#I crave green leaves rustling in gentle wind

[emira-addams]

Hazbin Hotel - Alastor & Rosie - One Hell of a Team

TW: 18+

Their first murder leaves Alastor and Rosie with a special taste…

The scorching summer sun shone mercilessly down on the Louisiana Country Club, which stood out like a filthy stain in the wasteland of endless farmland and vast countryside. The country club was surrounded by rough, dry meadows and extensive woods.

The heat blazed over the lush green of the golf course. Sprinklers danced and the sun painted glittering rainbows as white golf balls flew through the air and across the grass.

A gentle breeze allowed the mellow grass to sway lazily in the warm wind, while countless bugs buzzed and hummed restlessly in the stifling heat.

The polished windows of the main building reflected the glaring sunlight, while the clear sky stretched above Alastor’s and Rosie's heads and not a single cloud dared to spoil the idyllic picture of pure blue. Even the birds were silent, with only the lively twittering of overzealous crickets interrupting the peace and quiet of the afternoon teatime.

Alastor and Rosie sat in the protective shade of a parasol at a table on the terrace with a cup of tea.

"Hm..." Rosie enthused, lavishly. "Today really is a wonderful day, wouldn't you say, Alastor?" she inquired of her best friend, the gentleman seated opposite her in a white shirt, black bow tie, and round glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

"Heaven on earth and a pure bliss," Alastor replied serenely, a smile curling his lips. "Care for more tea, my dearest Rosie?"

"Indubitably."

Alastor rose elegantly from his chair, lifted the teapot, and with a gentle hand, poured some more for the lady. The sound of Fats Waller's rich voice and how she sang the lyrics of "Ain't Misbehavin'" spilled from the speakers of the small table radio, sizzling and static-ridden, the rustling melody accompanied by his piano playing.

"I dare to say, the jazz craze is taking over, eh?" Rosie steeped her Assam with sugar cane. Slowly, her spoon stirred in her cup until the crystals dissolved into the dark brew. Sideways, she caught Alastor's grimace at the sight of the huge amount of sugar cane in her tea. "The rhythm, the spontaneity. Quite the bee’s knees. Heard of the new jazz joint downtown? Been there yet?" She rested the spoon on the saucer and brought the porcelain to her lips.

"Jazz, eh? Haven't stepped in yet, but the music and its leading voices quite captivate me." Alastor sipped his own Assam, prefering his tea without sugar. "These country clubs, so buttoned-up, they create their own lost world. Everything there is so... stiff… Jazz on my radio broadcasts could be the cat's pajamas, a real breath of fresh air, or should I say, a blast from Louis Armstrong's trumpet?"

"Alastor, miming the wag for once," Rosie sniggered in amusement. "But you're right. Jazz is the new sound for the escapism this spoiled society craves."

"Absolutely, a splendid escape. Speaking of escape, heard about the party next weekend at the Fitzgeralds’. They’re promising something ‘unprecedented and utterly daring’.” Alastor gestured grandly, then leaned close to Rosies ear, ensuring their chat wouldn’t have an unwanted audience. “I suspect they’re just desperately aim to outdo the Morgans’ bash from last month. Rumor has it, they're planning to introduce the Charleston to the elite. It’ll be quite the spectacle, watching the old guard cutting a rug."

"Oh, the competition never ends, does it? These bashes, tiresome, and becoming more and more of competitions for the biggest show-off. Who can be the most extravagant, be the talk of the town. Like we're all characters in a novel, vying for the most dramatic storyline."

"Indeed." Alastor always had more tea to spill during his outings with Rosie, ever keen on the latest gossip and sharing it with his best friend. "Caught wind of the Robinson debacle? Their latest venture has failed spectacularly. They're practically social pariahs now. It’s all the town can talk about. Seems their stock’s is falling faster than hemlines!"

Rosie waved it off. "Heard, and can't say I'm all wet," she whispered, swiftly glancing all around. "Always too big for their britches… They were always so utterly confident, almost arrogant. Watching their fall from grace is like observing a meticulously planned fireworks display that ends in a fizzle. There’s a certain… satisfaction in it…"

A broad grin graced Alastor’s grimace. "Schadenfreude, my dear friend, which is the word you were looking for, a really snazzy German term. But it’s hard not to indulge when the high and mighty take such a spectacular nosedive. It’s the most entertainment we get around here, apart from my fantastic radio broadcasts."

"Spot-on..." Rosie muttered, downing the last of her Assam. The contents of the teapot were completely bone dry. "Speaking of entertainment," she changed the subject of their conversation. "I was mulling over of hosting a little soirée of my own. Nothing like these grandiose displays, mind you. More intimate, with real jazz musicians. I want to see our peers let their hair down, for once. We’ll have it all—music, dance, and maybe even a bit of bootlegged gin, the hooch to loosen up the stiff collars."

Alastor applauded his hands with zest. "A really splendid idea, my dearest Rosie! Let's show them how it’s done and give them something to jaw about. This time we could be the trendsetters. Just imagine the talk it’ll stir up, us hosting something so… authentic. It’ll be the cat’s pajamas!"

"Exactly my thought, Alastor!" Rosie beamed, her enthusiasm palpable. "High time we spiffed up these gatherings with some genuine fun. Let's put our heads together on it. It'll be our little project, a gem of authenticity in a sea of fakery. We'll be the talk of the town, the big cheese, the darlings of the Jazz Age, flappers and philosophers in equal measure."

Alastor scrutinized, swirling the empty teapot back and forth. "Oh, I'm all in. Let’s shake up this stiff status quo. More tea, or shall we start planning our soirée? After all, rebellion is the greatest form of flattery in these modern times, wouldn’t you agree?"

Dusk painted the grasslands and woodlands of the Louisiana Country Club in the most beautiful colors, a brilliant yellow and a blazing orange. In the last light of the fading sun, the shadows grew. The heat was waning and the staff had already started to close the parasols. The first exterior lights flickered noisily to life, the electricity crackling. A bunch of boys were busily collecting the white golf balls scattered across the green grass.

"I reckon it's time to beat it..." sighed Rosie melancholically as Alastor, ever the thoughtful gentleman, offered his assistance and helped her to stand up. Further planning of the soirée would be postponed until their next outing. "The day's wearing thin and you know how angry Franklin can get if I'm not back before the lights are out..."

"Hm..." Alastor muttered as he handed her her hat and offered her his arm. When Alastor touched her, she winced. "Oh, Rosie..." He read her straight through. "You're a very special kind of actress, but even your smile for your old pal can’t mask the anguish in your eyes." Before Rosie could respond, he had carefully taken her wrist and exposed her arm. Under the silky fabric of her dress, gruesome abrasions, ghastly scratches and deep blue marks appeared on her pale skin. She froze in horror in his hold. "You know I've got no use for your husband," he spoke in a soft voice. His fingertips dragged their comforting circles over her arm. "I don't like the way he treats you and his manners towards a dame are distasteful. I would prefer to make him-"

"Alastor, don't-" Rosie interrupted him in his sentence as she quickly freed herself from his hold and hid the cruel sight of her arm under the fabric of her dress again. She closed her eyes as her fingers clawed into the cloth of his shirt. Her voice fell to a faint whisper. "You know how my father promised me to my husband. It was a business deal and I wasn't given the say or the luxury of complaints." She sighed. "I-It... It's gotten unbearable with him, Alastor. This marriage... it's... suffocating..." The rest of her words died on the tip of her tongue. Her voice trembled as her fingernails dug into his flesh. They strolled slowly around the country club building.

"Rosie..." Slowly, the everlasting smile slipped from Alastor's face. "I have known you for years, you are my oldest and closest confidant. I was reluctantly forced to watch you fade into a shadow of yourself in the presence of that abominable man, and I must admit that it pains me greatly to see you so diminished. What he is doing to you is not-"

"Alastor, please pipe down your voice," Rosie pleaded. Nervously, she began to chew on her lower lip and quickly looked all around. "Franklin is a man of high repute, no doubt revered by many, a man above reproach. And I... I am merely his arm candy, the canary with clipped wings and caged in gold, sweating to live up to what society expects of me… I gotta play the dutiful wife, because I am the fool…”

"You can't be justifying his violent behavior towards you!" Alastor objected, full of anger and protest, but also helplessness. "Neither his age nor his wealth, let alone his position as your husband, allow him such a right."

Rosie fought down a harsh sob as teardrops shimmered in the corners of her eyes, threatening to blur her vision. She quickly blinked them away. "What’s to be done, Alastor?" she desperately asked her best friend. "I can't find a way out of this marriage. Filing for divorce and leaving Franklin would cause a scandal and shame... I’d be a marked doll. I probably wouldn't be able to step outside the door again."

"Oh, my dearest Rosie..." Alastor sighed softly. When they reached the waiting car in the driveway, he pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her before opening the door to the back seat for her and they separated. "I promise you, you're not in this alone. We'll scout out an escape, somehow we'll dig up a way for you," he whispered. "I promise you that you can count on me."

Rosie took a deep breath, wiping the traces of tears from her cheeks. There was a weak smile on her lips, overshadowed by her somber expression and the hopelessness in her eyes. "You are my port in a storm. Thanks, Alastor."

"Sure thing! In case of need, you know who to buzz." He gave her an encouraging smile as he bid her goodbye "I wish you a good night, Rosie."

"Nighty-night, Alastor."

The next night was dreadfully dark.

The starry shape of the moon was missing from the firmament. A black moon ruled over the darkness and the dense clouds drowned out the last light of the stars. Sheer endless stacks of gloomy black clouds smothered the sky. A warm wind blew. Its hideous howling echoed like a dog's whining and wailing between the buildings. In the distance, thunder rumbled sinisterly and glaring flashes of light split the sky, roaring and crashing.

A severe storm was looming on the horizon.

The glaring flashes of lightning shattered the deep darkness of the night as the thunderclap that followed tore Alastor roughly from his peaceful dreamland. He was startled out of his sleep with a strangled shriek as the ceiling above his head trembled. Again and again, the sky was split into thousands of pieces by glaring light, the stars shattered into shards and the earth seemed to shake, while the storm and the wind raged against one another like two wild beasts in battle. Rain roared.

Alastor sighed sorrowfully. He closed his eyes and rubbed his raging temples when suddenly the soft ringing of the telephone from the kitchen reached his ear, the sound muffled by the closed bedroom door. "The phone?" Surprised, he glanced at the clock display on his wall. "Who would...?" he pondered as a feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. "Rosie!" Filled with fright, Alastor leapt from his bed. His leg tangled in his lay and he didn't take a very glamorous fall onto the hard wooden floor.

"Damn..." Under bated breath and between curses, Alastor pulled himself back onto two legs before sprinting barefoot out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to the phone. He yanked the receiver from its stand. "Rosie?" He listened to the stunned silence on the other end of the line as irritated fingers rubbed the sore spot on his arm from his fall off the bed. He stifled a yawn and tried to keep the sleep out of his voice. "Rosie? What's the matter? It's quite an ungodly hour for a call from you..."

"Alastor?" A strangled whisper broke through the static, her voice trembling. "I-I... I find myself in quite the predicament... I... I fret I've done something dreadfully wrong... Something most unfortunate has happened to my husband. Alastor, y-you must come here immediately..." Rosie's voice broke off.

"What happened?" Alastor was wide awake, frantically rubbing the remaining sleep from his eyes. "Rosie, I need you to speak to me more clearly. Are you in harm’s way?" The silence and the incessant static on the other end of the line were driving him crazy. "Rosie? Rosie, please talk to me."

"Oh, Alastor... I don't dare over the phone. Could you possibly make your way here?"

He heard her unsteady breaths and heavy sobs through the receiver. "Hang in there, Rosie. Promise me you'll stay up wherever you are, do you hear ? I am getting dressed and making my way out as we speak, please leave the door ajar for me. Whatever happened, we'll deal with it together."

"Please, just make haste, Alastor..."

"I’ll be there posthaste. Please try to stay sane until then, will you?" he promised, when the next moment lightning struck with a roaring thunderclap and the line went dead. He clenched his fists, cursing, and slammed the receiver back into its holder. Alastor had to get to Rosie pronto.

"Rosie!" His voice cracked. Frantically, he strove to shout her name against the crushing silence as he rushed through the heavy front door of the mansion, his boots muddy and his clothes soaked to the bone by the pouring rain. Dark strands of hair hung in his face, the lenses of his glasses were blind and he had armed himself with an axe, just in case.

Alastor strained to hear. "Where are you, Rosie?" The eerie silence seemed almost peaceful as he listened to the rapid, fast-circulating blood rushing through his veins and his heartbeat echoing loudly in his ears. His knuckles turned white as they clutched the wet handle of the axe tighter.

"Rosie?" whispered Alastor. The dim light of the antique lanterns along the walls flickered nervously. The reddish glow of the rising morning sun fell against the rigid walls of the mansion, creating ominous shadows, dust specks danced bustling in the first sunshine. In the distance, the bells of the church chimed solemnly for the full hour. Faintly, almost tenderly, each of the individual strokes against the dull metal mingled with the bizarrely cheerful chirping of the birds and echoed hauntingly in Alastor's head, while his wheezing breath slowly strangled his throat and filled his lungs with wadding.

"Where are you, Rosie?" His mouth was dry, his hurried footsteps bouncing back from the towering brick walls of the mansion, betraying his panic as his restless gaze twitched back and forth, keeping a careful eye on the shadows.

"H-Here..." Suddenly, the wretched sound of her voice came from the kitchen.

Alastor dashed towards the kitchen.

"Goodness gracious, Rosie! What has happened here?" As Alastor entered the room, he suddenly stepped in something moist. A sticky liquid stained the tips of his boots and the stinging smell of a mixture of iron and salt crept into his nose. The smell of blood clouded his senses as he stood stiff and silent in the red puddle, but then he spotted Rosie.

Her silhouette crouched on the ground with her head down and her shoulders slumped. The gleam of the knife blade in her hands shed an ominous, shimmering glow on the scene. Her husband's body laid amidst shards of glass and a smashed chair.

Alastor took a deep breath, then crossed the pool of blood on the kitchen tiles with steady steps and sat down with his best friend, sighing in sadness. The brass handles of the cupboard doors dug into his spine. "My dear Rosie, let's set the knife aside, shall we?" Carefully, he freed it from her tight grip.

"Oh, Alastor..." her voice whispered weakly, stifled by heavy sobs. "W-What have I done?" Eyes sunken and cheeks wet with tears, she stared stunned at her bloodied hands. "I didn't mean for it to come to this. Oh, Alastor, I had no wish to cause harm and hurt him. My only desire was to protect myself from him but then the things took a dreadful turn…”

"Is he dead?" Alastor demanded to know, his voice low. He rose and stalked over to her husband, his chest rising and falling weakly with rattling breaths. More and more blood oozed from the wounds of his injuries as the pool on the floor grew.

Rosie shook her head swiftly. "I believe he is still drawing breath, albeit faintly. I am filled with fright, Alastor, truly frightened..."

"Hm..." Lost in thought, his boot nudged his body, Franklin tried to stir with a grave groan. "Rosie, listen carefully. We must remain composed now. Taking him to a hospital is out of the question, as it would raise far too many inquiries. Yet, do not fret, we get through this predicament together..."

Rosie looked at her best friend, her eyes wide with fear. "But what shall we do for him, Alastor? If he... if he succumbs, I shall be branded a murderess!"

"Now, now, my dearest Rosie, please do not distress yourself with such thoughts..." Alastor asserted. He got down on his knees next to her husband and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. "No one will talk about you as a murderess" he promised her. "No one will ever know what happened here and no one shall cause you harm evermore." An ice-cold smile graced his lips as he stared deep into Franklin's eyes and wrapped his hand around his throat.

Franklin gasped. A mixture of blood and drool gushed from his mouth, snot ran from his nose and spread across his chin. His eyes bulged out of the sockets of his skull as Alastor firmly squeezed his throat. Deep crimson color built in his face, Franklin spat and spluttered blood. Alastor stared him straight in the eyes with a gleaming grin as the last of his life drained from them.

A low laugh escaped Alastor, he smiled in satisfaction, as he rose quickly and kicked the lifeless body on the ground one last time for good measure with the tip of his boot.

Franklin was dead.

"Rosie? Are you all right?" Alastor asked carefully.

"Yes, thanks to you... I am truly grateful, Alastor..." Rosie sniffled. She wiped the last of her tears away with the sleeve of her dress.

"I-I... I cannot fathom what I would have done without you. The fear was overwhelming, yet now you are here, and it seems as though all could be well once more..."

"Indeed, all shall be well," Alastor assured her.

His best friend looked up at him silently as he got down on his knees in front of her, regardless of the pool of blood. He cupped her cheeks with his bloody hands. "What should we do with his body now?" she wanted to know calmly. "I surely cannot bury Franklin in the flower garden. Would that not be the first place they would search?" She scrunched her nose up, still sniffling. "Moreover, I fear his decomposing remains would mar my roses..."

"Hm... Perhaps I am aware of a more covert method to ensure he 'vanishes'..." Alastor murmured, lost in his thoughts as the last tears escaped Rosie's eyes and the salt water mixed with the blood on her cheeks. Carefully, his fingertips wiped over her cheekbones. "Hm," he hummed with delight as he licked his bloody fingertips.

Suddenly the expression in Rosie's eyes changed, her gaze became hungry. Saliva collected in the corner of her mouth as her tongue licked over her lips. Her fingernails dug firmly into Alastor's flesh as her cold fingers wrapped around his wrist and she turned his palm towards her. Then slowly, her tongue began to lick over his bloodied hands.

"Are you still in possession of the recipe for jambalaya I shared with you, the one from my mother, my dearest Rosie?" Alastor asked.

"Yes, but the quantity of meat would be excessive for our consumption," Rosie added with a deep frown. She cast a cursory glance at the calendar on the kitchen wall. "We're lucky!" she said cheerfully. "Fortuitously, the elementary school is slated to host a summer festival this weekend. Franklin was to be the guest of honor, and the committee had requested I contribute a culinary dish or dessert. I had contemplated a cake, but jambalaya might indeed be more fitting."

"That's my brave dame," Alastor stated proudly as he helped his best friend to her feet and pulled her into a tight hug. Arm in arm, they stood embraced on the sill between the cold tiles and the warm pool of blood, dancing in small circles around each other, holding each other still and silent. Their hands found one another and their fingers intertwined. In the middle of the dawn, in the warm glow of the rising sun and the stone floor at their feet, they swayed gently to the music of a song that no one but they would ever hear. They hummed to the melody that the wailing wind sang for them alone. The horrors were forgotten and for the moment the storm completely ceased its rampage. "Now, take deep breaths, Rosie. I am here for you, you are not alone. Gather the pots and pans, and I shall retrieve the necessary tools from the shed."

"Don't we make one hell of a team, Alastor?"

"Indeed, my dearest Rosie!"

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #the radio demon #hazbin hotel rosie #hazbin rosie #rosie #rosie the cannibal #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #origin story #alastor x rosie #alastor & rosie #radiorose #pre-hell #life before death #alastors and rosies life before hell #they are one hell of a team #oneshot #queerplatonic #alastor and rosie #they are besties #platonic radiorose

[ecliptsukki]

his delinquent phase ❧ kaoru sakurayashiki // cherry blossom

navigation | music

➣ genre: fluff

➣ warnings: adam’s existence 

➣ request: can i request a one shot where you’re cherrys s/o and like childhood best friends with joe and cherry and adam and you’re gushing over cherrys old bad boy look with piercings and everuthing and cherry one day goes to S with his piercings and hair the same way as before just to see you fawn over him skjfks

➣ a/n: this took me three times to type up because the first two times i did it, tumblr thought it would be funny to delete it. i’m not sure if i love how this came out, but it’s still better than my original plan. hopefully this was correct to what the anon requested. enjoy!

ps: i’m also going to be going on a trip for four days tomorrow, so i’m not sure if i’ll be able to post. i’ll definitely try to start working on my other requests!

You had known Joe, Cherry, and Adam ever since the four of you were in high school. Out of the three, you had met Joe, first, not soon before you met Cherry.

You were walking down the eventful streets of Okinawa, admiring the sights and getting accustomed with the area. You had moved to the city not too long ago and already were growing attached to the place. In your defense, the city was your perfect and desired location to live in. 

A gentle breeze blew through your hair, rustling the leaves of the green trees. You sighed at the feeling of the cool breeze tickling your warm skin. Not long after that breeze had gone, another, harsher breeze blew past you. You flinched at the abnormally sharp wind, snapping your head to the side, in its direction. You were met with honey red eyes and short, green locks, swaying. 

The male slips past you, stopping abruptly.

“Sorry about that,” he smiled, embarrassed, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You were in awe, seeing what the boy was standing on, and on alert because you had always been taught to be cautious around strangers, especially when you were walking alone. 

“Um, no. I’m alright, just shocked,” you shrugged, replying quietly.

Another harsh, but gentler than before, wind blows past you, revealing a pink-haired male. He had three piercings on his ear and one on his lip. Half of the boy’s face was hidden by his long bangs, allowing your focus to lock on his golden eye.

“Watch where you’re going,” he snaps at his green-haired friend. “Sorry about him,” he apologizes, giving you a polite smile.

All the sirens were going off in your head.

He has so many piercings! Is he a delinquent? Are both of them delinquents? If they are, I can’t fight them off on my own. What do I do?

“I’m Kaoru,” the bubblegum-haired male suddenly said, “This is Kojiro.”

Kojiro nodded at you, an embarrassed blush still grazing his cheeks. 

“Hey, aren’t you the new kid?” Kaoru asked, finding your puzzlingly familiar.

“Oh, that’s why I felt like I’ve met you before,” Kojiro spoke up, nodding his head when he realized who you were.

Awkwardly, you shyly respond, “Sorry, I can’t seem to remember seeing you guys at school. Are you in my class?”

Until dusk, the three of you talked, getting to know the each of you better. You were also able to befriend the boys you were so afraid of, becoming your first two friends in the city.

You met Adam in the dark of night, beside Cherry and Joe.

They had brought you along, one night, wanting to skate with you. You already knew the basics of skating, nothing more, nothing less. Therefore, as your closest, and only, friends, they wanted to get further acquainted with you in something they loved. 

“Who’s the sweet cheeks?” His hoodie-covered eyes left an eerie pressure on you, causing goosebumps to emerge from your skin.

“This is our close friend, Y/N L/N,” Cherry spoke up.

“She goes to school with us, and we wanted to bring her skating. Mind her tagging along?” Joe asks his hooded friend.

“Not at all, just as long as she can keep up,” he spoke in a cocky tone.

The pretentious attitude the unnamed face had was irking you in the wrong way. He seemed too mysterious for your liking. A third of the boy’s face was hidden in the shadow of his hoodie, leaving you only able to see the blue tips of his hair and his structured nose. 

He must’ve noticed your timid stare because he looks at you, under his hood, “Call me Adam.”

 Cherry and Joe look at you expectingly.

“Just call me sweet cheeks, for now,” you reply, distantly, not ready to let your guard down just yet.

You hear your two friends sigh, chuckling to each other.

“Don’t worry, she’ll warm up to you, soon,” Cherry told Adam, “We know firsthand how she is with meeting new people.”

You blush, remembering your first encounter with the pair.

Thinking back, you still regret letting your walls down and accepting Adam as a friend. Not a day goes by that Adam doesn’t linger in your mind, as much as you’d hate to admit. 

You despise that man with a passion. From your first interaction, you should’ve known that there was something off about the blue-haired male, but pondering on these frustrations now wouldn’t change anything. As much as you’d like to curse the man for hurting your friends’ and your feelings, you knew you had to move on.

You sat on the soft mattress of your shared bed, scrolling through old pictures stored on your phone. You saw pictures taken by Kaoru when you guys went on dates. Majority of the photos were candid, seeing as he always had told you that you were the “most photogenic woman” he had ever met.

You remember the day he had told you that. You also remember your laughed reply.

“Then you’ve got the whole world to explore, my love.”

Although, honestly, you thought Kaoru was quite the photogenic one himself. His gorgeous, sorted, pink hair matched with his golden eyes and perfect face never looked bad, not even at the crack of dawn or in the late of night. 

Speaking of which, you scrolled upon a photograph of Kaoru sitting all pretty with his piercings on display. Those piercings brought back many memories, humorous and lustful.

Ironically, the thing that brought you fear before now brings you yearning.

Honestly, once you had befriended Kaoru and came to trust him, the piercings no longer frightened you but instead, fascinated you. Those metal hoops further increased your attraction to the ponytailed man, leading you to the relationship you were in now.

Obviously, Kojiro played a big role in setting the two of you up together because both of you were completely oblivious to the other’s feelings. It got to the point that Adam almost had to step in and wack some sense into the both of you.

Anyways, ever since Kaoru had started working in the calligraphy business, he removed his piercings to maintain a professional image. You detested the idea, but you also knew that it was the best for his business. 

