#but I would rather be in a cottage in the woods than the reality of 2021 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

changbunnies · 3 months

Text

Desire, (18+)

♡ Pairing: Wolf Hybrid!Bang Chan x Fem Bunny Hybrid!Reader x Wolf Hybrid!Changbin

♡ Genre: little red riding hood au, fantasy/supernatural au, hybrid au, allusions to omegaverse dynamics, porn with plot, sequel to scent of you, past dubcon from part 1 is discussed

♡ Word Count: 10.9k (i have got to stop doing this, my god)

♡ Summary: In which the bunny hybrid “little red” has been unable to forget her past encounter with the wolves of the forest, and goes to seek them out for more fun together- while also being in the throes of her heat.

♡ Warnings: same as before; uses the little red riding hood fairytale as a base for inspiration, words like "alpha" and other omegaverse terms aren't used but the vibes are There

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): reader is in heat so... yeah, pet names (though mostly as a title- bunny, little red, and sweetheart), more use of the word slut + gendered language, dom/sub dynamics (dom!chan, switchy!changbin, sub!reader), lots of kissing, size difference, size kink (again i'm sorry if you're tall, pls suspend ur disbelief for the dynamic fsdgsdf), outdoor sex :'), manhandling, unprotected piv, dacryphilia, orgasm control + denial, subtle mxm may not actually be all that subtle + more of the onesided rivalry between binchan lol, mates / mating, biting, nipple play, overstim, multiple orgasms, choking kinda? reader just gets held by the neck lol, handjob, cum eating, multiple creampies

♡ Notes: this is a sequel to scent of you, which you can read here! so i fully intended to still be on a small break and this was not supposed to be a series but i literally could not stop thinking about what would happen next for them and i had to write it :’) i hope you enjoy <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

A frustrated sigh leaves your lips as you stare up at your barren ceiling, sweat dripping from your brow as your limbs grow tired and ache with exertion. How long had it been since the night you got lost deep in the woods, only to be found by Chan and Changbin? Two wolves who you would still think you imagined were it not for the note they left behind, clear evidence that everything you experienced with them was real. It wasn’t something your psyche conjured while lost and alone in the dark woods, the pleasure wasn’t a vivid dream made in an attempt to cope with the reality that you were lost- everything about them, about that night, was entirely real.

You can still remember how you tucked your note away into a pocket of your dress before you opened the cottage door, your grandmother scrambling up to her feet when she heard you enter, rushing off her bed and out of her room as fast as her weak legs could carry her. You met her halfway, catching her as she stumbled, her arms squeezing you tight as relief washed over her. You knew she must’ve been beside herself with worry, but actually experiencing it made guilt strike your heart like lightning; and when you opened your mouth to speak, she simply shushed you, requiring no explanation.

Your grandmother wasn’t stupid, she knew a predator had caught you- your cape was torn in several places and you positively reeked of wolf, but rather than comment on it, she was simply grateful you were back home in one piece. There were very few things a rabbit could do to ensure their survival against a wolf, and she was wise enough not to pick at the fresh wound you may very well harbor for having done the unspeakable in exchange for your life.

She let the topic of wolves die right then and there before it could even be spoken, simply dedicating herself to stitching your cape back together, doing her best to make it appear as if it had never torn at all. And not being forced to discuss what happened that night was certainly a relief, but not for the reasons your grandmother might expect. Because how would you explain to her that you actually liked the wolves that had found you in the deep, dark woods that night?

It’s utterly shameful how even now you still think of them, how their touch still feels engraved in your skin even as each season comes and goes. Shameful, how you look at that note they left behind as a sign that they’d want you back in their arms, that perhaps they think of you as much as you think of them. And they knew where you lived, they could easily seek you out whenever they pleased, but they never had.

You assume it to be for the same reason they likely left you outside instead of carrying you to the front door of your cottage, or opening the door to bring you inside your home- because you lived with your grandmother, and what would that poor, frail woman do if she was confronted with the sight of two massive wolves holding her precious granddaughter? But despite the logical reasonings, there was a part of you that still felt.. rejected, somehow?

It was fucking dumb, you knew this, but you couldn’t stop yourself from feeling that way. You just wanted to see them again so badly, to look at them and touch them and let them touch you and bask in the warmth of their skin, to lay yourself against their massive bodies and revel in how feeling small was good in their presence. Safety, protection- the complete opposite of what you should feel from them, the complete opposite of what you felt when you first laid eyes on Chan and then on Changbin, but somehow by the end of the night, that had all changed.

To further complicate matters, your heats have since made the disgraceful yearning you feel exponentially worse, your mind flooded by the memory of them, your body aching to feel them again, every nerve inside you practically screaming for their touch. You are typically quite prepared for your heats, often stocking up on the herbs needed to brew natural remedies meant to make your symptoms more bearable so that you can be an effective caretaker for your ill grandmother, and they usually did well enough for you.

Of course, it’s not a magic cure-all, nor does it completely alleviate any of the discomfort you feel, but it’s enough; and you still need to make yourself cum a couple times before the night is over, but you can at least go about your day with little issue until the remedies effect begins to wane. This week, and tonight specifically, was supposed to be more of the same- prepare dinner, get grandmother comfortably into bed, and then take care of yourself in the privacy of your room.

If all went as expected, you’d feel satisfied enough to get some sleep, the next day you’d start your morning by brewing and drinking your homemade tea to calm your nerves, bring down your heightened temperature, and ease any aches you may experience. You’d carry on through any remaining discomfort as best you could as you spent another day taking care of your responsibilities until night came, rinse and repeat for essentially a week until your heat eventually recedes and you can go back to your daily tasks as normal.

Why had it become so different after meeting Chan and Changbin? While going through a heat without a partner is never a comfortable experience, what you experienced now was downright unbearable; nothing you did to calm yourself or your body ever seemed good enough, none of your orgasms satisfying enough to dull the incessant need for something more, your only relief coming from driving yourself to utter exhaustion, when your body would be forced to give itself to sleep.

It didn’t make sense- it’s not like you were a virgin before you met them, you had your fair share of fun experiences with a few trusted friends of yours before you moved in with your grandmother to care for her. So certainly, while you weren’t exactly super promiscuous in your personal life, you were no stranger to sex, and you never fixated on your past partners during your heat the way you do now with Chan and Changbin.

If you had to guess, it must be because of how different they were. Nothing about them was familiar, and that brought a unique sort of excitement you’d yet to feel again since that night had come to an end. Could that feeling be replicated with another rabbit? You weren’t sure- and even if it could be done, would you want them over the two wolves? That was another thing you’d found yourself stuck on lately; was it them specifically that you wanted, or just a similar experience, in which anyone would do as long as they successfully replicated the sensations?

Either way, you spent yet another night in unsatisfied yearning, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could take it. And your poor grandmother would suffer for it, as your scorching fever and addled mind made your ability to care for her deteriorate. Compounding on that even further, your longing for them was becoming increasingly heightened as you became more and more desperate for relief- a desperation that would drive you to make foolish decisions you wouldn’t otherwise make.

You look again at the note the two wolves left behind, clutching it tightly in your hand as you consider what you should do next. If you go see them again, grandmother will know- their scent will be all over you when you return, and what will you say? Will you admit you liked them and sought them out on purpose, or will you make up some stupid excuse, blaming your every decision solely on your heat, chalking your choices up to a lapse in judgment brought on by your need for relief?

But the simple truth is that it isn’t just your heat that makes you want to see them again, and even if you did place all of the blame there, it wouldn’t change what you have come to realize about yourself. The shameful reality is that you’re attracted to wolves- those two wolves in particular, and no one but them will be able to grant you the specific relief you seek.

And you know how dangerous it is to leave your home when you’re in heat- your scent could attract far more than just Chan and Changbin, and truthfully speaking, there is no guarantee that you will find them before someone else finds you first. You’d be walking blindly, mirroring what you’d done the first time you were lost in the woods at night, though this time with the explicit hope that you’d be found by them.

It’s dangerous, it’s foolish, you absolutely should not go into the woods at night looking for a fucking wolf- but that’s exactly what you do. Not even bothering to change out of your nightgown and into proper outdoor attire, you opt for tying on your cape and pulling up the hood, knowing they will instantly recognize you if you’re wearing it (as if they need more than just your scent to identify you in the first place.)

Just in case, you hastily write a note for your grandmother in the event that you aren’t back before morning, apologizing as you explain in the briefest of terms that you needed to soothe your growing ache. She’ll understand, you hope- she was young herself once, and surely she remembered what this feeling was like. And foolish though your choice may be, you hope she’ll sympathize and scold you lovingly instead of harshly upon your return.

The night air feels impossibly cold on your fevered skin, but it’s hardly a deterrent- in fact, you welcome the way the wind chills your sweat, a small, but much appreciated form of relief before you hopefully experience what you truly wish to. Honestly speaking, you have absolutely no fucking clue where you are going; there is no path to follow to their den, no landmark for you to use in an attempt to guide yourself to your destination. You simply wander in the direction you hope is correct, praying the one (or ideally both) of the two wolves you so wish to find stumbles upon you.

You glance up at the sky, the waning moon and countless stars shining back at you; a full moon is coming, and you wonder if they even have time to play with you at all. You don’t know all that much about wolves outside of what is required for self preservation, but you do know that the full moon is important to them; will they even entertain you right now? Maybe this truly is a fool’s errand, maybe you’re making a mistake and getting yourself lost for nothing, maybe-

Suddenly you’re being grabbed, body being forcibly turned around and back shoved harshly against a thick tree you’d passed just moments prior. Your breath hitches, and your nose recognizes who it is before your eyes do- it’s Changbin, caging you in and looking down at you with a clenched jaw, his claws digging into the bark of the tree he has you pressed against, clearly trying very hard to control himself.

“Y/N-” he breathes, voice strained as he uses your given name for the first time, and hearing it from him makes a new, fresh wave of heat crawl over your body. “What are you doing walking around out here smelling like that? Are you insane?” Unable to control yourself now that he’s close, you immediately grab at his shirt, twisting the fabric in your hands as you look up at him with pleading, glassy eyes.

“B-Binnie, I- I was looking for you, needed to find you,” you explain, your voice embarrassingly weak with desperation, “need you and Channie to help me, please.” His grip tightens, you realize- the sound of wood cracking and splitting audible just behind your head. “Please? I’ll be a good bunny for you again, I promise, please help me,” you continue to plead, shamelessly pawing at him, begging for him to accept your advances.

Holy shit, are you seriously doing this to him right now? Begging him to take care of you? Him? A wolf? A rabbit begging a wolf for something like this is completely unheard of, only occurring within his wild fantasies. To be quite frank, he was aware that the first time with you was coercion- he and his elder saw a meek, defenseless rabbit, and they took their chances. He had his fun, and while you did too when things really got going, he fully expected that to be it, though he hoped otherwise.

And God, he can’t even believe how reckless you’re being; what if it was one of the other wolves patrolling this area tonight that found you instead of him? He can only imagine how the younger wolves in the pack would react to your scent right now- he’s barely keeping himself in control as it, and he has much more experience with these matters than them. He clenches his teeth as his gaze trails away from your eyes and down your body, where your nightgown leaves very little unexposed, where you are very clearly pressing your thighs together as you stare up at thim, expectant and hopeful.

Fuck. You really want this, don’t you? “Fuck, yeah, okay, just-” Changbin says as he picks you up, tossing all his responsibilities aside as you’re lifted from the ground and cradled in his arms, “just hang on, we’ll go find him, okay? We’ll help you.” And he’s trying, he’s really fucking trying to control himself and not just throw you down on the ground right here and have you all to himself, but you’re making it increasingly harder to maintain focus on the task at hand as he winds his way through the forest.

Chan’s scent is barely discernible over the way yours intensely fills his nostrils, and even when he does manage to pick up on his elder’s location, he can hardly even focus in on it. And your hands wont stop roaming over his skin, you press your body to his as much as you can manage, absolutely desperate for contact. He can hear you panting despite the fact that all he’s doing is holding you, can feel your body tremble in his arms, can smell the slick that steadily leaks from your core. And to put it simply, Changbin is a weak man, and your desperation is utterly infectious.

But still, he holds strong; that is, until you start pressing kisses to any patch of his skin you can reach, and when your breath hits his neck before your lips latch on to it, he feels completely done for. This is it. Fuck it. Chan can have his turn with you later- Changbin is the one that found you, it’s only fair that he has fun with you first, right? And besides, you’re acting positively insatiable right now- how is he supposed to hold off or say no? That’s quite literally asking him for the impossible.

So he falls to his knees, your bodies tangled together on the grass in a matter of seconds, your clothes being thrown off in a flurry. Changbin rotates to his back, pulling you on top of him, deciding that he should still be a gentleman even when his composure is at its limits and not let your bare skin touch the dirty forest floor. He grabs your face, pulling you in to kiss him before you’re even fully settled on his lap; it’s a bit awkward, given the size difference between you, but he makes it work, curving and twisting his body however necessary to keep his lips on yours as you adjust your positioning.

Your slick drips and pools, coating him entirely with no effort expended on either of your parts. He’s even bigger than you remember, and that feeling of pure adrenaline inducing excitement that you’ve missed so much finally returns to you. This is what you needed all this time, what you’ve been craving. You grab the base of Changbin’s cock with one of your hands and do your best to line it up with your hole- and again, it’s awkward due to the difference in size between you, but you’re determined to see this through.

“Wait, fuck, sweetheart-” Changbin gasps as you begin to sink down on him. He fully intended to get you prepped first, was going to pull you up after he got his fill of kisses and have you sit on his face, make you cum and loosen you up enough to take him, but apparently you felt that you’d waited long enough to have him inside you again. And you’re so fucking wet that the slide down is relatively easy; benefits to being in heat, you suppose- it makes your fervent desperation for cock come with far less sting.

And no doubt, there is still a sting- after all, your body isn’t made to take a size so disproportionate to your own, but all it does is further ignite the fire in your gut, the excitement swelling as you take more and more of him inside. Changbin uses one hand to bear his weight and keep himself propped up while the other holds your face in place, his tongue shoved in your mouth.

He hardly lets you pull away for a breath before you’re dragged back to his lips, a deep, grumbly groan coming from deep in his chest when you meet his tongue with enthusiasm. Your palms are pressed firmly on his chest, your nails digging into the surprisingly soft flesh, your every moan and whine swallowed by his open mouth until your hips finally become flush with his. You know you should feel the utmost shame, desperate as you are for a wolf, stark naked and exposed in the open forest where anyone could stumble upon you, but all you feel is relief.

True, delightful relief, finally- Changbin gives you everything you need just as easily as you’d hoped he would. You mentally compared him to a puppy during your first meeting- desperate, easily excitable, cute in a way that juxtaposes his rough exterior. And you knew, just knew he’d never deny you if you offered yourself to him, because it’s simply not within him to do so. A desperate puppy with his equally desperate bunny- what better pairing could there be?

And truly, you feel like heaven- your body, so small in comparison to his, makes you feel impossibly tight, your wet warmth utterly perfect and beyond compare; he could die right now, and feel that his life was entirely fulfilled. “Be a good girl, and show me how good bunnies can bounce,” Changbin breathes as he lets go of your face, now supporting himself with both arms as he leans himself back to watch you. He huffs out a small laugh when he feels you clench, pleased to find that words still have a profound effect on you.

Changbin expected you to start slow, but maybe expecting a desperate little thing like you in the middle of her heat to show restraint wasn’t his brightest moment- because you’re bouncing fast, and fuck, he knew rabbits had strong legs and were notoriously skilled at bouncing, but what the fuck? You’re riding him like your life depends on it, which from your perspective may very well be true- you’ve been so pent up and unsatisfied that truthfully you couldn’t act any differently than this even if you wanted to. All you can think about, all that drives you, is your need to cum on Changbin’s cock- nothing else matters.

Despite the fact that Changbin is using his arms and hands for the explicit purpose of keeping himself upright to watch you, you all but demand he brings them to you. It’s a pitiful attempt really, trying your best to learn forward enough to grab his hands without losing your balance on his lap and falling straight onto his chest, but thankfully he realizes what you’re going for and offers them to you before you can fully fall against him.

His back once again touches the cool grass, with you intertwing your fingers as soon as his hands come to your own. His hands are much bigger than your own, fingers thicker, and you have to completely spread out your own fingers to even get them between his, but he squeezes your hands once you succeed. You use the additional support of his hands in yours as leverage for your bouncing, his arms strong and firm enough to help keep you upright and steady as you slide up and down his length.

You can hear his tail thumping against the ground, a display of excitement and pleasure that he’ll never be able to disguise. Your nails dig into his knuckles, your bottom lip sucked between your teeth as you try to contain the noises that leave you, not wanting to alert the entire forest that you’re fucking right now (as if yours and Changbin’s combined scent doesn’t already give that truth away.)

But there’s still something missing- something that a desperate puppy and bunny really needs; and that is someone to keep them in line. That’s where Chan comes in, tsking at the scene in front of him as he steps closer, having evidently caught your scent and came straight to where you are now, sitting on Changbin’s dick in the middle of the forest without a single ounce of shame between the two of you.

