs, almost like your body wanted you to arrive before your mind made sense of what you might find. A fraction too late, and the sight of the room had you stumbling on the final two steps. You didn’t catch yourself, letting your body tumble to the ground, knees cracking against the stone and the heels of your hands scraping the rough, pebbled surface. Your hurt finger seared with a scorching pain, but any physical hurt was lost when you looked at the scene in front of you.

Was the worst part of it the appalling sight before you, or the fact that deep down, you had an idea that you would find exactly this scene when you decided to descend the steps? That you knew what secrets Al was desperate to hide. You didn’t rise- couldn’t rise. Not when your own guilt weighed heavy, a rock tied to you, holding you in its drowning depths, your lungs screaming for air and the light of the surface growing dimmer in your sight. You deserved the feeling, and forced your eyes to flicker up, to confront the truth which you’d ignored for far too long.

There, laid out in front of you in four raised mounds of dirt, was the truth of it all. Four makeshift graves, cramped together close enough that the boy’s fingertips might have grazed. Like they might have been at a sleepover, cracking dirty jokes, sharing soda pops and fizzy candy, confessing which girls they liked as they curled up in comforters lined in a tight row. Impossible now, of course, and an image of a stagnated childhood lanced through your mind like an aneurysm- a stack of comic books collecting dust; a disused baseball mitt, the stitching frayed; an overturned bike, its spokes still spinning slowly.

They were so small, too small, and not quite uniform; the one on the left, closest to the wall, was the shortest in length. It was probably the first. Probably Griffin. Was it so small because he was the youngest, or because Al was new to it at that point, miscalculating the size grave he’d need to dig? A stifled mewl clawed its way up your throat, and finally you wept at the sight before you.

This wasn’t a basement. It was a debasement, a pathetic graveyard, an obscene cemetery in which every inhabitant had been put here by the same monster. No funeral rites, only the distant echo of screams you could almost hear as four lives slipped away from this world, surrounded only by fear and pain. The funereal processions were the small bodies being carried from one basement to another. No fresh clods of earth or flowers lay atop them, just dirt and lye to hide the sight and the smell. No grave markers at all, and a bilious flip in your throat choked you at the realization that you actually had to think to remember all of their names. Only four fucking names, Y/N- your own selfish repression of the past was a desecration of their memory.

The wooden stairs were creaking slowly, announcing Al’s arrival down here with you. His boots (unlaced where he’d shoved his feet into them in a hurry) appeared by your side, but he said nothing, did nothing. You gave a silent apology to the mounds, as if daring to avert your gaze somehow dishonored them further, before glancing up at Al. His hands were trembling, jaw wobbling, but he was forcing himself to look too. You stood to join him in a wordless reflection, both of you looking down in reverence and silent sorrow.

You wondered if the Grabber- if Al- might have given some twisted eulogy after he’d completed the task, when he’d filled in each tomb. That creature full of sick hate and sadistic torment- did he look upon his work and laugh? Or was he more clinical, apathetic at this part of his procedure once the game had come to an end? Until you, the Grabber had shown no signs of remorse, no signs of stopping his spree. From the way the graves were cramped in one corner, there would have been room for more across the entire length of the back wall where you eyes now traversed-

There was more. One more grave, half-dug, set apart from the rest in the far corner. You hadn’t seen it over there in the shadows, too busy grieving the lost lives in front of you. A shovel lay beside the piles of dirt surrounding the small area, the gravedigger’s task suddenly ceased. This was different. The fifth grave was empty. Shallow and half-formed. The site had been outlined, slightly longer in length than the others. Separated from the boys’ plots, so clearly not to be categorized with the Grabber’s other victims. It had never been filled. The intended occupant had never made it as far as the second basement. Even if it were never to be filled, you knew whose grave this was meant to be. It was yours.

You’d avoided the same fate as the others, but that was no softening thought as you staggered to the other side of the room. What Al had originally planned, your own would-be coffin, laid out before you. Was it fear of what might have been, or disgust that he hadn’t ever come to rectify this abomination, horror that he hadn’t deleted any trace of his original plans before Al showed that he was capable of doing better? So many emotions, each refusing to take center stage, too much of everything somehow making you feel almost nothing right now.

“When did you stop digging?” your eyes didn’t stray from the upturned dirt to ask Al the question. Al had probably begun the excavation as soon as he’d taken you- you were an anomaly after all. He’d never planned on keeping you around. But how late into your captivity did he stop making progress on the fifth grave?

“Dove… I’m-” You held up a hand, palm flat towards him to halt his apology. An apology to you, here in this room, would feel like a sacrilege.

“Was it after the first time we fucked?”

“A…little later than that. After that first promise. I wanted to keep you, and when I kissed you that first time, you kissed me back. I never dug after that.”

You remembered that day, picturing the other basement where you’d been kept- maybe a couple of weeks after your abduction. You’d argued, questioned why the Grabber hadn’t killed you yet. And he’d admitted he liked how the Game had changed. Admitted he wanted you: to care for, to hurt, to fuck and to keep as his. You’d let him in, reciprocated the kiss he pressed to your trembling lips, and in doing so, had saved yourself from a shallow grave. You’d wanted to forget the hurt, but it was all still here, waiting to be found eventually. In saving yourself, you’d simultaneously doomed yourself in other ways that were less tangible than the feel of his warm body against yours.

Numb now, too many feelings screaming in your mind at once. But one concrete idea- that you were still here. Despite whether your choices had been brave or foolish, they’d been your own. So few choices given your captivity, but that had been yours alone. You’d rejected the possibility of losing your life to the Grabber, even if it meant, eventually, you’d given your life to Al in a new way completely.

You found yourself picking up the shovel, starting to fill in the uprooted dirt of the unfinished grave. Even if that ending might once have been a possibility, it wasn’t anymore. You began to pile the earth into the shallow dip, crying freely as you rejected this fate. Your injured finger was throbbing, exacerbating your pained cries, when a soft hand pressed on your shoulder. Al’s arm reached out to take the shovel from you, and you stepped back, understanding his meaning. You watched him work, steadily scooping the soft earth and compressing it back into place. His shoulders began to bob, and alongside his soft crying you heard muttered apologies, over and over. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It might have been for you, for those boys, for Al’s own shattered psyche.

After he patted the last of the loose earth into an almost-flat layer, he dropped the shovel and turned to face the room, his eyes puffy behind his limp hair. He strode, but not towards you, moving to an unlit area beneath the wooden stairs in the room, reaching for an unseen object before standing upright holding a small wooden box. Another kept secret- but one he was clearly going to reveal. There was nothing worse to find than the four small graves you’d already uncovered today.

“It has some things- of theirs,” Al gestured to the boys’ tombs with a sweeping hand, “You can look later, but it’s all been real heavy, dove. If that’s ok?”

You must have nodded, even if you were unaware of it, because Al passed you to ascend the stairs, a calloused hand on your cheek and a whispered comment to take your time before he climbed the steps out of the basement.

But take your time with what? Processing all this, really processing everything that had happened, in the almost-year you’d spent with Al, and the events before your arrival, would take countless hours. If you even wanted to pick it apart at all- it might feel too much like an exhumation, a morbid autopsy. There was nothing to be done here in this basement. You couldn’t bring them back. You couldn’t even bring their killer to justice, your own cowardice and selfishness stronger than your moral compass. That had broken a long time ago. Instead, you offered a quiet apology and a hopeful prayer that at least now, those boys knew peace. That they were somewhere better than where Al would end up in the next life. Somewhere better than you’d end up, too. You climbed the staircase a few moments later.

In the empty kitchen, Al locked the door once more, moving the refrigerator back with ease. He retrieved the wooden box from the side, holding out his free hand towards you, the one torn and bloody from escaping the handcuffs. You took it, your shaking fingers gripping his, before he led you home.

“Are you scared of me, Y/N?”

You looked up from where you were sitting on the couch. Al had spoken softly, but the sudden cleaving of silence felt loud as a crooked tree falling. Since the pair of you had walked through the door, you hadn’t uttered a single word. Al had sat you on the couch, had constructed a makeshift splint for your finger, had cleaned and massaged your feet that had collected all sorts of rocks and glass shards during your barefoot getaway. He had smoothed your hair with his gentle hands, had spread a blanket over your lap and tried to coax you to eat and drink something, anything.