Now that you were looking back at photos of Kaoru as a teenager, you began to crave seeing him in those metal rings once more. You missed the “bad boy” look your boyfriend used to have, not that you didn’t appreciate how he looked now. It’s just that there’s a different vibe to his current and past aesthetics.

As you stalked through more pictures of teenage Kaoru, you were unaware of the very man you were thinking about watching you. He noticed the longing and craving in your gaze. Then, he caught a glimpse of what was being projected on your screen: it was him but in his teenage years. 

Suddenly, everything clicked for Kaoru, and he had the perfect plan in mind.

Something was off. Usually your boyfriend would insist on bringing you to “S” himself but not today. If anything, he was urging you to go with Kojiro.

“He’s been your friend for the same amount of time as I. You should take this time to your advantage and catch up,” was Kaoru’s excuse.

First of all, catch up on what? It’s not like you haven’t talked to Kojiro in months. Actually, you talked to him a day ago, at “S.” Secondly, what’s up with the sudden lenience and weak excuses?

Joe, who was also in on the plan, tried to help his friend out, making a feeble attempt to lure you with free food.

“I can get free food from you whenever I want,” you replied, squinting suspiciously at your friend.

“Not with that attitude, you can’t.” That pulled a raised brow from you and a regret-filled face from the muscular man.

Though you weren’t fully convinced that nothing was off, you still left with Joe, caving into their terrible attempts of covering up whatever they were hiding from you.

You had arrived at “S” with Joe for about ten minutes now, but there was still no sightings of your beloved, Cherry. Joe caught glimpse of your searching eyes and reassured you that he would be coming, be it later than usual.

Reki, Langa, and Miya had made their way over to you, sparking up a conversation with you, making you forget about the missing presence of a specific male. 

Miya was explaining the new training regiment and diet he was to use in order to advance his strength, leading you to worry for the small teenager. If he didn’t eat enough, it could become fatal to him. You didn’t understand why a child was being treated so harshly by his managers, forcing him to eat barely anything and train long hours of the day. 

You were concernedly asking Miya if he was feeling alright and offered him an energy bar you carried around in case of emergencies, which he gratefully accepted, when you heard the cheers of fangirls behind you. Knowing they weren’t meant for Joe, you turned around to meet the golden eyes you’d fallen in love with.

This time, there was something different. His face wasn’t hidden by his mask. You could see the pale skin of his cheeks and the pink of his lips. Besides the absence of the black cloth, you noticed metallic rings decorating your boyfriend’s lip and ears. Also, his hair wasn’t whipping behind him, as per usual, but laid low, drifting in the wind.

For a hot moment, you had thought you had finally lost it, but when you blinked your eyes, looking at Miya then back to Cherry, you realized you were still sane and your boyfriend still looked like he aged back into his high school days.

“Is that Cherry?” Miya asked from beside you.

You nodded, speechless.

You heard someone let out a loud laugh beside you, “Since when did he have piercings?”

Ignoring the redhead’s outburst, you were mesmerized by the Cherry you had been obsessing over a couple days ago. It felt like one extravagant dream that you didn’t want to wake up from. In your defense, as he stepped of his skateboard, coming to embrace you, he looked straight out of a fantasy. His skin was practically glowing, and his hair gently floated perfectly onto his shoulders.

“Hello, darling,” he spoke in a sultry voice, placing a soft kiss to your forehead as he held you in his muscular arms.

“K-Kao—” you quickly realize your soon-to-be mistake and fix it, “Cherry.”

His eyes shrink as he laughs, endearingly, admiring the flustered and confused look you were portraying.

“Is this why you and Joe were being so weird earlier today?” You asked, cheek pressed against his slim, toned chest.

“Indeed, my love. What do you think? Definitely brings back some memories of the old days,” he lifts your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

“I love it. It’s perfect. You’re perfect,” you smile brightly, eyes lustrous. Pushing yourself up on your toes, you whisper into his ear, “You also look really hot.” You quickly pull away, turning a vibrant red.

“I think you broke her,” Joe told his friend, placing a heavy hand on the pink-nette’s shoulder.

After the supposed one occurrence surprise, you began to avidly ask him to wear his piercings, loving how attractive and domineering he looked in them. If he denied, you would ask him to, at least, tie his hair in the relaxed half up half down hairdo. He didn’t mind the different hairstyle as much as he did the piercings so it became a normal look for him. The only times he would willingly put on his piercings were when he was going to “S” or when the two of you were safe in the comfort of your own home, for research purposes.

#kaoru sakurayashiki #kaoru sakurayashiki x reader #sk8 kaoru #kaoru sakurayashiki headcanons #kaoru sakurayashiki imagines #cherry #cherry blossom #cherry blossom x reader #cherry fic #sk8 cherry #cherry blossom fic #reader insert #fem!reader #kaoru sakurayashiki fluff #cherry blossom fluff #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sk8 x reader #skate the infinity #fluff #sk8 the infinity fic #kaoru sk8 #cherry sk8

[babblesbabble]

A Matter of Trust

Chapter Three

Rating: Explicit | 18+

Read here on AO3

Jude and Cardan kick things up a notch.

They order a number of things from the room service menu, ordering one item at a time. It is, according to Cardan, the best way to savor it and Jude has nowhere else to be tonight. It was her idea in the first place to order food, but it seems she might not be the only one attempting to use the time to their advantage. For Jude there’s not one good reason to reject luxurious food from an expensive hotel, when it’s all being paid for. For Cardan it is an opportunity to show that he’s not the same person.

They begin with a charcuterie board, fresh fruit and cheeses with nuts and bits of bread and jam. Jude would gladly live off the stuff. Then it’s plump crab cakes and a basket of the truffle fries for each of them. And of course, what’s a healthy dose of wooing without dessert? He picks the warm chocolate chip cookies fresh from the bakery next door. They’re notorious on Instagram— Jude must have seen at least a dozen pictures of the large cookies with oozing chocolate chips before. They were a must have for any guest staying at Insmoor.

There is something intimate about sharing a meal with someone. Eating is not exactly the most flattering thing you can do in front of another person, but pretense is probably behind them after she’s had a mind-numbing orgasm under his direction. Jude doubts, at this point there is little she could do that would be a turn off. No, something has formed between them, tentative as it may be, that is caustic.

Jude plucks one of the last green grapes from the remains of the charcuterie board and pops it into her mouth savoring the fresh taste. They have eaten in relative companionable silence exchanging only the occasional courtesy, but she knows their business is unfinished. She has pushed off the conversation for as long as possible. If she starts now, she will feel more in control of the situation, something she is slowly taking back after opening up.

Jude takes a deep breath mentally preparing for the toll of this and beings, “An agreement, that’s what you want to make right?”

“Yes, that way we can go over what we want. What we’re okay with, or not.” Cardan leans back stretching against the chair Jude had once occupied. She tries not to get distracted thinking about what had happened there not so long ago.

“You can start,” she prompts, pulling her legs up to sit crisscross on the couch she’s been occupying. It’s adjacent to the chair and the leftover pickings of their room service is scattered on the coffee table that’s in front of them.

“For now, maybe we can do this once a week. How does that sound?” He proposes.

It’s not exactly what Jude had expected to begin with but it’s as good a place as any. “That sounds fair. We can always agree to more if we want.”

“Right, exactly. I’d also like to spend time with you outside of scenes.” His eyes try to stay on her, and Jude can tell he is nervous to ask this.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” She asks slightly bewildered, a near laugh tinged to her words.

“I… I guess I am, yes. I’m not saying we have to be anything, but it could make things easier if we got along better outside of scene. From what I’ve seen tonight you weren’t all the way comfortable getting into it.”

He had managed to read her fairly well throughout their play it seems. It surprises Jude a bit, but he has been full of surprises.

“It’s vulnerable,” Jude admits. Her brown eyes moving across the room to look at the surroundings once more, all the same and becoming obviously recognizable to her. At the moment it is easier than looking at him. “I don’t ‘do’ vulnerable very well.”

“I think it’s powerful to be able to give yourself over to another. It’s not something just anyone can do.” Cardan shifts forward and carefully places a hand on hers.

She can feel the warmth seeping from his large hand that fully covers her own. It is a kind touch, an attempt at building connection.

She considers his words, “I can see that perspective, and in a way it is. But opening up is… precarious. You showed me at least today that you’re capable. That doesn’t just mean I trust you without question though.”

“I don’t expect you to, Jude. If you didn’t question me, I think that would concern me more,” Cardan laughs a little.

“I’m a bit of a challenge,” Jude shrugs. She’s practically a maze of intricacies and contradictions but she thinks he deserves to have to earn this from her.

“You're worth it,” He says confidently, but pulls back from being so close.

It’s another push of reassurance to her, he wants this with her and he’s willing to do whatever she puts in the way to make it happen. Isn’t that a twist of fate?

“Oh, I hope so. If you’re taking me out, I want an experience,” Jude sits back against the couch.

“Right, you’re a tough sell,” he sighs, but is ready to go along with it. “I’ll figure something out.”

She gives him a grin, “Glad to hear it. I’m so looking forward to it.”

They spend the rest of the night hashing out what they want from this. They discuss limits and absolute nos. Where they want this to go. It is long and not always fun or comfortable for either of them, but on the other side they’re the better for it. By the end of the night Jude would tentatively call what they have a friendship with many benefits. That, she can live with.

Later that week he took her on a trip to the Museum of Sex. She had asked for an experience and he certainly had given her one. It was on the nose for their situation and at first Jude had not appreciated it. It had felt like a joke at her expense and she had nearly walked away from the whole thing until she realized: it was supposed to be fun. Sex is strange, awkward, mysterious, demanding, and many other describable and indescribable things but it is supposed to be fun. And of all things, it had taken an obscenely large dildo and a pegging joke to make her laugh and loosen up. It made her realize that she could have fun with Cardan. Sex and friendship and them—Jude and Cardan—didn’t have to be so serious. Except for when they wanted to be.

It made things easier the next time they played in scene. They did not push the boundaries much but this time he put his hands on her as he directed her. They grazed at her sides and only brushed beneath her breasts, caressing her neck and pressing against her lips like a gentle kiss. It was sweet, delicious, teasing torture in a very pleasing way. As she had leaned back against him post-orgasm, she could feel his hardness against his thigh. He only sat there and didn’t ask for anything in return.

It had happened again the next time and the time after that as he found new ways to make her cum with his fingers and toys. As he learned the curves of her body. He never seemed to ask for anything in return at this point and Jude, only after they had parted, began to wonder if her not offering had been a disappointment. Did it bother him to give her this new world and to hold himself back? She had seen the want in him, his eyes though dark as the richest black coffee, didn’t lie.

She had to ask before the thoughts consumed her and the only way she could bear to was through text.

Jude: Do you want me to touch you?

Cardan: I’d be more than happy for you to. But, do you want to touch me?

Of course. He was waiting for her to want it, to ask for it. For as much as he was the one in control it was only on her terms as she was beginning to realize more and more.

Jude: I do. We both should be getting something out of this.

Cardan: I have been. Seeing you open up to this had been enough.

Cardan: Since you insist though, I’ll work it into my plans for next time ;)

So far, their games have helped Jude find a bit more of the balance she craves. Work may not always keep her interest and the pressure may feel as if it is closing in some days, but she always has something to look forward to at least. There is always a release around the corner.

This time she is going to his place. They had kicked hotels for the comfort and privacy for their personal domiciles. He has his own townhouse not too far from downtown, and she has her own condo in the financial district. They’ve made a lot of progress so far and Jude is ready to make more, even if her stomach twists thinking about it all. The unknown of each scene they play leaves her in stomach churning anticipation, but the new possibilities are what excites her and pushes her. Each time with Cardan was a slow expansion of what she already knows, and she is thirsty for more.

As she stood on his stoop, she felt ready for this. Jude may be plagued by overthinking and overanalyzing, but she isn’t a coward. She certainly didn’t get as far as she has in life without drive. She pulls from that to confidently bound up the steps and press her red manicured finger to the buzzer to announce her arrival.

All she can hear is the sound of the wind whipping down the block and rustling leaves, until he pulls open the door. He’s already got a smile.

The place is big for one person with large high ceilings and at least three floors. The townhouse was traditional brick on the outside, the interior modern yet tastefully decorated with a dark color palette. There was plenty of space to play around in and Jude didn’t have to worry about trying to be quiet. It also reminded her just how much money he had. Cardan inherited a significant amount of money from his father when he passed and real estate was probably the soundest thing he could have done with it.

She sits herself down at a stool by the kitchen that opens into a living area not too far into the place. “So… what’s the plan for today?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says with that familiar smirk.

“I would,” she plays it cool crossing her arms.

“We’re going to start with some new stuff first, then move to more familiar territory. That sound good?”

“Yes, that sounds like a good plan,” she nods approvingly.

She wants him. It’s something she doesn’t always actively think about because it is always there pulsing under the surface. He has always been frustratingly attractive, a boy with such a poor attitude gifted with such beauty. It has only grown as his temperament and behavior have improved melding into charm. Even as she is with him more and more frequently, his effect on her doesn’t wear off. She doesn’t get used to his freakishly beautiful features. His sharp cheekbones and the defined planes of his body. He is what people imagine when dreaming up heroes.

Her eyes burn across his body. He is dressed simply in jeans and a loose patterned button up she’s sure cost a grand from one luxury store or another. It’s easy to move around in and get off, which is certainly the point for today. She doesn’t really know what he does for work, it has something to do with his family’s company and he didn’t like talking about his family at all. He always seemed to be available and was always dressed more like he’s walked out of a luxury brand’s streetwear runway than from a business meeting.

“You can start by getting down on your knees,” he breaks through her circling thoughts about him.

She stands up and then slowly lowers herself to the ground in front of him. Her eyes stay locked on his own, not moving. Once she is in position she speaks, “How long have you pictured me like this?”

She’s begun to test the bounds of his patience in this. What will he allow her to get away with? Where is the line for him? For herself?

“Long enough,” he looks down at her.

He has a way of looking at someone and seeing right through them.

“Since the first time I bet, I’ve made you wait,” she bites her lip.

“You’ve done as I asked. Which is a miracle.”

“You’ve managed to keep my attention,” she says simply.

“It’s time to keep mine,” his eyes harden. Just as Jude has slipped into her role he is slipping into his. “No more delaying, if you're as brave as you pretend to be, you’ll do it.”

He’s goading her. It lights the fire inside of her, her arousal dawning as she reaches out to pull his dark colored jeans down. He’s not wearing any underwear beneath it so for the first time she’s actually greeted with his cock it’s right in her face. He never was very subtle.

“Someone’s eager,” Judge teases.

“And someone’s a brat.” He lets his hand sink into the curls of her hair, fingers tangling and tugging her forward. They’d discussed it before.

Oh, she likes that. She likes seeing him grab control. She can see just how much he wants her, as she breathes in and forgets to exhale for a moment. Her eyes flit up to his face and then back down. She’ll show him just how good she can be if and when she wants to.

Jude wraps a hand around the base of him, her grip sure. It’s almost a little gross the way her mouth waters and her thighs press together. She opens and takes him in slowly, never once breaking eye contact.

Cardan comes undone, his shoulders fall as if all the tension in his body has gone lax. There’s a vulnerability, an openness to him she hasn’t seen before. He keeps his emotions under the surface and now they have risen to the top. The way he looks at her is reverent. Like she is something worth beholding.

She likes the feeling knowing that this is all her doing. This is her power. Each inch she takes in, each squeeze of her hand reveals his desires. It is when she is as far as she can go, he groans pulling on her hair again. Another pulse of pleasure runs through her center. This shouldn’t give her as much pleasure as it does and yet his pleasure is amplifying her own.

“That’s it,” he encourages, “faster now, be a good girl.”

It echoes in her head a hazy mantra now. She moves faster, one hand gripping the back of his thigh, nails biting into skin. He doesn’t seem to mind the sting, maybe he likes it too. He’s bucking into her mouth now. The tension is high, and she wonders if this is it, if he’s going to-

He’s pulling out now and Jude lets her grip on him go a bit confused by the quick change.

“What-” she stops her voice sounding different to herself, softer.

“Lift up your shirt,” Cardan says as he languidly strokes himself, keeping right on the edge.

It takes a second, but Jude’s hands move to the hem of her shirt and she pulls it up, exposing her stomach and chest.

“Sweet Jude, my resplendent undoing,” he murmurs.

She basks in the sweetness of it—then he’s cumming over her stomach and chest, marking her. She can feel the sticky heat on her bare skin. She should hate it. She should find it degrading and cruel and everything she thought an act like this was, but she doesn’t feel that way at all. Her cheeks are heated, but there’s no embarrassment. Instead, and perhaps this is truly what should shame her, it was gratifying.

“You can put your shirt down now. As much as I admire the view, I’m not finished with you yet,” Cardan’s smirk is back, and Jude’s never seen anything better.

She smiles and lets her shirt drop, “What now?”

“You have some work to do. Come over to the table, it's all set up,” Cardan takes her hand pulling her up to her feet and leading her over. She makes sure not to wobble.

Across the way from the kitchen is a glass dining table. She’s not sure where he’s going with this until she sees at the head of the table are some papers and a pencil.

“Are you testing me?” Jude says almost baffled by what he’s cooked up here.

“You told me once that there was a certain rush that came from getting good grades,” Cardan starts as he makes sure she takes her seat. “Let’s see if it stuck.”

Jude looks down at the papers for the first time. “Are you actually giving me a test right now?”

“Yes,” he says his eyes darkening, “but I think you’ll like your reward much better than a grade.”

He’s going to make her ask, so she does, “And what is the reward?”

“Once you finish, you’re going to lay down on this table and I’m going to eat you out,” he says.

Jude is right back in at that, “Easy.” She shrugs confident she can complete this quickly, it’s only a few pages after all.

“But,” he leans forward close enough that she can feel his breath tickling her ear, “I’m only going to do it for so long. Every answer you get wrong you lose time. I won’t stop though no matter how many times you cum and how much you beg, if you have that long.”

“And if I don’t have long enough?” She can’t take her eyes off him.

“That’s not my problem, is it?” He grins, the master of this wicked delight.

“You are heinous,” Jude snaps hands gripping the edge of the table. She should hate him and in the moment, that’s almost what it feels like, but the anger isn’t true.

“Now, now don’t be so quick to anger. Think of my mouth all over you,” his lips graze her ear as he says it.

Jude’s eyes close as she pictures it, can imagine the feeling of him and the pleasure she’ll get to have. She wants this. He always manages to surprise her with new challenges, and she is game to play them all.

“Let me take the test,” she says eager. “Go stand in the corner or something.”

He laughs at that stepping away and ending his teasing of her, for the moment. He takes position at the opposite side of the table sitting down.

“Whenever you’re ready then,” Cardan says.

Jude picks up the pencil and starts. There are four sections to the test, ten questions for each section and each section a different subject: English, science, history and math. It’s no more difficult than what she learned in school; the problem is that she is out of practice now. Some of it comes easy and other questions she struggles over. All the while she can still feel his cum marking her body, slowly drying and Cardan’s dark eyes watching her from across the table. It’s a heady experience to say the least.

After one last look over, Jude flips the test back to the first page and slides it over to him, “I’m finished.”

He doesn’t say anything just takes the paper and pulls out a red pen to start grading. Jude squirms in her chair, this vision of him and a red pen shouldn’t be as sexy as she finds it. She pushes it aside; she can analyze her peculiar proclivities later.

The silence lingers until he finishes.

“Not bad, but not flawless,” Cardan says. “An eighty. Though I suspect you can do better. I’ll fix that later, homework seems appropriate.”

Each word pushes her deeper into this world they’ve created.

“I’ll do better, I can,” Jude says, she’s looking at him, to him now for more.

“I know,” he takes her hand in his and gives it a squeeze. “You did well for your first time. You still get your reward. Clothes off, on the table now.”

Cardan sets the test aside, while Jude slides out of her pants and underwear, pulls off the shirt that’s a bit stuck to her from the cum, before climbing onto the glass table. He takes his position in front of her. He sets a timer and places it down.

“Eight minutes Jude. That’s what you get and not a second more, understand?” Cardan says his thumb stroking her thigh softly.

Jude nods, “Yes, sir.”

Cardan moves in to devour her. It starts with him spreading her with one hand and licking a stripe up her core. That’s enough to make her warm body shiver against the cool glass. He doesn’t stop there, mouth latching onto her clit to tease. Her breathes come quicker, but that’s all the sound she’s making.

He pulls back just enough to talk, but his fingers caress her lips, “This is a reward sweet Jude, don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”

Cardan returns to her. Jude’s mouth parts letting out a moan she had been keeping in. The release adds to her mounting pleasure. She wonders how much time has passed, but she can’t focus on that for long as he uses both hands to pull her closer to him, her legs now over his shoulders.

“Holy-” she starts to say before it cuts off with a gasp.

He’s dipped his tongue inside of her now, thumb rubbing her clit in circles. Her hands slip against the glass trying to find purchase before she buries them in Cardan’s thick black locks. He does not stop his work and everything builds. She knows the rules and even as far gone as she is, she’s going to do this right.

“Please,” she says, voice breathy and quieter than she’s used to. “Please can I, sir?”

He’s only off of her for a second to tell her his approval before he’s back at it. He told her not to hold back, so she doesn’t. She pulls his hair and screams as she cums. His fingers and tongue are still working at her all the way through it and after they continue. Her body is more sensitive in the aftermath, making her squirm, but he holds her firm. She doesn’t know how much time has passed but she’s cumming again without even asking. Her toes curl and her eyes are firmly shut, and she doesn’t think she can take another minute more when the timer goes off.

Cardan pulls back from Jude careful to gently set her legs down. The timer stops it’s annoying ringing and she can only assume he turned it off. She lays there in the blissful silence until she’s ready to open her eyes. When they do open, he is right there watching over her.

“You did marvelous, Jude” Cardan says, dark eyes locked on her brown ones.

“Yeah?” she asks, not quite all the way back yet.

“Yeah,” he nods, “Are you comfortable there or do you want to move?”

She holds up a hand, “One minute.”

He waits then giving her time and when she starts to move, he offers his hand to steady her and Jude doesn’t hesitate to take it. He moves her to one of the chairs to sit and suddenly there’s a blanket around her shoulders. She’s about to question where he even pulled it from when she looks at the table. All over the once crystal-clear glass she can see the marks of her hands and body, some clear and some smudged. It’s kind of erotic in a weird artistic way.

“Do you think they’d display this in the sex museum?” Jude questions.

“What the table?” he asks, and she nods in answer. “Maybe, though a canvas would probably be better. I’d love to have a personal piece for my collection.”

He winks and Jude scoffs coming back to earth.

“This,” she gestures to the table, “is your personal piece and I expect it to be gone with some Windex before I leave,” she says.

“Of course,” Cardan sighs wistful. “I could eat with that memory here for the rest of my life, but I suppose it is unfair to force that on guests.”

“Don’t act so deprived, you got the real thing,” she pulls the blanket closer around her, relaxed.

Cardan watches her again. He does that a lot, or maybe Jude has just started to watch him more too.

“I did, and there’s nothing better I can think of,” he grins.

Jude’s heart beats faster in her chest at that dazzling smile— she’s in deep.

#jurdan #jude x cardan #tfota #the cruel prince #my fic #a matter of trust #the folk of the air #please heed the rating

[roseherondale]

Golden Hour

Summary: Pandora opens up to Icarus and Mayes, finding a way to move forward. Set during the time jump in episode 1 of Winds of Fortune (Life of the Party D&D)

Theme: Gold

Word Count: 1,310

Warnings: mentions of trauma

Read it on AO3 here

Golden rays hit the mountain in perfect arcs that covered Arx Volatus in a beautiful haze of radiant light. Below, was a pool of crystal clear water, sparkling and rippling where a waterfall trickled into it, sending delicate spirals across the surface. Across the horizon, the sun was perched low in the sky, casting a warm orange glow across fields and trees.

Beside the water, hidden behind the waterfall, was Icarus, eyes closed against the bright light, one hand on his necklace, the other resting on his lap. A light breeze ruffled the dark curls around his face, and he smiled, relaxed, as he brushed one back behind his fin-like ear. Across his face, the patterns of flowing water mixed together in a dance of shadow and light, constantly changing and flickering. The fluttering darkness made the scene on his arm, of storm clouds and lightning, seem real, as though the waves were actually turbulent.

A slight distance away, cast in the same incandescent light as the scenery below, was Mayes, the sun symbol of Pelor enclosed in one hand. Their brown hair was tied back in its usual bun, the sun illuminating the different shades. Unlike Icarus, they were sat completely within a patch of sunlight, hunched over and sketching, thin strands of hair falling into their face. The light scratch of pencils and rustle of paper accompanied the gentle rush of the water.

After a while, the sound of footsteps joined in, steadily getting louder until Pandora appeared in the small sanctuary. She was an ethereal vision, resembling a sunset herself with orange skin, hair the colour of fire and her golden freckles illuminated like stars. Her horns dripped with golden jewellery and on her collarbones were the dark inked markings of laurel leaves, a symbol of peace since destroyed.