“What’s this? Having fun without me?” he asks with a frown that feigns disappointment, though the slight swish of his tail and subtle spark in his eyes relays that he doesn’t actually mind very much. If anything, it gives him a chance for even greater fun, opens up a world of opportunity to tease and demand whatever he wishes. And his sudden presence and voice doesn’t cause you to slow down in the slightest- rather, it excites you further, causing you to bounce with renewed eagerness as you turn your head in the direction you heard him, looking him squarely in the face even as you continue your motions atop Changbin.

“That’s not very nice, I thought you liked me,” Chan pouts as he squats down next to the two of you, though his obviously fake pout breaks into a smile when you whine and affirm you do like him and want to have fun with him too. “We tried, fuck- we tried to find you, I swear, but she- she just-” Changbin is doing his best to talk, though you’re making it extremely difficult for him to be coherent, not letting up your pace in the slightest; and truth be told he’s never been much of a multitasker. “She- she’s fucking- God, I can’t-”

There’s also a pang of jealousy in the pit of Changbin’s stomach over how obviously excited the addition of Chan made you, how his presence and voice caused you to bounce on his dick with renewed vigor; and really, he should probably be happy that you’re putting so much effort into riding his cock thanks to Chan, but he doesn’t. Instead, he squeezes your hands harder, almost instinctively, a gesture that he doesn’t even fully comprehend as possessive. “Oh, look at what you’ve done to poor Binnie. He’s a mess because of you, slutty girl,” Chan coos and your stomach twists as you divert your gaze back to Changbin.

He’s sweating, panting hard, his stomach rapidly clenching and unclenching- and you feel it, the throb and twitch that alerts you to how close he is. And you’re close too, you have been for ages. Days worth of terrible, unfulfilling orgasms make the pleasure of this moment positively euphoric- but you were doing your best to hold out for Changbin, knowing that once you came you wouldn’t have the strength to ride him anymore, and you wanted to be good and do what he asked of you to the best of your ability.

And Chan can clearly see the signs on both of you; he’s shared with Changbin enough times to recognize his tells, and in your case, well.. it doesn’t take a genius to realize you’re about 3 seconds from gushing and creaming all over Changbin’s cock and lap. But you started the fun without him! And he isn’t sure you deserve to cum so easily after leaving him out- so just as your volume picks up, your pace finally faltering as your taut line is about to snap, Chan grabs your hips and forces you down, bringing you to a complete stop.

You whine loudly, wiggling your hips as you vainly try to lift yourself up again, but it’s impossible- Chan is much, much stronger than you after all. Changbin, who was close himself, curses and whines nearly as loudly as you, his brows knitting together as he tries to calm himself down. “Hyung, what the fuck-” he complains, though he doesn’t dare make a move to make Chan stop holding you down- he knows better than that. You look at Chan, bottom lip quivering and eyes glassy with fresh tears as babbles of “why” and “please” and “need to cum” leave you.

“But weren’t you a bad bunny? Having fun with just Changbin, weren’t even thinking of me at all..” Chan says with another false pout. He is nowhere near as jealous and unconsciously possessive as Changbin, as he knows very well he can have whatever he wants, but this dynamic is where he has the most fun- exuding control is the greatest pleasure he knows. Changbin’s denied orgasm is just collateral. “And poor Binnie, you dragged him down with you because you just couldn’t wait,” he continues, grabbing your face with one hand and making you look back at the wolf beneath you, “I think you should tell him you’re sorry. Tell him you’re sorry for being a slut who can’t wait and getting him into trouble with you.”

You whine again, watching as Changbin swallows and bites his lip, clearly eager to hear the apology you’re about to grant him at Chan’s command. “I.. ‘m sorry, Binnie, ‘m really sorry,” you mumble, and Chan tsks again, very clearly unsatisfied with the meek apology. “C’mon little red, you can do better than that, can’t you? Try again, we’re waiting.” You glance at Chan and then back at Changbin, swallowing as both of them stare at you and wait; the ball is in your court, and you have no choice but to deliver.

“I’m sorry f-for being a slut, and ‘m sorry for being a bad bunny, sorry for getting Binnie in trouble, ‘m really sorry, I promise ‘m so sorry,” you try again, to which Chan smirks, taking his hand away from your face to give you a pat on the head. “That’s better,” he says as he finally removes his other hand from your hip. You take that as all the permission you need to start moving again, wasting no time in lifting your hips and slamming them back down onto Changbin’s lap.

Changbin’s surprised gasp transitions into a groan, his hands once again squeezing yours while also trying to be careful not to pierce your skin with his claws. Eventually, begrudgingly, he lets go of your hands to dig his claws into the earth instead, finding that better than risking cutting into your precious skin. Chan watches patiently, waits until you’re both close again before he brings you to another stop with his strong hands, frustrated whines leaving you both as you plant your feet firmly on the ground and try to fight against Chan’s natural strength.

“I didn’t tell you that you could move,” he explains as he watches tears fall from the corners of your eyes, “couldn’t even wait for my permission, and look at you now, in trouble again, dragging Binnie down with you again.” You pout and cry, babbling apologies to both wolves, shame ever a foreign concept in the face of desperation- all you know is you want to cum, but if Chan needs you to be good, to ask first and follow his rules, then you will; you’ll always be as good for him as you possibly can be.

When Chan removes his hands from your hips this time, you ask for permission as he wants you to. “Can I move, please? Please, I’ll be good from now on, I promise, just need to cum so bad,” you beg and he smiles as he coos, once again giving you a sweet stroke to your head. “Of course, good bunnies can have whatever they want. Make Binnie cum too, he’s so good to you, he deserves it, doesn’t he?” Chan chuckles as you nod quickly, eagerly resuming the motions on Changbin’s cock as if Chan had never stopped you at all. “Tell him,” he says, moving his hand down your head, over your back and to your tail, tugging it ever so slightly, “he’ll get so excited. Go on, talk to him.”

“B-Binnie, you’re so- so good to me, make me feel so good, want you to cum, d-deseve to cum- cum in me,” you stutter out between harsh breaths and Chan has to suppress the laugh in his throat when Changbin’s tail fucking whacks against the ground in an impossibly loud, excited thump. So predictable, he always is- can’t hide a damn thing he thinks or feels. Changbin is the one grabbing your hips this time, helping you along as he starts to fuck up into your from below. You squeak and nearly fall forward onto his chest, but somehow manage to keep your balance and stay mostly upright, your hands gripping desperately at his biceps.

And in all the times they have shared someone, Chan is met with a sight he doesn’t think he’s ever seen. Changbin’s eyes are rolling back as bites his lip and chases his high from below, using all of his strength to move you however he wants. Clearly, being denied orgasms did something profound to him- he’s almost feral, relentless in the way he fucks into you. When he feels the build up again, he tries to hold back, almost afraid that Chan will rip it all away from him at the last moment again- but then you’re squeezing him hard, he can feel more slick gush and coat his length as you cry out, and he loses it entirely, cumming in long, drawn out spurts, giving you all he has to give.

You’re entirely collapsed on Changbin’s chest now, seemingly spent from all the effort you exuded and the intensity of your orgasm, eyes closed as you try to collect your breath. Changbin is equally breathless, brain lagging as he processes the fact that he’s cum the hardest he thinks he ever has, and on top of that it was in the middle of the fucking woods with Chan controlling when you were both allowed to cum. Maybe he’s due for some self discovery after this..?

Changbin, whose senses are finally returning to him and recalls he was unable to kiss you at all once you really got going and was sorely missing it, lifts your face and pulls you into a kiss. One kiss turns into two, then to three, then to four, until you’re essentially making out, with Changbin effectively stealing away all the breath you’d just regained. Chan watches for a time, lets Changbin indulge in what is one of his favorite intimate acts, but he can’t let you two be the only ones having fun for much longer.

It’s Chan’s turn now, and he’s been patient enough. He’s good at putting up a front, makes his control seem effortless, what with his boundless charisma and intimidating presence, but fuck, the minute he caught the scent of your heat in the air, he about lost it. Just as Changbin surely felt, he needs to fuck you before he risks going insane. The younger wolf whines when you’re pulled off of him, a mess left behind on his lap where you once were. What a selfish pup he is- maybe one of these days Chan needs to remind him what it means to share.

“Go home, Bin. And tell everyone still there to get the fuck out, so I can bring her back home with me.” Changbin blinks for a moment as he processes, and then he’s scrambling to his feet, getting his clothes back on in a rush. Changbin wanted to bring you home too, but he knew he couldn’t- if he just walked in with you in his arms, it would’ve been chaos; the younger wolves with much less practice in self restraint would’ve lost their fucking minds- even Chan and Changbin themselves had barely been keeping it together, still heavily effected by your heat despite how experienced they were.

“Uh, when I do, can I.. y’know..?” Changbin asks before he starts to leave and Chan rolls his eyes before he lets out a small laugh. “Yes, Bin, you can join us again.” Changbin smiles, tail swishing cutely before he runs off and once again you have to suppress a giggle at the surprisingly adorable display. You wonder if he’d take offense to the fact that you view him as a puppy; he just screams “I need constant affection and attention or I’ll die” and it’s oddly endearing.

Chan doesn’t let your thoughts linger exclusively on Changbin for long however; he’s grabbing your face again, diverting your attention back to him, making you look straight up at him. He captures your lips in a kiss, one that is far more impassioned than you would’ve expected based on his cool exterior. He holds you tightly, pressing your body firmly against his own, leaving no space between you. You in turn wrap your arms around his neck, sighing into the kiss as you are met with more of the sweet relief you’ve desperately needed.

His hands travel over your body, refamiliarizing himself with the feel of your soft skin beneath his fingers, refreshing the memory, letting it become engraved once more. When he pulls back, he is looking at you carefully, doing his best to continue to suppress his carnal need to have you long enough to ask you something that’s been mulling around in his mind, “Tell me honestly, little red. Did you want us to find you tonight, or was it an accident?” He needs to know if it was simply spur of the moment with Changbin, if anyone would’ve done if they’d approached you, or if it was them you specifically needed to get you through your heat.

“You, I wanted you,” you answer easily, truthfully, a slight blush crawling over your face as you admit how you truly feel; your mind may be foggy from your heat, but you're not immune to the nerves that come with an honest confession, “I told Binnie too, that I.. I wanted you both.” Chan smiles at your answer, a smile that makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to how pretty he is when he smiles at you. “Good. Then my next question before I keep you for the rest of the night- do you want to be ours?”

“B-Be yours..?” you ask, blinking up at him as your mind goes over what that could mean. “Mhm, mine and Changbin’s. Our sweet, little bunny that we’d take good care of. Our mate, essentially.. Do you want that?” Your breath hitches, the blush on your face growing as the words swirl around in your head. Their mate. Chan’s. Changbin’s. Both of them.. Their mate. “A-Are you serious? I mean.. I’m a rabbit, and you’re.. not.” From what you've heard, wolves take having a mate very seriously.. and he wants that special someone to be you? And to share that special someone with someone else? Is that really okay?

“I’m completely serious. And you don’t have to be if you don’t want to, but I hope you know it’s not something I offer easily,” he says, stroking your cheek, offering you the softest smile you’ve ever seen him hold. “And you feel it, don’t you? The inexplicit desire, how nothing since having each other has felt complete, satisfying.. enough?” You swallow as you nod, knowing that much is true- ever since you met them, every night without them felt.. wrong somehow. Like you weren’t where you were supposed to be. And God, how unbearable your heats had become, going far past the usual discomfort into completely uncharted, agonizing territory.

“I do, I really do,” you answer, unable to lie about such a thing even if you wanted to. And there’s still so much about your life you’d have to figure out, but you know you’d regret it if you said you didn’t want to be theirs, you’d live in agony if you didn’t have them. He smiles again before he kisses you, hands traveling down to your legs, over your thighs and hips, until he’s cupping your ass, lifting you up and bringing you closer.

You leak onto his lap, but he doesn’t mind, can’t even process it, really- his mind is full of you. Of your scent, of your touch on his skin, of his on yours. And just how you’d done with Changbin, you insatiably run your hands over whatever patch of his skin within your reach. And if his senses weren’t in overdrive from your scent, he’d admonish you for being so insatiable, tease you for being a slut and make your face burn red from filthy, whispered words.

But he has to admit the desperate, needy side of you he’s witness to is a treat, and it works at the rope that is his composure in record time, steadily tearing at it until all that keeps it together is a thin thread. He’s no better than Changbin, is he? Really, if this is how you’ve been from the start, it’s clear the younger wolf never had a chance; but Chan is the superior here, and he has to set an example- what good will it do if he can’t stay in control long enough to get you back to his den?

He has something to prove- to himself, to Changbin, and to you; that he doesn’t break and give in so quickly and easily. So he quickly rises to his feet with you in his arms, carefully leaning to where your clothes were discarded and picking them up, covering you in your cape like it’s a blanket. “Just in case there’s some stragglers still at home,” he explains; when you’re officially his mate, no one will touch you, but until then, he’ll take every precaution necessary to protect you from other wolves that may want you- barring Changbin, naturally.

It takes you no more than a few minutes to get to their den thanks to his speed, and just as before you closed your eyes and clung to him tightly as he wove through the trees to get there. Thankfully, it seemed Changbin did a good job at relaying that the leader wants everyone gone until morning, as the only sight you are met with inside is him sweetly and excitedly waving as Chan approaches with you in his arms.

Just like the first time, Changbin trails close behind on the way to Chan’s room, locking the door for security when you’re all inside. You’re set down on the bed, with Chan putting your discarded clothing on his nearby armchair before he’s sitting next to you. Changbin also wastes no time getting his clothes off again, to which Chan stares at him incredulously until Changbin replies with a simple “what?”, causing Chan to scoff in disbelief and you to giggle.

Changbin sits on your other side, his hands in his lap as he waits for whatever it is Chan is going to do next; and he may be jealous, but he won’t interfere with whatever his elder wants to do with you, even if it means all he gets to do for the remainder of the night is watch. Chan reaches out, pushing your hair behind your shoulders and exposing your neck, to which Changbin instinctively swallows. He resisted last time, only scraping your skin with his teeth, but he wanted to bite you so bad that night.

It was a bit strange, considering he’d never had such an urge with previous partners; he liked them, of course, they were pretty, sexy, fun.. But he almost felt the natural instinct for a wolf to bite was either a myth or something he wasn’t meant to experience until he had you. And maybe that’s why he felt so jealous when Chan captured your attention; Changbin has always been a jealous person, but it never felt this.. real, almost? Serious, and not entirely playful and fun-aligned as it usually was.

Changbin watches as Chan trails his fingers over your neck, the both of you instinctively holding your breath. He watches as Chan replaces his fingers with his lips, watches as he trails kisses over your skin, watches as his hands travel to your thighs and squeezes them. His jealousy mixes with excitement, softened cock beginning to harden once more, his fingers twitching and aching to touch you some more, but not acting on the desire; it’s Chan’s turn, he has to remind himself repeatedly.

Chan chuckles a bit when he pulls away and sees Changbin very clearly internally struggling; he’s so simple when it comes to things like this, incredibly easy to read. Once more, Chan grabs your face, but he does something new this time- he makes you tilt to the side, exposing the entirety of the right side of your neck to Changbin. He licks his lips and swallows before tearing his gaze away from your neck to look at Chan, unsure of why exactly he’s exposing your neck to him like this.

“Bite her. I know you want to,” Chan says much too casually for Changbin’s poor brain, his eyes widening in surprise as he practically gawks at his elder. “W-What? But- I can’t, she’s-” he stutters out, and you’re surprised to hear him so flustered; you guess the rumors are true- wolves take mating and bites very seriously. It’s not something he’ll do on a whim, even if he desperately wants to. “She wants you to. Wants both of us to,” Chan continues with a smile as he watches the gears turn in Changbins mind, “isn’t that right? Tell him, sweetheart.”

“’s true, I wanna be yours. Both of yours,” you tell him and Changbin groans, though you can’t tell if it’s from disbelief, pleasure, or a mix of both. He takes one of your hands in his, squeezing once more as he leans down to your neck, inhaling your scent as he presses open mouthed kisses to your skin. “You’re sure..? This isn’t something you can take back,” Changbin asks between his hot kisses, and you affirm eagerly, that yes, you absolutely want this.

“Together then?” he asks as he pulls away, looking at Chan with utmost seriousness. Chan hums his agreement before he’s tilting your head backwards, your entire neck exposed to both of them. And though this is something you want, you can’t help but be nervous as they take their places on either side of your neck, their breath tickling your skin and causing you to squirm. “Relax, sweetheart,” Chan whispers soothingly, his hand coming down to find the one Changbin isn’t holding.

You let out a breath, doing your best to will you heart and nerves to calm; this will change your life forever, but it’s a change you accept wholeheartedly, and once the initial pain subsides, you know they’ll take the utmost care of you, they’ll make it all worth it. You feel their teeth start to prick your skin, their positions on your neck a true mirror of one another- the same placement on either side, marks that will show to the entire world that you have not just one mate, but two.

Chan’s fangs pierce your skin first, causing you to gasp and squeeze at their hands, crying out when Changbin’s own fangs follow shortly behind. It stings, but that initial pain dulls rather quickly, and you’re soon left with only the pleasurable feeling of belonging, of.. love? Or maybe that's not entirely accurate given how this all came to be, but whatever it is transcends anything you've ever known or experienced in your life thus far. It’s unique, special, new- a fitting description for your newfound relationship, and all the emotions it conjures within you.