For all your hurt, you’d only let out a throaty exhale of pain when he’d popped your finger back in place (‘Not broken, dove, but dislocated. This will hurt a little’). Al’s apologies and soft reassurances had died down when they were met with stony, dissociated silence on your part, but he’d spoken again after a few hours to ask such a question.

You looked towards him, where he stood a few paces away. As if he was worried the answer to his question would be yes, and he could distance himself even further, become less of a threat. He must have tended his own injuries at some point: you noticed a bandage wrapped around his wrist to match the dressings you’d affixed to his bloodied knuckles only last night. Hands that could heal and destroy in equal measure- you didn’t think about the skewed math of how proportionate that ratio was. But, did that mean you were scared of him? You answered, as usual, with honesty.

“No. Not anymore.” It came out weaker than you intended.

“Do you hate me?”

Al’s second question wasn’t so easy to answer. It wasn’t a ‘yes’. But, after all the things you’d seen him do, the first-hand experiences of his wrath and violence, the even worse things you’d been reminded of today- could that answer ever fully be a ‘no’?

“I-” you began, the strain in your voice and the staggered pause enough to convey your own hesitance and uncertainties, “I don’t hate you Al. But I hate the ugly things you’ve done.”

“Yeah,” he huffed softly, “me too.”

Al walked towards you, handing you a glass of water you hadn’t noticed him holding. Your inert state of shock hadn’t accepted anything to eat or drink all day, and the crying hadn’t helped your dehydration- you hardly realized how thirsty you were until now, taking the glass and drinking it down in a few long gulps. While you drank, Al perched himself on the coffee table facing you, and when you handed back the empty glass, he remained sitting, looking at you. Silent as the grave.

It seemed as though he was drinking too, taking you in with each prolonged stare and deep breath. You didn’t like to think why he seemed to be memorizing the trace of your face, each wave of your hair or curve of your body as he sat there mutely. Was his silence his way of giving you the floor? You’d finally spoken, so perhaps he expected countless questions after the things you’d witnessed in that dark, artificial graveyard. He’d be right- but where to even begin?

You swayed a little, feeling suddenly tired, but you suppressed a yawn to ask him a question. The Al who took you all those months ago (had he a shred of honesty or decency), would have said no. You hoped the Al sitting in front of you would say different these days: “Do you regret the things you’ve done?”

A deep breath before Al forced open his eyes on the exhale, pale blues centered on you. Solemn, and sincere.

“I have lots of regrets, Y/N. Countless. What’s in that basement, over there,”- his eyes flicked quickly to the window, in the direction of the other house- “those boys that I- that I took, and- and killed? Yes, I regret it.”

Nothing here was good. But some of this situation- the honesty, the admission of regret- that had to count for something, didn’t it? If not for those boys, their families, then at least for you and Al. It showed he truly had changed, even if those awful acts couldn’t be reversed. These thoughts scared you, because they spoke volumes for what you had become. A sympathizer for this man, this murderer. The devil’s advocate, who still believed that it wasn’t wholly wrong to stay, to live out some semblance of a happy ending with him. To put your own selfish love above what was right and just. To allow the blackness to seize you, enter you, tainting your essence, your soul, with its black, inky poison.

“Y/N? You still with me?” Al asked, tapping your knee softly. You opened your eyes. When had they closed?

“I’m here, Al.” you murmured, still consumed by your half-conscious thoughts.

“I know you want me to be honest, so I will say this,” Your tiredness abated at the promise of another truth. “I regret the way I treated you, you know that, dove. But I don’t regret taking you that day. I’m sorry for so much, for all the pain I’ve put you through. But I won’t sit here and lie. I can’t regret the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You had no remark, no answer to give. Not because you were repulsed by Al’s hideous confession. But because you understood that sentiment so deeply. Because being taken by the Grabber was the worst thing that had ever happened to you. Because being taken by Al was, impossibly, the best thing that had happened to you. If admitting that was akin to insanity, Al prevented the words leaving your mouth with a soft brush of his thumb along your lips.

“You’ve barely slept, little bird. Get some rest, huh?” He guided you to lie on the sofa, stroking your head before walking away from you. It would be too easy to close your eyes and fall back into your dark musings, but you did have one more thing to say to Al. One thing he needed reminding of, something that wouldn’t waver, even when faced with the horrors of his past transgressions.

“Al,” you said, and he turned attentively to your call, “You never asked me if I still loved you.” You endured the ensuing silence and his unwavering gaze on you, willing him to pick up your suggestion and ask that question, but he never did. You answered regardless. “I do love you, Al.”

Even the golden sunset light illuminating his face couldn’t kindle a spark of warmth in those woeful blue eyes. He gave a slow nod, accepting your declaration carefully. As if you’d written it in a letter and he was committing it to memory, folding it up and tucking it into a pocket of his heart. Like he might never hear those words again.

He’d left you warm under the blankets, but as he turned wordlessly to leave, his coldness reminded you of an earlier time. He might as well have bolted a metal door behind him with a thud and a click. You contemplated following him, but a drowsiness hit you like an oncoming wave; you could only watch his form retreating into the next room like a sailboat drifting out to an endless sea. Sleep came too easily for someone who had seen such horrors that day.

Al sat in the armchair, watching his little dove sleeping on the couch. After everything, crushing up those sleeping tablets in her water seemed insignificant, a scratch on the surface, so paltry compared to the deep wounds he’d previously inflicted. But it wouldn’t matter soon. Drugging her would be the last bad thing he’d ever do to his love. Or the second to last bad thing, perhaps.

Despite her parting words of love, Al couldn’t choose to believe them anymore. How could she love him, after all he’d done? Today had terrified him, when she’d cuffed him to their bed and had escaped to uncover his darkest secret. He was glad for the discovery now, that she’d seen the true evil he’d done, was still capable of doing. Given the right provocation, who was to say that Al wouldn’t let that otherness within him overtake him completely, hurting his dove after every promise not to, enjoying the pain and torment and violations he might still administer.

His little thing might profess love, but that emotion was a twisted figment of her imagination, something she’d created out of the inescapable situation in which he’d imprisoned her, finding a false presentation of hope, a small nugget of light within the darkness he’d dragged her into. He’d fooled her for a little while with his tricks, each roguish smile and small gift, the sensual pleasures and the games they played that had distracted from reality. It was just a temporary hypnosis. If there was a name for such an ailment, Al couldn’t think of it right now. All he could think, even looking at the peacefully sleeping form in front of him, is how much hate must really lie beneath that perfect surface. How much rot and ruin he’d caused within that shell of beauty and kindness.

She doesn’t want this life. How could she? But he feared even now, with her dishonest declaration of love, that she would deny the truth. For her sake, Al would have to end everything. It wouldn’t bring any sort of atonement for him, but he could give Y/N her life back. If he kept her here, it would be akin to a kill count of five. He still had the chance to spare one life.

Al’s chance was now. He rose from the chair, quiet not to wake his dove. He pulled open a kitchen drawer, retrieving the weapon that will end everything. Returning to the armchair, he held it to his chest for a little while as he watched the soft rising and falling of her chest, her mouth parted slightly, hair tousled and cheeks red. Every feature and expression, every twitch of her finger, each breathy murmur just perfect. His perfect dove. But no- not his. Not anymore.

Finally, Al lowered the item down onto his lap, looking down at the blank notepad he’d gotten from the kitchen. Reaching for a pen on the table beside him, he began composing the words that would bring the best chapter of his life to an end.

#the grabber #the grabber x reader #the black phone #albert shaw x reader #black phone fanfic #albert shaw #the grabber x you #albert shaw x you #the black phone fanfic #black phone

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fionaswhvre · 6 months

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Will You Stay This Time?