When she reaches the base of the steps, she hesitated for a moment, watching her friends and taking in the atmosphere, feeling calmer and more at home than she had since they had arrived in Arx Volatus, on the backs of griffons, escaping Erran.

“Hey, Pandora,” Icarus said, without opening his eyes or moving at all.

“Hello. Can I sit?” She asked, wringing her hands in front of her, nervously.

Icarus opened his eyes and gestured that she sit down with one hand. Mayes turned around so that they were facing her, silhouetted by the sun and the warmth on their back was as though Pelor was laying a comforting hand on their shoulder. Carefully, Pandora sat, facing both of them, arranging her dress around her.

Since arriving a couple of months ago, she had withdrawn herself from her friends, focusing on studying magic and trying to forget everything that had happened in Erran. The further she pushed herself away, the more she felt herself slipping, the cliff rapidly approaching, and the less she felt she could stop.

In a moment of pure helplessness, she had found herself walking down to where she knew Icarus and Mayes would be, where they always were when they weren’t working. She craved the comfort and company of her friends, the unbridled joy and optimism they brought, and she so desperately needed but continued to meet with bitter scepticism.

“Everything okay?” Mayes asked, a slight line appearing on their forehead as they frowned.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Pandora said, quickly. Then, “no, actually it’s not.”

“We’re here for you if you need to talk.” Icarus said, after a moment of hesitation, holding out his hand. She took it and reached out her own for Mayes’.

“I know I’ve been… different, and you didn’t ask for this version of me as a friend. But thank you for looking out for me and being patient. We all lost a lot when we left Erran, but I never came to see if you were okay or needed anything; I just closed myself off.” She felt tears in her eyes and her voice came out as strangled. “I’m sorry, but I want to be better, to do better, to be a better friend to you both.”

“Don’t say that,” Mayes whispered. “You’re a good friend, Pandora; we love you. We know it’s been hard, and we didn’t want to pressure you.”

A couple of tears escaped, trickling down Pandora’s cheek, across golden freckles. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I pushed myself away; why I didn’t come to you both sooner.”

“You’re here now. And we’ll always be here for each other, even if you don’t want us to be.” Icarus smiled weakly, squeezing her hand.

“You can talk to us whenever you’re ready to, Dora.” Mayes said.

She took a deep breath, and when she spoke, it was with a raw vulnerability; the product of allowing all of her thoughts to fester within her for weeks. “I don’t know what to do anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I see Perseph… her face in my mind as she chose that,” she spat the last word, venomously, “over her family; over me.”

She took a deep breath. “I play it over and over in my head, thinking of anything I could have done differently. I go back to when we were kids and then, to before I went to Delphos. What did I do? What did I do so wrong that she chose to do this? Why would she abandon her family like this? Why would she abandon me?” Weeks of pushing down her emotions and channelling them into anger caught up with her, and she pulled her hands from Icarus and Mayes’, burying her face in them as she began to sob.

Icarus and Mayes glanced at each other, alarmed, before immediately moving closer and putting their arms around her.

“It’s not your fault.” Mayes whispered into her hair, repeating it over and over as she cried. The sun seemed to blaze brighter behind them, embracing them all in a swirl of gold.

“You’re safe, Dora. You don’t have to go through anything alone.” Icarus said, when her tears slowed, and she sniffed.

The quiet warmth was intoxicating. She opened her eyes, looking out over her friends’ shoulders, watching the glint of light in the water. Heavier footsteps sounded on the stairs behind them.

“I thought I’d find you down here,” Damen said, softly.

“Hey, Dames.” Icarus responded, voice muffled from where his face was pressed against Pandora’s hair. The tall, red hobgoblin looked down to where his friends were huddled on the floor, his eyes, one green and one gold, filled with fondness and sorrow for everything that had happened to them. They reminded him of his son, Panos, and he was grateful that if he couldn’t be with him at all, he could still be with his makeshift family.

Mayes raised their head, smiling sadly. “Come join us.”

Damen knelt down between Icarus and Pandora, putting his arms around them.

“It’ll be okay, firefly. We’re here. No matter what has happened and what will happen, we’re not going anywhere.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“We’ll always be together,” Icarus smiled, weakly. “We can face anything; even this.” Damen’s mouth curved into a smile and he raised one hand to ruffle Icarus’ hair.

“Always.” Mayes said, firmly.

In that moment, there were a million things Pandora wanted to say, but instead, she clung onto her family, holding onto them, tightly, as though they were her lifeline. In a way they were. They were her last tether to the world, the only things keeping her afloat in the stormy sea that encompassed her. They were her remaining link to her life in Erran. Together, they had been through so much, and finally, for the first time in weeks, under the golden rays of the setting sun, she felt like she was home.

Thanks for reading, I really hope you enjoyed it! This was my first fanfiction for LOTP so let me know what you thought x

#lotpdnd #life of the party dnd

[littledreamybeth]

What a feeling

PLEASE READ AUTHORS NOTE: I really tried to write a good story here, but I’m so bad at creating smut. Some things may not make much sense to you because I didn’t explain or depict them properly. I’m sorry for that- I really am. I consider to stop writing because my writing  doesn’t seem to be good anymore... at least in my eyes... It’s hard for me to describe things in a language which is not my mother tongue... I’d like to thank you for reading my stories so far, and for supporting me. I won’t be writing anything for a while, but my work is still going to be up. Just don’t steal them, and give me credits if you repost it somewhere... Thank you...

This work was inspired by “What a feeling”- One Direction, the title of this story is dedicated to my favorite song of all time. I had to think of a scenario like this at Harry’s part.

Harry observed her from the other side of the room. Leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his naked torso, he just watched the half bare girl sitting on top of his bed. Her legs were bent to her chest, a thoughtful look lingering in her eyes. A few minutes ago, they were making out, resulting his shirt being pulled over his head and thrown onto the ground whilst she was completely freed from her dress. He knew what she was thinking about. She considered whether she should or should not have sex with him.

They had been dating for a few months, and never had Harry urged her to have sexual intercourse. He’d been told that she had negative experiences with her ex-boyfriends on this topic, because she was never ready for sex. And who would stay with a girl who wasn’t ready for more? Sometimes, it was even thought that she was asexual, which was not true. Harry was not like her former boyfriends- he actually gave her time as much as needed.

Tonight, however, was different. She was ready- or maybe not? Harry sighed, walking towards her and kneeling in front of her.

“Hey,” he murmured, his left hand cupping her cheek, forcing her to look at him. “You’re uncertain. I can see it in your eyes.” The other hand was placed on top of her leg, trailing up and down in comfort. He wanted to make sure this is truly what she wanted. Even though he craved to be physically interlocked with her more than anything in that moment, he’d still understood if she decided against succumbing to him. It takes a lot of courage surrendering to someone and giving yourself in to them-especially if it’s your first time. You lose your virginity only once, and one terrible experience may scar you for the rest of your life. So, he could completely comprehend her worry. Another thing, which he knew was plaguing her, was that he was already experienced while she wasn’t. She was new to all of this. For fucks sake, she didn’t even blow anyone ever in her life. She was just so pure. Pure and perfect. Harry was sure she was tormenting herself into believing that he wouldn’t like it, which is not true at all. Much more, he would love to be the one being enclosed with her body and honored because she chose him to lose her v-card, and not a prick who wouldn’t care about anything but his dick in his pants anyway. Harry would make sure she was taken care of. Thoroughly taken care of.

“I promise, there is nothing that you have to be scared of, love. We’ll do it at your pace, okay? The only thing you have to do is telling me when you feel uncomfortable, and I’ll stop instantly.” He intertwined their hands, bringing hers in front of his mouth, then plastering soft kisses on top of her knuckles. “But you have to tell me. Say something. Use your words. Otherwise I cannot tell what you want. And don’t overthink too much. This is all about you, not me.”

The curve of her lips went slightly up, forming a shy smile. “I know,” she stated. “I trust you, Harry. I entrust myself to you…”

Hearing those words out of her sweet lips was what he had been waiting for. But before he took some action, he again inquired whether she was hundred percent sure, only earning an approving nod from Y/N. He beamed a happy, toothy smile at her.

“Come here, beautiful girl.” His order was gentle, yet very firm- enough to cause goose bumps on her skin. He carefully pushed her down onto the mattress and slowly lowered himself onto her body, hovering only a few centimeters above her fragile frame. The warmth that radiated off his body was so overwhelming- it became very hard to breathe. That’s probably how others felt in his presence. Breathless, because Harry is so insanely beautiful, god really must have taken his time to carve his handsome face. Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut, her tongue wetted her lower lip while she felt her heart beating rapidly as if she was running a marathon. She gave in to the sensation that his close proximity brought along. The feeling of his fingers sliding down her right cheek and his minty breath fanning against her lips caused excitement to grow in the pit of her stomach- and a little bit down below. She tried to conceal it by pressing her legs together, but Harry noticed and slid between them, pushing his crotch intentionally against her clothed one, eliciting a short gasp out of her throat. If this short act was enough to make her legs tremble, then Y/N couldn’t envision how it was going to feel when he would thrust in and out of her.

She jumped slightly in her position when she heard his raspy voice inside her ear.  

“Look at me before I kiss you…”

That’s what she did. She opened her lids and locked gazes with his deep green eyes. They stared at her lustfully, enamored with her beauty, and Y/N could only imagine how hard it must be for him to control his patience. The more she looked at him, the more she drowned in his captivating eyes. She saw herself in them. She saw herself running through a grass field on a hot summer’s day, dressed in a stunning dress, her hair flipping with the wind while she let everything behind her- her worries, her fears, her problems- basically every negativity that consumed her. She saw herself in a forest, listening to the sounds that nature provided her. The murmurs of a stream, the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves on the trees, the smell of fresh air; all of this gave her the feeling of safety and protection. That’s how she felt with Harry now. She knew she was in good hands. And she could confirm she was ready.

“Remember what I’ve told you, alright?” Harry reminded her. “You can even push me out of the bed for all I care. But please, don’t kick me in the knob. I want to produce children after all.”

Y/N had to laugh at his statement. She really appreciated his efforts to lighten up the mood.

“My beautiful, Y/N,” the young man whispered against her soft lips. “My beautiful, gorgeous, adorable Y/N.” Upon that, he finally kissed her.

First, it was gentle. He wanted to test her waters, looking for how much she was willing to give him. She was shy and he respected that. But on the other hand, he also wanted to help her overcoming the shyness. He knew that she had more in her than she was revealing to the world. He wanted that part of her to break through, fighting her way onto the surface.

While he used one arm to support himself on his elbow, the other hand wandered up from her bare side to her chest. He cupped one breast and gave it a gentle squeeze through her bra. The sudden jolts of pleasure caused Y/N to moan in ecstasy. Harry took this opportunity to let his tongue slip past her lips, exploring the already familiar territory. They never went further than just kissing, as embarrassing as it might sound. Tonight would be the first time they would be taking their relationship to the next level.

Harry chuckled when he poked her sides and she flinched, letting out a squeak.

He disconnected their lips, giving her time to explore his body. The young woman accepted his invitation. With her fingers, she carefully stroked his well-toned belly, tracing the outline of his butterfly tattoo. His muscles tensed under her soft touch. She even tickled his belly button which Harry found just cute. Everything about her was adorable. However, she halted over the hem of his tight jeans. One tug was indication enough to understand that she wanted it off his legs. So, he got up, unbuttoned his jeans and pushed it down his ankles, leaving him almost completely bare. The only thing that he had to get rid of was his boxers. Y/N’s irises enlarged when they saw the outline of his erection- he was, well… huge. A blush in a deep shade of red adorned the apple of her cheeks. She wasn’t even sure whether she could take in all of him, and that’s were the overthinking started again.

Harry took notice of the uncertainty plastered on her face. Joining her again on the bed, he hoisted her up and placed her on his lap. He brushed her fingers through her hair. “Listen Y/N, I want you, I really do, and I know you want me, too. But we don’t have to do this right now. We can always save it for later, there is no need to rush. Don’t feel like it’s your obligation to satisfy my needs- it is not. I’ll be waiting for you no matter how long it’ll take.”

Her heart could literally burst into flames at his words. How many men out there were just as considerate and understanding as Harry Styles, and not only thinking about themselves? Probably not too many.

Y/N lowered her head for a second, then looked at him determined. “I want to make love to you, Harry… It’s just…” she sighed. “I’m very nervous.”

“I know that, my love. Do you think I’m not nervous? I’m the one with a dick after all, and I don’t want to hurt you. I couldn’t forgive myself if I did, because I want this to be the best experience you’ve ever had. If we do this, there is no return. I don’t want you to regret anything.”

The young woman passionately crushed her lips against his. “I know I won’t, because it’s with you.”

He offered her a smile, warming her insides.

His hands found their way to her back, about to unclasp her bra, when he saw the quick panic flashing through her eyes- not because she was scared, but because it was unfamiliar and unexpected. Being undressed by someone else other than her was something she needed to get used to after tonight. Harry instantly stopped. “Relax, love. You’re safe with me.” He brought his lips to her neck, sucking and marking her skin. Y/N closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling.

After they got rid of her bra (together actually, because he thought that it would make her feel more comfortable), his big hands began to massage her bare breasts, his thumbs brushing over her sensitive nipples, which hardened immediately at the contact.  

“How does it feel?” Harry inquired while continuing to give her breasts some attention.

“’s nice,” she answered, shivering when Harry pinched her nipples.

Guiding her back onto the mattress, he climbed on top of her again.

His lips were worshipping every part of her body. There was no inch he left untouched. She was a goddess- a pure, innocent goddess. She felt so soft. He treated her like fine china- cautiously and carefully; he didn’t want to demand more than she could endure.

At one point, he grinded his clothed crotch against hers a second time to get her worked and loosened up a little bit. The sounds emitting from her mouth was like music in his ears.

“Let’s get us free from these,” he suggested, pointing at their underpants.

His fingers rimmed the waistband of his boxers, pulling it down his legs. And there it sprung free- his beast, pointing directly at his abs. Y/N didn’t exaggerate when she claimed he was huge- because it was true. The tip was swollen and slightly red, leaking a bit of precum.

Harry caught her eyes staring at his ‘best friend’.

“Do you- do you want to hold it?” he asked.

She averted her gaze and looked at him. “I…” She cleared her throat, blushing. “I can try.”

“You don’t have to, love. Really.”

“No, I want to know how it feels.”

Without his request, she wrapped her fingers around the hard, pulsating flesh. It felt heavy in her hand. Harry flinched, hissing at her touch, and a deep groan reverberated through the walls as she glided her hand up and down his shaft. He supported himself on her shoulders while Y/N played around with him. She liked how desperately he called her name, how his eyes fluttered shut and the way he licked over and sunk his teeth in his lower lip. She was about to wrap her mouth around the base as Harry stopped her abruptly.

“What are you doing there?”

A frown adorned her forehead. “I- I wanted to… y’know…”

“Not today, sweet girl,” the curly-haired man laughed. “We will have plenty of time for that later. But for now, it’s all about you.”

He asked her to stretch out her legs so he could free her from the last material that covered her body. Y/N had never felt so vulnerable in her life as in that moment, however, one loving gaze from him was enough to flush her worries away. She watched him as he opened a cupboard and grabbed a condom. He opened the foil with his teeth, pulling out the condom and wrapping it around his member.

“Are you ready?”

“I am.”

He pulled her against him for another kiss. While their tongues were busy with dominating each other, Harry sneaked his hand down to her vagina, his fingers teasing her entrance. He first inserted one digit, pumping in and out of her, then adding another one. She moaned out in pleasure, opening her legs for more.

“Harry, please!” she cried.

The young man didn’t need to be told twice. He lined his member at the entrance of her wet core, and slowly yet gently eased his way in- inch by inch. The pain that followed through his intrusion was inevitable- whilst the wetness. Y/N’s body tensed, nails digging deep into the skin of his biceps as she tried to accommodate not only to the stretch of her walls but also the burning that came along with it. She couldn’t help a few tears from running down her cheeks. A little wail was heard once Harry was fully in. Harry kissed away her tears, giving her enough time to calm down and adjust to his size. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll take care of you… You gonna feel great, my love.”

Every cell in her body was on fire, vibrating. Despite the pain, she felt full and complete. Their bodies fitted together perfectly as if god had only created them for each other.

When the pain subsided a little bit, she allowed him to finally move. The young man complied. His thrusts were tender and slow, paying attention to not hurting her. Y/n was overwhelmed with different emotions. Everything crushed onto her at once. Her heart was beating so hard against her chest that she felt it was going to explode. Harry buried his face in the crook of her neck, and Y/N could feel his warm breath against her skin. Her name fell from his lips like a prayer.

Pain formed into pleasure, his thrusts became quicker and harder. Her legs enveloped his middle, widening for more access. He hit the right spots that let her see stars before her eyes so easily, spots that made her scream out his name. She felt beautiful and loved.

After a while, something was building up in her stomach, and she could feel her orgasm approaching. The way she already clenched around him indicated that she was very close to her high. He fastened his pace with the intention to make cum as fast as possible. He wasn’t chasing after his one- like he stressed before, it was all about her.  

A whimper left her lips, she knew she couldn’t hold back anymore. “Harry…”

“Let go, darling…” he encouraged her, “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Words cannot describe fully what that moment of relief felt like. She could sense it reaching every fiber of her body. Her legs trembled and her toes curled, mouth agape as tears pooled her eyes. Harry thrusted her through her peek, until his movements became sloppy.

Shortly after finding his own release, Harry collapsed on top of her, resting his head on her chest. He didn’t pull out of her yet- he wanted to linger a little bit more in her warmth. His arms engulfed her middle. Their entire bodies were covered with sweat, but they could care less about it. Y/N was still dazed from the aftershock of her orgasm. She was basically on cloud nine. Everything that happened just minutes ago seemed like a dream. She always knew how she wanted her first time to be, but Harry had given her an experience that had surpassed her wildest imagination. She couldn’t be happier in this moment. A content sigh escaped her mouth, and she wrapped her arms around Harry’s shoulders, letting her one hand glide through his long, damp, brown locks. After a while, she heard a giggle rumbling his chest. She tilted her head in confusion.

“What wrong?”

Harry, steadying himself on his elbows, brought their lips back together, kissing her feverishly. When he pulled back, he leaned his forehead against hers.

“I think I can consider myself a king now...”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fic #harry styles fics #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harry styles smut #harry styles preference #harry styles preferences #harry styles prompt #harry styles prompts #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff imagines #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n

[lumikatdraws]

#4: Clinch

("T," maybe gently "M."  G'raha/WoL reminiscence and brief WoL/Aymeric.  WoL POV.) 

- - - - - - - - - - 

-  ✧ ☄ ☽ -

She stopped counting time by autumns after the Tower.

To worsen the bite—to make that evanescent season impossible to forget—Samantha was born near that border, her name day cast just before that liminal gasp.  She was a late summer blossom that craved for cool air, and it pained her, after G’raha, to remember.

- - - - - - - - - - 

The front end of dusk was beginning, the spire on the horizon aglow.

Another day, ordinary but for the circumstances. But that, she supposed, was the fodder for stories—mundane moments, supernormal per perspective.  One hand crept to her chest and took her aethermist necklace in hand; toyed with the crystal and wondered—were the Scions at the Stones, sharing tea and fables and banalities their own?  In her weeks spent afield mapping pathways, maiming monsters, scaling the echelons of the Tower—had her absence been felt?  

Minfilia’s smile was warmer than sunshine and Samantha let herself bask for the briefest of breaths; felt the cool press of gemstone in her hand.  “For your protection,” the Antecedent told her, and the Warrior turned the mother-shard gift between her fingers—watched it sparkle and shimmer.

Now it was warmed; imbued with heat from her skin, through her layers of chemise, blouse, and bodice.  She thumbed the crystal and thought of Warde, of Waters—Tataru Taru serving tea—Papalymo preaching to Yda, Y’shtola scoffing fondly—Urianger pontificating while the Leveilleur twins attended—

A body a head-and-some smaller slammed into her back, strong arms grappling her into a bear hug.  

“You sly old thing!”

The wind was knocked from her lungs, her imaginings scattered, as G’raha Tia all but wrestled her up off the ground.  Senseless afresh at the show of his strength, she coughed.  “Gods and hells.”  It was difficult to remember the last time someone, in no uncertain terms, swept her off her feet.  “What in the—Raha—put me down—”

“Why did you not tell me?”

He was audibly pouting.  

She used the callused heels of both palms to wrestle the cinching clinch of his forearms, but his vise grip was unbending.  She glared at his freckled, sunburnt skin, her voice strained.  “Tell you what?”

“That today was your name day,” he sulked, rattling her body minutely.  “I would have foraged for gifts.”

She huffed hard.  Her cheeks prickled.  Leave it to G’raha to winkle out her secrets.

But who told him?  

…

She would kill Cid bloody Garlond.  

Her body collapsed into deadweight.  As usual, in defense against her sentiments—to tamp down the way her heart raced and fluttered, simply to know G’raha cared—

She reached for insipid banter.  “Why did you not tell me you were so godsdamned brawny?”

“Aha,” he laughed.  “You mean to imply you never noticed?”

There was a wink in his voice.  She coughed, indignant—because of course she had, but— “Your ego would never survive how much I’ve noticed,” she wheezed, surprised by her own frankness.  She could veritably feel the heat of his massive grin as he eased her back to earth.  

His voice was a rumble, thrilled and satisfied. “Fabulous.”  One last squeeze like a cincher at her waist, and then she was released.  “Remind me to show you my trump cards more often.”

“Numpty,” she grumbled, pushing away.  

She spun to scowl down and G’raha’s smile was wide as imagined, dry Mor Dhonan dust stirred up by the delighted lash of his tail. The tip curled and hooked like the side of his mouth.  “Right,” he said, all candor and merriment and crisp bits of mischief.  “How shall we celebrate?”

She spluttered.  “I had no intention to—”

But his hand was shoved in hers and she was being dragged—a fond, familiar hauling she was furtively glad to call common.  “Revenant’s Toll,” he said, hitched with excitement. “Our research can wait—”

“But Xande—”

“Is trapped,” said G’raha.  “And I, for one, will not allow the horrors of Allag to interfere with your birthday.”

- - - - - - - - - -

Supper hung warm in her belly as they scaled the path to the greenery just past the Splendors.

The omnipresent chatter of settlers and workers faded into static as G’raha’s hand crept again to find hers.  “This way,” he murmured, his palm pulsing her fingers with a gentle, affectionate wring.

Heaviness shunted her chest.  For a breath, she feared she might burst open—might collapse and dissolve into hot surging butterflies, like those that crowded her stomach.

They moved beyond the dull commotion, and music distantly warbled, the melody stronger and stronger.  G’raha’s ears flicked, overfocused in her vision, and when he turned to flash a grin, she felt sunshine again.  “A troubadour,” he laughed—summer sunset, rich and rustling—and as they rounded the corner, she saw the minstrel in question, perched and playing her lyre on a half-mortared ledge.

The small square was under construction but G’raha Tia hardly cared.  He towed her right up to the bard and threw down a handful of gil.  The Warrior of Light watched in awe as the Baldesion Scholar listed songs by titles unfamiliar, stopping only when the bemused musician grinned.

“That one,” she said, flexing her hands.  “I well know it.”

“Perfect,” G’raha breathed.  He whirled to face Samantha.  “Dance with me.”

It was not a request.

His hands snatched her wrists, then her fingers, and they were woven callus to callus.  He brought his strength to bear again as she gasped his name—Raha—and they were spinning.

An ugly laugh tore from her throat, and she was dizzy—anchored by the bright sight of his smile.  Her bearings were lost, her wits scattered.  She watched the movement of his soft and beautiful mouth, and it took her too many heartbeats to realize he was singing.

The curl of his timbre plucked something far inside her.  Ilsabardian, she realized.  He was singing in that language—

Like Cassius—

Tears pricked her eyes.

“Your voice.”  Hers was hoarse and husky.  “It’s magnificent.”

The pitch on his lips spiraled off into a rich vibrato. “Another card to your liking, then?”

Her pulse filled her ears.  She nodded, and at the way he dazzled, incandescent, reality beyond him was gone.

G’raha Tia was a riddle, hard and charming and delightful; so bizarre he left her petrified, more frightening, somehow, than a Garlean legatus.  His smile stirred her aether, something quiet and arcane, and a swift, relentless pressure thumped like wingbeats in her chest.

I—

He twirled her into a spin.  She bent along after; stumbled under his arms and snagged herself, boot tip to boot tip.  A shout left her lips as she fell—the clinch of his arms snared her waist as he dove to catch her—and the two of them crumpled, gasping, to the ground.

One leg sprawled beneath him.  One knee cocked against his hip.  She giggled helplessly as his body shuddered overhead, laughter rolling from his chest.  His ears were perked straight forward, his stare so warm.