Changbin is the first to kiss you when they seperate from your neck- and it's to be expected, he just can't help himself. But possessive though he can be, intentional or otherwise, he pulls away rather quickly, giving Chan his opportunity to kiss you too- because it’s not just him you belong to, and he wants to make it clear that even when he’s clingy, or jealous, or pouty, he’ll never do a single thing to jeopardize what the three of you have together. He simply hugs you as Chan kisses you, his lips ghosting over the mark he left behind, soothing a sting that no longer exists.

You wondered, when you were back at home in your cottage in the clearing, if it was okay to miss them. Was it foolish, did it even make sense to want to see them again? But you feel you’ve found your answer- you were meant to miss them, were supposed to feel a tug in their direction, were supposed to find them irresistible in every aspect, to desire them with all that you are. They are meant for you, and you for them, and maybe everything up to this point happened the exact way it was supposed to; and now you were truly where you belong.

Though Changbin should keep his hands and lips to himself given that it’s Chan’s turn to have his fun with you, he really can’t help himself. You’re sure Chan notices, as he notices everything when it comes to the both of you, but he doesn’t scold, tease, or pull you away. As fun as it would be to make you both whine and pout, this is a moment that will never be replicated- to bite someone like this is an act that you hopefully only do once in your lifetime. For the first night of belonging to each other at least, he’ll loosen the reins of his control just a bit for Changbin’s sake.

Chan guides you, and in turn Changbin, to lay back. Changbin's back hits the wall, while yours rests against his chest, where he cups and grabs your breasts from behind, squeezing and playing with them to his heart’s content while Chan continues to kiss you. His tongue slides in your mouth when Changbin’s rolling and pinches of your nipples causes your mouth to open with a moan, Chan’s own hand traveling between your legs, his fingers becoming quickly coated in your slick.

Your body jolts when he rubs your clit, instinctively squirming and avoiding his direct touch- because even though it’s the first time either of them are touching it tonight, you’ve been abusing it all week whilst chasing your (unsuccessful) orgasms. It’s tender, sensitive- and you say so, a tremble in your voice as you try to make Chan understand that the feeling is just too much right now. “It’s too much?” he questions, and you’d think his tone was one of genuine concern were it not for his smirk giving away that he doesn’t very much care if the feeling is overwhelming you, “but you’re making such pretty sounds for us. And I thought you needed to cum? Isn’t that what you told me?”

“Y-Yes, but-” you start but Chan quickly shushes you, another roll of his fingers making your eyes roll back as you continue to squirm. Your hands instinctively go to his wrists, simply holding them as you know you’d never actually be able to push him away. “But what? I’m giving you what you want, silly girl,” he says with a smile that you’d view as sweet if you didn’t know any better, “you should be thanking me. Go on, tell me ‘thank you’, nice and sweet, ‘kay?”

Oh, he’s so mean- and Changbin is no better, because he feels it fair to remind you that apparent cuteness and loss of composure aside, he’s just as much a menace as his elder. “Yeah, yeah, do it, pretty. We wanna hear it,” he says, close enough to your ear that it makes you shiver and squirm some more, whining in equal parts embarrassment and pleasure. Because even if it is overwhelming, it does still feel good- so good, you can’t help but cry.

“Th-Thank you, thank you,” you say between moans and gasping breaths, your nails digging into Changbin’s thighs now that you’ve released Chan’s wrists from your grasp. “Hmm, are you sure that’s all you wanna say? I think Channie-hyung expects more from you,” Changbin says with a grin you can’t see but can certainly hear. He’s right, of course, but you have no idea how you’re supposed to string together a coherent sentence with the way they’re coordinating their touches to your body and talking to you.

But you have no choice but to do your best, because the alternative is disappointing them, and you would never. “Thank you- thank you for making me feel s-so good, thank you Channie, Binnie, th-thank you.” Choppy and hardly coherent through your whimpery moans your words may be, they seem satisfactory enough; Chan hums approvingly, and you can feel Changbin’s cock twitch against your back.

“That’s my good girl,” he smiles, increasing the speed of his fingers before he corrects himself, “our good girl.” You squeeze your eyes shut, legs twitching, entire body trembling, though you no longer instinctively squirm away from his fingers- your body has finally accepted it, you suppose. Apart from the tremble and shake in your legs, your body is otherwise limp, accepting of every bit of stimulation they bring you.

You’re close, they both know, but given the circumstances, Chan decides to be kind this time- he can make you beg and cry some more later, for now he should give his good bunny what she needs. “Gonna cum, aren’t you, pretty bunny? Go ahead and let go, let us hear it,” Chan says, doing his best to apply more pressure with the pads of his fingers, though how sloppy you are from slick doesn’t make the task entirely effortless- not that he minds, of course; he likes the mess you’ve made between your legs.

You cry as you nod, head falling back against Changbin’s shoulder when his tugs and pinches to your nipples become harsher. You try to warn them before it happens, but you can’t- it hits you so hard that you can’t even utter any further noise, your mouth hanging open in silent cries as your eyes roll back and body tenses and untenses rapidly, gushing and making a further mess of Chan’s fingers and the mattress beneath you.

They both whisper praises in your ears, sweet encouragements and dirty words that further drag out the euphoria you feel. You’re not sure how much time has passed before you open your eyes again, feeling Changbin’s hands rubbing your hips and thighs while Chan strokes your cheeks, smiling sweetly at you, actually sweetly, as your senses return to you. “There’s our girl,” he says after giving you a quick peck on the lips, “did such a good job, sweetheart.”

He strokes your head as Changbin presses sweet kisses to your neck and shoulders, moving his hands from your thighs to wrap his arms around you in a soft hug. “Channie, fuck me now?” you ask, because as breathless and nearing exhaustion as you are, you’re still eager to feel him inside you, and you won't be truly satisfied until you get another load of cum inside you- his specifically. His smile turns to a grin, his hands coming down to your hips, prepared to move you into whatever position he desires, “Course sweetheart, nights not over until I’m done with you.”

He flips you around effortlessly, Changbin catching you before you fall completely against him. He holds you upright while Chan adjusts the position of your hips, aligning his cock with your hole once he has you how he wants you. Changbin kisses you as Chan slides his way inside your heat slowly, swallowing every little noise that escapes you. And really, you’re beyond wet and prepped enough for him to go fast if he wants to, but he doesn’t- and not entirely because he wants to tease you (though it does serve that purpose), but because he’s been so on edge this entire time that he’ll cum in record time if he doesn’t, and he’ll die before he lets Changbin last longer than him.

Changbin, who is happy to have your attention again, has his tail thumping excitedly against the mattress. You’re holding onto his shoulders for support as your tongues play together, gasping into his mouth when Chan is finally fully sheathed inside you, his hands digging into your hips whilst still trying to be cautious of his claws and their ability to pierce your delicate skin (though you don’t think you’d particularly mind if they did.) Changbin brings a hand to one of your ears, stroking the soft fluff and causing you to whimper as you clench around Chan’s cock, earning you a grunt from behind, a clear sign that he felt it.

It’s not meant to be a challenge against Chan’s ability to hold out, but he takes it as one- if anyone is going to break and cum fast, it won’t be him. His hand comes around to your front, grabbing your neck with just enough strength to pull you back towards him. You gasp and whimper, turning your head as much as you can to look at Chan while he holds your neck. “Make our Binnie cum again while I fuck you, and then I’ll let you cum again too. Understand, bunny?”

You nod quickly as Changbin whines and his cock twitches. Our Binnie- he likes the sound of it more than he’d expect. Chan whispers a simple ‘good girl’ in your ear before he lets you go, letting you fall back into Changbin. Your head lands on his chest, and he intends to lift you up to support you and shift himself into a position that’ll benefit the both of you, but it doesn’t seem you need it- your hands are instantly on his cock, your tiny hands wrapping around and stroking as much as they are able.

He groans and grabs your face, lifting it up enough so that he can lean down to kiss you. Your pace falters when Chan finally starts to roll and thrust his hips, but you do your best to keep steady, determined to perform well and be allowed to cum again. You’re gasping, whimpering, crying as Chan’s pace turns to one you can only describe as purely animalistic- and fair, you admit, given how much self restraint and composure he had to hold until now. The fact that he even went this long before losing it is herculean feat.

Despite that, he is still firm on the idea that he absolutely will not cum before either of you do, so he reaches around and grabs one of your hands, taking it away from Changbin’s cock and bringing it up instead to one of his twitching ears. “Wanna see our Binnie really lose it? Rub his ear, he’ll go crazy.” “Hyung-” he opens his mouth to protest, face starting to flush and seemingly embarrassed that his weak spot is being called out.

The complaint dies in his throat however when your fingers softly rub over his ear, a gaspy whine coming out instead as his hips jolt up into the other hand still on his cock. “Fuck, shit-” he weakly groans while Chan smirks in victory- though the smirk doesn’t last very long, as he truthfully isn’t fairing much better than Changbin in regards to how good you’re making him feel. Maybe in the end, his plan backfired- because each noise that Changbin emits causes you to clench harder, but he still has other ideas in mind to make the two of you cum first.

Chan’s fingers find your clit again, making your body jolt and your hands grip at Changbin harder- on both his poor, sensitive cock and equally sensitive ear. He curses again, eyes rolling back for the second time, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as his hips once again unconsciously thrusts upward. It reaches a point where he’s essentially doing all the work, your fist almost entirely still while Changbin fucks your hand.

His hands dig into the sheets, almost tearing them as he clenches at the fabric between his fingers. “O-Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum- harder, touch me harder, please-” Butterflies explode in your stomach, having never expected to hear Changbin beg the way you are usually made to. You do as he asks, you’d never dream otherwise; your fingers grip him harder, squeezing his cock and rubbing harsh circles on the soft ear in your hand.

The thump of his tail is erratic, his breaths harsh as his head falls back, cum shooting on your hand and his stomach. When he opens his eyes and lifts his head, he’s met with the sight of you licking his cum off your hand before your scooping up the mess he made on his stomach with your fingers, sticking them in your mouth and then opening your to show him it’s all gone when you’re done, twisting your neck after to show Chan too.

“F-Fuck,” Chan stutters a groan, pulling out long enough to flip you back around, your back hitting the mattress as Changbin moves to the side to watch. “Such a good girl, cleaning him up without having to be asked, should- fuck, should reward you, shouldn’t I?” But he already promised you could cum if Changbin did, so what’s the next best reward he could give you? “What do you want? Tell me, bunny, and I’ll give it to you,” he decides to simply ask as he slides back into your wet warmth, resuming the harsh pace he’d set before you flipped back around.

“K-Kiss? Can we kiss?” you ask and he chuckles, stroking your cheek as he brings his face close to yours, close enough that your noses are touching and you can feel his breath against you. “That’s it? That’s all you want?” he asks, unable to suppress the smile when you quickly nod, “Bin’s gonna get jealous, y’know. You’ll have to make it up to him after.” But before you can reply, he’s kissing you, tongue shoving it’s way in your mouth.

Chan’s pace is fast and not entirely accurate, but God, he’s trying- and you perfectly understand, because even with the cool exterior he exudes, you can tell he’s barely been holding it together. He’s utterly gorgeous like this too, sweat dripping and jaw clenched, brows scrunched and veins popping from exertion, pretty lips glossy from your kisses just prior. His fingers on your clit are replaced by Changbin’s, while Chan’s hands grab your legs and keeps them held open, his cock going as deep as it can go.

“So perfect, perfect bunny for us,” Chan grunts as his head falls to your neck, lips ghosting over the mark he made with fangs. Changbin brings his other hand to one of your ears, rubbing the base in the same way you rubbed his, while his fingers on your clit rub in quickly practiced circles. “Yours, ‘m yours and Binnie’s, bunny just for you,” you affirm, body shuddering when Chan groans in response.

He’s close, so fucking close, but you have to cum first- so he closes his eyes and tries to focus on hitting the spot that makes you see stars, working to stave off his release as long as he can possibly can. And he’s successful, Thank God- between his perfect thrusts and Changbin’s fingers, you’re cumming again in no time at all, the wet spot beneath you growing as you drench Chan in your release.

He grunts, thrusts reverting back to their sloppier rhythm as he chases his high, his grip on your thighs sure to leave bruises behind. A string of curses leave him as he finally cums, filling you to the point it leaks even as he’s still fully pressed inside. Your eyes are closed, heavy with exhaustion, but you hear them talk to each other as they wipe your sweat away and clean you up between your thighs.

One of them picks you up, Chan you think, while the one you assume to be Changbin changes the sheets for him, absolutely filthy after the night you just shared. Tired and not entirely conscious as you are, you still snuggle into the chest of the one holding you, and it’s confirmed it’s Chan when you hear him chuckle and whisper something about you being “sweet and cute.” You tiredly whine when you’re put back down, eyes still closed but missing the warmth you were enveloped in, and hear them once again chuckle before you feel them on both sides, pressed against them in the middle.

With a struggle, you blink awake, body heavy and eyes still impossibly tired, the darkness surrounding you making it near impossible to tell what time it is. It's clear you're still in their den, and wolves dens are always dark given their nocturnal nature. You're laying on your back, you realize, Changbin’s arm slung over your stomach while Chan, who is also apparently awake, is stroking your head as he looks at you. “You didn’t sleep?” you ask quietly and he shakes his head, whispering his reply back to you. “It’s still the middle of the night, sweetheart. We never sleep at night- but well, after what you did to Changbin, he was out as soon as he got comfortable next to you. Couldn’t stay awake even if he wanted to.”

You quietly giggle, turning your head to catch a peek at him. He looks cute, peaceful- you give him a soft peck on his cheek before you turn your attention back to the awake Chan. “He’d lose it if he was awake during that, y’know. He loves cute shit like that,” he says and you smile- you can tell, it’s obvious; Changbin is a bit of an open book, you think. “What about you?” you ask and he scoffs a little, turning his gaze away as a slight smile peeks out on his lips. “Course. I just don’t make it as obvious as that idiot. Seriously, we have a reputation to maintain.”

You peck his cheek, and he scoffs again, trying to hide the growing smile and retain the cool image. “Don’t start- you’re gonna make me as bad as him.” “Is it going to be morning soon..?” you ask as you lower your head back to the pillows. “It will be in a couple hours,” he replies, turning back to you with a more serious expression, “you need to go back home, yeah? Can’t stay here?”

You frown as you nod, a strange feeling of loneliness filling your gut at the idea of leaving them behind to go back to your cottage. “Grandmother needs me..” you tell him and he hums in understanding, careful not to expose the ache in his chest that you’ll be parting soon- whether that’s courtesy of the mating bite or if it’s feelings he’d have regardless he can’t entirely tell. “We’ll figure something out. Just get some more rest for now, okay? I’ll be right here.” You nod and close your eyes, relaxing further when you feel him start to stroke your head again. When you shift slightly for comfort, Changbin instinctively holds you tighter; even in his sleep he has to make sure you’re close.

There’s a lot you’ll have to confront come morning, but you decide to follow Chan’s words and leave it until then. You lay one of your hands atop the one Changbin has pressed on your stomach, and use your other to touch Chan, humming happily when he brings his own over to hold it. For now, you’ll fall back to sleep, you’ll indulge in the safe comfort you feel while sandwiched between their bodies, holding their hands, secure in the knowledge that even though your life will be drastically different from now, it’s what will make you happiest. A bunny and her two bad wolves, who aren’t actually as bad as they seem- this is where you belong.

#i tried to give them equal attention but my bin bias may have come thru dgsdfg i'm sorry !!!#skz x reader #bang chan x reader #changbin x reader #skz smut #bang chan smut #changbin smut #werewolf au #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz fanfic #mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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separatist-apologist · 10 months

Text

The Fire Won't Burn Me

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

for @elucienweekofficial

Summary: Princess Elain Archeron wants nothing more than to be reunited with her missing youngest sister and to see her father finally emerge from the fog of grief he's been living under since her mother died. When her step mother arranges for her older sister to fetch her youngest to celebrate Elain's impending engagement to a neighboring prince, it seems like she'll get her wish. That is, until her father's fearsome huntsman steps in and wrecks it all. Now she's on the run, hiding in the forest to keep herself- and her heart- intact.

In her quest to understand why someone would want her heart carved from her chest, Elain will have to reconcile what it means to truly be the fairest of them all

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

The first fall of snow marked the end of spending time outdoors. Elain woke to freezing wood floors and frosted over windows blocking out gray sunlight. Lucien had been right about the wolf pelt. Elain had given it to Jurian, who’d brought it back several days later, filled with down and big enough to cover her bed end to end.

She hadn’t even realized how cold the cottage was until she climbed from beneath the blanket. Quickly, she pulled on stockings and a dressing robe and rushed to toss more logs onto the fireplace. The cottage warmed quickly, though Elain dragged that blanket down so she could sit wrapped up on the little couch Jurian had provided with a mug of tea.