Buddie| 6k words| Rating: General

“Buck.” Eddie says again, softly, but firmly. “Look at me.” This time, there is no question in Eddie’s voice. He demands and Buck provides. Blue eyes clash against the browns. Buck’s breath hitches in his lings. He hadn’t realized Eddie was standing so close. “What about me tells you I will ever be tired of you?” “That’s what Abby told me. But she left. So did Ali. You think you won’t either, but you will be eventually, if I am in your hair 24/7. Believe me, Eddie.” “Who gave you the right to decide that?” Buck grabs Eddie’s wrist from where it is lying on his shoulder. “I am doing this for you.” Eddie’s grip tightens and if it was anyone else, Buck would have thrown them off himself by now. “You don’t know a thing about me, then.” “I do, I do, Eddie. But I also think some distance will be nice for us. Isn't it enough that we are just work buddies. Do we have to hang out at home day and night too?” Eddie scoffs and Buck can hear the incredulousness in it. “So it’s a lie then? That you're doing this for me?” “Wha-” “Spare me the bullshit, Buck. You are doing this for yourself.” “What? No! Why would you think that?” Eddie sighs, pertaining defeat. “If you want this distance that you are talking about, from me and Chris, you can have it. Just be upfront to me about it. That kid has enough people leaving as it is, everyone telling lies to him under the guise of sweet promises, just don’t do that. You can tell me the truth. I will ease it onto him.” It is Buck’s turn to tighten his hold in Eddie’s wrist. He can feel his blood pulsating under his touch, just as Eddie might be feeling Buck’s blood under his. They stand there for a moment like that, feeling the blood flow through each other’s vein in a similar rhythm. “The day I even think about leaving Christopher, is the day I might be dead.” “Then why?” Eddie bores his eyes into his, almost pleading. “Why would you leave us like this?”

Read here.

#buddie #buddie fanfic #buddie fic #evan buck buckley #eddie diaz #christoper diaz #christopher diaz has two dads #buddie angst #first kiss #911 fic

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three-possums-playing-human · 2 years

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Werewolf Steddie au excerpt since this is taking longer to write than I expected

He wasn’t human anymore. He was a fucking werewolf. Under any other circumstances, this might be cool. If Dustin ever learned about this, he’d probably geek the hell out. But all Steve could think about was the fact that he’d been mauled, almost killed, then woke up as something else. Something not even human anymore.

“The good news is that you aren’t alone, Steve,” Eddie said seriously, sitting down. Steve did the same, then looked up questioningly at the fucking vampire sitting across from him.

Seriously, what the fuck. He went from Robin dragging him on a camping trip to being a werewolf and talking to a vampire while eating cheesy bacon omelettes.

“I’m sure you probably won’t want to talk any of the wolves in Hawkins, I know most of them and they’re all dickheads, but there’s more strange creatures in this town than you’d think,” Eddie began, taking a large bite out of his omelette and gesturing for Steve to do the same.

“Now… I’m only telling you this because I know for a fact that they’d both want you to know. I usually don’t go around spewing my friends' secrets!” Eddie assured, “but, uh. A couple of your friends aren’t entirely human. Namely, Buckley and Wheeler. The one you dated, not the kid.”

Steve froze, fork in his mouth. “WHA-?” He choked out, coughing when he inhaled some eggs. “Rob and Nance? Seriously?”

“Yep. Those two are very much not human. Or, Buckley is very much not human. Nancy is kind of human. She’s a witch, Buckley… some kind of fairy thing. She won’t tell me what exactly.”

“How… how the hell. Three of you? And I somehow never noticed?” Steve was, frankly, flabbergasted. All three of the friends he had that were the same age as him were just not even human. Wait…

“Wait, are you even 19?” Steve asked, squinting his eyes like that would help him be able to tell the vampire’s age.

“Wh- yes, Steve. If I was some ancient vampire, do you really think I’d be a three time senior in High School?” Eddie scoffed. And, Steve admitted, that was kind of a stupid question. What ancient vampire would even stay around High School idiots at all, let alone for two years longer than necessary?

“I’m a born vampire, and I am 100% just a dude who sucks at school.”

Steve, unwittingly, was staring at Eddie’s mouth as he talked now. Not… for any weird reasons. Or, okay, maybe mildly weird, but that’s because this whole situation was weird and he just really, really wanted to see Eddie’s fangs. Like, vampires had fangs, right? That was their whole thing. Fangs and blood drinking. He caught glimpses of the tips of the vampire’s fangs as he spoke, but no clear look.

Eddie seemed to catch onto his staring and smirked. He took a bite of his omelette, and definitely very intentionally flashed his fangs. And boy, were they weird looking. They completely took the place of a human’s canine teeth, and were probably twice as long.

“Dude, how has no one ever noticed your fuckin teeth?” Steve asked.

“I can hide ‘em. Like, partially retract them so they just seem a bit sharp, not sharp and unnaturally long,” he demonstrated by opening his mouth wide and retracting them right in front of Steve, who’s mouth formed an O shape in surprise. “Also, Harrington, maybe we should go over your soon to be wolfy stuff, instead of my vampiness?”

“Right. Right, yeah, you’re right. Sorry, this is just all reality weird, very overwhelming, and would be pretty unbelievable if I hadn’t, y’know, seen you take on a fucking bipedal wolf and hardly break a sweat. My brain is still kind of… catching up.”

(Currently 6k words finished. Originally I planned 10k words, but I have no idea anymore, probably gonna be longer) (also was originally planned to be done yesterday but instead I read fanfic all day)

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wastetimeandtype · 4 years

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Okay so over a year ago in 2018 October I had a new job starting and I was anxious and could not sleep. It was terrible. I think I was mostly stressed because I couldn’t sleep, so then I couldn’t sleep more, which made me more stressed. I’m an anxious baby.

Anyway I wrote this wuko fanfic during this night. It’s like 6k. Apparently I decided if I couldn’t sleep this was what I really needed to do instead. It was basically Wu dragging Mako out for a night on the town a year after book 4. This was what I really wanted to write from 11pm-6am. I haven’t really touched Wuko since. It was a weird sleep deprived desire.

obviously that version was not publishable as I wrote it sleep deprived and I have fixed it up since then where I wanted to. But like I never felt the ending/knew how to fix it and I go through anti-wuko phases so I decided that 4am me wasn’t the best judge of fic writing.

But i went into work the next day and crushed it I guess; my temp job was eventually made permanent so I don’t think they knew I went into my first day of work and learnt a new computer system on zero hours of sleep.

#its not even thst wuko its mako being an oblivious dolt for 6k #thinking about it sgain because like its publishable #like i mainly got into wuko cos like i aint picky with my mako content #having an inspiring story of somehow not failing my job #me at 1am: guess im not sleeping better continue #me at 3am: guess im not sleeping better continue #god wha #anyway that job story is still the stupidest story i have #lok #my posts #wuko #mako #wu #look wuko is valid #i just dont know if i like it canon y’know

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host-club-hq · 2 years

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Indeed: ~y/n In Wonderland!~

➼ pairing: kyoya ootori x reader

➼ summary: as a new student at ouran academy, visiting the school is quite an experience. when your father and the dean insist on filling out the paperwork alone, a mysterious little stuffed bunny leads you into a world you could never imagine in your wildest dreams…(lol guys don't hate kyoya after this)

➼ word count: 6k (IT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THIS SORT I AIM FOR 8K EACH CHAPTER UGH-)

➼ what to expect: "Oh, yeah? Well, at least I know how to keep to myself, Tamaki!"

➼ warnings: slight angst, mostly fluff, secrets revealed! the infamous debt revealed!

➼ chapter navigation

You trail behind your father tentatively at the gates of Ouran. He continues through the entryway, but you stay behind at the gates. Dressed in your Lobelia Girl's Academy uniform, you take in the grand academy before you.

You clench your fist, taking your first step onto the grounds, and the clock tower chimes the moment you step foot onto the pavement. The entire school is empty- it's an eerie feeling, not a student in sight.

"I'm happy to say that your daughter's future here at Ouran Academy is assured. Her test scores are nothing short of brilliant."

You're seated against a wall with perfect posture and an emotionless expression.

Never mind the fact that your father is fantastically rich. The dean wouldn't say that explicitly. You're not exactly excited to be here. Your father took one look at the list of students in your grade/age level at Ouran and decided to pull you from your beloved Lobelia Girl's Academy without any warning.

Your father glances back at you with calculating eyes, "That's relieving to hear. I expect nothing less."

"Hm. Is that right?" The dean turns to catch your gaze, "Miss l/n, would you mind if your father and I spoke privately? You're more than welcome to explore the grounds if you'd like. Of course, most of the students are gone for spring break, but you might make some new friends even so."