“Some pair we make,” he murmured past the mirth, and he used one scuffed hand to push her tangled hair behind her ear; to stroke the pads of his fingers, very slowly, down her face.

They locked eyes.  Both went still.  With the weight of his body above her, cradled hips to cautious hips, a whisper of hunger burned inside her to realize how well they might actually fit.

He wet his lips.  His pupils widened, then thinned back to slits.  

Slowly, he disentangled them—stepped up and away and reached one hand down.  Palm to palm, she was lifted, and— “Follow me,” he said.  Again they were stitched at the fingers, her heart become the butterfly flutter, her blood alive with wild anticipation.

Notes fell from his lips—he was singing, and panting, and breathless—and she gripped his hand more tightly.  Past the square, past the last hints of construction, past the edge of the Toll and out into Mor Dhona—

They ran into fields strewn with glowing crystals, and before she could catch her air, she was against him; hugged into the hard clutch of his arms like a cincher.  He pressed his face to the edge of her shoulder, conspicuously avoiding her chest. “Samantha.”  Her name was hot on his lips, hot on the skin past her vestments. Her arms curled, careful around him, and her sleeves slouched half-down.  “I—” his voice cracked.  “Have another gift,” he huffed.  “That is—before I lose the courage to give it.”

Her hands crept up his neck; covetously traced the small plait at his nape.  Her body was humming, her pulse racing fast, the precipice between them disappearing in a glimmer.  She forced herself to ask.  “What is it?”

His mouth at the fringe of her sleeve and her skin.  “A kiss.”

Her heart was a stone plunging into her stomach. She froze—leaned back—found his mismatched eyes tilted up to her in gallantry and terror.

Yes, yes, yes—

Her throat was dry, and silence overlingered. He went tense.  She felt him begin to recoil and stopped him, her thumbs by his lips.  When she leaned down, her dark hair curtained around them.  

“Kiss me, then,” she whispered.

Shadowed eyes roved her face.  His hands stroked a path up her backbone.  He tipped up his chin, and his mouth was soft and lush, his taste warm and bitter.  He tried to leave her with a peck but she followed him for something good and proper, drinking the breath from the tip of his tongue, tasting hope and apprehension.

Their noses brushed together.  “Happy name day, Samantha.”

- - - - - - - - - -

After that, winters seemed a better measure.

Winter was, after all, where she found summer again.

His laugh was warm and breathy.  “I was born then, you know,” Borel hummed, voice like velvet and honey and richer than silk.  “On that crisp cusp between greenings and heat.”

“Soft thing of springtime,” she called him.

“Monster of maying,” he whispered.

“Either way,” she kissed his lips.  “You brought me sunshine again.”

-  ☽ ✧ ☾ -

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2020 #G'raha Tia #Warrior of Light #Aymeric de Borel #g'raha/wol #aymeric/wol #ffxiv fanfiction #my writing #Samantha Floravale

[fistsoflightning]

mune ga hachikire-sōde

my chest is about to burst.

                          gatheredfates’ [30 day WOL challenge] | prompt: letter 

just a lil bit of catharsis for me… sort-of kind-of a follow up to holy! also @to-the-voiceless​ i am So Sorry for this, thank you for letting me take the linkpearl idea from this fic but also i’m really sorry for the angst again??? that playlist you made for harudewah. i am Still losing my mind over it.

also CW: a’dewah definitely has an anxiety/panic attack and it’s. kinda hard for me to read through and i was the one who wrote it? just take caution since emotions are Messy!

[ao3 mirror] (the word count rounds to about 7.5k!)

“but i find that lately i've been crying like a tall child…  

...please, hurry, leave me, i can't breathe

please don't say you love me

mune ga hachikire-sōde

one word from you and i would

jump off of this ledge i'm on, baby

tell me "don't", so i can crawl back in”

- first love/late spring, mitski

it’s barely three nights after the last visit to the cabinet that a’dewah finds himself again holed up between shelves and books, studying potential ways for g’raha to infuse the damned auracite with his blood, and a’dewah has only just realized that his hands are shaking and he has a craving to teleport to doma on a whim. a small craving for salmon muffins tickles the back of his mind, but he shoves it aside.

“i suppose i should have expected this,” he sighs to no one in particular, a small wave of magic stopping the shivering in his fingers. if only he could heal away the rest. magic can only keep him running for so long, and to extend one’s waking hours like he does would be considered harmful at best and eventually fatal at worst, should he keep doing so.

whatever must be done to keep myself from doing something stupid.

it’s not hard to see him falling back into old patterns—of tiring himself out so he doesn’t think too hard about what he doesn’t want to dwell on, of slipping further and further into both avoiding his feelings and drowning in them. his old friend; that familiar hollow, needy feeling that chews at his sanity yet again as he keeps writing down formulas that might save g’raha from doing something rash that will absolutely earn him a beating from… well. a number of people in the future. that tiny, loud, intriguingly horrible idea that sits in the center of the empty warmth burning low in his chest like a lantern running on its last bits of oil.

an angry, huffy exhale escapes his otherwise tightly sealed lips. hells, that hollow feeling shouldn’t even be there in the first place; it’s not as if he had no source of comfort here on the first—he doesn’t need haruki’s attention like some fragile flower, he could just ask zaya or wyda for a hug if he really needed the warm feeling. he shouldn’t be needing to constantly argue with himself whether he should write a letter, or call, or do nothing at all.

really, what he should do is stop thinking about it, but here he is, squeezing his eyes shut and keeping his hands planted on the table. he shouldn’t want what he nearly destroyed this much, and yet—

greedy, he chides, forcing himself to hold the quill tighter so that it presses into the callus forming on the side of his finger; a quiet, grounding pain. not even elwin sounds this silly. ‘wanting’. he doesn’t particularly care for arcanima, but if it helps him in the game of tag he’s playing with his own feelings for what feels like the millionth time in his life…  

a’dewah keeps writing. reaches out for a book to his left, only flicking his eyes over for a moment to see the cover he needs, and then he sees the kanai-anzen omamori sitting on top of the very book he’d been meaning to crack open next, waiting from when zaya quietly snuck over to sit with him for a few bells.

great.

the prospect of slamming his head into the damned table and giving himself a dire enough concussion so that someone in this library gets the guts to drag him to chessamile and have her put him to sleep—preferably for a long, long time—grows more enticing every moment his brain spends convincing him that making a small, short call wouldn’t be so bad. so does the idea of finding a pouch of dream powder and using as sugar in his chamomile tea later even though he knows how lengthy a lecture he’ll receive from g’raha, alphinaud, y’shtola and lunya if he does try it.

y’shtola would be disappointed in me; looking for a simple way out instead of pushing forward, he thinks, lifting his quill from the page and glaring at the small ink pool in his usually neat (doman) handwriting. he’s still not accustomed to writing with a quill but eorzean shopkeeps don’t carry calligraphy brushes, especially not ones small enough for his needs. 

but someone in kugane might, he thinks and gods he just needs to get it over with otherwise he’ll never make it to tomorrow night with his sanity intact.

he leans back in the hard, wooden chair, running a hand through his too-tightly tied up hair until his fingertips brush the edges of his linkpearl earring, searching for the one that cools his burning hands like diving into a river. once he finds it, it’s almost too simple to thumb open a connection despite the larger-than-usual tug on his own aether, the gentle chiming as he waits leaving him to wonder if this was going to be another one of his mistakes. he takes a sip of his (cold, stale) tea, steals a glance back down at the damned arcanima circles, stares back up at the glass ceiling of the cabinet and counts the stars as he waits, still pushing away the wanting that suffocates his heartbeat.

the monotonous chimes give way to a whole lot of static and the quiet rustling of leaves in the wind, and a’dewah almost thinks he’s used the wrong linkpearl until a tired, gentle voice like lazy river water whispers, “hey, can you keep this quick? it’s kinda late, and i’ve had a pretty long day.”

“ruki,” a’dewah breathes out, sitting up straight in his chair as haruki gives out a small ah of surprise. his tea is definitely cold, but he feels warmed anyways, a jolt of energy restoring the clarity to his murky thoughts. “sorry, is it a bad time?”

“a little, but i really thought you were hana-chan, or tsukiko—sorry, mune fell asleep while we were out and i was a little preoccupied.” for a connection made across worlds, the quality isn’t all that bad—a result of zaya’s very long search for a good linkshell to gift him, probably—and through it he can hear running water, maybe a few splashes and the click of haruki’s sabatons against stone as he walks slowly. he’d have sped up, if a’dewah were actually there to see him. he must be at the docks of the enclave, walking home with mune cradled in his arms. “what’s up?”

“nothing, really. i just—” needed to hear your voice. wanted to take a bit of your time. craved the warm feeling that fills my chest anytime you laugh or call me sunshine. “i have a bit of down time, and thought i’d see if you were, uh, free to talk? we—last time i was dragged into treasure hunting before i’d got to catch up with you, so i was thinking we could, well, just talk.”

“for you? of course,” haruki says, and a’dewah nearly breathes out a sigh. “just lemme get mune in bed and we can ramble about our days, or… weeks? hey, is it night there too?”

a’dewah nearly says yes, but the chirping birds and first light outside the windows of the cabinet tell him otherwise… but if he says it’s early morning, like very early, will haruki just tell him to go to bed like everyone else? he lays his head down flat on the table, staring at the quill loose in his hand and the incomplete formula on the parchment in front of him longingly. he doesn’t want that. ah, and again; wanting.

“no,” he lies, steadying his voice. a little half-truth wouldn’t hurt him… hopefully. “it’s a little later than dawn, but it’s still morning.”

“er, sir a’dewah?” just his luck; moren comes around the side of the bookshelf, eyes worried and moss green hair tied into a bun—it seems the warmer weather was getting even to the recluse librarian. “the exarch requests you do sleep soon, partly on lady lanya’s behalf? i… don’t quite know how he knows your whereabouts, but he said something about requesting the help of a “hagane-san”... d-do you think he’s in need of chessamile’s sleep draughts again?”

a’dewah stifles a groan, because moren had thoroughly blown a massive hole in his lie and haruki would have heard him. plus—since when did lunya and g’raha know about his sleeping issues? why is g’raha threatening him with hanami? why is lunya so worried about him? he lifts his head from the table, somehow pulling himself together enough to smile back at moren.

“send him my deepest regards, and that i will as soon as i’ve finished here.” a’dewah points to the linkpearl earring gleaming lightly in the dim candlelight and then to his pile of papers, and moren nods before scurrying off, presumably to wherever g’raha is watching him from. gods, if he didn’t fear lunya’s wrath, he might have strongly suggested g’raha stuff it.

haruki pipes up after moren’s footsteps recede into the sounds of dawn, more worried than chiding when he says, “dewah—”

“i know, ruki, sorry, i was just—i’m in the middle of a formula and got stumped so i called instead,” a’dewah says sheepishly, picking up his quill and writing down a few more calculations before capping his inkwell. less so being stumped and more so not wanting to do it, really, but that was for him to know. “i’m getting out of the library, don’t raise your voice, remember mune has better hearing than you.” he always forgets that he isn’t a child anymore, somehow, with a booming voice and bigger lungs to talk with.

he hears a small sigh, the creaking of leather and a small squeak of metal hinges on a door accompanying it. almost amused, but still a little annoyed, and he can hear the new clack of metal boots hitting wood much clearer, the echoing distance quieter as haruki heads inside. “...go to bed; i’ll talk to you as much as you want once you’re in bed, ‘kay?”

“keep talking to me while i get back to the pendants,” he tries, a little desperate as he starts to clean his table, re-shelve the books and pick up his research. “and i promise i won’t make a stop at spagyrics to get g’raha more sleeping draughts.” a false threat; he’s not going to invite chessamile to worry herself over two miqo’te scholars losing sleep, but he… he needs haruki’s voice. wants the background noise as he makes a long walk to the other side of the crystarium, not wanting to risk aethernet travel bungling up his work. “just any old story will do.”

“sure,” haruki says, resigned and soft enough to make a’dewah feel like melting. “hey, something kinda funny happened in kugane today…”

as a’dewah quickens his stride so that he might cross the crystarium faster, passing by the aetheryte crystal that can’t take him home no matter how hard he tries, haruki regales him with the story of mune running off (worrying) and finding a great big green chicken (even more worrying) that was apparently the pet of a gigantic man named yojimbo (oh, he’s heard this tale before, with different names) and haruki having to chase him down, eventually running into hildibrand, nashu, and some poor sekiseigumi they dragged along for the ride who were also looking for yojimbo. at one point, he breaks his sentence to whisper good night to sleeping mune, whispering even softer than before and a’dewah finds himself whispering the same thing as he climbs up the steps and passes the manager of suites without even a hello. it doesn’t matter; he’s not loud enough for mune to hear him or know that his dad is talking to his uncle across the rift, and somehow that hurts more than the bruise he gets when he trips over the last step to the third floor.

“i suggest staying far away from anything involving hildibrand,” a’dewah says as he cracks open the door to find an empty suite awaiting him; wyda and tehra’ir had left for eulmore. duscha and valdis accompanied y’shtola back to rak’tika, while lumelle and elwin trekked back to the inn at journey’s head by alisaie’s side. everyone else is… on the source. “he has a knack for getting everyone into trouble.”

haruki laughs, the bright sound covering the rattling wind against the windows—it must be a summer storm rolling in for it to be that violent in less than an hour. “i know; i called hana-chan and lunya about him when i couldn’t find mune and the damn chicken and she nearly choked when i mentioned his name.” the quiet rumble of wooden drawers opening, latches being unclasped, and oh dear a’dewah needs to distract himself before he starts blushing like a drunkard. “i think ihget’sae nearly strangled him; ‘pparently lunya wrangled everyone to come investigate when she heard mune got lost in kugane-dori.”

lost in kugane-dori. even a’dewah’s a little frightened by the thought of mune getting lost, remembering what almost happened to elwin. “anyone would, really. hildibrand is…” a’dewah mumbles. he pulls his boots off and tosses them next to elwin’s sandals, hachigane and gloves placed on the countertop by syhrwyda’s new cookbooks. it takes a lot more effort than he thought it would not to just collapse into bed with his battle robe on, carefully moving to grab his kimono cardigan and pajamas from where zaya folded and placed them on the bench. “he’s a force of nature. a very dense force of nature.”

“so, like us, but… worse?”

he sounds almost hesitant, and a’dewah feels his ears pin back in slight embarrassment. “you’d have to ask hanami for her opinion. she’d described us as, er, something colorful when she realized i hadn’t told anyone i was no longer interested in g’raha. lunya overheard and, well… i feel you know us all well enough to understand just what happens when lunya finds out your secrets.”

“you didn’t tell them, ” haruki exhales in a wheezy breath. his voice is muffled momentarily by metal and leather being carefully set aside, back onto the third shelf in haruki’s closet just behind the spare miqo’te sized clothing, just for him. he usually wears his yukata to bed, and convinced a’dewah more than once to take one of his spares when he’d realized his normal sleeping attire was back home. he—rather shamefully and awfully desperate—imagines haruki digging through his closet for the right colored yukata, chest bare and shivering as a’dewah bites back a laugh of his own, remembering how he had to point a bleary, rushing haruki to where his usual clothing was when he nearly missed mune’s genealogy presentation because he kept both of them up half the night. he imagines seiryu’s scale and how it never comes off from haruki’s chest for longer than a few moments, mostly because it keeps coming back, and a’dewah can kind of hear the thrum of the auspice’s aether. he’d always jokingly stuff it in his own pocket when haruki got fussy about it, and they hadn’t realized it would stay in his pocket so long as he didn’t leave yanxia til a’dewah went with hanami to namai with it still there, sitting quietly in his robe’s pocket. “did hanami—”

“she threw me to the wolves, yes, and i can still hear lumelle and a’satina’s screech of excitement, do not laugh at me,” a’dewah says fruitlessly, since haruki’s already choking down his laughs so not to wake maki and have her yell at both of them for being rowdy at whatever time of night it is. at some point, haruki sounds like he’s inhaled helium, and that sets a’dewah off in the middle of taking off his robe, bending over and dropping one of the clasps for the chain keeping the front close and the sash tumbling to the floor.

“i—kami, i really love you,” haruki says as easily as he breathes once he catches his breath, followed by the sound of the closet door closing, the drawer rolling back into place, and his lance being set against the wall. a’dewah’s breath hitches, something more than a little terrifying starting to worm its way out from the cracks haruki’s i love you tears into his tempered walls. his cardigan feels scratchy against his skin as he sits on the too large bed, moving to grab a blanket or two as haruki resumes his routine.

and after he’s practically wrapped himself in the blankets to the point where he’s swaddled like a newborn, he mumbles, “i’m in bed.” the rumbling static climbs in volume as a small clap of thunder sounds—he wonders, briefly, if the storm is zaya’s fault somehow—but a’dewah can still hear haruki’s quiet humming, the tune familiar from when they were just ten and still tripping over the lyrics. haruki makes a small noise of affirmation, hums quieting down. he can see haruki’s eyes scrunching up, focusing in on whatever it might be.

he starts to remove the clips and pins in his hair as haruki’s softened hums keeps him company. part of him wonders if haruki’s untied his hair yet, letting the mess of turquoise and teal down from the singular hair tie he somehow keeps it all in, or if he’ll wait until he’s already in bed and about to fall asleep when he suddenly remembers about it. his fingers tingle with the feeling of carding through haruki’s hair and braiding it just to see if he could. part of him hopes haruki will let him do it again, even though the first time he’d somehow tangled up the three parts into more of a twist than a braid.

“okay! now i am too.” a loud puff of air comes through; haruki must have flopped onto the futon with his arms and legs spread out. the rustling of the blankets, even though a’dewah is certain it’s summer and there’s a rather humid storm outside. he usually pulls the covers up to his stomach, especially when haruki tugs him onto his chest and into his arms. “anyways, how was your da—er, night?”

“i was in the library for the past sixteen bells, ruki, i don’t think you want to hear about it. talk about your… your past few weeks?”

“ah, right,” he says, not at all phased by the confused tone of a’dewah’s voice. “well, i got back from gangos with a new staff for mune! i’m saving it for when he finishes his current lessons with the kojin on, er, water aether? he still doesn’t like going there alone, though; he keeps asking when you’ll come back whenever i mention it.”

“is that so?” a’dewah cracks a weak smile like haruki might see it somehow. “promise i’ll be back soon… but who made a custom staff for him?”

“oh, the bozjan resistance got… was it gerolt? well, it’s something about him being a great blacksmith perfect for reconstructing the blades of gunnhildr, and he was offering services to anyone who could get him the materials, so!”

haruki rambles on about how he’d needed to “expertly persuade” hanami into helping him out with finding the inscriptions for the weapon only to realize he couldn’t do shite since they’d have to delve into the memories of poor cid, who really deserved to have a break and a lot of tea, and with each sentence a’dewah sinks deeper into something horrible. the part of him that is selfish, craves attention and touch, seems so much colder now than it was before, the hollow pit now a yawning chasm of wanting. of yearning.

he does not deserve to be yearning for haruki’s hands running across his skin, scratching at the nape of his neck to comfort and behind his ears just for fun. love is not meant to be as one-sided as he’s making theirs, a cycle of unrequested but nonetheless cherished actions rather than one side constantly wanting and the other giving. part of him wonders if he really ever loved before, or if it was just the terrible, horrible monster inhabiting the same space as him craving affection and getting it however it could, wringing it from the people a’dewah cared for.

(did his short-lived love for g’raha feel as twisted as the garden of emotions he grows in his chest for haruki? or was this what being loved and loving in return felt like?)

he bites his lip as haruki mentions a few other things he’s had happen in the time a’dewah’s been away—a very lovingly made omamori from mune, complete with a cat charm that sounds terrifying to him that lunya chose out, something about meeting tsukiko in her civilian clothing and her panicking, a visit from seiryu and suzaku inquiring to his and hanami’s whereabouts that spooked shomi and maki for a precious few seconds, a conversation with someone who said how people dream to stay with someone even in sleep—and tries not to wish for too much. even with suzaku’s blessings, his heart was still weaker; if he stressed about how good a partner he was to haruki, he might die here without ever seeing him again.

he’s probably exaggerating a little, but he’s got that odd feeling he’s going to die soon. just a little.

when haruki finishes going on about his incredibly interesting past few moons, a comfortable, smothering silence begins. a’dewah shuffles himself about so his tail isn’t suffocated under the blanket, whipping about slowly. “hey, are… are maki-san and shomi-san still, er, angry at me?”

“you really can drop the honorific, dewah,” haruki chides quietly. “but! no. not really. mother might talk to you about communicating when you come back, but you’ll be fine.” it sounds an awful lot like i won’t let them hurt you, which is stupid; they’re haruki’s mothers, they wouldn’t hurt him intentionally—but a’dewah is much softer than the stuff aymeric and hanami and haruki are made of. a golden heart, haruki says, but gold is soft. malleable. melts, under enough heat, and he is already filled with enough molten feelings to rival the sun’s heat. a’dewah is fairly certain he will melt if he damages his relationship to the haganes more than he already has, the solar flares of regret and guilt worse than any magical red lilies he could conjure.

he wants and yet he fears what he craves, left wondering which part of him is the broken bit that needs to be healed so that he might be able to just ask for it instead.

“i… er, don’t believe you, really… but i miss all of you,” a’dewah admits, feeling a bit smaller and colder than before. then, a quieter, less sure thought that really has no business bothering him: “e-except maybe itomi-san, even though she d-doesn’t really count?”

“well, y’know, she and naonaka kinda disowned themselves, so you’ll be fine.” haruki’s voice drops a smidge into bitterness—well, that wasn’t what he meant to do, curse his stupid mouth—but haruki recovers easily. he always has. “homesick for here, huh? tell you what; you can list what you miss the most, and i’ll see if i can get hana-chan to carry it over for you. maybe a’khebica has some ideas.”

“i don’t—it’s. what i miss from there isn’t, er, something hanami can bring through the rift. khebica wouldn’t know, either.”

“well, the offer still stands; i might be able to arrange something,” haruki says, and a’dewah just knows he is winking to his ceiling with a gleaming grin across his face like a’dewah can see him, and in a way, he can. it takes everything he has not to groan and smile at the goofy thought in return.

even if he did list what he missed so much about home, he’d just sound so desperate because what he misses most is haruki. for the past four years he’s been confined to the first it’s been haunting him just how much he’d relied on haruki’s energy to fuel his own once garlemald started pressing down on them double time, wondering if any of his strength was really his own. he wants what the letters they send back and forth describe; the quiet nights spent in each others’ company, the adventures in eorzea he promised, the hugs and kisses and that one dance haruki really wants him to do, the garden they’ve been caring for since he’s been gone.

lunya had offhandedly mentioned, once, how he and haruki wrote to each other like a married couple in their honeymooning phase, and he flushed a brighter red than dalamud not because she implied they were married but because he really, really wanted that more than he should. a step too far too soon, especially with the empire breathing down the warrior of lights’ necks, but fuck he really wanted to promise his future to haruki even if he didn’t know how much longer he would live just because it felt more right than everything else a’dewah could have done.

he wants too much. greedy, needy, childish wants. he just wanted to be loved for so long, and now that he has it he wants more. wanton.  

“i can’t quite think of anything,” he lies through his teeth even though what he really wanted to say was i want to be yours, forever because he is and will always be a coward. “but if i figure something out i’ll tell you.”

for all his perceptiveness when a’dewah is sitting in front of him, haruki doesn’t seem to be able to pick up on him feeding both of them lies through linkpearl. maybe something to do with the interference. “‘kay.” the silence rolls back in, like an early morning fog that chills a’dewah because he knows what he’s dreading is hiding in that fog.

please don’t say you love me, a’dewah pleads even though that’s exactly what he wants to hear. i don’t want this to end, i want to listen to your voice for so much longer, i want to hear about you, i want, i want—

he must have pissed off some sort of kami of misfortune, because the very next thing haruki whispers to him, so sweet and kind and not at all knowing what he’s doing to a’dewah’s heart, is “i love you, dewah.”

“...l-love you too, ruki,” he barely manages to say, not even toying with the idea of saying love you more like usual, and oh he’s starting to cry, how embarrassing. it takes everything he has to clamp his hand over his traitorous mouth and patiently wait for haruki to end the connection, pull the blankets over his chest and go to sleep while a’dewah fights with the monster leaping out of the holes in his greedy, greedy heart.

for a moment, haruki goes quiet, only soft breathing coming over the aetheric connection, and a’dewah thinks he might be asleep. he… hopes haruki is asleep; he doesn’t know what he’d do if haruki heard him, really.

and then of course a’dewah’s fingers slip, a loud sob that sounds more like a dying cat than him tearing through the cracks, and the silent turmoil is broken as haruki obviously gets pulled from the beginnings of sleep.