What did it say about her that she was enjoying this little break from her real life? Elain had begun to wonder, over the last month, if she couldn’t just stay. If Nesta returned, maybe…

But Nesta would know Amarantha had lied about Elain running off with a stable boy. Elain wasn’t particularly stealthy and Nesta was observant. If Elain had a secret romance, Nesta would have known, even if she wouldn’t have said something.

It was just…Elain felt at home for the first time in her life. Once the anxiety of Amarantha finding her had worn off, peace began to settle. Her plan of finding the King of Avalon had been pushed to the very back of her mind. Was it foolish to hope she could live forever hidden within the borders of the very same woman who’d tried to kill her? Maybe. And still at night, Elain wanted it all the same.

She wanted something else, too. Or, someone else. The same man tasked with killing her came to dinner every single night and rarely did he come empty handed. He’d eaten everything she’d ever laid before him, even when Elain knew it tasted badly.

And he’d kissed her. Only once, and on the cheek. She froze, unsure what she was supposed to do. Nothing, as it turned out, because Lucien made no mention of it the next time he visited, nor did he ever attempt to do it again. Though, she very much wanted him to.

If she’d been back at the palace, she might have tried to convince him to kiss her again through a little light flirting. An exposed ankle, a giggle at a remark…that was usually enough, right? But Lucien wasn’t a prince or even a nobleman, and he seemed blissfully unaware that when he came over and she’d lit only candles and her hair was perfectly curled, she was trying to stage a scene in which he pulled her in his arms and kissed her with frantic desperation.

That was what the heroes in those books Jurian had brought her were always doing, anyway. Reality was less romantic. That didn’t stop her from trying again, practically vibrating with excitement when she heard that first knock on the door. Lucien always rapped out a familiar pattern—a little song only they knew the words to. Elain scurried for the door, smiling at him before he ever said a word. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, visible despite the thick, fur-lined hood he wore.

“Let me in,” he complained. Elain stepped out of his way, delighted when he kicked snow from his boots onto the mat rather than her floors. Even Jurian hadn’t quite managed that. Lucien pulled his cloak from his body, hanging it against a hook in the wall before shaking out his long hair.

“I cooked,” Elain told him breathlessly. Lucien offered her a soft smile, thrusting a package between them.

“Oh yeah? What did you make?

“A lamb roast,” she replied. Elain had worked very carefully on it, desperate for him to like her cooking—and her. “And another apple pie.”

“Is it my birthday?” he joked, stepping around her. Elain took that moment to unwrap his parcel.

“Is this—”

“I figured if you’re trying to wed a prince from Avalon, you might as well know their favorite dishes,” Lucien replied, grinning at the yellow bound cookbook in her hands. “I’m happy to be the person you test all these new dishes on.”

She couldn’t help herself. Elain went to him, arms thrown around his middle. “This is…this is too nice, Lucien.”

He cleared his throat, though he held her all the same, hands rubbing down her spine. “I tried to kill you, remember? It’s nothing at all.”

“I’ve forgiven you for that,” she reminded him, regretfully pulling away. She could smell her meat waiting to be cut up and served.

“You may have, but I certainly haven’t,” he replied, following her into the kitchen. He’d taken to helping recently—doing dishes when they were finished eating or helping her cut up large slices of meat. Elain didn’t complain any more because she was beginning to suspect Lucien did those things in an effort to convince her he had his uses.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but sometimes she hoped he picked up the little tasks in the cottage because he wanted to be around her, too. Elain liked Lucien—liked the way he listened, how he always had a question ready to go. Lucien had an uncanny ability to make her feel both seen and heard. No one in her life had ever taken such a genuine interest in her seeds, her projects, her life.

“You should,” she finally murmured, handing him the carving knife. Lucien shot her a sideways glance—the sort that told her to mind her own business. But forgiving himself was her business, because how else would she ever convince him to kiss her again if he was too busy punishing himself for something she never thought about?

Elain set the table, thinking of the bottle of fruit wine she’d been making. It would almost be ready…maybe for the next meal, she thought ruefully. She had handwritten notes of beer brewing and she wanted to try her hand at that, too…maybe in the Spring, when she knew what she was doing with her life.

“Any word from Nesta?” she asked instead. Elain needed Nesta to come home if she was going to remain out here, if only to pay the rent Jurian would be wanting.

“No,” Lucien replied, carving up her meat carefully. “Not a whisper.”

“And that’s good?”

Lucien had explained this a hundred times before. If Nesta was dead, their stepmother would have an explanation for why she wouldn’t be returning. Some tragedy or love story or something that would plausibly excuse Nesta from ever stepping foot in the palace again. He genuinely believed no news was good news.

But a little more than a month had passed and Elain was getting antsy.

“Yes,” he said, laying out the meat on a dinged up serving platter.

“What if she’s injured and no one knows?” Elain asked, mind racing through the possibilities. “Or what if—”

“Elain. Have faith,” Lucien replied gently, his eyes searching her own. “Nesta is coming back.”

She nodded. “She told me three months.”

“It hasn’t been two,” he reminded her, just as he always did. “She’ll be back—and she’ll be looking for you the second she realizes you’ve gone.”

“She’ll never believe for a second I ran off with a stable boy,” Elain joked. Lucien didn’t smile as he sat, his expression almost pained.

“And if she returns…do you plan to abandon Avalon?” he asked her, waiting for Elain to join him. She brought out mashed potatoes and more bread, hoping to stuff him to the point he couldn’t walk. And then, she thought, she’d say Oh, Lucien, just stay the night…of course you can join me in my bed—

“Maybe,” she admitted, shaking her head of the fantasy. “Do you think it's better to go?”

Lucien shrugged, taking that first bite. An obscene groan escaped his lips, filling Elain with heat. She’d never heard him make such a sound, though she could imagine the sort of scenario in which he might. True, she had little experience with men, but she did have those third hand romance books Jurian had given her. Men were always groaning when they were well-pleased in the bedroom.

“Is it good?” she asked, leaning forward on her elbows.

“Yes,” he said, eyes closed while he chewed. “It’s perfect.”

Elain nearly flew over the table, crawled into his lap, and kissed him for saying so. When Lucien opened his eyes, she was staring back at her plate so he wouldn’t see her every lurid, too-curious thought.

“You didn’t answer. Do you think, if Nesta returns, I should still leave?”

“Do you think Nesta will return with an army?” he countered.

“Maybe. That does seem like something she might do.”

Lucien took another bite, grunting softly. “I can’t make that decision for you, princess. And I’m afraid my protection can only do so much. The queen employs her black guards, as you well know. They are loyal only to her. Sometimes I worry…”

He trailed off, though his fears lingered in the air. Elain could imagine them well, as she too had given a great deal of thought about what might happen if she returned home, miscalculated, and found herself in the dungeon.

“How is my father?”

Lucien grimaced. “The same.”

“So much has changed and yet everything feels the same,” she replied, watching Lucien spoon a mountain of potatoes on his plate. “I don’t want to go to Avalon if I don’t have to…I’d rather stay here.”

That caught his attention. “Would you marry Graysen instead?”

“No, not…I want to stay here,” she said, gesturing around her. “I think Jurian would let me if I could find some way to make money—”

“I’ll pay it,” he said, his expression slack. “If you…ah…I just mean, you don’t need to worry about money for now. I could…it’s the least I could do.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she said, heart hammering in her throat. “I’m sure I could find a job—”

“I want to,” Lucien insisted, likely more guilt manifesting itself. “If you’re thinking of staying, let me help so you don’t have to worry so much.”

“What do you get out of it?” she dared to ask. Lucien’s eyes found her own.

“Your company?” he asked helplessly. “I ah…I like being around you.”

“Really?” she asked. Lucien’s cheeks darkened the prettiest shade of pink.

“Yes,” he said gruffly. “Don’t act like you don’t know that.”

“I just like hearing you admit it,” Elain replied, digging into her own food. She could feel the huntsman’s eyes on her, watching her with open suspicion but Elain didn’t care. A huff of almost laughter slipped from just behind his teeth, causing her to smile.

“You know,” Lucien began, setting his fork down to rest a hand against his stomach, “if you’re thinking you’d like to stay, and Nesta hasn’t returned by the time spring is over, I was thinking you and I could try and track her down?”

Elain nearly screamed. “Really?” she asked. That was far more than Elain would ever dared to hope for. “You’d do that for me?”

More embarrassment stained that handsome face of his. “Sure,” he agreed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s better than seeing you marry a prince of Avalon.”

“Are you jealous?” she asked, forcing herself to sound playful rather than breathless. “Is this you finally confirming that the youngest son is impossibly handsome?”

Lucien rolled his eyes, but his cheeks were still tomato red. “I think he’d like you far more than I would appreciate.”

Elain could scarcely breathe. “So you are jealous?”

Lucien steepled his finger tips against his mouth. “What if I was?”

Elain didn’t know. She’d never gotten this far in her daydreams. Lucien either was overcome with desire and words weren’t necessary, or he admitted he had feelings for her and then reverted back to being passionately overwhelmed by his need for her. In real life, Lucien continued to sit in his chair, staring her down with an expression that practically dared her to say something.

And Elain found herself suddenly bashful. Blinking, she stood so abruptly that her knee collided with the underside of the table. Lucien backed away, eyes wide with surprise

“Pie,” she breathed, needing something to occupy her hands with. “I’ll—”

“Elain,” he called, but she’d already scurried to the kitchen. He could see her, of course. Elain felt Lucien’s eyes on her as she busied herself with more cutlery and plates. She heard the scraping of chair legs against the wood floor and the soft thudding steps of his boots as he came to her.

His fingers brushed the sides of her arms, clad in that blue bodice and nothing else. “I am jealous,” he whispered, curling those same fingers over just above her elbow. “That prince wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

Elain couldn’t breathe again. “And you do?” she dared to ask, her back colliding with the solid warmth of his chest. She swore she could hear his heart thudding in her ears, drowning out everything else.

“Want to find out?”

Elain turned, forcing herself to face him. If she couldn’t look him in the eye, what business did she have asking him for anything? “Yes,” she whispered, tilting her chin so if he wanted, he could kiss her. Elain could do many, many things.

But she refused to make that first move. Lucien blinked at her, staring like he was only just seeing her for the first time. For one horrible second, Elain was certain she’d taken it too far and Lucien was trying to let her down easy. That he’d tell her he didn’t want to be around her anymore.

And then he sighed, the sound so similar to the groan from dinner that Elain started a little. Whispering, “Thank the gods,” Lucien threaded one of his large hands in her hair and pulled her closer. Elain had to surge up on her tiptoes to meet him even as he hunched, their lips colliding with the same frantic hunger she’d been dreaming about.

It was far better than anything her stories promised. His mouth was soft, his fingers warm Elain pressed her palm flat against his chest, sliding up the buttons of his tunic to his exposed neck. She only wanted to touch a little skin, to feel his heart jumping against the hollow of his throat.

One kiss became two, became a third, until Elain was too dizzy and breathless to count. She couldn’t think, drowning in the warmth of his lips, of the masculine scent of him burning pleasantly just inside her nose. Lucien’s tongue slid from behind his teeth, tracing her bottom lip.

Open, she swore he asked. When Elain opened her eyes, though, his were closed shut, his face one of pure bliss. He liked this, she realized with awe. He wanted her. Nothing could have pleased her more.

Elain did as he wanted on that next kiss, parting her lips just to see what might happen. She had kissed other men before—boys, too, when she’d been younger. She wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept of a tongue in her mouth. In fact, Elain distinctly remembered it being too wet and a little gross. The experience had been just that—an experience she hadn’t been keen to repeat. But she also remembered how her mind had been racing the entire time, cataloging everything happening with near clinical interest.

Lucien’s tongue darted forward, licking her own. His rumbled groan settled in her flipping, excited stomach, pulling her closer still as she tamped down the urge to rub her body against his own. And the next time his tongue came back, Elain was quick to meet him. Lucien tasted like rosemary and salt and something else—something distinct and wholly him.

She couldn’t hide her own squeaky moan. Lucien fisted her curls tighter, wrapping his other arm against her waist to hoist her not onto the kitchen counter, but up against his body. Vaguely, Elain was aware he was walking her somewhere. Did it make her wanton to wish he was taking her to bed?

Maybe not. Lucien merely took her to the couch, dropping against the soft yellow cushion so she was straddling his lap. Here she could touch him like she wanted without worrying she’d fall over and lose her balance. Immediately, Elain took advantage of their positions, running her hands down the flat plains of his broad chest.

Still wishing for skin. That was too forward, though, and too soon. Even as Lucien’s own hand spanned her backside, the other cupping her jaw tenderly—like she was special. Elain moaned again, unable to stop herself. Everything felt brand new and wildly exciting.

Elain felt like she could do anything she liked and Lucien would allow it. And when she rolled her hips, searching for something that could alleviate the ache growing between her legs, Lucien groaned loudly.

“Do that again,” he panted, adjusting himself so she when she did grind herself against him, she found proof of his own arousal waiting to greet her. Good. Elain felt rebellious, felt like the kind of person who could rub herself against a man with no expectations

Of course, it meant if she did have to marry that Prince of Avalon, she’d have to lie to him. Before, Elain would have found that intolerable, but now the only intolerable thing was not having Lucien. He lifted his hips to meet her in a frenzy of movement, until they were all lips and tongue and teeth. This was exactly what she’d been imagining, but better because it was happening. He was touching her, his fingers gripping her thighs to pull her closer until he skimmed her bare skin beneath her dress.

Inching closer and closer to where she was both terrified to let him touch and desperate for contact. She might have told him so, but that would have meant she had to stop kissing him and Elain didn’t know that she could. His mouth was addictive and the way he touched her seemed to make each kiss more pleasurable. Elain suddenly understood how the kitchen girls were always getting pregnant when she was a girl—she was ready to throw caution to the wind, too.

Especially when Lucien’s careful, clever fingers began rubbing lazy circles against her inner thigh, each pass coming higher and higher with what laid between them. She could have stopped him—Elain had the feeling Lucien was taking his time in an attempt to gauge if she wanted him to touch her or not.

Throwing caution to the wind, Elain pressed herself closer, until his hand was cupping her through her thin undergarment.

“Spread your legs, princess,” Lucien groaned, dragging his teeth against the sensitive skin of her neck. “Show me how wet you are.”

Panting, Elain did as he asked as best she could, given she was still in his lap and unwilling to move. Lucien rubbed a soft circle through the material, drawing a whimper from Elain’s throat. She watched his eyes flutter shut, saw how his lips parted to suck in his own ragged breath of air.

“Very wet,” he managed before making another pass. “Is this what you need, Elain?”

Another soft touch, dulled by the fabric separating their skin. Elain bucked, trying to get him to move it but Lucien’s free hand stilled her. Elain could feel his cock pressed against the curve of her ass, jumping slightly when he touched again.

“Do you touch yourself when I’m not around?” Lucien continued, drawing his face closer so the words were spoken against her cheek. “Do you think about me?”

“Yes,” she said, too far gone to lie.

His fingers curled around the fabric just how she’d hoped, slipping beneath without bothering to remove them at all.

“I want you to ride my hand,” he told her, holding her gaze with impossibly dark eyes. “I want you to make a mess of me.”

The pad of his thumb had begun making lazy passes against her slick cunt, teasing around her clit without ever touching it. Elain would have done anything he said so long as he kept touching her, and so she nodded.

Lucien kissed her again, slower than before. Certain he was trying to match his tongue to his fingers, Elain allowed herself to indulge in the feeling. To give in to what he was offering and take what she wanted, even if it was selfish.

“That’s it,” Lucien groaned, his own hips bucking upward. Elain writhed against him until finally he was rubbing her just where she wanted. Still teasing, his fingers dipping toward her entrance to push slightly just inside before dragging the slick arousal back up to her clit, over and over until Elain moaned mindlessly.

“Please,” she begged him, unable to articulate anything else. He knew, though. Lucien knew what she wanted and rather than speed himself up, he slowed down. Dragging her out, letting her build close enough to that edge before pulling her back. Over and over, until he looked like he wanted to die, too. Elain couldn’t stop herself, rolling her hips against his hand just like he’d asked her to. She was certain his fingers must be coated and told herself that was what he wanted.

She didn’t need to feel embarrassment or shame. Elain kissed Lucien, tongue invading his mouth. Distracted, Lucien’s fingers didn’t pull away when she built that last time. His focus lay on her lips against his and his own grinding erection he so desperately needed her to touch. She could have told him she would if he’d let her come if she’d wanted to pull away.

She didn’t. And Lucien continued his precise, tight circles until Elain did break the kiss, body jerking as her gathering release finally ignited like flame, engulfing her with pleasure. She couldn’t make any noise at all, her hand fisted in his shirt to keep herself from flying into a million little pieces.

“That’s it,” Lucien managed, his voice as broken as she felt. “Take what you need.”

What she needed was him, though she didn’t dare say so. Pleasure dragged on and on, coming over her in waves until her locked muscles finally spasmed, letting her collapse against him.

Luicen pressed a kiss to her forehead, his heart hammering loudly against her cheek. He pulled his hand away while she watched, sliding those fingers into his mouth to taste her. It was obscene—it should have disgusted her.

The sight convinced her to pull at the laces of his pants.

“Elain—” he tried, reaching for her wrists but Elain swatted him away.