You glance to your father, who nods shortly, "Go on, then." He permits.

"Thanks, dad." you stand, hands clasped in front of you, and exit the room promptly.

You make your way to the plush, carpeted red staircase that winds up to the second floor. The entire academy reminds you of a prestigious castle- it's elegant and clean, very regal.

Your footfalls echo in the empty hallways, the only added sounds are the doves fluttering outside the tall windows, casting shadows on your figure as you observe them.

In your daydreaming, a clock nearby chimes loudly. It draws your attention to a set of double doors at the end of the seemingly endless hallway. One of the doors is open ajar- something that seems strange to you on a day where there aren't any students to leave it open.

But, something waves at you, beckoning you forward. Although you spot it in your peripheral vision, you turn fully toward it with a gasp of wonder and find some sort of creature prancing across the inside of the room that you can see through the open door.

"Wha-" Your curiosity gets the best of you, and you move toward the room without hesitation. Music Room #3.

You jog, hoping to catch whatever it was that you may or may not have been hallucinating before it disappears. You press yourself against the open door and peek cautiously inside, finding a stuffed rabbit toddling along, behind it a discarded banana peel. Your furrow your brows when something great rumbles the floor beneath you.

Suddenly, the floor under the rabbit sinks in a perfect circle, lowering quickly.

"A bunny rabbit? But... it's a toy." you acknowledge aloud to yourself.

Just before it disappears, the rabbit turns to face you and waves with one of its ears. Then, it's gone.

Your curiosity runs ramped, "Wait a second!" You plead, dashing forward to get a better look, or to even follow the stuffed toy.

In your rush, you slip blindly on the discarded banana peel, your arms flailing as you fall over the gaping hole in the floor, much to your dismay. You let out a terrified yell, as anyone would if they were seemingly falling to their death.

y/n in Wonderland!

You seem to go on forever, screaming the whole way down. The dark plunge gives way to bright light, and you brace yourself for impact... but you're met with the floor gently, as if you'd only fallen a few inches or so.

"I'm fine..." You breathe out a sigh of relief. You stand up and dust yourself off. You seem to be in the same room you just fell out of, but there aren't any doors in this room.

A lone piano sits under a palm tree in the back of the room. The lid is thrown open and someone pops out. Or... something. You're not sure you can call the boy with monkey ears and a tail that you see someone. He props the piano open with concentration.

"Excuse me!" You call urgently, relieved that someone else is here with you. He yelps, caught by surprise at your presence.

"I'm a little turned around, could you tell me where-" Before you can finish your question, the boy leaps off the piano and snatches a banana from the tree nearby. He turns back and glowers at you with distain, munching on the banana.

A cloud of smoke overtakes him, and he seems to disappear- but when you squint your eyes, you find that he's only shrunken to the size of a child's doll.

"Wait, come back here!" You call as he dashes out from the cloud of smoke and makes a beeline for the miniature set of doors that you seemed to have missed upon your arrival.

You dash over and fall to your knees, face to face with the set of doors that are about the size of your head. You doubt you could even fit your head in them. You take them each by their tiny doorknobs and open them up.

Inside, you find the boy whispering in the stuffed rabbit's ear. When they notice you, they make a run for it farther down the inky black hallway behind the doors.

You sigh disappointedly and close the doors, inching away from them with narrowed eyes.

You peek inside the piano, "Where did he even come from?" You furrow your brows confusedly. You glance around, and there isn't another set of doors in sight.

"... that can't be the only way out." You groan exasperatedly.

The gears start turning in your brain when you recognized the tiny set of doors as the only options... and you turn to find a clump of bananas sitting on the floor from when the monkey boy had pulled them down.

You immediately yank a banana from the stem, as it's your only choice, gobbling it down in hopes that the same thing will happen to you. And, to your content, it does. You shrink down to the size of the monkey boy and the rabbit, and make a beeline for the tiny doors. You throw them open and waltz inside, almost with a proud stride at your accomplishment.

As you walk along the dark hallway, light bulbs to your right flicker to life in the shape of a word.

"Dog?" You tilt your head, passing it without another thought.

Then, a countdown starts beside you, counting from three to one, and then an image of bananas follows it.

"I have a bad feeling about this." You grumble. And, you were right. The next step you take is onto another unaccompanied banana peel. You yell indignantly, managing to slide down the entire rest of the hallway on one foot, followed by lights.

"Come on!" You scream, coming to the end of a hallway with another long drop.

But it isn't long before you hit water. Water... water!

You would gasp, but your lack of oxygen prevents that. You flail your arms uselessly, but then realize that the pool you've landed in is quite shallow. You manage to get to a more shallow end of the pool and stand, gasping for air when your head breaches the surface.

"So now... I'm in a pool?" You wade toward one of the elegant pool ladders and hoist yourself up.

"You don't cry very often, do you?"

You freeze- not expecting to hear another voice, "Hm?" You turn to find a caterpillar sitting atop a mushroom and smoking bubbles.

"You must not, to only fill a pool a quarter of the way. See, this water is an accumulation of all the tears you've shed in life. It's... impressive, I guess you could say." He continues longwindedly.

"Gross." You grimace, seeing as you're still in the pool of tears and had just been drenched in it.

"Speaking of which... I'd get out of there if I were you. It isn't safe."

"Huh?" You glance back at the water to get a feel for exactly what he means by that, when three heads poke up from the water in plastic containers.

As they near you, they seem like your Lobelia classmates, but then they emerge further to reveal that they're crocodiles, mouths wide open.

You scream, leaping out of the pool just before they can reach you and backpedaling to safety.

"See, I told you." The caterpillar hums smugly. You growl.

"Why do you always have to be such a know it all?"

You slump against a pillar and sigh, "This place is far more dangerous than I ever imagined." You pant.

"Wait... am I back to size?" You turn your hands in front of your eyes. You seem to be the same size as a caterpillar... so you suspect not.

"Not yet. But we can take care of that for you." The caterpillar blows a stream of bubbles, "If you're interested."

As you step closer, you notice that he has an incredibly handsome face for any caterpillar you've ever seen.

"What in the world are you talking about?" You tilt your head.

The caterpillar sighs another stream of bubbles in exasperation, "It won't be cheap, though. Ah, we have guests." He acknowledges as a man in a cloak holding the hand of a little girl approach the two of you.

The man in a black cloak speaks with his cat puppet, "Yes, hello. Might my little sister and I have a bit of mushroom?"

The caterpillar writes diligently in his notebook, "Of course. We can settle your tab at the end of the month."

You place your hands on the mushroom and peer up at him, "You know, I think you're the most astute caterpillar I've ever met." You narrow your eyes at him as he writes.

"What the hell are you always writing in that little black notebook anyway?" You tilt your head curiously as he pulls away from you the moment you try to get a look.

"Oh, anything, and everything... that's odd, you said 'always' just now. And yet, you and I have never met." He smirks, leaning down toward you.

"I did?" You point to yourself as the two customers take their share of mushroom for themselves.

"That's strange... sorry about that." You scratch the back of your neck.

As they each take a bite, the effects begin to take place.

"I'm getting smaller!" The man in the cloak shrinks, and from under the black cape, crawls a strikingly blond baby with a happy giggle.

"I'm getting bigger!" The little girl ages into a young adult, her clothes growing far too small and covering very little of her new body.

You deadpan, brow twitching, "That's not at all what I meant by getting back to size."

Your irritability is cut short when you hear a door open. A mysterious door appears in the middle of the floor and the baby crawls aimlessly through the doorway.

"Ah- that baby's crawling away by itself!" You turn to the caterpillar urgently, expectantly.

The previously little girl, who isn't so little anymore, sits near the caterpillar as he strokes her chin with his pen. You fume.

"It's not any of my business." He's clearly distracted.

"Find someone else to coddle!" You call to the girl.

As you turn on your heel and spring for the baby, you conveniently miss the way the caterpillar turns back to face you with a fond smile.

The door shuts behind you, and you find yourself in a different room. The moment you step inside, you slip on a banana peel, falling face first onto the floor, surrounded by peels upon peels on the floor.

"I've had just about enough of this." You grumble, lifting yourself to sit on your knees as you flick a peel off your shoulder.