“...sunshine?” haruki asks, sleep fogging up his voice and a’dewah stupidly opens his mouth to respond which only lets out a whimper instead of it’s fine , and gods he’s a horrible, horrible mess, why is he like this . it’s not fair of him to keep asking for haruki to talk him down from the edge, to cry every time he calls and expect haruki to pick up the pieces when they both know hearing him crumbles hurts both of them. “dewah? was that noise you?”

and on the other end, a’dewah can hear the rustling of blankets being pushed off—shite, he’s keeping haruki up by being a child about this—and haruki’s hands slapping onto his bedding in a light thump as he pushes himself up in fear. “what’s wrong,” haruki says so kindly and fuck, he’s crying harder now and a’dewah was already teetering on edge of something completely and entirely disastrous before he did this, why did he do this again? “did something happen?”

everything is happening at once, more like. 

“i don—i don’t know,” he cries, wrapping his arms around his head like he used to when prisca would say stop crying like it would keep him safe from his own thoughts… but haruki’s not prisca and he’s using his time for him instead of for himself so why is this even happening, he shouldn’t be panicking. the blanket tangles around him, comfort twisted into a trap and a’dewah feels like he’s drowning. “i wish i did but i don’t and i’m so sorry please just end the call i need you to sleep—”

part of him is screaming please don’t leave me alone and the other part wails don’t listen to me cry again, i can’t be good for your health while a third, utterly confused bit of him sits trapped in the middle, hunkered down. the monster a’dewah has been running from has opened its maw and spews out all the things he utterly craves but ultimately does not deserve from life, threatening to swallow him whole and permanently, this time.

“sunshine, i’m not going to let you be alone when you’re crying like that,” haruki says, and a’dewah can’t tell if it’s pity or disappointment pouring through the linkpearl but he hates it, please just leave him here to suffer. “unfortunately, you’ve found a very stubborn person to date.”

he knows, but he also knows haruki knows danger when he hears it, so why doesn’t he run from this? 

because he loves you, part of him thinks in mune’s voice, remembering the comfort the little raen boy could bring in four words when a’dewah looked worried in the middle of teaching him something and gods, since when was a child more emotionally mature than him?

maybe because you never got the chance to be a kid and grow up normally, he thinks again, teetering dangerously close to hyperventilating as he practically strangles his fingers in his tangled hair.

he has absolutely zero clue what haruki has been saying for the past few moments, evident in the rising worry seeping through haruki’s usually calm, energetic, happy voice. “love, i need you to breathe,” he coos, and a’dewah hisses, lungs not working with him no matter how much he wants to listen, his wanting finally turning on its head. “here; listen to me. follow, please, i can’t help you if you hyperventilate.”

he’s extremely glad past him had the forethought to tell haruki a bit about how he deals with scared patients, because he remembers to murmur in, breath deep, out, breathe out, and even though a’dewah chokes on his own air he can catch up. i’m here, i’m here, haruki hisses between breaths, and hells open, heavens weep, if he wasn’t already crying his dedication to making sure he’s alright rather than listening and cutting the call would have made him weep.

“hey, sh-sh-sh,” haruki coos once a’dewah’s breaths sound less like desperate gasps for air and more like struggling to breath past the fat tears streaming down his face. “i won’t leave you alone, you can pretend i’m there next to you until you can actually lie down next to me again.”

but you know i’m no good at playing pretend. he can’t believe himself, sobbing and wrapping himself further under his blanket and letting the fluffy, stuffy feeling wrap around him in some poor facsimile of being hugged. nothing here could possibly measure up to the feeling he so desperately craves, even though it’s just being in haruki’s arms. all he really wants is a hug. imagine that. 

gods, it must be killing haruki to listen to a’dewah sob like he’s dying—he’s never going to tell haruki that he actually died, a bolt of ice piercing through his chest and suzaku’s feather on a staff he had no access trying to save him once more—and he has half a mind to cut the connection between linkpearls just to save one of them from being in pain but his arm makes the executive decision to try and rip his hair out instead. he almost never has control over himself when he’s blubbering, so he’s not so much surprised as he is sickened by his lack of restraint.

“i—” he chokes on the words, a hiccuping gasp shocking both of them. “i’m s-orry, i didn’t mean t’ pull you back from sleeping.”

his chest feels like there’s a thousand ponze weight crushing it down into dust, his emotions becoming too much like they always do, inevitably. in a better universe, maybe he would have had the restraint to let haruki go to sleep first, cut the call, and be miserable on his own until wyda came back, or duscha decided to return because he somehow always knew when he’d break down next. so did krile. maybe there’s just something innately motherly about scholars when it comes to their younger peers (was krile older than him?).

“i wasn’t meaning to pass out then and there, dewah, but i’m sorry for making you think i was going to leave you hanging like that.” haruki makes a little noise that sounds like oh dear, followed by the quiet ripping of fabric. did he clench his sheets so hard his nails tore into them? “i had a feeling something was wrong from the moment you said you called because you had time.”

well then. isn’t that a bit embarrassing, to be found out from the beginning. “i shouldn’t have called.”

“but you did, and i’m very glad for it,” haruki answers honestly, and a’dewah can imagine him sitting, a little hunched over and relieved, eyes half-lidded and foggy with sleep, because he’s always been one to work himself down to the bone and pass out, and a’dewah’s been keeping him up for stupid reasons, this time. “you deserve to feel okay, and i don’t mind losing a lil sleep over it.”

a’dewah doesn’t deserve anything, really, but he’ll take what haruki gives just because he doesn’t want to be rude when he’s offering support so kindly. even if it’s exactly what he’s craving—comfort. haruki knows him too well and one day it’s going to get him killed, either from heartbreak when a’dewah screws up for the last time or from actual danger when a’dewah gets the haganes in trouble by being a public figure with a very peculiar lover and an adorable nephew that also happen to be related to another warrior of light.

“ruki, go to bed.” he curls up into his pillow, poking his head through a hole in the tangles of the blanket to breathe. he’ll just stay up until his stomach rights itself and the sickening dread-guilt sets in, something more comfortable than panic and safer than feeling content, because when he wakes up he absolutely won’t be okay no matter what.

“no, dewah, i think i won’t go to bed if you don’t too."

fuck, please don’t start this. “i—no, ruki, you can’t stay up on account of me being emotional, i’ll be—”

haruki scoffs, though more at the stifling tension and the lie than at a’dewah himself. “fine? please don’t lie to me. don’t close off again.”

“b-but… it’s not fair to you,” he croaks out, finally, throat raspy and dry. “to keep asking you to care for me when i break down. you—you’re not supposed to constantly have to listen to me cry, not when it hurts both of us because listening to someone you love in pain is horrible, horrible work.” he had experience with listening—watching over someone as they writhed in pain and knowing there was nothing he could do but watch if he didn’t want to harm them. he’d done it a thousand times before, and would do so a thousand more so long as the world needed heroes and wars. walking around amaurot besides hanami and zaya nearly tore his heart in two because no matter how afraid of them he might be they were suffering the whole time and even when he was pulled from the rift by g’raha and could heal again he couldn’t stop their pain as they all valiantly fought emet-selch. “let me just be fine, let me learn to take care of myself.”

he doesn’t want haruki to have to care for someone broken as him when the dirty work could easily be done by himself. he might be a caretaker by—not by nature, but by experience —but even the most stalwart caretakers have their limits and by nophica’s grace he does not want to be the straw that breaks haruki’s back. if haruki ever got tired of him, because everyone gets tired of a stubborn crybaby eventually no matter how much they love the person they can be, he wouldn’t know what to do. he’s too reliant, acting like a child when really he’s an adult, and it isn’t healthy for either of them to be like this.

a’dewah doesn’t want to leave but if his solar flares of emotions are hurting haruki he’d rather jump into the ocean and be extinguished forever instead.

“well, most people learn best by example. breathe,” haruki says, quiet even as the storm outside his home rages. he takes as deep a breath as he can, listening to haruki breathe with him. “can you name one person, besides me, all of balefire, and the scions, that has shown you how to care for yourself?” 

haruki leaves him in strenuous silence as he thinks, still there but waiting. he almost says my parents, but the last time he saw them was when he was eight, long since buried and he’s nearly thirty-six now—and really, did the nunh of any tribe really care for his sons past their strength, of which he had none because khebica said he’d inherited their mother’s love for the elements. mahja and tahja were too busy trying not to be a burden for him, atoh and vahno were both too young and needed to be cared for first, khebica was taught to care for herself first after what happened to her, and he was the only one castrum fluminis wanted anyhow and they nearly broke him before he was eighteen so who else? tsukiko was still too afraid of yudai, louisoix had so many others to look for first, e-sumi-yan didn’t even know—

“...i. i don’t know,” he says, and the revelation nearly shatters him. even among the people haruki had him exclude, he’d only just started letting them fuss about his wellbeing, except... “you might—you were the first. for a while, the only person i let try. you were just too—too...”

“persistent? thank you, it’s one of my strengths,” he says, a smile leaking through the crackling connection that makes a’dewah’s chest stutter in its rise and fall. “and besides, when i first saw you in that rice paddy i seriously got worried ‘cause i saw kotone almost drown there that same day. you were so much shorter, too.”

“ hey, i w-wasn’t that short then.”

“were too. anyways, you kinda proved my point. let me help, because i want to, and i’m sure you’ll be able to do it on your own soon. i want you to get better,” haruki promises, and the words a’dewah turns over in his head have a cool warmth to them, like diving into the one river in summer. something distinct, grounding. loving. “and if it means i have to share your pain, so be it. i can take a fair amount.”

great; he’s going to cry again, all because haruki loves him too damn much and he doesn’t know how to deal with it all, an ocean’s worth of devotion and promises poured into his hands and leaking through his fingers.

“i—i did warn you that this stuff is horrible, right? i don’t want you to get hurt from my issues,” a’dewah murmurs, hands grasping uselessly at his cardigan’s sleeves and fingers cramping from it all.

“yeah, and? it’s you. there’s not a lot that can keep me from helping you, save this damned soul-ghost situation. no matter what comes up, you’re stuck with me for the near future.”

a shaky breath on both sides, trying to survive the last few tremors of a’dewah’s fragile temperament. fabric rustling on haruki’s end; good, he must be tucking himself back under the covers, albeit gingerly. the guilt might eat at him later, if haruki says he didn’t sleep well, but for now the weirdly soothing thought of you’re stuck with me smooths the prickly bits in his chest back down.

“i have an idea.” haruki shifts, horn with his linkpearl brushing against his pillow. maybe he’s looking out the window, or looking out his door to check if he’d woken someone up in talking sense back into a’dewah. “we can keep the connection open ‘til morning; i’ve got aether to spare and you’ve even more than i do, right? it’ll be kinda like waking up next to each other,” haruki says soothingly, even though it won’t be like he says because a’dewah won’t be able to turn over and laugh at haruki’s bedhead, won’t be able to lazily pull haruki’s arm over his shoulders and feel safe. “we’ve got similar sleep schedules. it shouldn’t be too hard compared to saving the world.”

“i—i know what you mean, but…” what if when i wake up hearing your voice but not seeing you beside me just makes it worse, he would say if he had the guts, but all of those had jumped out the window with common sense when he made this damned call.

and yet haruki just knows him too well and answers anyways. “hey, it’ll be fine. think of it this way; part of me is always thinking about you, even if i don’t realize it, so just think of me,” haruki says, and a’dewah already knows where he’s going with this but isn’t that a thing they all reserve for mune, who is starting to grow up faster than they can keep up with? “and i’ll be there with you, always, because i trust you with my heart—and if that isn’t enough, i’m still just a call away, right?”

“r-right,” a’dewah whispers back, eyes brimming this time not with pained tears but happy ones, not even knowing how much he needed that little bit of permission until now. his heart is finally settling, after three or four nights of restless searching, restless wanting , simmering quietly in its proper place rather than leaving him hollow and melting. “and... i trust you with mine.”

neither of them have to say it, but even with the rain pouring down by haruki’s window and the winds outside a’dewah’s the silence coming over the linkpearl finally feels calm.

haruki’s next yawn is loud, and a’dewah can hear the tension melt from his voice like frost in spring and silver dew from plants in summer. “d’you think you can sleep now? or… should i serenade—”

his voice is utterly wrecked, but he somehow manages to yowl, “i can sleep fine!”

haruki’s bubbling laughter rises with the thunder outside his house, filling a’dewah with liquid gold warmth—not molten, but soothing, comforting, home. no longer threatening to melt him from the inside out but strengthening, and he can feel himself blushing at the thought of warm hugs just like this even though it’s not all that much, in the grand scheme of things.

when both of them manage to calm down—haruki from his ever bubbling joy and a’dewah from his constant state of embarrassment when it comes to haruki—it’s not too much for a’dewah to rub his eyes one last time and simmer in the dark warmth sitting further inside his chest, no longer threatening to overtake him for now. not bright, like his magic and the light and the harsh sun. dark, like the sunless sea and the stars and shooting stars overlapping, even if two of those things aren’t quite dark.

for someone proficient in white magic, it feels safer in the dark than the light.

“i miss you,” he whispers even though he has a feeling haruki found a way to laugh himself to sleep—oh, no, his breath hitches when a’dewah hiccups in an ugly croak, gods why does haruki find him attractive despite all of this—thinking of teals and oranges and fireflies that light up the white scales lining haruki’s jawline. “and i think i always will, a little bit. i want to be yours forever.”

there, he’s said it; i want. the simmering, unknown dark cools off, no longer warbling his voice, and his eyes start to feel heavy as adrenaline bubbles away.

“i could say the same, dewah,” haruki whispers back, words fraying as a’dewah’s past few days of running catch up to him, finally. “i miss you too, but you’ll be back soon, so for now? sleep tight.”

and he does, the tinny sounds of haruki’s breathing evening out lulling him to his dreams where he isn’t so far away from home.

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #seaswolchallenge #a'dewah tia #haruki #s: sitting in a persimmon tree #my writing #hey so im sorry for emotional damages? #but if i have to be cursed by the inevitable linkpearl idea so do you #luckily! there's gonna be a fluffy/crack/joke fic version. do with that info what you will >:3 #tales from the blue

[vannahfanfics]

May I please request a RokuNami fanfic where Roxas comforts Naminé after the events of KH3? I really love your writings, and I’ve been craving for some good RokuNami content for a while, so I’d take a chance and make this request. I know you’re busy with other stuff, so please don’t worry about how long it’ll take for you to finish it. 🥰

Thank you very much for your patience! ^u^ I hope this is to your liking. I’m not sure if you other other requests in queue right now, but if so, I’m going through them as fast as I can so stay tuned~

Existence

The emerald leaves quivered in the rolling breeze, filling the earthy air of the woods with the sound of their rattling rush. The gentle cacophony complimented the resonant birdsong echoing overhead. It was punctuated with the drumming of a woodpecker boring his nest into one of the sturdy oaks of the little forest. A pair of squirrels rummaged among the fallen acorns, stuffing them into their cheeks pouches until they bulged profusely. The rest they buried in a little pocket of soil, likely to be forgotten and give birth to an oak sapling in the coming summer. Naminé's blue eyes watched the small rodents closely, while her hand skated across the paper, penciling a rendition of the brown squirrels to life. 

The rustling of her pencil case startled them into the trees. They clawed up the trunk to vanish among the green leaves and peer down at Naminé with beady black eyes. Naminé chuckled at their skittishness and retrieved her green colored pencil to add more details to the grass, ferns, and trees in her drawing. Once she finished, she brushed away the eraser bits and pencil chunks and admired her handiwork. She had captured the little wood in everlasting purity, down to the pair of squirrels prancing about for their meal. 

The squirrels' tails twitched as a twig snapped, piercing the tranquil atmosphere like an arrow. Naminé peered around the girthy trunk of the tree amongst whose roots she lounged to sweep her gaze around the small wood. At first, she could see only mulberry bushes and thickets surrounding the dirt path, until a sprout of blonde hair appeared around the edge of a skinny birch. 

"Naminé?" Roxas called, cupping his hand to his mouth. His voice carried through the empty air to breach the corners of the forest. 

"Here!" she answered with a little wave. Roxas’ ocean-blue eyes landed upon her, and his lips curled upward into a small smile. Naminé immediately dropped hers to the ground as the clawed hand of guilt twisted her heart. He really shouldn't be smiling at me… she thought sadly. I'm mainly the reason he suffered so much and even… had to disappear. She reclined back against the sturdy oak, anxiety bubbling in her belly as his crunching footsteps grew ever closer. 

"Naminé?" His voice was soft and troubled. Naminé did not deserve his concern. Flushing with shame, she played with the corner of her notebook, thumbing the stack of pages. Her mouth twitched as Roxas squatted down beside her to inspect her latest creation. "You've gotten better," he remarked. She dared to peer through her peripheral vision at him and found him warmly admiring the artistry. "It almost seems like I'm looking at a photograph." This time, the exaggerated compliment made her blush. 

"It's not that good." 

"I certainly couldn't make something like this," he insisted with a loose gesture over the page. Despite herself, Naminé smiled. It was always nice to receive compliments on one's work. Yet… she thought uncomfortably as the doubt crept back into her mind. He shouldn't be so nice to me. He can't have forgotten what I did. "What's that funny look on your face for?" he asked and plopped down in the grass beside her. Naminé's cheeks brightened, and she resumed fiddling with her drawing notebook. 

"I-I thought you were with Hayner and the others playing Struggle?" she said, hoping the conversation would shift without much resistance. Roxas sneered and drew his knee up so he could lay his arm over it. 

"I was, but Hayner's a sore loser. I demolished him three sets in a row, so he decided to give up." Roxas' brazen confidence made her giggle a little. She could very much imagine competitive Hayner flinging the foam Struggle wand after suffering such a humiliating defeat. Roxas smiled brightly at her little chuckles. "Anyway, Olette suggested I come check on you. You've been out here a while."

"I suppose I just got side-tracked. There are a lot of good things to draw out here." Roxas raised an eyebrow and gestured at her drawing pad. She flushed fiercely, feeling somewhat self-conscious, but would not deny the boy his perusing pleasure. He slid the book from her lap and began to flip through her most recent drawings. A curious bluebird peeked up at them, seemingly disgruntled that its meal of an earthworm had been interrupted by watchful eyes. A cluster of slimy brown mushrooms crowned by three white-winged moths bunched among the roots of a tree. A mottled thrush struck a snail’s shell against a rugged round rock, hoping to crack it so it could feast on the gooey creature inside. A patch of dandelions swayed in the gentle breeze; a few of its delicate seeds floated on the wind to a new home.

“Wow,” he breathed in admiration. Roxas’ eyes absorbed every minute detail of the colored pages like he was attempting to glean some hidden meaning within the pencil wax. Naminé flushed and fidgeted beside him. She had never really let anyone pore over her drawings like this before; she wasn’t used to such a high level of praise. And on top of that, coming from Roxas… I am undeserving. “Naminé, these are really gre- Hey, why are crying?” he gasped, dropping the drawing pad.

Naminé had even realized that tears had sprung to the corners of her eyes. Looking away in embarrassment, she wiped them away with the knuckles of her index fingers. “Naminé? What’s wrong?” His tone of voice was just so kind, so pleading. Would he forgive her if she apologized? The weight of her sins was suffocating on her chest, making it feel like her lungs were gripped in a steel vise. Whimpering pitifully, she just inched away from him, hugging her knees to her body. Subconsciously, Naminé thought that if she squeezed herself tight enough, she would blot right out of existence- just like she had doomed him to be all that time ago. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Roxas raise a hand, hesitant to touch her.

“… I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” Roxas’ fingertips brushed lightly over her elbow, sending electric sparks jumping through her nerves. Naminé twiddled her thumbs nervously and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “… Is it me?” he asked suddenly. Naminé’s cheeks burned apple-red, ashamed that her actions would lead him to question himself. Hastily, she shook her head, making her platinum-blonde hair bounce around her shoulders.

“No! It’s me!” she corrected loudly. When she realized she had all but admitted the source of her anxiety, she flushed darker and fisted the soft fabric of her white dress. There was nothing for it now; she had to confess. “It’s me,” she repeated in a small voice. “I just can’t understand why you’re being nice to me.”

He blinked slowly.

“Um… Well, I don’t understand why you think I shouldn’t be nice to you.”

“Because it’s my fault!” she shouted, finally forcing herself to look him in the eyes. Roxas’ oceanic irises were swimming with confusion, which only served to frustrate her more. “It’s my fault you had to disappear.”

“Oh. That.” His tone was flat and unfeeling. He shifted, pressing his back against the trunk of the tree and parting his legs slightly to begin plucking up the grass blades between his thighs. He wound the thin green shoots between his fingers until he tore them asunder, making the tiny fibers snap one after another. He fiddled with the grass a long time, and soon a pile of destroyed grass blades piled up between them. She watched him anxiously, barely breathing, but had not the courage to probe his mind. “It certainly wasn’t how I wanted to end my summer vacation, even if it was entirely fictional,” he said with a wry, pained smile. Naminé’s fragile heart cracked, and a wave of sickening nausea rolled over her, making her press her arms around her belly. I knew it… He hates me… she thought with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“But I don’t blame you.” She gasped and looked at him incredulously to see him genuinely smiling. “You were a Nobody too, once. The fact that we shouldn’t really have existed in the first place was something we both had to come to terms with.” Naminé squirmed beside him. He wasn’t wrong.

Roxas frowned and tossed one of the shredded grass blades into the air, watching as the breeze caught it to carry it over to the squirrels, which had resumed their hunting among the acorns. His mouth twitched into a smirk. “Sure, you rewrote Sora’s memories, and they ended up bleeding into me, but it’s not like you knew that would happen. Regardless of anything you or I could have done, the result would’ve been the same,” he shrugged and rolled his head to look at her reassuringly. She leaned forward with a broken look.  

“I did everything I could. Riku and DiZ thought we were just Nobodies, but…” she clasped her hands over her heart and grimaced miserably. “I wished more than anything that you and I wouldn’t have to return to Sora and Kairi.”

“And I knew that,” Roxas smiled and turned his head upwards to peer at the patches of sunlight filtering in through the leaves. He picked up a small leaf that had been ripped from the branches by an animal or a fierce gust of wind and tossed it up. It spun slowly as it floated back down to land on his lap. He repeated the action, smiling wanly. “Deep down, I knew that, so I never blamed you.” He tossed the leaves aside and rested his hands behind his head, in a very Sora-like gesture, but it carried the air of confidence that was so inherently Roxas. “Besides, thanks to Sora being hopelessly stubborn, we’re all here now, right?” he smirked and gave her an amused side-eye. “So, don’t cry anymore. He wouldn’t like it if you did, and for the record, neither do I.” A pink haze drifted up to her cheeks, and she resumed fiddling with the hem of her dress. She wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.

So, she settled for something simple.

“Thank you, Roxas.”

He smiled kindly at her and crossed his legs, leaving one hand behind his head while the other held out her drawing book to her. Naminé took it with a grateful smile and flipped it open to a blank page.

“What’re you going to draw now?”

“The two of us.” His smile widened, and he settled more comfortably against the robust trunk of the tree before drifting his eyes shut. Naminé didn’t necessarily need him to serve as a model, but she was grateful for his company, nonetheless. Using a light gray pencil, she sketched out the frame before she plucked a honey-gold one from within the confines of her pouch. She held it up to the light, admiring the way the sun made its golden hue shine all the brighter. It seemed like the pencil contained the sun’s rays itself in solid form.

“I don’t suppose you have a name for your drawing yet?” he asked her with a smirk, cracking an eye open to peer at her through blond lashes. Naminé smiled and set the golden pencil to the paper, sketching out his fluffy hair.

“I think I’ll call it Sunshine.” He blinked, then looked up at his curling bangs. He snorted in laughter and pinched a few of the thick strands between his thumb and forefinger, twisting them around.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” He scooched closer to her, slipping an arm around her shoulders rather than crushing it up against her side. Naminé didn’t mind, but his closeness and rapt attention brought a flush to her cheeks anyway. He was like sunshine, bathing her in his warmth as she slowly brought the pair of them to life on the page- seated under a sprawling oak tree, tucked within its roots, smiling and laughing together. It was the future she had imagined for them all those many moons ago, when their lives were forfeit, and they simply begged for existence. Smiling happily, she leaned her head against his shoulder, and in turn, he pressed his cheek into the top of her head with a little nuzzle that tickled her scalp.

“Roxas?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad things turned out this way.”

“Me too, Naminé.”

Grinning, she continued to breathe life into the page, capturing the absolute reality of the two of them side-by-side in the quaint little wood. She took extra care to paint the smiles on their faces, capturing forever the joy the two of them were so plainly feeling.