“Fair is fair,” she replied. She wanted to give him something, too—and curiosity made her want to see him. She’d only read about the male appendage but Elain had been too sheltered to ever truly see one. Even that serving boy she’d once kissed, who’d wanted to show it to her, had become too spooked and changed his mind.

But Lucien was a living, breathing man who’d just made her come with his fingers and Elain thought she deserved to see him in all his glory. Once he realized she wanted to touch him, his protests died in favor of lifting his hips so she could shuck his pants to his knees. His cock sprang free, large and thick and swollen, and perhaps most thrilling of all, coated in fluid right against its slitted tip.

Lucien watched her grip him at the base, the appendage resting against his stomach proudly. Elain had logistical questions—would the whole thing fit in her body? Or would he only manage half? And did that bother him? She’d certainly try—she wanted to try, but maybe first with her hand.

“Elain—” Lucien broke off, choking slightly when she made that first pass up the length of him.

“Like this, right?” she asked, careful to make her eyes big and innocent. Just in case he didn’t like the experience, or would have been put off knowing how she spent her time at night when he wasn’t around.

“Gods,” Lucien panted, head thrown back. “Don’t stop.”

Like she could. Elain was having far too much fun winding him up and more fun still touching him. Elain considered this practice, or at least, an adjustment to what she hoped would come later. Nights spent together, tangled beneath the sheets while they planned their next move—and him, writhing against her, lost to the same heady pleasure. Lucien seemed spell-bound, filling Elain with a sense of power she’d never once felt before.

She gripped him tighter, marveling at how hard he felt—not squishy like she’d always suspected an erection might be, but closer to bone. While Lucien panted, acting as if he’d run for miles, Elain began to experiment with her grip. She stroked him, twisting near the tip of his cock until Lucien moaned. She squeezed and softened her hand, using the whimpering sounds to guide her.

Lucien didn’t warn her when he was close—he merely went tight like she had, gripping the arm of the couch for purchase before jerking hard. White fluid splattered against her hand, proof that he’d liked what she’d done. He watched her with wild, dark eyes, still panting, still moaning.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Realization seemed to dawn on Lucien which made Elain nervous. Was that regret looking back at her?

No, she decided when he cupped her face in his hands and pulled her closer for a soft, sweet kiss. “That wasn’t how this was supposed to go,” he whispered, a smile on his handsome face.

“How was it supposed to go, Lucien?”

“I was going to romance you,” he admitted, slipping from beneath her carefully. With one fluid motion, Lucien had his pants back on and was making his way to the kitchen for a rag. For her hand, she realized—and his cock, which he wiped off quickly before giving the cloth to her.

“You still could,” she said, smoothing out her dress primly. “There’s time.”

“Am I going to lose you to a Prince of Avalon?” he asked her, eyes sparkling. No, though Elain didn’t dare admit that. She couldn’t tell him what she wanted—this life, with him, small as it was. If Elain ended up with another man, it would be out of necessity and duty—to her sisters, her family, her home.

But Lucien would always be the man she wanted. Nothing could convince her otherwise.

“I suppose that depends on how good you are at romancing princesses.”

Lucien only smiled. “You’ll see then.”

Elain hoped he was right.

LUCIEN:

“Do I dare ask what is going on between you and Elain?” Jurian asked by way of greeting when Lucien stepped into his workshop.

Lucien only shrugged, though the memory of the night before—and her hand, wrapped so sweetly around his cock—surfaced before he could shove the memory aside. He was spending all his free time with her, working her up into what inevitably came next while trying to pretend a winter spent wrapped around princess Elain wasn’t going to eventually break his heart.

“She’s a nice girl,” Jurian reminded Lucien, slamming several wrapped packages to the woodblock countertop.

“Are you saying she could do better than me?”

“I’m asking if you’ve told her the truth about you,” Jurian replied, rounding on Lucien so quickly he stumbled back a step. “Does she know what kind of life you’re offering?”

“Mind your own fucking business,” Lucien snapped. Jurian leveled a dark scowl, though he said nothing else. Lucien tossed his coins to the table before storming back out into the cold. The meat was for Elain. He’d intended to go over that morning and waste the day with her, but Jurian had convinced Lucien to go back to the palace first. Just to check.

He’d never told Jurian who he was. The man had just known—and had kept the secret, even when he could have made quite a bit of money by selling him out to his father. It made Lucien wonder if he didn’t know who Elain was, too.

Lucien dropped his things off in the home he’d built high up in the trees. At the time, it had been practical. Anyone coming for him would be easily visible and his position defendable. He kept a quiver of arrows just outside the door and though he’d never had to use them, Lucien’s aim was good.

He wouldn’t miss.

Lucien found himself back in the palace by mid-afternoon. Knowing he’d be late for dinner with Elain, Lucien made his way toward the king to see if he could find any information about Nesta or Feyre he might pass along, if only to ease Elain’s fear. Selfishly, so long as Nesta was alive, Elain didn’t have to marry anyone but him. They'd go looking for her at the first hint of spring.

How Elain had managed to live twenty three years in the dark, gloomy palace was beyond Lucien. The once bustling halls were deserted again, the staff likely laid off now that the prince had been sent home wifeless. Curtains had been hung over every available window, blotting out sunlight in favor of long corridors filled with lurking shadows.

And black guards. Every time Lucien rounded a corner he found a pair of them patrolling. It was a little much, even for Amarantha. Lucien wondered if he couldn’t just vanish without her knowing where he’d gone. Or if she’d—

“...Know where they went!” A clear, masculine voice boomed just ahead. Lucien recognized it as the king. “Where did you send my daughters?”

“You’re unwell,” Amarantha’s voice crooned, her tone syrupy. “Darling, come back to bed—”

“Tell me where they—”

Lucien rounded the corner only to flatten himself fully against the wall, heart pounding in his throat. He was certain he wasn’t supposed to see what was unfolding before him. Amarantha curled a hand around her husband’s wrist, her whole body contorting into some awful, terrifying…creature. Gone was her lovely face, her unmarred skin, her lithe body. In turn, the thing that stood before the king had mottled, bruises over paper white skin, so thin it looked like a light breeze might tear it. Coal black eyes had become ringed in yellow and spidered with red blood vessels practically bulging at the sides. Silvery wisps of air stuck out in odd angles. The queen had become six inches shorter, though far more terrifying. Lucien dared another glance, watching the king slump forward, his eyes hazy once again.

“Go back to bed, darling,” she snarled, holding his gaze. “Everything is fine.”

“Everything…is fine…” the king repeated. Amarantha dropped her hold and Lucien spun again, moving quickly. He didn’t want her to know he’d seen her, didn’t want to be caught with this new, horrible information.

And yet, it was validating. He knew the change in the king couldn’t be grief alone. Magic—it was magic of some kind. Lucien didn’t understand it, but thought he could figure it out. And, he decided, as he stepped back into the cold, that he’d keep it from Elain, at least for now.

She’d panic and do something rash. Something that involved Beron, or one of Lucien’s brothers. For now, Lucien would continue to merely omit everything he knew, at least until he had a plan. And he’d continue to shield Elain, though he knew he couldn’t forever.

He’d thought Amarantha merely wanted Elain’s heart as a trophy. But now… now. Lucien wasn’t so sure. What he did know with certainty was that Amarantha would eventually learn he’d lied and she was in possession of a deer heart.

He’d go back only as necessary, just long enough to avoid arousing her suspicion. She wouldn’t be thinking of him, of that Lucien was sure. Amarantha had likely turned her attention to Elain’s remaining sisters. If Nesta could merely hold out to winter, he was certain he could find her

Tracking had always been a special skill of Lucien’s. Even when he’d been a prince of Avalon, he’d been the best tracker his father had. He could find Nesta Archeron, though after that, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Convince the sisters to get on a boat and sail far, far away? That seemed the best, and most unlikely course of action.

Maybe he’d write Eris. If he asked Jurian to deliver it, his father would know he was just across the border in Ellesmere but not where. And Beron would only know if Eris chose to tell him. Which Lucien thought his elder brother might keep a secret if he thought it might serve him.

How can I come home? How can I convince Beron to raise an army for the woman I’m falling in love with?

Lucien turned that thought over and over in his mind before knocking on Elain’s door. She answered, bouncy and bright. There was no hiding his delight when she flung her arms around his neck, and certainly none when he turned his face for a soft, lingering kiss.

“I missed you, too,” he told her gruffly. Too late, he realized he’d forgotten to bring her the meat he’d had Jurian butcher for him. “What if we went to my place tonight?”

Elain paused. “But…I made dinner.”

“After dinner?” he pressed, reaching for her face. “You could sleep in my bed tonight, if you’d like?”

She bit her bottom lip, her hesitation plain. “I…”

“Another night, then,” he replied smoothly before unbuttoning his cloak. He should have known it would be too early to share the same sleeping space. He wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself and she’d feel uncomfortable. It was what forced him out the door every night when all he really wanted was to follow her up to bed like a lost dog.

“I was going to ask you to stay tonight,” Elain said breathlessly. “I even…I even made a pie.”

“You always make a pie, princess,” Lucien replied affectionately. “What flavor this time?”

“Strawberry and cream.” Elain held it out, revealing a top crust with two little hearts cut into it. Overwhelmed with a surge of emotion, Lucien turned toward the plates she’d stacked on the counter.

“Of course I’ll stay with you,” he told her, not daring to look her in the eye. “You don’t have to bribe me with pie.”

She shrugged delicate shoulders, her cheeks flushed from what he surmised was embarrassment. “Just trying to make it enticing.”

“The enticing part of being with you is you, Elain,” he teased, running his fingers over the back of her neck. Elain shivered, darting out of his way so he could set the table. “If you want me in your bed and are looking for a meal to convince me, consider spreading yourself over the table next time.”

Elain swatted him in the stomach. “Don’t be crass, Lucien.” He merely laughed, sliding into his usual chair across from her, just as he always did. Elain held his gaze, chewing on that bottom lip. There was a question brewing—Lucien folded his hands and lifted his brows, waiting for her to just spit it out.

“Is that…something…you would do?” she finally squeaked, her face the shade of a particularly lovely rose.

Lucien’s cock throbbed at the mere suggestion. He shifted, trying to settle himself down but now all he could think about was Elain naked on the table, her cunt spread wide for him. He wanted that almost as much as he wanted to be buried inside of her. Lucien had dreams of putting her on his face, turned around so she could suck him at the same time.

“Yes,” he told her, hating the way his voice cracked ever so slightly. “I would like to taste you very much.”

Her eyes fell back to her plate. “Maybe you could?”

Lucien cocked his head, watching her the way he imagined a wolf accessed a doe. Only, Elain was no trembling fawn—she was a beast in her own right, with a set of fangs sharp enough to kill. Still, Lucien forced an easy, almost lazy smile to the surface.

“Why don’t you eat your dinner first?”

Elain’s gaze seemed to sharpen as she brought that first forkful of food toward her lips. The gods help him, because when her mouth closed around the utensil, Lucien nearly dragged her across the table anyway. There was no way Elain wasn’t aware of the effect she had on him. She moaned, eyes rolling in the back of her head. Lucien’s knee jerked upward, trying to force him to his feet only to slam into the table and rattle the dishes atop it.

“Everything all right, Lucien?” Elain asked, innocent as ever.

She would be the death of him. But oh. What a way to go. Lucien had all but forgotten what happened in the place, so caught up in those dark brown eyes and her pillowy pink lips.

You’re playing a dangerous game, princess,” he replied, leaning his elbows against the table. “You don’t know the outcome.”

“But you do?” Elain replied.

Lucien couldn’t take the challenge. He stood, intending to walk to her.

“Sit down, Lucien,” Elain said primly, dotting the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “I was merely teasing you. Eat.”

His body screamed in protest, but Lucien did as she asked before he’d ever taken more than a step. He’d just reached for his fork when Elain murmured, “I’ve changed my mind. Come here, Lucien.”

He was back on his feet in an instant, intending to drag her up to bed and keep her there for the next full day—maybe two, if he could get away with it. He’d need to slip out at some point and check his traps, but that wouldn’t take long. An hour, two at the most of he moved quickly and there was no one he needed to drag back to the palace for punishment.

He reached her just as Elain said, “Kneel.”

Lucien paused, holding her gaze. And then slowly, sank to one knee. “My lady?”

“You said I didn’t know the outcome of the game I’m playing,” she replied, turning back to her plate. “But I think it is you, Lucien, who doesn’t know.”

“Are you toying with me?” he demanded, though he didn’t move, either. Let her see that he’d do whatever she asked, so when she did spread herself out for him, she could do it without fear or hesitation.

“No. I’m merely clueing you in to the game we’re playing,” she replied.

Lucien rose to his feet then, intending to finish his meal quickly, if only so he could kiss that sassy mouth of hers. He couldn’t resist walking to her, nor did he stop himself from bracketing her in his arms so she had to look up at him.

“I am well aware you hold all the cards, princess. If you want me to jump, simply tell me how high.”

Elain’s breath caught. Good. At least she knew, and didn’t need to worry so much about who was in control. There was no power struggle between them. Lucien was more than happy to cede it all to her. It was tempting to tell her everything–that she’d held all the cards from the first moment she’d truly looked at him.

That Lucien had walked away from a comfortable, easy life doing the queens bidding in order to have Elain. There was no reason to tell Elain that, though, and heap guilt on her when she was already worrying about so much. Lucien didn’t regret it, besides. He’d do it all again in a heartbeat if he could.

“How is everything at the palace?” Elain asked him once he was back in his seat. “Any news…?”

Lucien chewed in an attempt to hide how guilty he felt. Amarantha’s horrible true face popped into his head, alongside the knowledge that Elain’s father likely had been so absent for so long because of some strange spell. Looking at her, Lucien knew Elain would race home to try and free her father if she knew

And Amarantha would kill her without a second thought. So Lucien lied to her face, promising himself that one day, when they were in a position to help, he would tell her everything.

“Nothing’s changed.”

Elain sighed. “I know I should be grateful, but…”

“Two months of frost, Elain,” Lucien said, well aware his words were self-serving. After all, her father had decided to marry the witch—and regardless of the spell, Elain had suffered. He couldn’t help her, but Lucien could. And he’d promised to find Elain and keep her safe. He considered himself merely fulfilling her father’s plea. “And then we’ll leave.”

Elain gave him the prettiest smile. “I’m just antsy.”

“Soon, princess,” Lucien promised. That was at least true. And when dinner and pie was finished, and it was the two of them sitting on the couch, entangled in the other, Lucien didn’t mind at all when Elain asked if they could just sleep.

So long as she wanted him around, that was enough.

It would always be enough.

#elucien #i am so sleepy today

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jimiamor · 11 months

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tagged by @idolsgf a loong time ago but im a terrible person and forgot </3 thank u mary i love u

do you play any instruments: i used to play piano!! but when i moved i had to sell it and never bought one again :( (eyy twinning)

favorite book characters: idk if this counts but circe (madelline millers version) holds my heart.

what's your star sign: taurus sun, aries moon, libra rising, pisces venus!!! someone help me (taurus moon i respect u)

favorite color schemes: i am an earth sign so i love earthy tones! think olive green, blushy pink, brown, etc hehe (ps i wrote this before seeing ur response are we twins)

naps or long sleep: LONG SLEEP! i feel tired even if i nap. long sleep is perfect

what languages do you speak: fluent in spanish and english but currently trying to learn korean!

dreams/aspirations: ive been staring at the ceiling for five minutes for this one JFJDJD BUT! to have a schedule where i sleep enough, have a job that doesn't give me anxiety, see ot7 live, become more disciplined with my hobbies! i guess these are goals rather than dreams in reality i also want a cottage in the woods where i can read and bake bread >:'| maybe have a bakery that is also a bookstore one day..

long or short hair: long hair is so pretty but i get sick of it so short hair!! especially fluffy layered hair!! so pretty..

tea or coffee: tea!!!! i love lattes so much but i have black tea (almost) everyday <3

bring a book character to life or go into a fictional world: i would never submit a character to the pressures of our society (again i literally did not read ur response this is so funny) id rather go to a fictional world!! idk which tho bc the books i have are kinda tragic.. maybe circe and her lil island..

tagging: @senor-hoberto @bulletsfrank and @interludesdawn pls pls pls dont feel forced ;w;

#tag game #roxy callate #mary i lov u so much thank u for tagging me

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eyetheguard · 1 year

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“I thought you said you were getting better.”

Even without malice, his words twisted painfully in his throat as Hermes agonized over the idea that if he could not save himself, at least Tatjenen was salvageable.

He had to get better, so that Hermes wouldn't have to meet his lover's deadened stare of eyes so black that neither the moon nor the distant sunlight could penetrate them. Better, so that when Tatjenen’s shoulders were at his ears as he struggled to sit up in bed to distance himself from the horrors his mind's eye wrought just before they bled into reality, his claim of being cursed by the same gifts their kind were entrusted with would not saddle itself upon the the shorter man’s shoulders as a lonely echo to be dealt with later in solitude.

That was the more recent form of the aberration—a tame sibling to Tatjenen’s nearly lifeless body hanging off the side of the bed, his white linen sheets soaked with what smelled like ink (and what Hermes feared was actually blood). Had his eyes not been open and hastily searching as he would a tome for answers, Hermes would have had even less to offer outside of a strangled sound in sheer panic and a broken glass he had knocked off a low table when his legs nearly failed him.