Someone laughs at you, "Nice going!"

The woman sitting in the center of the room on a throne and dressed elegantly address you, "You may refer to me as duchess." she informs.

"Excuse me?" You raise a brow confusedly.

"The woman making banana soup over there is my cook." She directs your attention to a woman sitting with a pot, surrounded by empty banana peels, stirring the contents inside with a sound that's all but grimace worthy.

"So this is where they all come from..." you groan, standing to your feet and dusting your skirt off.

Some sort of cat-boy lays on the love seat beside the duchess, smirking at you mischievously as his tail sways behind him slowly.

"And this worthless layabout is my cat."

"Never seen a cat smirk like that." You tilt your head at him.

A spoon flies past your head, nearly missing you, and the duchess dodges it expertly. Your mouth drops open at the proximity that you were almost just knocked out.

"Why do I have to be the stupid cook?!" The cook screams, flinging plates in the duchess's direction, who continues to dodge them.

"It's not fair! I quit! You're always having fun and I always have to play the villain!"

Without anymore plates the throw, the cook pants angrily, "Tamaki you idiot!" And she flees the room.

You're starting to think this might be a fever dream.

You notice the baby in her arms and step forward, "So, are you the baby's mom?" You question.

She fails to answer your question, "Are you concerned for the child?"

"I'm just happy he's found his mother. It's for the best." You smile fondly as the baby sleeps peacefully, his thumb lodged in his mouth.

The duchess glances out the window beside her pensively, "Well, I'm afraid I must be off now." She leans forward and hands you the baby.

"Would you look after him while I'm gone?" She places him in your arms and you glance down at him.

"For how long?" You ask as her throne starts lowering into the floor with a twirl.

"I couldn't say. I've been summoned to appear in court." She smiles nonchalantly.

"Court?" The platform disappears.

"You know she's just pulling your leg. That doll doesn't really even belong to her in the first place." The duchess's cat chimes in smugly.

"Doll?" You look down and find that now you're holding a wooden cat doll instead of a sleeping baby.

"But... what happened to-"

You turn to the cat again but he's disappeared as well. You furrow your brows, miffed. Then, you place the doll onto the sofa where the cat had previously been sitting and leave it.

You walk through the next set of doors you find, trying to make sense of everything that's been happening. You find yourself in a covered courtyard with endless archways, and you doubt you'll ever find the end with how many you can see.

You find the same cat leaning against one of the many pillars in the hallways. You stop in your tracks, "Mr. Cat?" You can't think of anything else to call him.

He spins around the pillar and disappears, "Wait!" You call.

"Over here." A slightly different voice calls behind you. You find an identical cat leaning against a different pillar behind you.

"Pretty neat, huh?" He raises a brow.

"Sure..." You tilt your head.

"I can disappear-" Just like that, he's gone again.

"-and reappear anywhere." He's behind you again, arms crossed with a smug simper.

"Wonderful." You roll your eyes as he laughs.

"Do you happen to know how to get out of this maze? I'm a bit lost." You glance around at your surroundings.

"That all depends-"

"-on where it is you're trying to go." He appears on your opposite side.

"Must you all speak in riddles? I'm trying to go back to Ouran Academy with my father."

The cat swivels around the pillar and is gone again, and you just about steam at the ears, groaning.

"I'm afraid leaving here without an audience with the queen-"

"-is strictly forbidden." He turns around the pillar, gone once again.

"An audience with the queen?"

They fail to answer you. So, you shrug to yourself and continue forward, eyes closed and head held high.

But, as you do, the cat boy appears and disappears continuously on either side of you, but you refuse to acknowledge either of them.

"You might say-"

"-that the queen-"

"-keeps close tabs-"

"-on all her subjects."

You huff, stamping your foot down on the tile, "This is absolutely absurd! Both of you come out and stand still so I can talk to you properly!"

One cat peeks out from his pillar curiously, "Both of us?"

The other mirrors him on the other side, "What do you mean?"

You shake your head disorientedly, unsure of where that thought came from. "I... never mind." You wave them off and continue on your way, determined.

After you're gone, unbeknownst to you, both cat boys come out of their hiding places, staring off after you as you become smaller and smaller in their line of sight.

They turn to each other with questioning hums.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

The clock tower chimes once more. You seem to have arrived at another pool of water. Across from you on the other side, a woman in a sort of bird costume sitting in some sort of teacup ride stares pensively into the sky, almost hopefully, with a full teacup before her.

"Hmm... I hope he comes back soon."

You shrug to yourself; it's not the strangest thing you've experienced in this world quite yet. You continue on- where? You're not quite sure.

You find yourself in an extensive room with long tables all covered in table cloths. All are empty, save for one- with merely three people sitting at one end, taking up few seats.

A grandfather clock ticks against a wall, and you move to continue past them without a word, but remember that you're supposed to be trying to find your way out of this world.

"Pardon me, but-"

"No room." The blond in the elegant top hat informs you.

"Yeah. No room left, sorry." The little one reiterates, blond head of hair adorned with bunny ears and his body covered in a waist coat. Between them, a taller boy dressed as a mouse slumbers, a nose bubble inflating and deflating with each breath.

"I don't remember asking-"

"There's no room-"

"-room left. Yeah, I understand." You scoff irritably, spinning on your heel to continue on.

They clearly weren't expecting that kind of reaction, judging by the gasps they let out.

"Hey, you! Don't just brush us off like that!"

"We were only kidding! There's plenty of room left! See?"

You glance at them over your shoulder, gaze narrowed. You take a chance and pull out a chair across from them, taking a seat behind a vase of roses.

"May I ask a question about this place?" You inquire as you take your seat.

"Your uniform's pretty cute." The blond boy across from you acknowledges.

"Pardon?" You furrow your brows.

"That's actually a rather good look for you. Be that as it may, you'll still have to wear a much different uniform in the future, you know."

"And why exactly are you so concerned with my uniform?" You sigh.

The boy dressed as a rabbit pipes up from the end of the table as a tray of sweets rolls up to him, "So you're going to wear our uniform?" He questions.

"Yeah, those yellow monstrosities they call a girl's uniform?" You scoff, crossing your arms.

"Not quite." He shrugs before munching on a mouthful of cake. You grimace.

"If you eat that much cake, you'll get a cavity." You inform, your hands cupped around the teacup that you vaguely acknowledge is in front of you.

At the word, he tenses with a gasp. Beside him, the mouse's nose bubble pops and he awakens, turning his head to face the bunny boy, "Be sure to brush your teeth when you're finished."

"O... kay." He nods. The mouse promptly falls back asleep and his nose bubble inflates.

"A riddle!" The boy in the top hat announces. You face him curiously.

"How are cherry blossoms and sakura trees alike?" He inquires.

"Aren't they the same thing?" You tilt your head.

A mannequin appears beside the table with a bottle, "Hey! Would you like a glass of red wine?" The bunny boy offers cheerfully.

Although you can, "Sorry, I don't drink."

The taller blond boy and the bunny come together over the mouse's back, whispering, "I guess getting her to play Alice was a bit of a stretch."

"She's just not feeling the part. Still though."

They act as though you're unable to hear them. They peek at you from behind their hands.

"She's kinda cute." The bunny's cheeks dust red, and so do the blond boy's in turn, "Yes, she is." He agrees.

The clock ticks until it chimes on the hour, several grandfather clocks appearing beside the table at once. The blond boy pulls out his pocket watch.

"It's always 3:00 here."

"Which means, it's always snack time!"

"So, then... where am I exactly? I mean, just before, I was in the dean's office with my father, completing enrollment papers."

The boy in the top hat shuts his golden pocket watch, his demeanor suddenly switched from goofy to slightly serious.

"Riddle me this: what does Kyoya know now because of... you?"

You let out a hitched breath, the name sounding oddly familiar and comforting, "Who? Because of me?"

He chuckles fondly. You stare at him a moment longer.

"I am still at Ouran Academy, aren't I?" You take a quick glance across the room- it seems like the cafeteria.

"Will you make friends once you're enrolled?"

"Huh?" You inhale dumbly at his question.

"After you've enrolled, won't you make friends?"

"Won't I make-? Of course I will." You almost laugh.

"And what else?" He pushes further.

"What else?" You repeat.