Thank you for always being there for me. 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork

#rokunami #platonic rokunami #roxas #kh roxas #namine #kh namine #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts roxas #kingdom hearts namine #kh fanfic #kh fanfiction #kingdom hearts fanfic #kingdom hearts fanfiction

[m00nlitknight]

Neoclassical

fandom: star wars ( sequel trilogy )  /  greek mythos au pairing:  kylo ren / reader word count:  1,635 warnings:  slight mommy issues summary:   Oh, how one tires of stagnant days. extra:   AH my first work in another fandom! :') i hope it's enjoyable! please do leave feedback if you liked it? depending on the reception i may or may not stretch it to another chapter or something. thank you for reading! ♡ as a side note, i had him refer to the reader as a lilac due to the meanings of the flower: purity + innocence. i would've gone with daisy but i didn't wanna step on daisy ridley's toes lol

archive of our own link

Soft, green grass crushes beneath bare feet. It grew unruly, appearing jagged in some places, brushing anywhere from an ankle to grazing mid-thigh. The wind hummed past gently, rustling not only the unruly grass, but also unruly locks from the top of your crown, beginnings the misplacement of a newly made daisy crown. The day was akin to any other; gorgeous. Unfortunately, you’d grown used to the cycle of its static beauty, instead attempting to salvage appreciation and savor the flavor of the nature at your disposal. However, despite this, you couldn’t help but find yourself becoming a bit desensitized to it.

Every day felt as though it was a trial of the same tribulations; a dance you’d become well acquainted with. To awaken with the sun’s rise, her golden kiss of the horizon enough to rouse your eyes open and put your body in gear. Mother had always claimed that being early to rise would aid in your overall mood for the day, not that you had much particular input on how She’d micromanage how you felt

You began your day with a hearty breakfast of the typically vegetarian variety, typically a nod of appreciation to the work that your mother did. Those around you encouraged to take your time with eating, to allow the flavors of each bite play on your tongue like a Shakespearean play. It amused you in the beginning, taking their words to heart and practicing it just to go along with their wishes. As time wore on, the days blurring together with one another, you found yourself tiring of the routine - of all the routines.

The remainder of the morning would leave you to work on whatever skills She deemed a necessity. Sewing and cooking and honing the prowess growing within you. It festered, beautiful and green, just like Mother’s. Then, the day was yours to explore the lands. The sprawling, gracious, and luxurious Lands. Sometimes you would mingle with the creatures who found home in the forest, those who made their home in the space of bark or in the shimmer of puddles and streams. Though you’d never spoken to Her of them, you were sure she’d known of them. As always, you were simply under Her eye.

Throughout the evening, when the sun’s descent on the other side of the sky colored the clouds orange, or pink, or purple, you would be making yourself another meal. This one was of your own choice, if it included meat, it would be game you’d brought down by your own hand.

Yes, the days blurred together, and the exhilaration of this lifestyle granted to you was beginning to dull, you found yourself craving more than what was granted to you. The freedom was thrilling in comparison to what you had before, and in retrospect, felt as though chains bound you to who you once were.

So as you wander the sprawling green fields, dotted with wild flowers and wildlife that sometimes graced your vision, you wonder if you can find yourself passed the typical borders of what your allowed. To push the limits, pass through the forest filled to the brim with gentle woodland creatures, and see what lie ahead; out from under Her eye.

The thought alone ignited curiosity and wonder through your veins, though not to your face. Never to your face, for that was the first place She’d look if something were to go awry. As momentary as the plan and excitement of it was, it faded, replacing itself with cool, hard fear; like a rock at the pit of your stomach.

Blindly did your feet carry you throughout the woods, passing by many private eyes who seemed nearly enthralled with your every move. Soon, you found yourself perched by a small pond, atop a branch sturdy enough to hold your weight. Around you the scenery came alive, shaping into nymphs with bubbly giggles and typical friendly dispositions. They approached you from their respective residences, glee plastered on their technicolor features. You watched them with idle interest, making a mimic of their expressions as one leaned on the branch beside you.

“Oh, Spring’s Daughter! We’re so glad you came today,” her voice was angelic in tone, as though a choir came together to make her tone; a match made in heaven with her gorgeous foam-colored skin, milky eyes, and shimmering blue hair. “Something has come to our attention, something of interest!”

“Quite the interest,” another said, of oak skin and pearly grin. Her voice, though not as striking, held its own with a soft, melodic tone.

“Are you going to keep me in the dark, then?” You giggle yourself, allowing a genuine smile to brighten your typically hollow features. “C’mon, tell me!”

The quartet around you looks to one another, sharing a conversation of glances. Another giggles, her deep, emerald eyes looking so deep into you, you wondered if she could grasp your heart.

“Do you promise to not show anyone else?” Her tone bordered playful as she leaned herself onto you, forehead to forehead.

“Absolutely not ,” your voice was startlingly quiet, your smile reaching that of a grin.

“Okay, okay, here hold your palm out, I’ll take you,” the fourth one said, with wide eyes and a straight faced expression. Her aura wasn’t as ethereal or peppy, instead something of a darker caliber radiated from her. With ashy-gray skin and pin-straight black hair, she held her hand out to you.

Hesitantly, you put your hand into hers, allowing your curiosity to get the better of you. The other three nymphs allowed themselves to giggle, trotting off to cause a ruckus somewhere else. You watched them for a moment, nervousness beginning to creep into the heels of your feet. It felt as though they were taking your solace with them, in a way.

Looking back to the placid nymph, she cracked a small smile; a seemingly unpracticed expression for her doe-eyed features. You offered a small smile back as she turned, leading you through the familiar woods. Many creatures paid you no mind, though some stopped in their tracks and stared, prompting you to stare back.

“So, where are we going, anyway?” You decide to break the silence, in hopes to shake the building anxiety on your back.

“You’ll see.”

The cryptic answer leaves you bemused, and you look around once more. The scenery, of the typically lush and familiar flourishing kind, are slowly becoming less reminiscent of Her trademark Land. It worries you, despite recalling the vague exhilaration at this exact act crossing your mind hours before. Even worse, the sky had transitioned from the lovely blue you’d spent so long staring at into the beautiful palette which signaled the end of the day was coming soon, leaving the light to come through the tree’s canopy to become somewhat scarce. It left you uneasy, just how long had you two been walking, anyway?

You continued on silently with your unease for awhile until your companion came to a stop. The scenery around was different, not helped by the monochrome, silver moonlight beginning to scatter through the trees. What uniformity was typically held in your Mother’s regard seemed to have been forgone here, instead an unruly, beautiful, ever-changing mess you found yourself fascinated by.

“We’re here, Spring,” she murmured, turning to you. Her voice was hollow, a quiet thing you found yourself becoming wary of.

“What is it that you wanted to show me, then?”

“Take a step over here.”

You momentarily gnaw on your lip, stepping forward to where she’d told you to. The air grew heavy, thicker than just the humidity you were aware of, and all too quickly. No, it was darker, tenser, laced with a kind of energy you’d never had around you. Amid the feeling of anxiety on your back, it drew you in, causing another trembling, yet eager step forward.

A figure began materializing, sapping out whatever silvery moonlight was around for a moment before stepping forward and sending a brief wave of force with them, knocking you off balance.

You took a second to regain your composure before taking him all in. Darkness radiated off of hi in waves, like how life and youth radiated from you. He was donned in all black, with pale skin, and seemingly monochrome in the pale moonlight of the early nightfall. In his hand was an object, one you were unable to make out for a moment before witnessing its ignition. It cut through the single-toned light with an angry and red and threatening light, to which he lowered closer to you, as if to use it like a lantern.

Thankful to some miracle, your breathing stayed level, though your mouth hung slightly agape as you awaited a reaction to grace his stony, scar-ridden face. Anything to change in his deep, dark, brown eyes. A slight twinge to his lower lip, and he finally broke the tension.

“Are you afraid, my dear lilac?” His voice resembled the velvety texture of a petal as his unoccupied hand came to rest under your chin.

Your mouth came to shut, eyes wide and deer-like as you shook your head. There was no way your voice was going to work enough to even say any kind of meager reply.

“Do you know who I am?” Amusement seemed to toy not only in his tone, but also on his face.

“Hades,” your voice came out small, rabbit-like in its timidness.

“I see Mother taught you well,” he snickered coolly, looking to the nymph who led you here. “Fantastic job. You live another day.”

He stood to his full height, eyes seeming entranced on your expression once again before his face returned to stoicism. “May we meet again, lilac.”

And with that, he and the nymph disappeared, leaving you alone.

#star wars fanfiction #reader insert #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #greek myth au #kylo ren fanfiction #star wars sequel trilogy #star wars sequel fic #writing.txt

[myssamyss]

Everything Stays, Part 4 of 6

Featuring Jojo’s comic, “Malink past” Part 4: When You Turn It Around

The next morning, Link woke before the sun, readied his gear, and crept out the door. He made his way to the stable as dim light began to color the ranch. A mercifully cool wind swept in from the fields; the heat had finally broken. Link reached the large stable door and pulled at the latch, only to haul the door open and freeze in surprise.

Malon stood in the middle of the stable, running a coarse brush through a spotted mare’s mane.

She turned and gave him an accusing glare that made his limbs turn ice-cold. They stood there, still and staring, neither speaking. Link swallowed in the back of his throat, but he didn’t back down. Malon broke the silence first.

“You’re up early,” she told him dryly.

“So are you.”

Malon gave him a strange look and he sucked in a breath, but then she turned back to the mare and continued brushing. The stable was quiet but for the slow, rhythmic rustling of brush against mane.

Taking her silence as understanding, Link exhaled and strode into the stable. Straw crunched beneath his boots, and the sound of Malon’s brushstrokes was drowned out by his swift steps. He began readying Epona’s tack.

“So you’re just leaving?” she asked him after several long minutes. A half-hidden hurt laced her words.

He turned back to her. Her hands gently stroked the mare’s muzzle, but her blue-eyed gaze was sharper than any sword.

“I’m not ‘just leaving’,” he replied, taken aback.

She shook her head and her bangs went flying. “Really? Because it seems to me that you were fixing to leave here before we had a chance to talk.”

Link felt stunned. He’d been trying his best to do right by her. At least, he thought he was.

“We did talk. And I even stayed for dinner. I came here to give a proper goodbye, like you deserve.” And I didn’t have to, Link thought to himself bitterly as he mounted Epona. Maybe coming to the ranch had been a mistake. Maybe this was the problem with long goodbyes and explanations. Maybe they only made things worse. Just leave, he told himself.

Her voice rose. “Why though? Why are you leaving now? I thought we were finally getting, well... close.” She glanced away with her last word.

“I don’t get close to people,” he said sharply. She winced.

“But if there’s anything I’ve learned,” he continued, “it’s that there’s always a parting. Nothing ever lasts.”

Malon stared past him to the open stable door with a silent frown. Link nudged Epona’s side with the heel of his boot, spurring the horse to a walk.

“You’re right.” Malon’s quiet voice cut through the air. “We’ve been friends since childhood, yet there’s very little I know about you, or even the world. What does a dumb farm girl know?”

What? He pulled back on Epona’s reigns and turned back to Malon, shocked. “Malon, no, I-I didn’t mean…”

Her face softened and her voice grew sincere. “But I’d like to,” she said with a small, hopeful smile. “I’d like to know... Ever since that day you played my mother’s song, I’ve wondered.”

She stared at him with deep blue eyes full of such care and longing. His resolve melted away. Because anything was worth this—the way she was staring at him now, shoulders squared with passionate hope and her bottom lip held half-open in plea. His chest ached at the few meters of distance already between them. Maybe... he could turn back. Maybe he could explain things and let her in. Her honest, fierce need for him was worth abandoning his self-imposed rules.

He nodded to her slowly and her face brightened with joy, encouraging him. He swung a leg over Epona and dismounted. The aching in his chest faded, and an intoxicating warmth rose to take its place.

“I’m not sure where to begin,” he admitted. He sat down on a nearby hay bale.

Malon waited a few quiet moments, then she came to sit by his side. She smoothed her long purple skirt over her knees, tucked her red bangs behind a delicately pointed ear, then met Link’s eyes with a disarming stare.

“Why does nothing ever last?” she asked simply.

“Well…everyone leaves...even you…” he murmured.

Malon’s brows drew together in confusion.

“Well, not you,” he backtracked. “Another you. And I suppose I’m the one who left then... I’m sorry. I’ve never really tried to explain it all before, to someone on the outside.”

She placed her hand against his arm just beneath the sleeve of his green tunic. Link started. He knew she was trying to comfort him, but her gentle touch felt like an electric shock. Though unlike real-life electrocution (which Link was too familiar with), the feeling was admittedly pleasant, and the memory of danger primed his mind, emboldening him. He looked down at the straw-covered floor and gathered his thoughts.

“You remember the first time we met? I was going to the castle?” he asked.

She nodded, enthralled.

“Well,” he began. “I broke into the castle, and there was this prophecy…”

***

Wild trailed behind the other heroes as they walked along a wooded path. He didn’t often take up the rear, as he was well-accustomed to walking long distances (unlike poor Wind). But today he craved the familiar comfort of solitude.

He kept a handful of pleasant memories in relief to fall back on when he felt overwhelmed, a collection built before the Calamity’s defeat when thoughts of failure and Zelda’s long-suffering threatened to overwhelm him. As he walked, he shuffled through the series of memories, imagining himself darting after little Cottla through cool grass above the hills near Kakariko, trading iridescent insects with a wide-eyed Beedle in a warm stable, or standing in the golden Tarry Town sunshine during Hudson and Rhondson’s wedding. He enjoyed escaping to these moments when he’d been nothing more than himself, without expectation or prophecy.

Wild’s thoughts were interrupted as he noticed Time falling back in their group’s walking order. It wasn’t unusual for him to double back to chat with Twilight, but Time didn’t pause beside the fur-clad hero now. Instead, he kept his pace suspiciously slow, until he was nearly even with Wild. His armor clanked with each step.

Wild fixed his eyes just above Wind’s crop of bright blonde hair ahead of them.

“Wild,” Time began, his voice quiet. He slowed his pace even further, widening the gap between Wind and the two of them. Wild matched him, but said nothing.

“I wanted to apologize,” Time said. He sounded sincere. Wild turned his head to show he was listening.

“I’m sorry for coming down on you at the pond, over the kid. I was just…worried. Lately you’ve been…” Time searched for a word, but seemed to think better of it. “Anyways. I know you can handle yourself. And if you want to talk, about anything...” Time shrugged.

Wild nodded. He wasn’t angry with Time. The man just made him uneasy, and Wild wanted to be left alone. Still, he appreciated Time’s willingness to humbly apologize, even if it took clear effort. Wild pushed back against his own annoyance and resolved to make an effort, too. Besides, Wild thought, if he couldn’t be alone, then maybe he ought to face his simmering unease head-on instead. He was good at throwing himself into the thick of things.

“Why’d you get married?” Wild blurted, hurling himself into the very subject he felt so keen on avoiding. He didn’t dare look over at Time. But the older man surprised him by taking the seemingly random question in stride. From the corner of Wild’s eye, he saw Time cocking his head and considering his answer carefully.

“Hm,” Time mused. He gave a small, uncharacteristic smile. “I guess… I got married… to share trust with someone.” He paused. “It wasn’t easy, at first. I mean, none of us are big on talking.” Time threw a glance toward the rest of their party. “Well, maybe Legend. But never about anything real.”

Wild nodded, listening guardedly.

“But having someone to listen? It keeps you sane.”

He heard a bite in Time’s voice. Wild’s gaze flicked to the red and blue marks that flanked the ruined eye.

Time caught the quick glance. “She knows about all of it.”

Wild let his head fall down toward the ground in minor embarrassment. He of all people knew the discomfort of a curious gaze. He resisted the urge to scratch at his scarred ear.

He kicked a rock instead and thought about Time’s answer. True openness sounded very difficult to put into practice. Wild might have once shared that kind of trust, that kind of love with another. ‘Might’ being the key word, as he could never be completely sure. A vision of Mipha’s delicate face swam in his mind. They might have been planning a life together...

Hard to share my honest thoughts when I can’t even remember them, Wild thought coldly.

“It wasn’t easy,” Time added softly, breaking the silence. Wild had barely noticed the long pause between them. Damn, still rusty at carrying on a conversation. Monologuing in his mind certainly didn’t help. He focused in on Time’s words.

“And there were bumps, she isn’t perfect. And I’m not either. I wasn’t sure it would last,” Time said. “But she hasn’t left yet.”

Wild nodded. “Thank you,” he told the older man.

Time clapped him on the shoulder, then began humming a vaguely familiar song as he picked up his pace and made his way to the front of the group, leaving a relieved Wild behind. The older man respected solitude, and seemed to understand Wild’s own need for it.

***

Malon knocked twice on the door to Link’s room, but there was no answer. Maybe he was sleeping again? He’d been taking on more than his fair share of ranch chores lately, she figured he was bound to be exhausted. Didn’t he know that his work ethic already far outstripped her father’s expectations without any of the added effort? She knew her father was already impressed. Link didn’t need to prove himself further. He was easily their best ranch hand, and he fit well in their little family. Besides, Talon had apparently already given Link his blessing years ago. Link needn’t be nervous now.

She pushed the door open quietly, but was met with an empty, neatly made bed. No sign of her Link.

Her eyes fell to something lying on the bedside table, an item that she had only seen a handful of times before: the ocarina. The ocarina whose notes had first sown the seeds of adoration deep in Malon’s heart as Link had impossibly played Malon’s most treasured song. For years she’d believed that Link’s unexplainable knowledge of the song was a sign from above, perhaps even from her own mother, that she and Link had a future together. Now she knew his true past, and the instrument had taken on an entirely different legendary nature in her mind. She crossed the room and ran her fingers across its glazed surface without thinking. It was smooth and cool to the touch. She gathered it in her hands—

“What are you doing?”

She spun around to see Link standing in the doorway. For the first time in many months, his face was a closed door. A painful lump caught in Malon’s throat as she realized her grave mistake. She carefully returned the ocarina to the bedside table with a small clink and stepped away as hot embarrassment rose in her chest.

“Link, I’m sorry...” she began. Link crossed the room to place himself between her and the ocarina. She glanced up into his eyes and found deep pain staring back. The few inches of space separating their chests felt like a vast distance.

“Please go,” he told her quietly. She nodded solemnly and left his room, easing the door shut behind her. As the latch clicked, despair welled up inside her heart. She had repaid his trust with unchecked curiosity, and all the sorries in the world wouldn’t take back her trespass. --------------------------------- Author’s Note: thanks as always to @clumsydarknut for beta-reading.

#Linked Universe #linkeduniverse #LU #Time #Wild #Malon #MaLink #Breath of the Wild #Ocarina of Time #Majora's Mask #Legend of Zelda #LoZ #Hero of Time #Hero of the Wild #Everything Stays

[kin-kendry]

Solace

CW: Violence/Murder

AO3

----------

“He’s safe now,” Aneela spoke as they took off through the woods again, leaving the cube behind them.

“Are you sure?” While Kendry trusted the other woman with her life, she didn’t want to underestimate the Lady.

“Well, the cube kept me safe when the Green was destroyed. There are only three people in the entire universe who can access them.”

“And what makes you think that Khlyen wouldn’t find out and lead her directly to him?”

“Papa wouldn’t do that… Not after everything. He kept Yala safe, after all,” Aneela didn’t sound so convinced herself, but she had to hold out hope.

They walked side by side through the trees in silence for hours. The crunch of fallen leaves and twigs, and the gentle breeze rustling the trees became white noise.

Delle Seyah felt like she could finally breathe again. Jaq was safe, and Aneela was back with her. She wasn't dead. While she didn't show it in front of Jaq, Kendry had been heartbroken when she found out that the Killjoys returned without Aneela.

Queens don't cry, remember? Jaq had parroted her words.

This one does, now. She’s a teeny bit broken.

She had cried, several times in fact, while Jaq had slept. Seyah Kendry crying after losing the one woman she loved, the only one she trusted in the universe? Illenore would be laughing in her grave… 

"Kendry?" Aneela's gentle voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

Delle Seyah had stopped walking without realising, and a lone tear track marked her left cheek. She swallowed the lump in her throat and her eyes focused on the woman in front of her.

"I'm sorry, I… I just thought… Gods, I thought I lost you for good," Delle Seyah sighed, suddenly feeling physically and emotionally exhausted.

"I'm here, Kendry. You don't have to worry anymore. I won't ever leave you again, and I will protect you," Aneela said, holding her partner's hands in her own. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

Kendry collapsed into Aneela's arms. There was an intense need to be held by her, to be as close as possible. It wasn't something she would have ever thought herself capable of feeling or craving. But here she was, eyes glassy and slumped in her beloved's arms. 

"Oh, Kendry. Let's set up camp. You need to rest."

Aneela sat Delle Seyah down on a fallen tree while she began clearing leaves and other forest debris. Not long after, a camp fire was crackling as the sun set and a bedroll was laid out.

"I missed you so much, you know?" Aneela finally spoke once she set herself down next to Kendry, sitting so that they were pressed against each other. 

Delle Seyah was feeling uncharacteristically clingy, so she rested her head against Aneela's shoulder. It made her feel a little better knowing that Aneela was thinking of her even during such a stressful, life threatening time. 

"All I could think about once the Green started crumbling was you and Jaq. For a while I didn't think I'd make it. But you both found me. Jaq, he… He looks so much like me when I was younger. I see Yala in him too. But his personality… He has the same conviction. The same hunger for answers, and a brilliant mind just like his mother."

"Unfortunately he's picked up a lot of the Jaqobis traits," Kendry let out a derisive laugh. 

"I'm sure we can fix that when all of this is over," Aneela smirked.

"When all of this is over I'd like to take you to my home on Qresh. Show you where I grew up. We could rule together, if you're okay with settling with control over the Quad rather than the entire universe."

"Hmm, that sounds like a very tempting offer. I'm not really interested in dominating the universe anymore. I've got more important things in my life now," Aneela tilted Kendry's chin up before pressing their lips together in a tender kiss. “It’ll be good to see my old home planet.”

The two women relaxed against each other, the tension and exhaustion of the past few days melting away. Aneela could help but laugh as she pulled away.

"I still find it so odd that you're human again."

"I can tell you now that it is the worst," Delle Seyah grumbled.

"I'll have to do some tests first, but if you like I could try to convert you again."

"Oh, please. Feeling things, being so vulnerable… It's humiliating."

"And yet, you've proven to be strong and capable even without Hullen blood."

"Yes, well, I suppose survival is what humans are best at, despite everything," Kendry sighed.

Their conversation came to a natural end, and they just sat in silence, watching the sun set until the only sources of light were the moon and their camp fire. They settled down on their bedroll, wrapped in each others arms. Delle Seyah felt safe for the first time since Aneela freed her from that contraption Gander kept her in. Their faces were only centimetres apart. Kendry smiled and cupped Aneela's jaw.

"I love you, Aneela."

"And I love you, Kendry. Now sleep. I know you're tired."

Delle Seyah couldn't have protested if she tried. Her eyes wouldn't stay open and her body was already preparing for sleep. She felt fingers card through her hair, and Aneela's nails massaging her scalp. It was so soothing.

"Good night, little bird," Aneela's voice sounded far away as sleep enveloped Kendry in darkness.

----------

Aneela couldn’t sleep. They were exposed where they set up camp, and she already had time to rest while in hiding. Feeling Kendry’s body rise and fall with her even breaths brought comfort to her. It was a cool, cloudy night and the wind had picked up a little. Their campfire was reduced to a low smolder, so the only source of light was the moonbeams peeking through the clouds. It was calm, and calm didn’t settle well with Aneela.

Had she been less vigilant, Aneela would have missed the almost imperceptible rustle of leaves on the forest floor. The footsteps came closer until they were looming over the two prone bodies. A hand reached out slowly, ready to peel the blanket off the two women. Aneela opened her eyes and gripped the outstretched wrist, snapping it back until she heard bones crack. The potential assailant howled in pain and stumbled back, cradling their hand. Aneela jumped up, jostling Kendry as she did so. Delle Seyah gasped as she sat up, her eyes trying to track whatever was going on. But it was so dark and she could barely make out the five silhouettes. 

Aneela heard the sound of a bullet flitting past her and whirled around to face the next threat. She charged towards assailant, taking one shot to her side before gripping the handgun and crumpling it in her hand. The clouds above shifted and moonlight shone down in streaks upon the camp. Aneela could see that the bandits were covered in pelts and bones, with human skulls worn as helmets. She grinned as the current woman she was focused on cowered at the display of inhuman power. One of the others took a shot at Aneela, blasting clean through her shoulder. The wound healed instantly.

Aneela grabbed the woman by the throat and whipped her around to use as a meat shield. Another shot was fired, piercing through the bandit’s stomach. She shoved the limp body towards the third bandit before turning on the first one she injured.

“Wh-What are you?” The man asked, backing himself up against a tree.

“I’m your worst nightmare. You and your friends thought you found an easy target. Well, you’ve made a very big mistake,” Aneela hissed, her eyes wide and wild.