He shuddered to think of how gods-knows-what pulled itself from the walls, the floor, and even the air between them, raising the temperature of the room to that of a furnace rather than the shaded stone cottage it was a part of. Hermes had later come to know them as manifestations of Tatjenen's nightmares, grotesque and harrowing in such a way that, despite being unable to make any sense of it visually, had he stared too long into the depths of their form, he’d find something that pulled nothing short of loathing out of his soul.

The memory caused him to pull at the collar of his robe in discomfort. Hermes easily recalled how it felt as if the clear night sky mocked them in its peacefulness - for it was still out there, surrounded by infinite stars that were no longer alight within the wandering ancient's irises.

What was worse, he reckoned, was that if it pulled him away from envy, he could stand to face the horrors. If bloodletting into the warm dirt of Tatjenen’s garden would free him of the idea that the manifestations were preferable to being trapped within his own mind, Hermes would not think twice about doing it. He could only hope that the white-haired ancient was unaware of the spike in adrenaline every time he raised his staff for an imminent strike, for it’s necessity did not lie in a desire to protect him but to banish the darkness welling up inside, polluting and corrupting what should have been the purest feelings known to his heart at that time. Tatjenen’s keen sense of smell more than likely stopped short at burning wood and thick smoke in the heat of peril, masking that of the sweat upon his bare back.

His envy instead went undeterred by his shame nearly every night they spent together. Once the light had returned to his eyes as a sign of consciousness in their realm, the speed at which gilded daggers burst forth from Tatjenen’s fingertips would have inspired further awe in the raven-haired ancient had he not struggled to keep his balance before collapsing again not a moment later. Upon being struck, the figures decayed into thick clouds of smoke and ash, haunting the walls with soot tags in their wake.

Tatjenen hadn’t explained - or rather, couldn’t - what Hermes now understood as aether exhaustion coupled with severe vertigo, leaving him relatively helpless in the other ancient’s arms until the sun rose and the rare peaceful sliver of rest overtook him instead. Other times, he did not sleep, and instead spent his morning righting furniture and sweeping up debris with shaky hands in silence before starting the lengthy process of getting ready for work.

"Better in that I have shifted from falling asleep during every convocation meeting to only once every two weeks?" Tatjenen laughed, and his sheepish smile sullied Hermes' thoughts further. He wasn't used to the fact that the hells that often plagued Tatjenen's sleep never bled through his carefree demeanor and strikingly clear aether in the presence of their convocation peers, and it was a feat he feared he'd never be able to accomplish.

Better, Hermes found himself frowning so that the other man could laugh without restraint; so that he could say words meant only for his ears that in any other circumstance would make him averse to whatever Tatjenen proposed had it not been in the privacy of an alcove off an empty, echoing hallway. He did so anyway, remaining relaxed while making it that much easier for the dark-haired man to fix his mouth to beg for him to be impulsive and wanting, even when he couldn’t.

Better, but only because he was selfish.

#// tatjenen #// hermes #// /npc #this was sitting in my google docs undisturbed #apparently finished???#since SEPTEMBER???????????????#anyway i present one thing no edits probably some weird grammar due to that oh well!!#but this is a very mild description of what is going on with tatjenen lol #sigh i need to write more my writing is clunky

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russellsportfolio · 2 years

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Entry #2767.92

I'm trying to be better. Like, I'm really trying to be nicer to myself, and be more positive in general, and stop letting my depression and anger control me so heavily. I'm five months clean, I'm trying to be kinder to everyone, I'm wearing brighter clothing on purpose to help me fall into this brighter self. A lot of it's working. Some of it isn't. Some of it is putting old pain into new places and pretending it's okay. It's a work in progress.

But something happened today. It wasn't anything special. I was just driving home. I felt a little warm breeze, looked the sky, and felt alive.

I have problems with reality. I dissociate a lot. Feeling present and alive doesn't happen often. It felt nice to have my eyes so open without the fog or tunnel vision. To see properly.

I have a favorite mug. This is important to the story I swear. It's really kind of boring. A clear mug with my hometown on it and the outlines of skyscrapers. I bought it with some hot chocolate on a spoon. One day, when I was feeling REALLY distant, I decided to make the hot chocolate. It didn't taste all that good. It was too fatty and had a burnt aftertaste. But it made me feel slightly more present, so that mug became my favorite.

I love shitty things. My favorite aesthetic is cottagecore, but right behind that is shit. Right behind my dream cottage in the woods with the door always open is a shitty, dirty one-room apartment with a decent view and a good window that's cold when I rest my head on it. Right behind my poofy skirts and flower patterns is tattered patchwork pants and comfy jackets and embarrassing band t-shirts. I love shitty things. It's the shitty things that tend to have more symbolism, more of a connection.

And I really felt in that moment that Life was one of those shitty things. Life is shit. When you get a break from the chaos, you get bored. When something in your body hurts really badly, you ignore it and 9/10 times it goes away. When it feels like you've been holding in everything for so long, something happens and you have to wait yet another year until you can let it out. Life is shit.

But that's what makes it so special.

I saw the sky and knew that it would be blue for as long as I breathed it. I saw the grass and knew it would be green for as long as my feet touched the earth. I saw the dead racoon on the street looking more like it was cosplaying the road rather than lying on it and knew that everything was okay. I drove home in backed-up traffic listening to generic pop music with my screwed up head and screwed up body just existing, and I felt good.

I've decided that even though I don't like Life in the slightest, I love living in it. Even if Life is shit, I wouldn't trade it for anything. If someone tried to trade me the cutest tulip mug with frogs on it for my shitty hometown mug, I'd keep my mug. That tulip cup would never make hot chocolate like mine. Even if I fall back into the hell that was the last couple of years, I'd keep my shitty life, because nothing else could make hot chocolate like mine does.

So that's what five months of self-work, cold turkey, and general recovery has done for me. I want to live again, even if it's just because I don't want to go anywhere else. And I'm feeling good as a result.

#bad writing by Blumi Crec #diary #written April 2021

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tobesolonely · 3 years

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house hunting

A/n: hello!! I’ve been having a mad case of writers block, so @goldenbluesuit‘s list of prompts was posted just in time! Thank you and i hope you all enjoy!! thank u @harryysstyless and @nationalharryleague for looking this over also :) Love u guyssss!

summary: newly engaged y/n and harry realize they have very different tastes in homes when they begin house hunting!!!

warnings: smut

word count: ~3.3k

my ko-fi! thank you :)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

With all the joys that came with being engaged, there was a good deal of logistics that you hadn’t even thought of when you excitedly told Harry, “Duh, of course, I’ll marry you!” just four short months ago. Should you wed in the fall or wait until the spring? Outdoors or indoors? These were things that you and Harry went back and forth about most nights, cuddled in bed next to each other before drifting off to sleep.

Something you were most excited about, though, was finally owning a home with Harry. You practically lived together as it was, seeing that you were at his place most nights. Still, his home wasn’t yours—you were reminded every time you had to grab something forgotten from your apartment. Or when he was away for work and you couldn’t bear to be in his large, empty house by yourself.

So while you already knew each other’s grossest habits, (Harry loved asking you to pop his back pimples) you didn’t yet own a home together. Sadly, house hunting was turning out to be a less-than-joyous task when you and Harry were looking for completely different things.

“I jus’ think we’re cottage-style people… that’s all,'' your fiancé’s hand rests on your thigh while you wait in his car for the real estate agent to arrive. “This one’s nice, yeah, but is it who we are?”

You refrain from rolling your eyes at him. “You’re only saying that because they remind you of home.”

“So? They’re lovely,” he sounds a little defensive, but not mad. Your response to Harry is interrupted as the real estate agent pulls into the driveway.

“Be nice,” you remind him as you open your door to let yourself out. “I understand the Craftsman isn’t your first choice, but she worked hard to find this place for us. At least go into it with an open mind.”

Your fiancé mutters something under his breath, but you know he’ll behave himself––he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Harry’s demeanor immediately changes once the real estate agent is within earshot, turning on his signature English charm. “Thank you for meeting my fiancée and me today. We’re both very excited to check out this lovely home.”

Since you’re privy to the reality of the situation, you can tell he’s laying it on a bit thick, but your agent is loving it. “You’ll both fall in love, I know it,” she begins her ascent up the long driveway and you and Harry follow behind hand-in-hand. “Six bedrooms, eleven bathrooms, and nearly twenty thousand square feet. You can’t beat it.”

Harry seems unphased by the enormous size of the house, but your breath hitches in your throat. Did the two of you actually need this much room? The house appeared to be even bigger than the one Harry owned now––you knew you would hate staying here when he was away for work except this time, you wouldn’t have a quaint apartment and a roommate to go back to when you were feeling lonely.

“H, ‘s kinda big…” you’re trying to speak quietly enough so the real estate agent doesn’t hear you. “I don’t know if I like it.”

“What’s tha’? We haven’t even gotten inside, love,” Harry stops walking to give you his full attention. “You don’t like it?”

“Just the driveway by itself is enormous,” you feel your cheeks growing warm. “I would be too scared to stay here by myself.”

Harry hums in agreement. “Can we have just a moment, please?” He sweetly turns to face the real estate agent who insists you take your time, walking farther up the driveway to give the two of you privacy.

“We’ve not seen the inside, doll. Gotta at least do that,” Harry’s hands run along your bare arms. “‘Member what you jus’ told me? Let’s go into it with an open mind. Don’t have to place an offer on it or anything.”

“Okay…” you’re reluctant and Harry can tell, but neither one of you want to be rude to the real estate agent. “You’re right. I guess it doesn’t hurt to just check it out.”

Harry gives you a dimpled grin. “Y’never know. Might fall in love with it, puppy,” Harry leans in so close that you can feel his breath on your nose. “Besides, think of all the rooms we’d get to have a shag in if we moved in here.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“I hate it.”

“What’s there to hate? Look at how cozy it is.”

“Don’t like the color.”

“It’s nothing to slap a fresh coat of paint on the outside.”

You open your mouth and then close it in defeat. He wasn’t wrong. You let Harry lead you around the perimeter of the house while you wait for your real estate agent to arrive to let you in—Harry’s animatedly talking about all the renovations that can be done to upgrade the house (even stating he could do some of them himself) and deep down you know this is the house you will end up living in.

“So sorry I’m late,” the agent’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. “There was an accident on the 405–made traffic a nightmare.”

“No worries at all,” Harry says cheerily. “We’re just excited to get inside and take a look at this place. It’s gorgeous.”

The lady doesn’t even try to hide her surprise. “Really? I agree that it’s a beautiful home, but I thought it would be your last choice given it’s on the smaller side.”

“How many bedrooms?” You change the subject, gazing at the house in front of you. You thought it was rather large, but to each their own.

“Five bedrooms, four and a half bathrooms.”

You glance over at your fiancé, who appeared to be deep in thought—he was most likely calculating if five bedrooms would be enough to host friends and family who came to visit.

“That’s perfect,” he says after a moment, squeezing your hand in excitement. “We’d love to get inside.”

The real estate agent mutters a quiet, “please, follow me” to which you and Harry oblige. She leads you up a gorgeous cobblestone pathway that ends at weathered brick stairs. Harry lightly placed his hands on your waist as you ascended the three steps, knowing you tended to be on the clumsy side.

“Porch is nice, innit?” Harry says to you, lowering his gaze so he’s looking square in your eyes. “I can see us ‘avin a cup of coffee in the mornin’ while lookin’ out at the street.”

Your husband-to-be was trying to sell you on the home more than your real estate agent was––you weren’t mad at it. You simply hum in agreement, not wanting to fully give into Harry just yet.

The real estate agent unlocks the door and ushers the both of you ahead of her, wiping her feet on the mat before entering the home. It was beautiful. The floor plan was open, the living room flowing easily into the kitchen which led into the dining room. Large windows let in plenty of natural sunlight, which you know Harry appreciated.

You listen attentively as the real estate agent gives her typical spiel, informing you about the history of the house (and how all the wood fixtures were original). Harry is long gone, tucked away in some other part of the house, most likely examining the crown molding or something of the sort.

“...because the floor plan is so open, it’s the perfect space for entertaining.”

“So true,” you respond politely, looking around the space. “I was just thinking that. I’m sure Harry would agree... wherever he ran off to.”

“He’s a fan of this one, I take it?” She’s walking again, leading you to the back of the house.

“Oh, definitely. He’s been telling me we’re “cottage people” to warm me up to the idea of moving in here.”

“Is it working?”

You let out a quiet giggle. “Surprisingly, yes.”

“Babe, come look at this bedroom. S’gonna be ours!” Harry calls out to you from deeper in the house and you furrow your brows as you try to determine what room he ducked into.

“Where are you, love?”

“‘M in here!”

You roll your eyes at how Harry did nothing to clarify his exact location for you, but you quickly figure it out, anyway. While the house was large, it was nowhere as big as some places you’ve already looked at which you appreciated.

Once reunited with Harry, he immediately reaches for your hand and pulls you into him. The bedroom you’re now standing in has floor-to-ceiling windows, an adjoining bathroom, and even a fireplace. It was stunning.

“This room is nice,” you say quietly, leaning into his touch. Harry nods.

“S’our room. Can’t you just picture us sleepin’ in here? Relaxin’?” He leans in close to your ear. “Fuckin’?”

A shiver immediately runs through your body at your fiancé’s vulgarity, but you try your best to play off your reaction as you turn to face the real estate agent. “Let’s see the rest of the place, yeah?”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

No one warned you about how much work went into actually closing on a home.

It was a long process. You were glad you had Harry, who had financial advisors, to help you close on the deal. You and Harry ended up going with the cottage home, of course, which ultimately was the best choice for what the two of you needed at the moment.

Waiting to move in seemed like it took a lifetime, even though it was only a couple weeks. Your apartment was a mess of boxes and packing tape, and you were glad you had your roommate to help you gather the things you still had left there (since you had basically already moved in with Harry as it was).

When the day finally came to move all your boxes into your new home, you were more than ready to get it over with. You weren’t sure how Harry could remain in such high spirits engaging in such an arduous task (you were honestly feeling quite crabby), so you let Harry deal with the movers lest you accidentally lose your cool and snap at someone. He kept offering to help them move things, feeling guilty for just standing around while they heaved your extensive amount of belongings around, but they kept insisting they were fine. Your fiancé opted to contribute by going to the kitchen and making them lemonade and little sandwiches, instead.

“We have a lot of stuff, don’t we?” Harry glances up at you as you walk into the kitchen, a mischievous look on his face.

“What’s this we? Pretty sure they’re struggling to carry your things around, not mine,” you snake your arms around Harry’s waist. “Maybe we can have a garage sale? Get to know some neighbors too, hmm?”

“Weird to sell Gucci at a garage sale, innit?” Harry cuts a sandwich into four perfect triangles and sets them beside him on a platter he must’ve dug out of some box. You shrug.

“I’m sure you’re not the only person in this neighborhood who can afford Gucci.”

Harry hums in response, continuing to slather spread onto the sandwiches he was making. “Can you go offer these to the movers? Ask ‘em if they want lemonade or water, too.” He tilts his head toward the tray on the other side of the counter and you reach around him to grab it.

“Look at you makin’ everyone snacks and whatnot. So domestic,” you tease, grabbing Harry’s cheek and pinching firmly. “It’s getting me all hot.”

“Yeah?” He questions, going along with your playful pestering. “Y’like it?”

“Fuckin’ love it,” you coo, giving him bedroom eyes. Harry throws his head back, letting out a loud guffaw. You exit the kitchen and go from person to person, kindly offering them sandwiches which they are more than happy to accept.

The movers finish a couple of hours later, your beautiful home still just as beautiful, but now a myriad of boxes and trash bags. The two of you had absolutely no furniture yet, seeing as Harry wanted to buy everything new instead of bringing the furniture from his old home for reasons you were still unsure of.

Harry settled on making the two of you sandwiches for supper, seeing as that was the only food you had in the entire house, and neither one of you felt like running to the store to buy anything else. He pours two tall glasses of lemonade before carefully walking to where you sat cross-legged on the floor of the living room.

“Our new home...,” Harry trails off, looking around the cluttered space. “The first thing that’s ours.”

“I could cry,” you reply, voice slightly shaky. “Like, it’s just so surreal. We can really decorate however we want and celebrate holidays–”

“Gonna fight wif’ each other ‘n love on each other,” he adds. “Grow old with each other... so happy you’re all mine and ‘m all yours.”

Your heart swells at Harry’s words. He can always tell when you’re growing emotional––he knows you better than anyone else, after all––and he quickly moves closer to you, pulling you into his side. Neither one of you says anything, there’s nothing that needs to be said. You opt to bask in each other’s company and the comfortable silence that fills the dim living room. Out of the corner of your eye you notice Harry scoot the food and drinks out of the way before he pulls you fully into his lap.

“I can’t wait for all of it,” you wrap your arms around his neck, sucking lightly on the area where the skin of his jaw trails into his neck. “Can’t wait to have it all with you.”