"Yes, once you've made friends, aren't you going to tell them how you feel?"

"What kind of question is that?" You scoff, thoroughly confused.

"Aren't you?" Now, it feels like he's prying. You aren't someone who's fantastic under pressure, you feel frustration tears pricking behind your eyes.

"What?" You squeak.

"Aren't you?"

You let out a breath, "You see... I often feel like I bother people with things like that." You let him know.

"That's not true!" The bunny pipes up, a slice of cake on his fork.

"How would you know that?"

"But what about... standing up for yourself?" The boy across from you asks.

"Standing up for myself?" You tilt your head.

"Standing up for yourself." He clarifies.

"Standing up for yourself!

"Standing up for yourself..."

The clock ticks in the silence, and you get to stew in your confusion.

"Standing... up for myself."

Outside, a regal trumpet blows to the tune of a military march.

"What was that for?" You become easily distracted.

"The queen is now holding court." The blond boy informs.

"The queen?" You feel like you've asked that question more than once today.

"The duchess is scheduled to be executed." The bunny boy tells you like it's the most mundane thing in the world.

"What? That's awful!" You stand to your feet in an instant. The blond boy sips from his tea, "One does not fight the queen's whim. Trust me." He shrugs.

"I can't just not do anything! Something must be done!" You exclaim determinedly.

You throw your chair out from behind you and sprint toward the nearest door.

"Even when she's dreaming, y/n-chan is still y/n-chan."

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Everyone around the grounds has uprooted themselves to attend the court hearing. It seems to be a constant- the clock tower chimes loudly.

A bright spotlight flicks on loudly and shines upon the duchess, hanging her head in shame.

"Duchess... you stand before us now, accused of coming to the royal music festival by invitation."

A second light turns on, revealing the king and queen in elaborate masks on their thrones.

"Do you confess to your transgression?"

You throw the doors open at that moment, "What transgression?!" You holler.

The king seems taken aback, letting out a gasp. At your voice, a light shines over you, panting in the doorway.

"Who disrupts this court?" The king demands coldly.

Gaining confidence, "I do!" You exclaim.

"But you're just a lowly servant girl!" The king sneers.

"What? But I-" You glance down and find that you're now dressed in rags, and a cloth is tied around your head, holding your hair back. You nearly stumble back, exclaiming at your new appearance.

The duchess leans over the railing of her platform anxiously, "With all due respect, your majesty, it is my duty to attend the royal music festival!"

"Even if it means leaving your precious child alone?"

It's the first time the queen's spoken, so both you and the duchess glance at her.

"Your crime is not a question of attendance but of abandonment. This act is unforgivable. To leave such a child to defend themselves."

You step forward where you feel you can apply yourself, "Your majesty, the child wasn't abandoned." She peers at you through her mask.

"When a mother leaves because she must, the child understands! Sure, they have to defend themselves, but they'll have plenty of help if they know where to look!" You remind, unaware of where your thoughts are coming from.

"Besides, if you execute the duchess, how is her child any better off-?"

"Silence yourself, wretch! There's no room for your emotions in this courtroom!"

"But that's absurd! To conduct law without emotion, you might as well leave it up to some sort of machine!"

The king seems speechless, "Astounding insolence. Tell me, precisely how long have you been in the legal profession? Are you even qualified to practice law in this court? Are you not, in fact, guilty yourself? Why don't we discuss your crime?"

You take a step back, confused, "What on earth are you-"

Another light shines before you- revealing a perfectly intact looking automobile, which you recognize immediately. It's the most successful l/n family car- but... what is it doing here?

"I submit one faulty l/n automobile Model 7- its imperfections known by you. It could have caused thousands of deaths, people should have been warned!"

"What? This is our most successful car- but I had no idea it was-!"

"A likely story, but if not you, who's the culprit? Someone had to know the issue for it to be known to the public!"

"I have no idea who it was, but I'm telling you, I didn't know it was-!"

You gasp as a sudden memory washes over you.

"What the-?"

☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁

Kyoya sips from his tea in his own living room, a knowing smirk crossing his features as you set the teapot down on the coffee table before you, "I have been meaning to talk to you about something."

You chuckle, pouring yourself a cup of tea, "Go ahead- Fire away." You smile, rising from the sofa to get yourself a napkin.

"I overheard some... rumors of a certain safety error... in your father's Model 7?"

You freeze, hand outstretched to take a napkin from the pile and your eyes as wide as saucers. That's the absolute last thing you ever expected him to say.

"And... as I understand, if it were to be recalled, it could ruin your father's entire business? Seeing as it is your most successful car."

"I... don't know what you're talking about." You assume this will be an easy topic to shrug off, but Kyoya isn't so easy.

"On the contrary- I think you do." he prods.

You sigh, "That error was caught after only two vehicles were released... we caught it before it caused any trouble." You assure.

"I don't think the public would agree with that. I think it could have grounds to ruin your father's way of life... and yours."

You straighten- realizing what he's trying to do. He wants something from you, or he'll go to the press about the error.

"What do you want?" Your voice is barely a whisper. Kyoya smirks in accomplishment.

"Well, you see, my friend and I are starting a club at school, a sort of host club... and we'll be needing an errand girl..."

☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁ ☁

Your eyes are wide, and the entire court is watching you experience your flashback.

"... or did I?"

The king raises his hand, "Witnesses! Those party to the crimes of this servant girl are commanded to come forward and testify!"

Before you in a flash of light, the boy in the top had appears in a bow, his hat tipped to the throne, "It would be my privilege, your majesty."

"This girl has what might charitably be called a drab approach to relationship life."

"Excuse me!" Your cheeks flame in embarrassment.

"Bother, bother, bother! She won't let the friendliest person know how she's feeling!"

"Oh, yeah? Well, at least I know how to keep to myself, Tamaki!" You exclaim angrily.

At your accusation, the chandeliers above you flash on all at once, revealing female students in uniform and masquerade masks above you as an audience to the court, all laughing haughtily.

"What the hell is going on?!" You take in your surroundings.

"Now, how is it you know my name?"

Tamaki rises from the floor, his maroon dress coat along with him, "My name; how do you know it?" He turns to face you with a knowing smile.

"Yes, how is it that you know his name? However do you know it?" The girls above you chorus in incredible unison.

"How do I... know?" The duchess behind you lowers on her platform, her cats leaning on the railing.

"Yeah, and somehow you knew we were twins." Hikaru and Kaoru remind you in synch.

The caterpillar appears on his mushroom beside you, "And about my little black book, lest we forget." Kyoya recalls.

On your opposite side, the bunny boy and mouse are seated at a table, "And about my cavity!" Honey chimes.

Mori lifts his head, "How is that?" his ever monotoned voice asks.

"How is that?" Honey repeats.

"How is that?" The twins.

"How is that?" Renge, coddling her wooden cat doll.

"How is that, y/n?" Kyoya, smoking his pipe.

Tamaki tips his hat, "How is that?"

You're incredibly speechless for less than a few moments, "Well..." You can't seem to find a reason for everything that you know.

"Hasn't it sunk in yet?"

Tamaki gestures to the king and queen and steps aside to reveal them. The king is on his feet, and his voice is suddenly all too familiar.

"You've made a lot of... friends here, y/n... now haven't you?" The king sheds his mask and reveals himself to be none other than your father himself.

"Father, you're the king?"

You glance to the queen, still seated in her throne, her head hanging. You gasp at the realization, "Then... does that mean?" You bring your arms up to your chest hopefully.

"... does that mean... she couldn't be...?"

There's a deafening silence, and the clock chimes for the thousandth time that day. The queen rises wordlessly and strides toward you.

"You've gotten so big. Where has the time gone, my dear?"

Your eyes are wider than ever, your mouth hanging open. You nearly whimper at her voice as she nears you.

"I'm sorry... I made it so hard for you. And so..."

You stand motionless before her, her mask with a teardrop hiding her wrecked expression.

"Now is the time to make up for that, y/n. Don't be afraid to stand up to him for me, alright?" She tilts her head, and you catch a few stray tears sliding from under her mask on the side of the teardrop.

With a cry of your own, you lunge forward, shedding your own tears. You outstretch your arms for her, and she reciprocates.

But before you can reach her, everything fades to white, and you let out a frustrated sob...