Aneela ripped one of the pointed bones from the man’s clothing and stabbed him several times in the neck, relishing in the gurgling as he choked on his own blood. The two remaining bandits were already on the run. Aneela grabbed Kendry’s bow and two arrows. She fired both off quickly, each hitting their targets and incapacitating them. The bandits cowered as Aneela approached, their arms and legs too weak to carry them very far. She stomped on their calves and drew a knife from her belt, the polished metal glinting in the moonlight.

“P-Please… We won’t cause anymore trouble. Let us go,” One of them begged.

“I can’t let you do that,” Aneela’s voice was quiet. “I’ve had a trying few days, and I need to let off some steam.”

“Oh god, no! Please no!” The other bandit attempted to escape again, but Aneela was quick.

She kicked the bandit in the face and crushed his neck with her boot, watching as he struggled. The hands clawing at the leather of her boot grew weaker and weaker as the human suffocated, eyes rolling into the back of his head. The other bandit had curled up on the forest floor, weeping and clutching his calf.

“Only one left. Whatever shall I do with you?” Aneela mused aloud as she played with the knife in her hands. “I could spare you, but then you’d run off and tell the rest of your group what happened. I already killed your friends, so I may as well just finish off the job.”

“Aneela, enough,” Delle Seyah’s voice echoed out through the trees as she approached her love.

“Kendry! Have you finally come to join me?” Aneela’s face lit up as she turned to the other woman.

“No, you need to stop this right now,” Delle Seyah wasn’t playing around.

She stopped directly in front of Aneela, looking her up and down. Her pristine white clothes were splattered with blood, and there were a few drops across her face from when she stabbed one of the bandits. Kendry sighed and shook her head, taking the knife from her beloved’s hands.

“I don’t understand,” Aneela frowned. “They tried to attack us. I was protecting you.”

“I know, but being cooped up in a cube for days doesn’t mean you get to massacre everyone in sight,” Kendry said before walking over to the remaining bandit and offering her hand to the poor soul. “Get up. This is the only chance you’re getting.”

The bandit was beyond terrified but took the kind offer, letting Delle Seyah haul him up on to his good leg. As he opened his mouth to express his gratitude, Kendry gripped his head and bared his throat. She made quick work of the man, slitting his neck and dumping him back on the ground. Aneela’s expression morphed from annoyed to confused, and finally settled on a mix of delight and lust.

“But- Why?”

“I wasn’t going to let you have all the fun now, was I?” Kendry smirked as she leaned down to wipe the blood off the knife on the bandit’s pelt. “You didn’t seriously think I’d changed, did you?”

“Oh, Kendry…” Aneela laughed in relief while Kendry tucked the knife back into her belt.

“I enjoyed watching you take down those pathetic ants. You know I love it when you get mad,” Kendry’s voice lowered into a sultry whisper, closing the gap between them.

“I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been itching to hurt something,” Aneela’s hands clenched and unclenched as she took a couple of slow, calming breaths.

“I think I know of a better way to release some of that pent up energy, Aneela.”

Kendry lips grazed Aneela’s and her hands moved to her hips. The kiss was passionate and demanding, both women running on adrenaline from their recent activities. A heady concoction of murder and lust was something Aneela and Delle Seyah found themselves experiencing every now and again, and it made for fucking phenomenal sex. They drew back from the kiss, both breathing heavily and gazing into each others darkened eyes. Aneela caressed Delle Seyah’s jaw, her touch soft and light.

“Gods, I’ve missed you, Kendry.”

#killjoys #killjoys syfy #green queens #aneela kin rit #delle seyah kendry #aneela x kendry #aneela x delle seyah #fanfic #killjoys fanfic

[creative-frequency]

Cayde-6 x Reader: The Trigger Ch. 3

Word count: 1904 Pairing: Cayde-6 (Destiny) x Female Reader Contains: Rating eventually up to mature/explicit. Cayde being Cayde, hunting, trips into the EDZ, bickering

Previous Chapter | My Writing Masterlist

Confidence usually grew with experience and experience was more valuable than Glimmer outside the walls of the Last City. The inhabitants of the wilds only traded in lives.

The bow string tensed in a swift, fluid motion with no time for thoughts to surface. Sharp gaze found its target quickly and stayed on it. There was almost nothing that could stop the predator about to pounce on its prey. And success always felt good.

Success, when your life literally depended on it, felt even better. The sweet rush of adrenaline, all instincts strained to their maximum capability. The focus. Your quickened but steady heartbeats were the foundation of the effort. Your body was the actor.

For the time of an exhale, the forest around you was still and silent. Only the sharpest ears could’ve been able to hear the air splitting. The mild pumping of adrenaline pounded in your ears with each beat as you waited.

Cayde’s admiring inhale of surprise was the first sign that your arrow had hit its mark. Not surprising, but satisfying nonetheless. The deer was taking its last breath as Cayde hurried to release it from its suffering.

“Nice shot!” he complimented and you saw how he eyed the bow in your hands with a glint in his optics. The background noise returned with a snap.

“Thanks,” you said quietly and looked over at the animal. It was a female of average size, probably a bit on the older side. Its movements had been slower than of the one from before. An easy kill, but it was probably for the best. Some other predator would’ve soon snuffed its life out.

As usual, you clicked on the communication device in your ear and waited for someone to answer. After the Guardian had made rounds around the EDZ, the connections had gotten a lot better. Begrudgingly you had to admit things would’ve been a lot worse without her. It was hard not to be thankful, especially since everyone around you, Suraya included, seemed to worship her.

“Come in,” a familiar voice from the survey unit replied. He wasn’t a Guardian, but he had worked at the Tower before the invasion attack. That didn’t make you like him more.

“Ready for transmatting,” you said as you eyed the deer. It was a good catch. You had been lucky.

“Copy that. Just a moment…”

You waited for a few seconds, trying to ignore the look on Cayde’s face. His gaze was glued to the bow in your hand and his head was tilted in a thoughtful gesture.

“Ready to receive whenever.” A hint of an amused chuckle got through the coms. “You were quick today.”

You didn’t reply but drew in a sigh.

Cayde’s Ghost circled around the animal and projected a transmat beam over it.

“Transmatting now,” Sundance said.

The comm device buzzed and clicked once in your ear before the clearance order got through. It was another thing that was hard to admit but having a Ghost along in the wilds did have its benefits. Unfortunately, it was always a package deal with a Guardian.

You let your posture relax and turned to Cayde.

He jumped to his feet from the ground and cheered. “We’re a good team! High-five! No? Okay. No high-five.”

You left him hanging and continued walking. A small pool of blood was all that was left of the deer and you felt relieved in a sense. It wouldn’t matter if you didn’t find anything else to hunt that day. Your daily quota had been hit for several upcoming days.

“Alright, that’s it then?” Cayde asked in a hopeful tone and swept dirt off his backside.

You bit your lip and let your eyes wander around the forest. The sun was still high, and the sky was clear. It would be a shame to waste such a clear day but staying in the wilds with Cayde wasn’t tempting either. Going back early for a proper rest wouldn’t be so bad once in a while. The Farm had nothing to worry about food-wise so there was no sense in trying to find more prey than what was currently needed.

“I guess,” you said when you couldn’t think of anything better to imply the hunt was concluded for the time being.

“Sooo, we go back now?” Cayde inquired.

You shrugged while walking. “You can stay here if you want.”

He hurried after you. “I know I said it already, but I’ll say it again: Great team. Us.”

“I don’t really do team,” you replied dubiously. It almost felt bad to shoot Cayde’s enthusiasm down like that, but you weren’t up for a bonding session with a Guardian.

“Okay, let’s just stay in the basics, then. I’ve got your back and you’ve got mine. That sort of thing.” He wasn’t ready to give up and as annoying as it was, it was slightly moving.

“I won’t hesitate to leave you to the wolves.”

“Ouch!”

Almost a full minute of walking in silence ensued with Cayde grinning behind your back.

“Can I say something else?” he asked, definitely not about to wait for your permission, “It’s been kinda rough for these past few days, but you’re making it hella lot easier for a lot of people.”

You cast a sideways glance at his sincere tone.

“Right. Where’s this coming from?” you asked.

Cayde shook his head, amused. “Can’t take a compliment, can you?”

“Not really.”

“Anyways, this was great. I’m looking forward to the next trip already. Now how far is the Farm? I’m craving a sandwich…” Cayde babbled, his voice trailing off in your ears as you focused on finding the right path.

Having someone cheer for you had left an unknown sense of warmth. You didn’t know how to deal with something like that. You quickly settled into the familiarity of ignoring most of what Cayde was saying, but his presence no longer felt like having a pebble in your shoe. It was almost comforting to hear someone talking as you trekked through the woods. And he didn’t expect you to reply anything besides the occasional mumble.

It was weird. As if he was constantly trying to cheer you up.

After walking for over an uneventful hour, Cayde began to pester you about taking a break.

“Oh man, my legs are killing me!”

He slumped onto the trunk of a fallen tree. You gingerly followed him, leaving a wide gap between you two.

“I don’t know how you do this every day,” he continued, blue optics fixated into you.

The forest around you was still and silent. Apart from the occasional chirping and faint rustling, the gentle wind blowing between the trees was the only sound. The midday wasn’t popular time for animals to be moving around.

You stretched your legs, reaching your fingertips towards your toes. “You’re just out of shape, Mister Vanguard.”

“Oi! That’s unnecessary and rude. Aaand probably true,” Cayde admitted with a chuckle that you joined into without realizing it.

It was good to stop to just breathe the fresh air once in a while. It was rejuvenating. You reached your arms up towards the sky and breathed in deeply.

Cayde cleared his throat.

“There’s something I wanted to ask.”

You turned to look at the Exo, brows lightly scrunched in suspicion. “Then ask.”

“What if…” Cayde began in a sly tone and it already drew a slight sigh out of you.

“Yeees?”

“Let’s say I wanted to, uhh, pull my weight here. What should I do?” He stared at you, completely, uncharacteristically serious.

“Stay out of my way,” you wanted to say but bit your tongue. If the Guardian really wanted to make himself useful, you shouldn’t shoot him down. Or Suraya would shoot you down as soon as she would hear about it.

Cayde looked at you intently, waiting for a reply.

“You need a bow,” you finally said.

“YES!”

“Talk to Hawthorne about it. Tell her I said so.”

“I will. Thanks.” He pointed finger guns at you and you rolled your eyes, hard. “Y’know how I said I’ve missed going out? They can never make me go back in.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” you asked, though the answer obviously included the Vanguard Commander.

Cayde shrugged. “Zavala and Ikora, I guess? Okay it hasn’t been that bad, but still…” Cayde looked up to the sun peeking behind the treetops.

Your gaze lingered on the happy expression on his face. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

“Hey, are you hungry? I think I still have a snack bar in here somewhere…” Cayde shoved his hands into his pockets and pulled out something wrapped in bright green. “Wanna share?”

You cast a dubious look at him. “Is that what you eat in the City these days? ‘Cause I’d rather starve.”

“What? Oh no, we do have real food. Like… ramen!” Cayde suddenly looked dreamily at the sky, the snack bar still hanging in his hand. “Man, I miss ramen.”

“So I’ve heard. Like a nine thousand times during these past few days,” you quipped.

Cayde turned to look at you and snapped the bar in half. He offered the food to you. “Well, if things turn out as well as they should, I’ll treat you a bowl when this is over.”

You were taken aback by his sudden offer and the wistful tone. Maybe he really did consider you a some sort of friend? You accepted the bar. It tasted like paper, so no surprise there.

“You think it’ll go down in your favor? Things are looking pretty bad for you guys…” you asked quietly as you munched the snack bar.

“Of course! You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Cayde said instantly, “Zavala is on it. Ikora too… And we have the Guardian. We could really have a shot at turning this around. Don’t you think?”

You cast your eyes to the forest floor and pursed your mouth into a thin line. You shouldn’t have asked. The snack bar was crumbling in your grip.

Cayde squinted at you. “What?”

Your eyes snapped up to look at him, realizing your reaction had been utterly suspicious. “Huh?”

“What’s with the long face?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“You don’t like Guardians but–”

“That’s not it!” you yelped. “I do want you to get the City back.”

“More room for you in the forest, eh?” Cayde tossed the leftovers of the bar into his mouth. He didn’t sound too convinced. “I don’t know who rubbed you in the wrong way, but not all Guardians are that bad. Look at me, for example! I’m great!” He pointed at himself with a thumb.

“’Not all Guardians…’” you muttered under your breath. Cayde was right, of course, but you really didn’t want to continue talking about it.

“I’m curious, y’know,” he said in a vain attempt at making you talk, but it only made anxiety rise bile into your throat.

“I bet you are.” You hopped off the log and shook your legs a bit. “Let’s go.”

“What? Already? It’s been like three minutes since we sat down!” Cayde whined but jumped down too. He didn’t really have a choice. Or he did, but that one was to anger Zavala by getting separated from you and getting lost in the wilds of the EDZ. And Cayde was rather fond of the last life the Light had left him.

“Okay, wait up! I’m coming!”

Next Chapter - Coming Soon!

Tagging: @bleucommelhiver @lucianhuntress @singlebecauseofthechocobros@sherniwrites @owlwrites @toastyfiction @sevansheart @xcayde6

#cayde-6 x reader #cayde-6 #destiny fanfiction #destiny #destiny 2 #fanfiction #my writings #the trigger

[rixxy8173571m3w1p3]

The Blessing Of Magnolias

This is for @dorkydisappointment whose fic In The Rain inspired me to write (with their permission) With You In The Rain, which inspired them to write Magnolia Tree. I hope you'll like it @dorkydisappointment and go read their fics first if you haven't already.

In this fic the reader and Zeta-7 relax, and enjoy one another

_________

A thing of such great beauty a lovely thing to see

The purple flowers that in Spring bloom on the magnolia tree

A memory to live on when other memories fade

Only by Mother Nature such beauty can be made

And Nature's natural beauty is for all to be admired

And by Nature and her beauty poets and artists are inspired

To create their own beauty for others to enjoy

And the poet and the artist is in every girl and boy

But only Mother Nature could have in her the power

To create a thing of beauty such as a purple magnolia flower

In all my days and many walks such beauty i have seen

Like the bluebells by my old home blooming by the pebbly bohreen

But nothing quite so beautiful or so 'twould seem to me

As the purple flowers in Springtime on the green magnolia tree.

by Francis Duggan

_______________

Fields of green grass rippled like the waves of the sea as the north-eastern winds fluttered past your unassuming bodies. It was another one of those calm, lazy days, where you two spent the day relaxing and delighting in one another's company. Zeta-7 was a bit tired after his busy work week had ended, and while he had wanted to take you on a lovely adventure, you suggested a picnic instead. To eat, there had been old-fashioned walnut sandwiches, a miniature charlotte russe cake, baby carrots, as well as other goodies that you were sure neither of you was going to get to. And after you two had eaten your fill, you chose to rest under a magnolia tree on top of the hill; there was no shortage of those trees here.

On the way there, the wind threatened to move, and slip under your skirt, but Zeta-7 moved fast to hold it down; your hero. Once everything was put away, and you sat down, Rick wasted no time in choosing to lean on your chest; tired, and favoring your softness over the hardness of the ground for a pillow. In a way, it seemed so natural to have him do as such, but with his usual aversion of physical contact in public, it was equally just as strange. He curled his body about you but being as tall as he was, the sun shone on him where the magnolia tree could not cover. It didn't bother him from what you guessed. Actually, he seemed to enjoy it.

Having brought a book to read, you two enjoyed each other's silence except for the earthly music of the wind rustling through the trees and each other's breathing which calmed and eased you further. Every so often, he'd shift and snuggle closer, lost in his own little world, seeking, craving as much comfort as he could find. Absentmindedly, you passed your fingers through his hair, relishing the softness of it between your fingertips; it really was uneven in the back though, but it didn't matter; it was the delight of charming imperfection. Though, it made you wonder if any children you two would possibly have would inherit his hair coloring; you hoped so because blue was your favorite color. Going along with this train of thought were other features that you favored; if they had your nose it would be fine, but if they had his hair and eyes, you'd adore them all the more; of course, you'd love them however they might come to look like; as long as they are his and yours.

Funny enough, these thoughts were no longer as embarrassing as they once were; you welcomed them. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that you knew Rick would not readily leave you and had proved true through many a trying situation as well as to his eagerness to commit; as his missed opportunity of engagement and ring had reassured you. Sure, it wasn't for everyone but it had always been a dream for you to marry the one you loved most, and no one has compared to him; not that anyone could. Whenever the day or opportunity appeared again and arrived, you were sure he'd try, because he never gave up, even if he got discouraged.

You couldn't help but laugh to yourself a little, pleasantly amused at his current state; just like a tired puppy, curled up, having to touch you in some way to feel safe and grounded; his work-worn, leathery right hand holding your left. Both the sound and the feeling of his diaphragm rising and falling at a calming pace and the steady beating of his heart made you feel protective of him; he was your silly, soft, gentle man whose heart was all yours, and you were grateful for it. And whether it was your giggles or he felt inclined to move again, he took a deep breath before opening his eyes a bit, squinting. It was then that you saw a few stray tears fall away without his notice.

Setting your book down, you untangled your hands from his and wiped them away. At this, he pulled away a bit, using his hands to keep him from falling back towards you. “I hope I didn't wake you up cutie.” you softened as not to arouse worry. “How'd you sleep?”

After a pause, he left his daydreams aside; returning to the land of the living, and smiled up at you. For your part, you couldn't help but smile back, but despite this another tear or two made their way along his cheeks, prompting you to wipe them away. “Ricky, honey man,” you cooed. “it's okay. I'm here. Everything's alright.”

He could only gaze at you with amazement as the tears continued to fall. Have you broken his sentimental heart in a dream and he was relieved to see you? Or worse? Oh, that dear heart of his. Glancing down at his slightly parted mouth as his warm, sweet breath ghosted about your face, you did what felt as natural breathing; you leaned down to kiss him. His warm lips accepted this wholeheartedly, shifting again to welcome as much affection as you were willing to give him.

Hints of vanilla tickled your nose, and all around was the classic, creamy, citrus-like scent that permeated everything, and was everywhere; down to even the air in your lungs, and to the tip of his tongue. It was sincerity in its purest form, and everything seemed to slow down; neither of you wanting to pull away, but it was him who ended up doing so in the end. Blinking a few times, his smile indicated that for now, this was enough, and after a while his confidant, but serious “I love you,” broke the long yet comfortable silence.

You knew he meant it for he said those words so rarely, but proved daily that it was so. And like always, when he was especially endearing, and your heart ached for him, you responded with “I love you too, dear honey man of mine."

Like magic, you watched his entire being melt with joy, as he pressed a hand to his heart and smiled at you as though you were the world; thanking you and Magnolia.

Fin

#doofus rick x reader #rick sanchez x reader #doofus rick #j19z7 #rick j19z7 #j19ζ7 #rick j19zeta7 #j19zeta7 #j-19-zeta-7 #rick j-19-zeta-7 #rnm fanfic #my writing #my works

[bubmyg]

Maybe like, a picnic with yoongi or jin, if you havent done that before, that ends with a. s u n s e t. k i s s.

a/n: not to be predictable, but this is slightly cheesy. just like. slightly lmao.

word count: 1,758

Your hiking feet softened into the luscious shards of green grass below, the darkened hue flushing into a lighter mint to the path your shoes carved out. A spring seasoned dandelion peeked every few feet, eliciting small swarms of striped bees and buzzing flies. The chattering of soaring birds flagged elongated shadows across the sloping hill before they dissipated into the rustling cast of trees. 

The sun ducking under the knoll chilled the fluttering winds of the dry humidity, instead picking up the soft strands of Yoongi’s ebony locks to toss across his head. You squinted into the sun, bringing your wrist to shield at your eyes the second his torso twisted to grin at you. 

“Come on,” Yoongi teased, turning completely so that he was trudging backward. “The faster we get to the top the faster we can eat.”

Your eyes trailed to the basket clutched at his waist, the woven wood bouncing off his thigh each time it flexed to propel him backward. A fond thrum of your heart paired your exaggerated snort as you eyed the checkered whites and reds peeking out from the ajar lid. 

“Never have I seen you so excited about something like a picnic date,” You giggled, lengthening your stride to fall in step with him. Lightly, you elbowed his side, “or exercise.” 

Yoongi’s gums appeared as he turned away from your smile, chin catching the kicking toe of his shoes into the dirt. The light pink dusting his cheeks painted over the sun rays tinging his pigment. “Can’t a man crave a soggy ham and cheese sandwich sometimes?” He grumbled, scraping up a dandelion by it’s roots with the curve of his turned out foot.

Your nose wrinkled, “That’s what you packed?”

“Hey,” He pouted, sharply rimmed eyes glancing at you, “I just thought-”

You reached for his wrist, tugging him to a stop. You rutted the balls of your feet into the earth below, leaving a gentle hand against his shoulder as you softly pecked his cheek. “I’m kidding, Yoongi,” You pecked at the blotching flush that splayed upward from his tensed jaw, “Thank you for planning this.”

His voice was small, tentative as he mumbled out a you’re welcome. 

“So, how much farther-”

Yoongi’s lips found your cheek this time, nose feathering softly under the curved apple of your cheek. He carelessly tossed the basket in front of your statures, instead mumbling, “We’re here.”

“Oh, good,” You danced the crook of your fingers from his wrist to grapple at his open palm. You squeezed when the lace of his digits tangled over your own, “I thought my demise was going to happen on the side of this mountain-” 

“Stop being dramatic and help me with this blanket.”

You flexed your feet, pointing your ankles toward the descending slope of the landscaping over the curl of your toes. The bright colors of the playground looked desolate without cheering children hanging from the barred metal. Maze like sidewalks were free of waddling dogs on retractable leashes, over sized strollers decked in toys with high probabilities of being forgotten under the rusted metal shelter house just beyond your smallest toe. 

The higher your gaze raced, the more fluorescent the colors of the vegetation below the press of your palm to the patterned fabric. Soft yellows in weeds mirrored the goodbye of the sun as it shied away from the crescent of forest green trees lining the horizon. Sprinkled in were deep purples, the flowers much smaller, entirely more symmetrical, some missing petals, so robbed of their pea sized leaves. One rested over the stitched edge of the blanket, one you ducked at the waist for to secure between the knuckles of your middle and index finger. 

Yoongi glanced at your actions with a gentle, knowing smile, adjusting the luxurious lean of his stature onto his palms as you curved over him. Tender fingers brushed wind stained bangs away from his ear, tucking and pleating the strands until you’d secured the colored flower against the stark black.

“They weren’t soggy, by the way,” You mused, eyes trained to your actions.

He chuckled softly, nose scrunching, “What are you saying?”

“Your sandwiches,” You frowned, softening your lips to his temple, “they weren’t soggy. They were really good.”

Yoongi bit the inside of his cheek as a sliver of his teeth appeared, “Would you be mad if I told you I got Hoseok to help me?”

“No,” You curled your stature to settle against his side, leaning your cheek against the cool strip of the zipper on his jacket, “I’ll tell him thank you when we get back home.”

He slid an arm to settle over your hips, fingers toying with the sheer material of your top. “Are you cold?” His lips flushed into the top of your head, assessing the sprinkle of goosebumps to the skin of your waist as he toyed the hem higher.

“No,” You lied, shifting closer to him to enjoy the radiating warmth of his embrace. 

Soft leather was spread over your shoulders before you could protest, Yoongi’s lips melding to your temple as he again tucked you to the curve of his stature. “Just take it,” He hushed, lips curling against you, “add to the cliche’.”

You gratefully wrapped the bend of your wrist to tuck the jacket tighter around your bare arms, humming quietly as you curled into a ball at his side. “I like cliche’,” You mumbled tiredly, digging your nose into his shirt, “I like you.” 

“You know, I have this strange thing that happens to me, too,” Yoongi’s thumb passed over your hip, “My heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest every time you kiss me. You’d think I was seeing you for the first time every time with how sweaty my palms get. I have this strange urge to hold your hand all the time, which is really inconvenient with the clamminess and all ...”

Your chin hooked into his chest, peering at him with curiously knitted eyebrows. His grin was playful as he pecked your nose, “...is that love? I think I love you.”

“I know I love you,” You huffed, chasing after his lips when his neck straightened, “You know that’s what I meant.”

The impish curve of Yoongi’s teeth died when he swallowed, eyes shifting to the dimming rolls of the landscape beyond your figures. Your curving mouth to inquire what’s wrong? was overlapped by his tentative inquiry.

“Can I ask you something?”

Your lips pouted, cheek squishing into the planes of his stature, “Anything, babe.”

The curve of his irises caramelized into a soft amber as the casting shards of light thrown over the shade of the treeline as the sky canvased into thirteen shades of oiled pinks, purples, oranges. Soft cheeks puffed out as pretty pink lips suctioned into a pout. 

“Where do you see yourself in a few years?” He blinked, once, twice, before amending softly, “Us. Where do you see us in a few years?”

“Hopefully eating something other than stale bags of chips-”

Yoongi’s scrunched features cut to you as he chuckled softly, “No. You know what I mean.”