“Know what ‘m lookin’ forward to the most?” You hum. “Lookin’ forward to the baby makin’.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at Harry’s admission. Sure, you’ve discussed children before––you were getting married! Still, he catches you off-guard.

“Yeah?”

“Mmm,” his hand slowly makes its way underneath your shirt, loving how he already had you squirming under him.

“I’ve got it,” you mumble quietly, moving away from him. You expertly unclasp your bra and fling it out of the way, letting it join the rest of the mess that litters the floor of your home.

“This is really the first place we’re gonna shag in, then?” Harry asks breathlessly, sucking roughly against your collarbone.

You shrug your shoulders before moving to tangle your hands in Harry’s hair. “The entire house is a mess, this is as good a spot as any.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he mutters, trailing his hands down your body until he gets to your bottom. He easily shimmies your tight leggings down your legs, having done this many, many times before. “Gonna help me christen every room in this house, angel?”

“Yeah,” you’re quick to respond. You wish there was more kissing and less talking going on, but your arrogant fiancé loved two things: teasing you, and the sound of his own voice. “Can I have a kiss?”

“Where do ya want that kiss?”

“Get your mind outta the gutter,” you plead, tilting your head to the side so Harry can access your neck easier. “My lips.”

You know what Harry’s going to say before he says it. “Which ones?”

“H, come on,” you whine, tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck. “Gimmie one.”

Harry finally gives into your requests and presses his lips delicately against yours, humming in pleasure as he feels you sink deeper into the kiss. “I’m messin’ with ya, Y/N. I could never pass on givin’ ya a kiss.”

“I’m glad,” you answer triumphantly, shamelessly stealing another kiss from him.

“Gonna go all the way with me on our living room floor? Dirty girl, you are,” Harry says quietly, gently removing you from his lap. He helps you lay back on the floor, but not before bunching up your leggings for you to use as a pillow.

“All good?”

“Mmm,” you reach up for him, wanting to feel his lips against yours once again. He doesn’t give in so easily—not this time. Harry allows you to take his plump upper lip into your mouth before pulling away just out of your reach. You let out a pitiful whimper which causes Harry to puff out his chest, his ego getting the best of him.

“Gonna make ya feel so good,” he says quietly, rubbing his palm against your core. Your underwear was still on and you knew he was approximately four seconds away from ripping them off.

“I know,” you answer quickly. “I know, H.”

“You sound impatient.”

“I just wanna get on with it.”

Harry sits back on his heels. “What’s tha’ rush? Jus’ us, yeah? Jus’ me?”

“I need it,” you say under your breath. You were usually quite vocal in bed with Harry, but something about the way his gaze fixed on you had butterflies fluttering all-around your stomach.

“What do you need?” Harry taps your bum while he’s saying this, signaling for you to lift yourself slightly off the ground so he can get them around your ankles.

“I need you in me,” you whisper. You knew he knew exactly where you needed him, but you’d stroke his ego a bit if it meant he’d fuck you just how you wanted him to. “Hard. F-fast.”

“I can manage that,” he cheekily replies, giving his hard cock three tugs before pressing himself to your entrance. “Don’t want me to eat ya out or summat?”

“No,” you answer entirely too quickly. “Please just fuck me, H-”

He understands just how needy and desperate you are now and wastes no more time, swiftly entering your tight cunt like he was made just for you. Your body always molded together so perfectly––no one knew you better than he did. When you were really pressed for time, he could get you off in less than five minutes. Although his pace is relentless tonight though, there is no rush.

You felt full in such a way that only Harry could make happen. You let out a loud moan as he moves your leg ever so slightly to angle you in such a way that he knew would hit your spongy walls deep inside of you.

“Y’like it? Like me fuckin’ into ya like this?”

“Love it,” you moan breathlessly, reaching to cradle your tits. Harry raises his eyebrows, pace faltering slightly.

“What are you bein’ so quiet for? S’no one here except us,” he reaches in between your sweaty bodies to flick your clit. “Can feel you clenchin’ ‘round me–are you gonna come, puppy? Come around my cock?”

His teasing is all it takes for you to cum around him, clenching down so tightly that it takes a surprising deal of strength for him to keep moving. Harry follows shortly behind you, letting out an animalistic groan that sounds downright filthy. In that moment, you were glad that there was no one else in the house because if there was, they definitely would’ve heard you and Harry coming down from your respective highs together. He speaks after a moment, chest still heaving.

“One room down, the rest of the house to go.”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

as always, please let me know what you thought here!

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic

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deepdarkdelights · 3 years

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Run Little Red (Namjoon x Reader)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Werewolf Namjoon, Stalking, Obsession, Forced Relationships, Blood (Lots of it), Gore, Fear, Panic/Anxiety, Discussions of discovering dead bodies, People going missing, Devious Intentions, Depictions of Guns, Mourning, Wolf Courtship Rituals

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.

<<Forbidden Fables Masterlist>>

Preview: A calm life in a small village was all you ever knew, your days spent in the bakery and keeping to yourself. You liked the quiet and gentle nature of your life, but one day a wolf stands outside of your window, a stranger arrives, and people begin to go missing. Do you dare don your red coat and enter the forest?

A/N: Hello babes! My fellow authors and myself decided to change up the order of our release dates for our Forbidden Fables Collab! And, since I recently finished this little beauty, I get to release it first. yay! Now I can sit back and savor the delectable writings of my fellow authors 💜 I hope you enjoy Run Little Red it was fun to make! I can’t wait to read the comments and asks 💜

There was a wolf outside your window.

It’s eyes gleaming in the early morning light like molten gold with silver fur that melted into the snow.

You sat up in bed, wrapping your patchwork quilt around your shoulders as you scooted to the foot of the bed. It was staring at you, that much you were sure of. And that startled you, the almost human like appearance to its gaze was intense and unsettling. It was an animal, but it appeared to be far more intelligent than you had first anticipated.

Maybe it was hungry, perhaps that was why it was so intent on peering through your window.

No, it certainly wasn’t, that was evident. What you had missed before was glaringly obvious now, its silver muzzle was stained in red. It had made a fresh kill before it had wandered over to your cottage mere feet from the woods.

So, if it wasn’t hungry, why was it here?

You watched in morbid fascination as its tongue slipped out of its mouth and laved over the fresh, thick, crimson blood that decorated its muzzle. You could see the rows of sharp canines hidden within its maw for mere seconds before the wolf clenched its jaw shut and settled on its hindlegs in the drift of snow.

“My, what big teeth you have.” You whispered to yourself, your voice seemingly louder in the empty room.

You couldn’t help but wonder what it had made it’s meal. Perhaps a deer, or a squirrel, maybe a bird, or even a small, innocent, little rabbit.

That would have been ideal. But, you knew it was most likely one of the poor farmer’s livestock. Your village was small and self sufficient, rarely reaching out to its neighboring villages and rarely receiving visitors of its own. So, when the cattle and the goats began to disappear, only their entrails remaining, the town quickly became suspicious.

It was either one of two things, rebellious teenagers making a hassle for everyone, or a wolf amongst you.

If only you had known what was to come.

You stared back warily out the window at the creature, suddenly realizing just how easily it could bust through your flimsy window if it wanted to. This wolf was probably the largest you had ever seen, it was almost the size of a pony, with long limbs that held thick muscle from the time it spent chasing down its prey. You were certain a simple snap of its jaws would kill you in an instant if it desired to do so.

It’s gaze had not left you, petrifying you to your very spot. You felt like the two of you were playing a game, waiting to see who would be the one to make the first move.

The call of your mother’s voice was the tie breaker.

You rose to your feet, your bare skin brushing over the cool wood of the floor as you retreated through your door, back first.

“Yes?” You replied, angling your neck to the hallway for a moment.

“Hurry, sweetheart! You’re going to be late!” She called back from the kitchen.

The bakery had been in your family for the past three generations now, starting with your grandfather, then your mother, and now you. Your mother was showing signs of her age now, her hands were unsteady and unreliable creating more of a mess than a sellable meal. So, it was your turn now. It was the only thing you could do for her, besides be married off and you weren’t quite ready for that. No one was.

At least that was the gentle way of putting it, in reality you had made yourself quite the social pariah. You were a determined woman, one who liked to keep to herself, one who liked owning the bakery and not having to sign over the ownership to a husband. You had your mother to care for, a business to run, and a grandmother that lived deep in the woods to fret over.

It didn’t really matter what you wanted, you did what was necessary to stay afloat.

“Just a minute!” You called once more before slinking back into your room.

There was a noticeable difference about the space now, the wolf was gone. The only sign he had ever been there being the large dip in the snow that his form had disrupted and a track of paw prints headed into the forest. How strange.

You shook your head in an attempt to clear your thoughts, you didn’t want to think about what you would have to do if the creature returned. The shotgun looming over you from above the front door said enough.

You couldn’t allow a predator to get comfy around your home, that would only invite trouble into your life.

You dressed yourself quickly that morning in as many layers as you could. The walk to the bakery wasn’t a far one, but it was a frigid one. You made sure to wear your wool stockings and your leather boots, the snow looked to be thick and you didn’t fancy the idea of wet feet all day while you worked.

You leaned over the side of your bed, scooping up your bag and throwing the keys inside of it in one motion. The extra sleep you had gotten the night before had cost you the time you needed in the morning to ready yourself.

Once you gave yourself a quick look over and ran through your mental checklist, you rushed out of your room and into the main room of the house. Your house was more like a cottage, it was incredibly small. With only your mother’s room, your room, and the kitchen in one corner with the fireplace in the other it made for a quaint and cozy home. Albeit a cramped one.

“Your breakfast is on the table.” Your mother said, smoothing a stray hair behind her ear with trembling hands.

You could see her cleaning up the mess she had made that morning in an attempt to show you kindness. Normally, you were the one to wake early and prepare the both of you for the day ahead. But she had also told you many times before that she was your mother and she was supposed to take care of you as well.

You eyed the bowl of steaming porridge that sat upon the rickety table. “I don’t think I’ll have the time to eat it.”

“Then you’ll make the time.” She huffed, wiping a wet rag over the counter in two swipes.

“I shouldn’t have overslept.” You sighed, resting your bag on the floor as you took a seat.

“You needed the rest, dear. You’re up every morning at the crack of dawn and you don’t come home until nightfall. You don’t need to work that much.” She chided you, smoothing her hands over your hair in a fond manner.

“I do, for you and for Grandmother.” You reminded her. The cost of living was not cheap.

“And what about you? You should be spending time with people your age, not working yourself to the bone.”

“I don’t need anyone but you, and Grandmother.” You smiled before sipping at your spoon quickly, hissing as you burned the tip of your tongue in your haste.

“Youth is wasted on the young.” She chided under her breath, spurring a giggle from your throat.

You finished your food as quickly as you could before excusing yourself from the table and heading for the door.

“Your cloak, dear!” Your mother called as you pulled the door open, the chill of the snow seeping into your bones.

“Yes, mother!” You chirped with an amused roll of your eyes as you curled your fingers around the crimson fabric of the cloak. Your grandmother had made it herself two winters ago, as much as you loved it and her you had to admit it was a tad ostentatious and you weren’t exactly one for attention. But it was warm and it served its purpose well.

The door creaked shut behind you, squeaking softly as it settled back into the frame. The snow had fallen much higher than you had previously anticipated. You tightened the ties of your cloak and delicately flipped the large hood over your head before gripping your layers of skirts and hiking them up as you began your journey.

It was rather slippery that day, you couldn’t restrain the slight squeals that fell from your parted lips each time the heel of your boot found a patch of ice and sent you sliding. You were certain you should have caught the attention of a few passerbys, but to your surprise a large group of them had become preoccupied.

There were about fourteen of them, all in one great circle fervently discussing something. They seemed to be worried, panicked even. It had caught your attention now that the group was made up mostly of men excluding the butcher’s wife and daughter. Both’s cheeks were stained red, their eyes brimming with unshed tears as they held onto each other tight in the crisp air.

Your face tensed in confusion as you approached the bakery, the group not too far away from you.

“Oh, poor Sarah.” A tender voice cooed worriedly from next door. It was the tailor, she and her apprentice were stood outside, thick shawls wrapped around the both of them.

You occupied yourself by rifling through your leather satchel, pretending to look for the shop keys you held in that very hand. You knew that eavesdropping wasn’t very polite, but you also were the curious sort, and that curiosity demanded to be satiated.

“Don’t worry, miss. I’m sure they’ll find him soon, you know how the young ones are.” The apprentice said, her hand resting on the tailor’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

“It’s not like William though, he’s a sweet boy. It doesn’t make any sense for him to go up and missing at the crack of dawn.” She replied, her dark eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I just find it funny is all, that a stranger shows up here the same day that Sarah’s boy disappears.”

“Coincidence isn’t evidence.” The apprentice hummed, pulling her shawl tighter around herself as she began to back up against the shop door, aggravated by the chilly air. “I’m sure he’ll turn up, with a search party that size he’ll be back home in no time.”

With that, you finally retrieved your “missing” keys and unlocked the door, sliding into the safety of the bakery. You knew William as well, he really was a sweet kid...to most. Your heart did go out to Sarah though, you didn’t know the pain of a missing child but you could empathize. The sight of her broken face remained burned into your mind as you readied the shop, lighting the hearth and preparing your materials to start your first batch of bread for the day. Your late start was going to nip you in the behind, most of the women arrived by noon to get their first pick of goods and the two hours it would take to make your batches was going to loom over your head the entire time.

You were mid kneading your dough when the familiar tinkle of the bell above the shop door demanded your attention. You paused for a moment, your aching arms thanking you for the short reprieve. Almost immediately your breath was caught in your throat. You had been expecting one of the regular mothers wandering their way in, or perhaps even one of their children running errands. Not this man that stood before you.

This was most obviously the stranger the tailor had been referring to moments earlier, there was no mistake. Your village was small, everyone knew everyone and this stranger looked nothing like any of the people in your town.

He was so much taller than anybody else, broader too. But most astonishing was his pure silver hair and the deep honey shade of his eyes. You had never seen anyone as young as him with hair that light, it surely wasn’t grey, the shade far too bright to be mistaken with something that dull. He was damn near ethereal and unfairly attractive. His looks had almost distracted you from his attire but now that you were paying attention, he was severely underdressed for the weather. He had to be freezing cold.

“Hello, can I help you?” You asked softly, patting your hands against your apron to remove the excess flour from your skin.

He had a rather confident stance, like he was the owner of the shop instead of you, you who was slightly cowering and thrumming with anxiety.

He sent you a wide grin, his teeth were pearly white and for some unknown reason that sent your heart crashing into your stomach. You could have sworn they even looked slightly pointy at the ends, not unlike those of the creature you had seen outside your window that morning. You had almost been distracted by the sweet dimples that rested in his cheeks. What duality he had.

He tilted his head back slightly, peering down at you from above, “Hm, I’m looking for something sweet.” He hummed.

“Sweet?” You mumbled to yourself, resting your hand on your hip in thought.

“Oh! I made some sweet rolls yesterday, how about that?” You said with a snap of your fingers, retreating further into the shop without a response from him.

Now in work mode you busied yourself with preparing the stranger’s order. You couldn’t help but wonder why he had arrived, what his reason for being there was. Barely anybody passed through your village, and they certainly didn’t stay as long as he had.

Once you had retrieved the tray of rolls you set them on the counter before grabbing a pot of freshly warmed icing and gently drizzling it over top. Once each roll had been thoroughly coated, you set the pot aside and headed to the cupboard to retrieve a bag for them.

“Perfect.” You sighed in irritation, craning your neck back to see the top of the shelf.

Normally, you had endless amounts of bags and never needed the ones stored on the top shelf. But this winter had been far more difficult than past ones and your stock had not been refilled in quite a while.

Desperately not wanting to search for your wooden stool, you stubbornly resorted to balancing on the tips of your toes, your fingers just barely brushing against the material of the bags. You groaned in frustration, bouncing up slightly only to knock the bags back further on the shelf and worsen the ache in your shoulder.

Just as you were about to give up and resort to looking for your rickety stool, you felt a hand settle on your waist and a chest press against your back as the stranger reached up and grabbed the bags for you. He was incredibly warm, so warm you thought he may even be sick. He felt as warm as the heat emanating from a fire of fresh coals and that was incredibly alarming, but also explained his state of dress.

You flinched in surprise as you felt him set the bags aside and settle his other hand on your shoulder. It was deathly quiet, the only sounds being his slow, steady breaths underlying your panicked ones accompanied by the calm rise and fall of his chest against your back. You had never been this close to anyone before, it was incredibly uncomfortable.

You felt much like a rabbit, cornered, panicking, and believing that if you stayed still enough he wouldn’t see you and would go away.

He gently rested his forehead against your hair, nuzzling from side to side before reaching up and playing with a stray strand. You could feel him taking a deeper breath this time, humming softly like he was pleased.

“Sweet.” He mumbled to himself.

Oh. Oh, no. Who did this man think he was? You were not on the menu. You shuddered in fear before jerking away, smacking his hands off of you.

You turned on your heel, backing away from him as you fixed him with an annoyed glare. The look he gave you was one of clear confusion, a layer of hurt and frustration buried beneath.