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Kyoya turns urgently at your strangled cry and finds your head on the table before you, completely asleep, cheek pressed into the wood. When he looks more closely, he finds a tear streaking down your cheek.

"Mom..." You whimper.

Kyoya panics, and without hesitation, shakes you awake, "y/n." He calls you out of your slumber.

You wake with a start, your emotions from your dream carrying over into reality and you let out a stained sob. You push against who ever's closest to you, and that happens to be Kyoya.

"How could you do that?!" You hiccup, standing so abruptly that your chair flies back.

"Do what-"

"Why would you wake me up?! She was right there, she-" You take in your surroundings. You and Kyoya are alone in the back room. You must have been going over club expenses together and dozed off... and Kyoya let you sleep for a while.

Kyoya feels immediate regret fill his chest- he should have known what you were dreaming about from what you said while asleep... he must have just robbed you of a wonderful reunion.

You sigh tiredly, "I'm sorry, Kyoya... I must have just dozed off." You start to gather the papers at your desk and bring your chair upright.

"You... you were talking in your sleep. I didn't mean to wake you from a dream." Kyoya watches you move.

"I'm sorry I got upset... I just." you sigh again, at a loss for words.

At the risk of crying again, you surge toward Kyoya and wrap your arms around his torso in a tight embrace, sighing contently.

Kyoya grunts at the impact, your action unexpected but not at all unwelcome. He awkwardly wraps his arms around your frame, and places a comforting hand against your head.

"I miss her." You sniffle, face pressed against his blazer.

Kyoya hums sympathetically, "I know you do." He nods, although you aren't able to see him.

You turn your head and press your cheek against him, your eyes finding the skyline through the window beside you. The sun is nearly setting.

"Oh, wow... I must have been asleep a while." You chuckle nervously, bringing your head up to peer at Kyoya.

"Indeed, you were." Kyoya finds the skyline not long after you.

The setting sun provides a wide array of colors, illuminating the pair of you and, if anyone else was in the room, you would both only be silhouettes against the light of the window.

Kyoya sits in a chair nearby, and you manage to fit yourself next to him, wrapped around his torso still. In this position, he wraps his arms around your shoulders and holds you against him.

The rays of sun through the window provide a beautiful atmosphere- it's calm and peaceful, the only sounds are the clock tower outside, chiming at the top of the next hour, and the doves soaring across your sight and the flutter of their wings.

"Mind if we stay here a bit longer?"

"Not at all, y/n."

🎵I run and run a thousand miles, and I am barely breathing. Only the fuel of a passionate heart keeps this body strong and moving forward.

Could it be I found a place to rest? How far until I’m OK?

Trees of the town reveal the time has come once again to shift our shade and colors. 🎵

🎵The world always changes around us but weakness will always remain;

Through all the pain, believe in who we are right here and now! 🎵

🎵Raise one hand to the sky; raise them both lift them high!!

And you’ll cut through the darkness make it go!

The time to start is now! And I can show you how.

Start with me, and the world will be even bigger than ever before. 🎵

♡Next time, on Indeed...♡

When the newspaper club decides that you’re meant to be their marketing director instead of the host club’s… the boys are determined to protect your oblivious ass.

♡We'll see you then!! ♡

want to read more? here's my ouran masterlist 🌹

and here's my bts blog 💜

want me to write something you want to see? request something 💌

have any questions? talk to my characters! 🙏🏻

Adieu~ 🌹🌹🌹

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thespacenico · 2 years

Text

as long as you fall with me

pairings: keith/lance words: 6k chapters: 1/1

“I guess you’re cool with me taking the couch, right?” Keith leans over and gives the bottom of the couch a light, experimental kick. “Is it the kind that folds out into a bed?” For whatever reason, Lance takes complete and utter offense to this. “Wha—no!” Keith looks up, confused. “No, it doesn’t fold out?” “I mean, no, you’re not sleeping on the couch!” “Why not?” “Keith.” Lance plants his hands on his hips, glaring at him sternly. “That couch is much too fancy for you to sleep on.” “Lance,” Keith returns, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s still just a couch.” “A couch that you’re not allowed to sleep on because it is new and very fancy!”

read now on ao3

commission for @/stormie2817 on twitter, based on this post!

#my writing #klance #voltron #vld #pure fluff #let me tell u

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jackrrabbit · 3 years

Text

🤍 Haikyuu WIP excerpts

preview post for hq because recently i showed sara a list of my works in progress and she laughed at me and then made a dn joke like this is 2015 or something. we got:

🤍 communal property /// ushijima x f!reader x tendou 🤍 sunshower /// atsumu x f!reader x osamu 🤍 corporate ethics /// kuroo x f!reader

anyway these are all terrible first drafts and i'm not sorry. however i am very very into these pieces and if you're interested in seeing them finished, you should tell me fr fr

🤍 communal property /// Ushijima x f!Reader x Tendou

Summary: Tendou shares everything with Ushijima—his food, his dorm room, even the AVs he likes. Why not his girlfriend, too?

Tags/warnings: poly relationship in progress (only you and Tendou are dating at this point), mild suggestiveness ??, s*ze k*nk

Status: 10k words written (holy fuck lol) out of ~11k total? this bitch better get finished is2g

After the match, your voice is hoarse from screaming but you still manage to yell congratulations for your boyfriend when you meet him and Ushijima outside the locker room in the stadium. You’re pumped on the adrenaline of the game, so you don’t even protest like you usually would when Tendou picks you up in the middle of your hug and lifts you off the ground effortlessly. “How was I? Awesome, right? I told you we would beat them!”

“You did, you so did—“ Even though your throat hurts, you can’t help gushing about every rally, every soul-crushing block, every impossible spike. “—and then the guy on the left thought he was clear to shoot it but you just—“ You throw your arms in the air and mime hitting the ball down like a blocker. “Wha-bam!—and the look on his face! I thought he was going to punch you!”

Tendou laughs and lays a sloppy kiss on your cheek, just as thrilled as you are by the win. “You really liked it that much? I thought you weren’t into sports.”

“I loved it! You were so cool! I can’t believe I’m dating someone so cool!” You wrap your legs around his back and hug his face close to yours, reveling in the fact that this weirdo belongs to you wholly and entirely, that you get to have him to yourself (well, other than his roommate). “And I’m not into sports, I’m into you.”

Tendou smiles in a way that makes the sides of his eyes crinkle up and little red patches bloom over his cheeks, a look that says, I like you so much (Y/N), I like you I like you I like you, except he’s probably trying not to be mushy like that since Ushijima is standing off to the side.

You feel a little bad for ignoring him (no one likes being the third wheel, even if he never shows signs of caring) so when Tendou sets you down you turn to Ushijima. “And you! Holy shit, Tendou said you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good. The ball when you hit it was super loud—honestly, how are your hands okay? If I hit it that hard I’d probably break something.”

“My hands are fine…this is normal for me.”

But just because you’ve got them here in front of you and you’re still pumped from the exhilaration of the win, you can’t help grabbing Ushijima’s hand and flipping it palm-up to inspect. True to his word, there’s no redness, just the calluses he’s built up on his long fingers. “Wow.”

“You don’t need to worry about Wakatoshi,” Tendou tells you, grinning and then making a face. “He’s a monster, he can handle it.”

“No kidding. You’re both monsters.” You put the base of your palm up against Ushijima’s to gauge the size of his hand against yours, and without prompting Tendou grabs your other hand to press against his own. Tendou’s fingers are a bit longer, but Ushijima’s are…thicker, more solid. Your hands look like a little kid’s in comparison. “Can I be honest? Half the time I was thinking I actually feel bad for the other team. If I had to take on both of you at the same time, I’d probably cry.”

You’re (mostly) joking, but it’s still a complete shock when you see the side of Ushijima’s mouth curl up a tiny bit. You’ve known each other for months at this point, but you’ve never seen him smile until now. Half of you is wondering if this is some kind of optical illusion caused by the atmosphere and the dim light of the stadium cutting through the evening, but the other half of you enjoys it. You made Ushijima smile. You did that.

“Don’t sell yourself short, (Y/N).” Ushijima says, tipping his head to the side.