You studied the hesitant, hopeful, appearance of his steady features. “Happy?” You rolled the word on your tongue as if tasting the chewy crunch of the potato chip, “Yeah. I hope we’re happy.”

A positive slope caught his thinly pressed mouth. “That’s all?”

“What-”

“Could we be happy and, I don’t know,” He shifted, catching a hand to rub against his skin, “Married?” 

The only ounce of oxygen not stolen from your lungs in that moment allowed you to utter the word back at him. 

Yoongi laughed, a breathy, shaky sound. The hand around his neck slid to the jacket wrapped in your shoulders, fist digging around in the pocket for a second before he was placing a weighed velvet box against your curled thigh. His thumb flicked, drawing open the lid to glitter the reflection of a handful of diamonds over the shocked contours of your visage. 

“Would you like that?” He hushed, coaxing your gaze back to his widened eyes, “To be married to me, that is. Fuck, I mean, would you-”

He caught you by the waist when you forced the flush of your lips against his, forgetting the plop of his jacket off your shoulders and the roll of the ring box. The scrunch of his features contrasted to the harsh release of pent up anxieties that melded into the purse of his mouth against yours. 

“Yeah?” Yoongi inferred quietly, an affirmation that stuttered on the end of his tongue when his forehead against yours separated your lips. “Is that-”

The second kiss was softer, a tender ministration that had him smiling to dislodge the affection. He adverted the overwhelmed adoring shine of his eyes to fumble for the hinged black box. The ring was plucked between shaking fingers, gaze trailing up the slope of your cheek, “Are you sure-”

“Don’t make me kiss you again.”

His teeth caught the corner of his unabashed lips, gently pushing the jewelry over the swell of your knuckles. You gasped, not because of the newfound weight and all that it mirrored in your heart but instead the violent twitch of his appendage against the crook of your fingers. You desperately grappled for his massive palm, cradling it in both of your hands as your shocked gaze flew to his. 

“Yoongi, you’re shaking,” You dropped his hand to throw your arms around his neck, burying your face to the crook of his shoulder. Your mumble was muffled against him, “Did you think I was going to say no?”

He shrugged around the loop of his arms to your stature, shyly admitting, “I don’t know. I’m not good at things like this. I thought maybe you’d-”

You pulled away, squishing his cheeks in your fingers. “You’re an idiot, Min Yoongi,” You hushed, glowering at the innocent expansive dilation of his pupils, “This couldn’t be more perfect. You couldn’t be more perfect.”

The geometric shade of his teeth was a faux confidence as he mumbled under the duck of his chin, “Your idiot though?”

You rolled your eyes, the third kiss chaste, short, audible. “Yeah,” Another kiss was showered to the soft dot to the corner of his mouth, “Forever-” another to the mole on his cheek, nose nuzzling there as you met his adoring gaze. 

“-and always.”

#min yoongi #bts #bts reactions #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi scenarios #bts imagine #yoongi imagine #evidently im in the most cheesy and soft and gross mood today wow im so sorry #two overly cheesy fics in one day? on a roll #hannah says as if that's not everything she writes ever #sugacraving

[i-am-mldy]

A Dragon's Hunt

"Sooo... I'm guessing you didn't like him?"

The dragon's feirce golden eyes merely narrowed down at the princess's rosy and plump face which was ridden with worry. The emerald beast with his viper-like tongue licked off the dripping blood off his snout and teeth, then growled in frustration.

The dragon's form towered dauntingly over the biding princess in her tower. She, however, simply leaned on the edge of a window, with her doe-like eyes staring straight at him.

Shuffling awkwardly with eyes downcast, she asked "So... What did you do with him?"

"Why must you keep asking me that?" He sighed, exasperated.

"Because seeing you with blood all over your face is kind of unnerving! And uncomfortable."

He resisted the urge to torch her as well. He just replied "Yes, I did. But I was considerate enough to give him a quick death, and I buried him as well."

She raised a skeptical brow. "And by bury you mean you threw him in a hole somewhere?"

He growled lowly and she held her hands up.

His gold feline eyes rolled at her, and a bright white light surged from within him. Slowly it enveloped his entire body. His figure began to morph, his head, body and tail shifting and disappearing. The princess angled her torso downward as her friend grew smaller and smaller. And at a certain height, the light faded, revealing no more a majestic dragon, but a young man.

"Helios! Come up here."

A long rope dropped down from the princess's window in no time, and with another sigh he climbed up.

====================================

The boy was belly down on a fluffy pink bed groaning, while the princess was gently patting his back.

"Maybe next time, you should try not killing the prince. He can't exactly prove himself worthy if he's, you know, dead." The princess said, her voice sweet and light. It only annoyed him.

Helios lifted his face to raise a bemused eyebrow at her, but she just shrugged. He plopped his head back down with another groan.

"Genevieve, I have to try to kill him so that he I could test his worth. I can't know otherwise."

"Ok, so how will you know if a prince is worthy before you kill him?"

For once, no snarky remark came to him, and Genevieve certainly caught on on the slight stutter in his reply. "I'll just...know. Father said I'll know it when I feel it. If I can't, I'll kill him."

He always found it hard to explain these sort of things to his princess, though to him they came as natural as air. Dragons deeply valued their natural, predator instincts. Draconian culture calls for them to always trust in their beast and listen to them, for whatever they say to do, they're there to keep them alive.

On the other hand, humankind was different. They craved knowledge and built things based on logic. They see endless possibilities and persistently pursue them, because why not? Wherever they are, they want to go farther. Whoever they are, they want to be more.

A dragon can never understand that, for what could they possibly be that is better than a dragon?

Helios flipped himself over so he's facing the intricate and detailed mural on the ceiling. Admittedly, painting was the only human skill that he envied. Painters could copy reality, and twist it into something unique and beautiful. And to think that the sheltered, naive Princess Genevieve did that all on her own.

Humans are praised just by doing something worth remembering, either by daring acts of heroism or by controversy and scandals. But when you're a dragon, you can only be remembered by one thing: the worth of your prince.

And he can't even find one.

The creaking of the bed made him snap from his thinking to face the rather silent Genevieve. She laid on the spot beside him and twisted her body to face him.

Her gentle smile was plastered on her face. "You'll find him. I know you can. There's nothing I know you can't do."

He scoffed. "Well what makes you think that?"

She lightly patted his shoulder. "We'll, you have been with me for the longest time. Your my best friend, and best friends say these things to each other."

He smirked at her. "What makes you think we're best friends?"

He had to apologize several times to stop her from crying.

Genevieve sniffed as she rubbed her teary eyes. "It's late. You should go now. It's been a long day."

"Ya, just another day of barbecuing humans." He said lowly, his voice laced with bitterness. He stood up from the bed and stretched his body.

"You will find him, Helios. That's what I'm here for. I will get you your prince, and that I swear." Her sheer determination almost surprised him. This is the same princess who just cried from a joke.

He didn't say anything back. He grabbed the rope hanging out the window and pulled himself on the ledge. After he steadied himself, he jumped on the rope and tightly pressed his feet on it. Bit by bit, he lowered himself down the rope, and soon he was gone.

His motivation was at its lowest point the next day. For nearly the whole morning, his dragon form snoozed away by the tower, while the lone princess in her tower sang sweet lullabies and embroidered, you know, like how annoying princesses should.

Her tower shook almost violently and she yelped as she nearly dropped her needle. She huffed in annoyance and bent her body down to reprimand Helios, but she saw that he was no longer there.

Her eyebrows scrunched, and she scanned the ground for his green reptilian body. It seemes that he had abruptly left.

Suddenly hot wind blew on the other side of her face she swirled around to find his head inches from her window, his ears upright in alertness.

"What is it?"

He didn't reply. His pupils were slits, and his breathing was abnormally fast. It sent gusts of hot humid air to continuously hit her face.

She coughed and waved the air in front of her, attempting to get his attention. "Helios!"

Still no answer. She stared at him curiously; his eye was twitching, which happens when he's anxious. That's when realization dawned on her and she quickly got off of the window ledge.

"Is it a prince?" She askes, her voice quite uncertain at the possibility. Princes don't normally come immediately following another one. The time they'd normally have to wait was a up to a week. The longest was a year.

Finally, he nodded slowly, his face still anxious, more so than usual. After a moment of contemplating, she sighed deeply before heading back in towards her vanity. She sat down on her pink cushioned stool and started her "pre-prince" ritual her mother had taught her right after she taught her how to speak. It was passed down from princess to princess for generations, and Genevieve did each task gracefully and accurately. As a child, when ever she performed otherwise, it would mean a spanking in the rear.

She took out her crown, sitting on a royal blue velvet cushion, from it's glass casing and placed it on her head—the most important part, is always the last.

She tilted her head in various angles to examine every detail. When finished, she slumped her aching shoulders forward and sighed tiredly. For years, this routine had melded itself into her life as an everyday norm, which was now starting to weigh on her.

Another day out, as the bait for the dogs.

She had hoped to finally catch a break from all this. She could finish her portraits, and Helios could finally rest properly, without the continuous occurrences of princes having him on edge.

She looked back to the window, where Helios's head was still poking through from the outside. His eyes still held that uneasiness; something was a little off. She didn't know what.

To tell the truth, she doesn't even know why princes were so important. She was given to Helios as his princess at an early age, just to lure in a worthy prince, but beyond that is still a mystery. Helios would constantly ignore the question, as if the answer was something she could never understand, and honestly, she didn't understand a lot of things, so he might be right.

The rush of wind and the sound of wings flapping had Genevieve rushing back to the window. Helios hovered just above her tower, breath still heavy and face hardened with aggression. The prince is near; Genevieve straightened her back and steeled herself for the impending gore.

All was silent, except for the rustling of the leaves from the afternoon wind. Sun was nearly overhead; nothing on the ground can go by unnoticed in a dragon's eyes.

Helios instantly caught the trotting of hooves, and he prepared for battle. His unease poured through his twitching eye, and that frustrated him. He didn't know if this prince would be different, or if he had to wipe the ground clean of blood again.

Screw it. His hesitance careened out of the window, and with a booming roar, he spread out his wings, and propelled towards the woods. He caught a silhouette of a prince on a horse and done faster. He took in a deep full breath; his chest up to his throat slowly glowed red orange, his mouth ajar to prepare for the flames igniting in his throat. The second the sunlight hit the gleaming silver horseshoe, he released a blast of blazing fire at that exact spot. Flames instantly ate up nearly half of the forest from the surrounding area.

He stopped, and the smell of charred earth instantly filled the air. One look at the damage and you would've thought a flaming giant set his fat round foot on the ground. Bits of flame remained at the outer edges and pillars of smoke rose to the air. Even his keen eyesight strained to see through it spreading the area.

Usually, fire breathing would be saved for the the finishing blow, but somehow his body decided to do it right then and there. Maybe in the inside he just wanted to get it over with and sleep the day away again.

With his patience dangerously wearing thin, he lowered himself closer the ash filled ground. The beat of his wings slowly fanned away the smoke, and it dispersed throughout the air. He felt his body heat up, readying to scorch the earth once again, and he barely put up any resistance-- mercy be damned.

In a nick of time, before he burned a hole to the ground, the flames came to a halt just above his throat. It was a smell, a very weird one. It was an uncommon one, ... yet it stirred the depths of his subconscious, like a forgotten memory that goes back to when he was little.

A smell of another dragon.

However, the smoke revealed, not scales and wings, but a, very much alive, horse and prince, both adorned in blood red armor, with very familiar, scaly patterns.

The clouds uncovered the sun, and its rays lit up his armor. At that second, Helios couldn't breathe.

No dragon can never not recognize the skin of his own kin.

And before Helios realized it, the prince in the blood red dragon armor, charged.

(Part 2: ???)

#original story #fantasy #dragons #princesses #fantasy short story #short stories #the dragon finds a prince #unknownmelodies #my story #princes #short story #story idea #story blurb #writing #writeblr #creative writing #original writing #am writing

[beyondforks]

Book Review: A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas

A Court of Thorns and Roses (A Court of Thorns and Roses #1) by Sarah J. Maas  Genre: New Adult (Fantasy Romance) Date Published: May 5, 2015 Publisher: Bloomsbury USA Childrens

Feyre's survival rests upon her ability to hunt and kill – the forest where she lives is a cold, bleak place in the long winter months. So when she spots a deer in the forest being pursued by a wolf, she cannot resist fighting it for the flesh. But to do so, she must kill the predator and killing something so precious comes at a price ...

Dragged to a magical kingdom for the murder of a faerie, Feyre discovers that her captor, his face obscured by a jewelled mask, is hiding far more than his piercing green eyes would suggest. Feyre's presence at the court is closely guarded, and as she begins to learn why, her feelings for him turn from hostility to passion and the faerie lands become an even more dangerous place. Feyre must fight to break an ancient curse, or she will lose him forever.

A Court of Thorns and Roses is the first book in the A Court of Thorns and Roses series by Sarah J. Maas. I kept hearing how great this book was, and I finally read it! The one thing I didn't hear was that it was a dark, fairy retelling of Beauty and the Beast, so that made me like it all the more. The characters were fantastic. I'm seriously a fan of all of them. They each brought something different to the story. Feyre is a strong and intelligent female lead. I could easily see this turning into a love triangle, and I'm okay with that in this case.. I think. I'm at least open to the idea, because the more I got to know the characters involved, the more I liked them. These characters aren't simple. They have a lot of depth. The story isn't simple either. There is so much going on that kept my attention, both on the surface and behind the scenes. I truly can't say enough good things about it. It was well thought out from start to finish.

Chapter 1 The forest had become a labyrinth of snow and ice. I'd been monitoring the parameters of the thicket for an hour, and my vantage point in the crook of a tree branch had turned useless. The gusting wind blew thick flurries to sweep away my tracks, but buried along with them any signs of potential quarry. Hunger had brought me farther from home than I usually risked, but winter was the hard time. The animals had pulled in, going deeper into the woods than I could follow, leaving me to pick off stragglers one by one, praying they'd last until spring. They hadn't. I wiped my numb fingers over my eyes, brushing away the flakes clinging to my lashes. Here there were no telltale trees stripped of bark to mark the deer's passing—they hadn't yet moved on. They would remain until the bark ran out, then travel north past the wolves' territory and perhaps into the faerie lands of Prythian—where no mortals would dare go, not unless they had a death wish. A shudder skittered down my spine at the thought, and I shoved it away, focusing on my surroundings, on the task ahead. That was all I could do, all I'd been able to do for years: focus on surviving the week, the day, the hour ahead. And now, with the snow, I'd be lucky to spot anything—especially from my position up in the tree, scarcely able to see fifteen feet ahead. Stifling a groan as my stiff limbs protested at the movement, I unstrung my bow before easing off the tree. The icy snow crunched under my fraying boots, and I ground my teeth. Low visibility, unnecessary noise—I was well on my way to yet another fruitless hunt. Only a few hours of daylight remained. If I didn't leave soon, I'd have to navigate my way home in the dark, and the warnings of the town hunters still rang fresh in my mind: giant wolves were on the prowl, and in numbers. Not to mention whispers of strange folk spotted in the area, tall and eerie and deadly. Anything but faeries, the hunters had beseeched our long-forgotten gods—and I had secretly prayed alongside them. In the eight years we'd been living in our village, two days' journey from the immortal border of Prythian, we'd been spared an attack—though traveling peddlers sometimes brought stories of distant border towns left in splinters and bones and ashes. These accounts, once rare enough to be dismissed by the village elders as hearsay, had in recent months become commonplace whisperings on every market day. I had risked much in coming so far into the forest, but we'd finished our last loaf of bread yesterday, and the remainder of our dried meat the day before. Still, I would have rather spent another night with a hungry belly than found myself satisfying the appetite of a wolf. Or a faerie. Not that there was much of me to feast on. I'd turned gangly by this time of the year, and could count a good number of my ribs. Moving as nimbly and quietly as I could between the trees, I pushed a hand against my hollow and aching stomach. I knew the expression that would be on my two elder sisters' faces when I returned to our cottage empty-handed yet again. After a few minutes of careful searching, I crouched in a cluster of snow-heavy brambles. Through the thorns, I had a half-decent view of a clearing and the small brook flowing through it. A few holes in the ice suggested it was still frequently used. Hopefully something would come by. Hopefully. I sighed through my nose, digging the tip of my bow into the ground, and leaned my forehead against the crude curve of wood. We wouldn't last another week without food. And too many families had already started begging for me to hope for handouts from the wealthier townsfolk. I'd witnessed firsthand exactly how far their charity went. I eased into a more comfortable position and calmed my breathing, straining to listen to the forest over the wind. The snow fell and fell, dancing and curling like sparkling spindrifts, the white fresh and clean against the brown and gray of the world. And despite myself, despite my numb limbs, I quieted that relentless, vicious part of my mind to take in the snow-veiled woods. Once it had been second nature to savor the contrast of new grass against dark, tilled soil, or an amethyst brooch nestled in folds of emerald silk; once I'd dreamed and breathed and thought in color and light and shape. Sometimes I would even indulge in envisioning a day when my sisters were married and it was only me and Father, with enough food to go around, enough money to buy some paint, and enough time to put those colors and shapes down on paper or canvas or the cottage walls. Not likely to happen anytime soon—perhaps ever. So I was left with moments like this, admiring the glint of pale winter light on snow. I couldn't remember the last time I'd done it—bothered to notice anything lovely or interesting. Stolen hours in a decrepit barn with Isaac Hale didn't count; those times were hungry and empty and sometimes cruel, but never lovely. The howling wind calmed into a soft sighing. The snow fell lazily now, in big, fat clumps that gathered along every nook and bump of the trees. Mesmerizing—the lethal, gentle beauty of the snow. I'd soon have to return to the muddy, frozen roads of the village, to the cramped heat of our cottage. Some small, fragmented part of me recoiled at the thought. Bushes rustled across the clearing. Drawing my bow was a matter of instinct. I peered through the thorns, and my breath caught. Less than thirty paces away stood a small doe, not yet too scrawny from winter, but desperate enough to wrench bark from a tree in the clearing. A deer like that could feed my family for a week or more. My mouth watered. Quiet as the wind hissing through dead leaves, I took aim. She continued tearing off strips of bark, chewing slowly, utterly unaware that her death waited yards away. I could dry half the meat, and we could immediately eat the rest—stews, pies...Her skin could be sold, or perhaps turned into clothing for one of us. I needed new boots, but Elain needed a new cloak, and Nesta was prone to crave anything someone else possessed. My fingers trembled. So much food—such salvation. I took a steadying breath, double-checking my aim. But there was a pair of golden eyes shining from the brush adjacent to mine. The forest went silent. The wind died. Even the snow paused. We mortals no longer kept gods to worship, but if I had known their lost names, I would have prayed to them. All of them. Concealed in the thicket, the wolf inched closer, its gaze set on the oblivious doe. He was enormous—the size of a pony—and though I'd been warned about their presence, my mouth turned bone-dry. But worse than his size was his unnatural stealth: even as he inched closer in the brush, he remained unheard, unspotted by the doe. No animal that massive could be so quiet. But if he was no ordinary animal, if he was of Prythian origin, if he was somehow a faerie, then being eaten was the least of my concerns. If he was a faerie, I should already be running. Yet maybe...maybe it would be a favor to the world, to my village, to myself, to kill him while I remained undetected. Putting an arrow through his eye would be no burden. But despite his size, he looked like a wolf, moved like a wolf. Animal, I reassured myself. Just an animal. I didn't let myself consider the alternative—not when I needed my head clear, my breathing steady. I had a hunting knife and three arrows. The first two were ordinary arrows—simple and efficient, and likely no more than bee stings to a wolf that size. But the third arrow, the longest and heaviest one, I'd bought from a traveling peddler during a summer when we'd had enough coppers for extra luxuries. An arrow carved from mountain ash, armed with an iron head. From songs sung to us as lullabies over our cradles, we all knew from infancy that faeries hated iron. But it was the ash wood that made their immortal, healing magic falter long enough for a human to make a killing blow. Or so legend and rumor claimed. The only proof we had of the ash's effectiveness was its sheer rarity. I'd seen drawings of the trees, but never one with my own eyes—not after the High Fae had burned them all long ago. So few remained, most of them small and sickly and hidden by the nobility within high-walled groves. I'd spent weeks after my purchase debating whether that overpriced bit of wood had been a waste of money, or a fake, and for three years, the ash arrow had sat unused in my quiver. Now I drew it, keeping my movements minimal, efficient—anything to avoid that monstrous wolf looking in my direction. The arrow was long and heavy enough to inflict damage—possibly kill him, if I aimed right. My chest became so tight it ached. And in that moment, I realized my life boiled down to one question: Was the wolf alone? I gripped my bow and drew the string farther back. I was a decent shot, but I'd never faced a wolf. I'd thought it made me lucky—even blessed. But now...I didn't know where to hit or how fast they moved. I couldn't afford to miss. Not when I had only one ash arrow. And if it was indeed a faerie's heart pounding under that fur, then good riddance. Good riddance, after all their kind had done to us. I wouldn't risk this one later creeping into our village to slaughter and maim and torment. Let him die here and now. I'd be glad to end him. The wolf crept closer, and a twig snapped beneath one of his paws—each bigger than my hand. The doe went rigid. She glanced to either side, ears straining toward the gray sky. With the wolf's downwind position, she couldn't see or smell him. His head lowered, and his massive silver body—so perfectly blended into the snow and shadows—sank onto its haunches. The doe was still staring in the wrong direction. I glanced from the doe to the wolf and back again. At least he was alone—at least I'd been spared that much. But if the wolf scared the doe off, I was left with nothing but a starving, oversize wolf—possibly a faerie—looking for the next-best meal. And if he killed her, destroying precious amounts of hide and fat... If I judged wrongly, my life wasn't the only one that would be lost. But my life had been reduced to nothing but risks these past eight years that I'd been hunting in the woods, and I'd picked correctly most of the time. Most of the time. The wolf shot from the brush in a flash of gray and white and black, his yellow fangs gleaming. He was even more gargantuan in the open, a marvel of muscle and speed and brute strength. The doe didn't stand a chance. I fired the ash arrow before he destroyed much else of her. The arrow found its mark in his side, and I could have sworn the ground itself shuddered. He barked in pain, releasing the doe's neck as his blood sprayed on the snow—so ruby bright. He whirled toward me, those yellow eyes wide, hackles raised. His low growl reverberated in the empty pit of my stomach as I surged to my feet, snow churning around me, another arrow drawn. But the wolf merely looked at me, his maw stained with blood, my ash arrow protruding so vulgarly from his side. The snow began falling again. He looked, and with a sort of awareness and surprise that made me fire the second arrow. Just in case—just in case that intelligence was of the immortal, wicked sort. He didn't try to dodge the arrow as it went clean through his wide yellow eye. He collapsed to the ground. Color and darkness whirled, eddying in my vision, mixing with the snow. His legs were twitching as a low whine sliced through the wind. Impossible—he should be dead, not dying. The arrow was through his eye almost to the goose fletching. But wolf or faerie, it didn't matter. Not with that ash arrow buried in his side. He'd be dead soon enough. Still, my hands shook as I brushed off snow and edged closer, still keeping a good distance. Blood gushed from the wounds I'd given him, staining the snow crimson. He pawed at the ground, his breathing already slowing. Was he in much pain, or was his whimper just his attempt to shove death away? I wasn't sure I wanted to know. The snow swirled around us. I stared at him until that coat of charcoal and obsidian and ivory ceased rising and falling. Wolf—definitely just a wolf, despite his size. The tightness in my chest eased, and I loosed a sigh, my breath clouding in front of me. At least the ash arrow had proved itself to be lethal, regardless of who or what it took down. A rapid examination of the doe told me I could carry only one animal—and even that would be a struggle. But it was a shame to leave the wolf. Though it wasted precious minutes—minutes during which any predator could smell the fresh blood—I skinned him and cleaned my arrows as best I could. If anything, it warmed my hands. I wrapped the bloody side of his pelt around the doe's death-wound before I hoisted her across my shoulders. It was several miles back to our cottage, and I didn't need a trail of blood leading every animal with fangs and claws straight to me. Grunting against the weight, I grasped the legs of the deer and spared a final glance at the steaming carcass of the wolf. His remaining golden eye now stared at the snow—heavy sky, and for a moment, I wished I had it in me to feel remorse for the dead thing. But this was the forest, and it was winter.

Sarah J. Maas is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Throne of Glass series (Queen of Shadows, Book 4, will be out in September 2015), as well as the A Court of Thorns and Roses series (out 5/5/15). Sarah lives in Bucks County, PA, and over the years, she has developed an unhealthy appreciation for Disney movies and bad pop music. She adores fairy tales and ballet, drinks too much tea, and watches an ungodly amount of TV. When she's not busy writing, she can be found exploring the historic and beautiful Pennsylvania countryside with her husband and canine companion. To learn more about Sarah J. Maas and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads, Instagram, Pinterest, and Tumblr.

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