“Yeah!” Tendou chimes in, resting his chin on top of your head and folding his arms around your neck from his place behind you. “I’m sure you could take both of us. Right, Wakatoshi?”

So that’s probably a sign.

🤍 sunshower /// Atsumu x f!Reader x Osamu

Summary: [Kitsune AU] You find an old Ō-Inari shrine in the woods that may not be as abandoned as it looks.

Tags/warnings: Shinto religion, this preview is biased toward tsumu oops, yearning/soft vibes

Status: 3.9k words written out of 5–6k? total

Atsumu was the one who found you.

That’s how he likes to talk about it, that he found you, like you’d still be wandering around lost in the woods if it weren’t for him. Osamu thinks you would have found your way back home eventually but Atsumu likes it better this way, this framing that makes it seem like they saved you.

It’s hard for him to tell time linearly the way humans do but you mention once that you’ve known them for a year and that seems to fit. It’s spring now, almost barely tipping into summer, and it was spring when Atsumu found you. He remembers because of the way it was raining: light and tender, a summer rain early in the season, each little drop tapping off a leaf and then rolling into the forest bed to be eaten up by the grass and the soil.

Atsumu likes the rain, likes the sweet earthy smell it makes and the way the plants look so lush and green and alive, like they’d bleed if he sunk his teeth into them. He was out in the woods because of the rain ('Samu was in the shrine, as usual, attempting to set buckets under the millions of holes in the roof so the rainwater wouldn’t pool and rot through the wood underneath). But Atsumu was half asleep in a tree when he heard you crashing through the undergrowth, tripping over ferns and snapping every twig in your path (thought ya might be a bear, he tells you later, that’s how loud ya were) but he wouldn’t really have woken up if he hadn’t heard you singing.

(The odd thing is, you weren’t actually singing. You remember that day as vividly as they do: the warm, humid air making your skin feel sticky under your yellow raincoat; the tiny raindrops filtering through the canopy and kissing your cheeks; the ink feathering out on the damp xerox of the old map you found in your great-aunt’s attic so you could barely make out the “X” that was supposed to mark the location of the lost Inari shrine… You were cursing how stupid you’d been to go on a wild goose chase into the mountains with no cell service and no marked trail to look for a shrine that no one had seen in decades. You definitely weren’t singing.)

But Atsumu remembers it differently. No matter how many times you explain that you were just talking to yourself, when he replays the sound of your voice back then (reaching and lilting and falling, the way the birds talk to each other in the early morning, except the music of it was poured into syllables and words), it sounds like you’re singing. He wasn’t sure at first, hadn’t heard a voice that wasn’t Osamu’s in so many years that he gets tired counting them, but then he saw you push into view from between two bushes and he thought, a human!

A girl, too—it was hard to say at first because you were wearing that weird, slick jacket of yours, so bright yellow it was like an oversized flower blooming out of the grass, but then you tilted your head up to feel the rain on your face and the hood fell down and he knew. Not just a human, a girl! Atsumu wanted to yell for Osamu, make him come and confirm that there was a person wandering around not a mile from the shrine. A real person! Singing and smiling and wiping the rain off her cheeks (does that mean you like the rain, just like he does? did you come out to feel it too?) But he also wanted to surprise Osamu so he hid his tails and his ears and came down from the tree and asked if you had lost your way in the forest, since you were so far from any path…

When you think back on this yourself you’re amazed that you just went with him: a strange boy (man?) wearing a fox mask and traditional Shinto priest robes, which were somehow pristine white and red despite him having appeared from nowhere in the middle of a dense forest, who told you he had no idea what direction the village was but he could take you to the Inari shrine you’d been searching for…well. Maybe you were too surprised to be wary, or maybe you were just exhausted and lost. But you like to think you had a sense of it even then, the irrational belief that the boy in the woods was not just a boy in the woods.

Atsumu thinks you knew. Humans always understand, even when they try not to… He remembers, he took your hand that day in the forest and you saw that the claws on his fingers were too long to be human, and you said nothing because on some level you already felt it. Your skin was cool then, smooth and damp from the rain; he wanted to stop, run his hands up your arms, touch the places on your face where your mouth had been turned up at the corners and press his fingers into your cheeks.

🤍 corporate ethics /// Kuroo x f!Reader

Summary: [Office AU] The new junior marketing associate just happens to be Kuroo’s favorite camgirl, and he’s having trouble keeping his hands to himself.

Tags/Warnings: boss/employee, businessman!Kuroo as a reformed player, camgirl reader, this excerpt has a lil bit of 18+ content 👀

Status: 1.2k words written out of 4k? words total

Kuroo doesn’t watch porn.

It’s not, like, a moral principle or something. He has nothing against pornography. As far as he knows, it’s perfectly normal for single men. He just doesn’t like it…unless it’s you.

When he was in school it was easy. Being a teenager meant being so flooded with hormones that a warm breeze could get him up, and the adrenaline rush of winning a game was better than any big-titted porn actress faking moans into a shit-quality boom mic. Sure, he watched porn back then (what teenage boy didn’t?), but it was more out of curiosity than necessity. It was all kind of a mystery at that point, the way it can only be when you’re a clueless virgin and you and all your friends are too busy practicing for the next game to get girls.

Somehow Bokuto was the first one in their friend group to lose his virginity, and the memory of the dumbass self-consciously describing the experience has been lodged in Kuroo’s brain for the 10+ years since. “It was…I don’t know. She smelled good. You know how girls always smell good?” Bokuto’s hands twitched and his face was pink. “It’s just really…soft.”

Soft was right, Kuroo would reflect when he got laid for the first time a few months later. Soft, warm, wet. Sex was awkward at first, but before he knew it it was more natural than breathing.

It didn’t change much after high school, either. He didn’t get into volleyball for the groupies, but they didn’t hurt. There were girls when he played for his college team, more girls when he joined a business frat, so many girls he couldn’t keep track…they blurred together after a while. It didn’t take effort. You don’t need game when you’re 6’2 and you’re in the gym 40 hours a week, and you definitely don’t need porn.

So he never got into it. Now that he’s promoting volleyball instead of playing, things are more complicated. Kuroo’s never been the type who expects things to fall in his lap, but there are so many rules when it comes to dating in the real world. Good morning texts, anniversaries, flowers, parents. It’s exhausting. One time—seriously, just one time—Kuroo misses his girlfriend’s birthday to go watch a Jackals game, and the next time he sees her she throws her drink on him in public and keys his car. After that, Kuroo decides that until he’s ready to settle down there will be no more girlfriends. Which means no more reliable sex. Which means resorting to porn.

Which means you.

You, batting your eyelashes at the camera and biting the side of your lip. You, purring and mewing like a kitten. You, lying back on your pretty pink bedsheets in your pretty pink lingerie, sliding your hands between your legs. It takes Kuroo a full month to decide to pay for access to your website (Kenma’s unsolicited recommendation) but it takes less than five minutes for him to upgrade access to premium. You look like a wet dream—no, you look like the centerfold of every dirty magazine Kuroo managed to get his hands on when he was younger. Pristine and alluring and so deliciously out of reach.

And you make it so simple. No delicate emotional games with rules Kuroo never bothered to learn. No pretending to care how your day was. You untie the little bows on the side of your panties and lick your fingers and Kuroo just has to take his dick out and watch you. Getting off hasn’t been this easy for him since college. You’re a camgirl, you exist on his computer screen, and that’s how he likes it.

Which makes it a lot more awkward when Kuroo finds out that the only woman he’s gotten off to in the past…year, maybe?…somehow just got hired in JVA’s sports promotion department as his junior associate.

Your prim work blouse is buttoned up to the collar and your makeup is different, but he knows it’s you. You have to tell him your name twice because he’s too stunned to respond the first time, and even then he can’t summon up more of a response than a curt nod because his mouth tastes like dirt.

You smile a little awkwardly at his cool reception, and the hand you’d extended out to shake swings back down to your side. “Um, the guy at HR said he sent up my info yesterday…I’ll be working directly underneath you?”

Directly underneath me. Kuroo is taking a sip of his coffee when you say this. He doesn’t spit it out, but it’s close.

#haikyuu x reader #ushijima x reader #tendou x reader #atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #kuroo x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #tendou satori x reader #atsumu miya x reader #osamu miya x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu imagines

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