“I’m not sure how things work where you come from, but normally you ask for permission before you go touching someone you don’t know.” You huffed, slamming the empty bag on the counter as you began to package the rolls.

It didn’t matter if he was attractive or not, you were not going to let him touch you as he pleased or get the wrong message that you weren’t even conveying in the first place.

The stranger rounded the counter, the block of wood effectively separating the two of you, making you feel a little safer. His eyes looked darker than before, less like honey and more like amber.

His confident demeanor had returned, effectively confusing you even more.

“Forgive me,” He said, another smile gracing his lips as he rested his forearms on the countertop, “It seems we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot? My name is Namjoon, and yours?”

So, he did have the capability to be somewhat of a gentleman. He was rather well spoken, and his strange mannerisms and quiet demeanor had all but disappeared in a flash.

So, begrudgingly, you replied with your name.

He repeated it after you, his tongue swiping over the full flesh of his lower lip like he was tasting it, sending a chill down your spine.

“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, you were correct in assuming where I come from we do greetings a little differently.” He said with a soft chuckle, his amber eyes tracing every movement you made.

You did feel a little bad now for how you had lashed out at him. Normally, you weren’t one who was quick to anger, but that still didn’t excuse what he had done.

“It’s alright,” You said, slowly, “You need to be more careful though, if that had been anyone else I don’t think you would have gone unscathed.”

“Are most of your people so quick to violence?” He asked, titling his head slowly, a strong sense of intrigue exuding from his form.

“I wouldn’t say so normally, but we’re all a little on edge as of late. Our livestock has been attacked and just this morning one of us went missing.”

“Missing?” He asked, a new glow to eyes.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. The butcher’s son hasn’t been seen all day, it’s very unlike him.” You said, your teeth sinking into your lower lip, unsure if you should tell him more. But, considering it concerned him you felt maybe it was in his best interest to tell him.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t stick around for too long. Some find it suspicious you turned up the same day that William went missing.”

“And what if I don’t feel like leaving just yet?” He asked, disregarding the information you had just given him as if he had no reason to be worried.

You had no answer for him, truly you didn’t. The packaged rolls sat between the two of you and a long stretch of silence as he stared at you and waited for a response that didn’t come. And, without another word, he dropped a few too many coins on the counter, gathered up the bag, and headed for the front door.

He stopped for only a moment, his fingers gently stroking at your red cloak you had hung up beside the door. His amber gaze trailed over each stitch as he lightly grazed the material a few more times.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, little red.”

~~~~~~~

After he had left, your day had not gotten any easier. Just as you had expected, it had been another busy day. You had managed to satisfy all of your customers, despite that late start you had made.

There were a few upsides to the job you had, one being that it allowed you to tune into any gossip you would normally miss out on. You were more of a hit with the older women of the village, the people your age finding you to be a tad strange and off putting.

That day your shop had been filled with hushed whispers of what had come to pass, the search party still had not returned from their trip to recover William. The outlook was not in the boy’s favor, not with the increase in predator activity you had been receiving as of late. You weren’t so sure you would be seeing William walking back into town any time soon.

Once the day had come to an end, the sun dipping just below the tree line and casting shades of red over the snow, you had extinguished the lights of your shop and were locking up, your hood drawn over your head. That was when you found out the horrible truth.

As you slid the shop keys into your bag and turned on your heel, you saw the search party emerging from the woods. And with them, you could see a blanketed form lying in the snow, the sheet swaddling the body slowing turning red.

You swallowed harshly, turning as quickly as you could and beginning to make your way through the snow and away from what you knew was coming. You didn’t want to see the look on Sarah’s face, you didn’t want to watch her go boneless in the arms of her husband. But it didn’t matter what you saw or didn’t see, you would never forget the sound of her screams piercing the crisp, snowy air.

Your breath was visible in hot puffs in front of your face as you felt the burn of tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. It didn’t matter if you didn’t care for William, it didn’t matter if you knew what he was really like, there was nothing quite like the sound of a mother’s heartbreak. It was enough to send anybody down to their knees.

Your numb fingers wiped away the warm tears rushing down your cheeks, and amidst your blurry vision you could have sworn you saw a familiar figure slinking off into the woods, a flash of silver hair that just barely materialized. You could have sworn that that was Namjoon disappearing like a ghost into the frigid depths of the forest.

You shook your head, you shouldn’t bother yourself with what he was doing, your main goal should be getting home before the sun completely dips below the horizon and plunges you into darkness. So, with that thought, you rushed home.

Once you entered the cottage, things didn’t get any better. Your mother was stood there, waiting anxiously for your arrival. As soon as you had stepped foot inside she whipped the door shut and helped you remove your cloak as you toed your boots off.

“No more working late, do you hear me?” She said, gripping your shoulders to get you to look at her. “It’s not safe out there.”

“Word travels fast then?” You asked humorlessly.

“It’s a shame what happened to that boy, and I’ll be damned if that happens to you.” She replied sternly.

“And what about Grandmother then? What do we do about her? She’s out there, all alone, with no one to protect her.”

“She has the lumberjack-”

“And he only checks on her every two weeks.” You interrupted, “Let me go out tomorrow and bring her back to us. I’ll go first thing in the morning.”

Your mother bit her lip, her hands shakily settling on her hips as she thought to herself. “I’ll go with you then.”

“No, you can’t possibly think you’ll be able to make the trip. The snow is thick and it’s a long walk there, you’ll exhaust yourself. It’ll be better if I go, faster too.” You said as you approached the fireplace, raising your hands to the flames to warm them.

“And your grandmother, you think she’ll be able to make it back through the snow?” She probed, raising her eyebrow.

She had a point, if you were saying she wouldn’t be able to make it there how would you expect your grandmother to make it back with you?

You rested your hand on the back of your neck, pacing the floor and causing your layers of skirts to swirl around your ankles. You came to a sudden stop, your eyes settling on the shotgun that was mounted above your front door. Idea.

You didn’t like the thought of her being out there all alone, but if you knew she had something to protect her from the wild animals that would make you feel much better.

“Alright, what if I bring her some supplies instead? I’ll grab some things that’ll last her a good while and I’ll show her how to use the shotgun. I’ve saved up some money of my own, I could purchase us a new one.” You mused out loud.

You loved your grandmother, she was the last living member of your father’s side of the family, she was the only connection you had to him at this point. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing her just yet, not when you could prevent it from those creatures that were beginning to terrorize your people.

Your mother was silent once more, her thumb settled between her lips as she nervously chewed at the nail. She didn’t like the idea of you headed out into the woods alone, but she was comforted by the thought of you taking the shotgun with you, that much you were certain of.

“We don’t know when the next storm will hit, and the last thing we need is for her to be stuck out there, all alone, with no food, surrounded by the wild. Let me go.”

And that was enough to break her resilience.

“Promise me, promise me that you’ll come back.” She whispered, her body visibly sagging as those words left her lips.

“It goes without saying.” You murmured, wrapping her up in your embrace.

It was easier this way, you didn’t want to make a promise you had no certainty in keeping.

The air in the cottage had lost all tension, everything was much calmer than before. But your peace could only last for so long. It was when you entered your bedroom that you realized something else was wrong.

The room was positively frigid, and upon further inspection you realized that your window had been pried open, the cold winter air surging forth and snuffing out any traces of heat.

You surged forward and grasped the window, attempting to swing it shut as quickly as you could to try and insulate whatever warmth was left. But the thick scent of copper quickly stalled your movements. Instead of closing the window, you found yourself leaning forward into the brisk air, sniffing intently as you tried to make out where the scent was emanating from. You didn’t have to look far.

Your hands sealed themselves over your mouth, smothering the scream that threatened to break through them.

Sitting in the snow where the wolf had once laid, was a human heart. The snow seemed to sizzle around it, the organ still warm and slick with blood that carved rivers and valleys into the pure ice.

You could feel bile rising up your throat, your vision shaking so violently it made it appear that the heart was vibrating with steady pumps like it was still alive.

And, to your horror, you could make out a form a few feet back in the snow. The only thing that was visible in the pitch black were it’s molten gold eyes, shining back at you in recognition before it scuttled away into the darkness.

You frantically slammed the window shut and drew the curtains closed tight.

There was no mistake now, someone or something had been following you.

~~~~~~~

When you awoke the next morning from a restless sleep, you elected to keep your discovery to yourself.

Although you were incredibly frightened by what you had seen, the last thing you needed was to scare your already frail mother. Your grandmother was still in need of assistance, and you couldn’t allow your mother to halt your plans. You had a mission to accomplish, and you were set on completing it with a shotgun slung over your arm and a picnic basket on the other.

So, you shakily grasped your red cloak and wrapped it around your shoulders in haste, your fingers struggling to do up the ties at the base of your throat. Once you had completed the normally easy task, you slipped your basket onto the inside of your elbow and pulled down the shotgun from its resting place above the door.

You regularly cleaned it, a task your father had enjoyed teaching you at a young age, so you were certain it wouldn’t jam if you needed to use it in a hurry. You slid a box of ammunition into your pocket, one for you, and another box into the picnic basket, one for your grandmother.

And then you were off, bidding your mother goodbye with a hug and a swift kiss to her cheek, and an unspoken promise tittering on the edges of your lips saying that you would be home for supper. But those words were better left unspoken.

The sun was just barely peeking through the thick clouds overhead, you were certain a blizzard was brewing. This only urged you to move quicker through the cleared paths.

But the clouds weren’t the only foreboding message that morning, it was the mother’s wailing in the town square. There were three more now, holding each other in a comforting manner as they wept into each other’s shoulders.

More children had been snatched from their mothers.

Sarah sat by herself, of her own volition, an obsidian mourning veil obscuring her tear stained features. A chill ran down your back as you urged yourself to walk by them quicker, she looked more like an executioner than she did a mourner, surrounded by a choir of weeping women.

You could still hear the echoes of her cries in the back of your mind, the raw chords striking your ears once more.

You tightened your grip on the strap of your shotgun, your pace slowing as you reached the bridge that led you into the forest. You felt like you could breathe now, despite the knowledge that people your own age had lost their lives in the thick overgrowth before you. The relief that you felt from the women in the square outweighed your fear.

The bridge creaked in protest as your boots tapped against the wood. It would need to be repaired come spring.

“Little red!” A voice called from the treeline causing you to suddenly stop, snow kicking up beneath your boots.

Moments later, a familiar figure emerged from the frost coated trees, tall, ash hair, and honey eyes. Namjoon.

“Where are you off to, little red?” He cooed, his voice low with a sultry edge that sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t tell if they were delighted or terrified chills.

“My grandmother’s, what are you doing here?” You asked, your body tense and defensive.

He drew nearer now, a wide grin gracing his lips with a set of teeth so white they resembled the snow beneath your boots. The closer he got the more you noticed about him. His perfect white teeth seemed a little sharper than most, and the clothes he wore were once more, not suited for the frigid weather.

“I caught sight of this old thing,” He hummed, his finger tracing over your cloak and the strap of your shotgun as he slowly circled you, “And couldn’t help but see you.”

You stepped back hesitantly, his presence was unnerving. Without saying anything more you pulled away from his reach and began to walk by him briskly, headed into the woods.

“Leaving so soon? We only just met.” He laughed, it would have been a nice contagious laughter had you not heard the bitter edge to it.

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time to dawdle, Namjoon. I need to reach her before the storm hits.”

“Well then, won’t you let me accompany you?”

“I don’t need an escort, I know my way just fine, thank you very much.”

“And what about the beasts then?” He asked from beside you, sending you halting to a stop.

“Beasts?” You asked slowly, gazing up at him from beneath the cover of your hood.

“Well, surely you know?” He asked in a patronizing tone, his honey eyes narrowing. “Four people from your village have gone missing, red. Surely you know that wasn’t an accident. Great beasts have roamed this forest for centuries and they don’t take kindly to intruders. It would be much safer if I came with you.”

You stood there for a moment in silence, contemplating his words. He was not wrong, two people were much safer than just one.

So, begrudgingly, you accepted his offer.

His hand quickly captured your own, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pressed his side tightly to your own with a grin. How bold. You were struck once more by the fact that he was incredibly warm, it was no wonder why he wasn’t bundled up like you were. It felt like he had struck a fever.

Namjoon filled the silence between the two of you surprisingly well, telling you stories of the great beasts that roamed the woods, effectively scaring you and holding your attention. He had a way of speaking that drew people in, like a siren from the stories your father had read to you.

It was easy to forget with him, easy to forget why you had been frightened in the first place, easy to sink into his side as his warmth seeped into your flesh, and easy to get lost in his voice.

That was of course, until you felt him pulling you off of the path.

You dug your heels into the snow, tugging at his hand violently. “Namjoon!”

“Yes?” He asked.

“What are you doing? Her cottage is this way, we stay on the path, we never leave the path.” You said, gesturing towards the dirt pathway beneath the two of you.

That was a spoken rule in your village, never go off of the path.

“That’s ridiculous,” He chuckled, “If we continue the way you were going, that doubles the time it takes to get there, it’s better we take the shortcut.”

“No.” You sternly said.

“And why not?”

“Because, there’s predators out there! Mountain lions, bears, wolves!”

A mischievous smirk pulled at the corners of his lips, “Are you scared of wolves, little red?”

“I’m scared of anything that wants to eat me.” You replied with a dry tone.

“Well you do smell very sweet-”

“Namjoon!”

He took a deep breath, his eyes darting between you and the shortcut. “I promise you, nothing will hurt you while I’m here. Besides, did you know some flowers bloom in the winter?”

“What? You can’t be serious.”

“I am, there’s a field of flowers this way, all different breeds that bloom in the dead of winter. Don’t you think your grandmother would enjoy those?”

You chewed at your lip uneasily. He knew exactly what to say to make you question your own actions. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to see what he was talking about, and you knew that yes, your grandmother would be elated by something so cheery in the bleak winter months.

So, after a few moments of consideration, you agreed.

And Namjoon had not been lying. After a few minutes of trekking through the deep snow the two of you emerged into a clearing, and just like he said, it was filled with flowers of all different breeds.

You found yourself crouching down into the field, your fingers trailing over each velvety petal that had somehow found a way to survive in the clutches of an icy death. Your favorites were the deep red roses. They were a dead match for your cloak, a beautiful color that was delicately dusted with soft flakes of snow.

You couldn’t help but greedily pluck several blossoms from the foliage, slipping them into your basket.

And, amidst your excitement, you hadn’t noticed just how close your companion had gotten until you felt him. That incredible warmth had returned as he crouched down behind you, and just like he had in the bakery, you felt him lightly nuzzling your head and breathing in your scent as he pressed himself closer to you, his arms winding around your body in an attempt to pull you even tighter to him.

You froze, your finger mid pull on the rose’s stem causing you to slice the appendage on a stray thorn. You hissed in pain as you watched the blood drip from the tip of your finger before rolling down your wrist and carving a pool into the snow beneath you.

And, without a thought, Namjoon’s hand encircled your wrist and yanked it up to his face.

His once honey eyes appeared brighter than before, his long lashes fluttering as his warm breath misted over your skin. And before you could stop him, he licked a line up your wrist, collecting the blood, and pressed your finger to his lips swiping his tongue over the wound.

You yelped in surprise, wrenching your hand free from his grip as your heart pounded violently. You rose to your feet and stumbled backwards through the snow.

Namjoon remained where he was crouched, a sudden hunger evident in his honey gaze, a gaze that was not so unfamiliar.

“We-we need to go!” You stuttered, turning on your heel and retreating from whatever had just happened.

You held your hand close to your chest as you walked, frightened by what had just transpired. A part of you suddenly wished you had made your journey alone as you had previously intended.

But the harsh crunch of snow behind you reminded you of the choice you made, and the molten glare digging into your back exemplified it.

~~~~~~~

The rest of your journey was made in complete silence, a new tension had settled between the two of you. And, true to Namjoon’s word, the way he had taken you was indeed a shortcut. So, you felt no remorse as you sprinted toward the cottage ahead of you and threw a weak thank you over your shoulder.

You couldn’t stand the awkward tension anymore, you couldn’t stand being in his presence any longer than you needed to.

As soon as you approached the front door, you threw it open and let it shut behind you. You leaned against the door for a moment to catch your breath before you shrugged the shotgun off of your shoulder and strung it up on the hook beside the front door.

“Grandmother!” You called as you began to approach the kitchen door, “I’m here!”

And upon opening it, a blood curdling scream broke free from your lips.

The sight before you could only be described as a massacre. Your hands desperately tried to cover your eyes, but the damage had already been done. There was blood, so much blood amongst other things laid out atop the counter.

You fell backwards, your body sliding down the wall as hoarse screams raked through your throat. The unmistakable scent of blood was thick in the kitchen sending your stomach churning in your gut. You knew that scent, it was clear as day whatever had remained in that room had once been human.

“Sweetheart?” A familiar voice called out to you.

And upon opening your eyes, you saw your grandmother standing before you. The sudden feeling of elation surging through your body at the sight of her alive quickly died out. She wore a leather apron stained with blood, both fresh and old, and her hands were gloved. You quickly stood and began to back away from her, your sense of self preservation suddenly kicking in, your eyes zeroing in on the meat cleaver she held in her left hand.

“Sweetheart, calm down.” She whispered softly, carefully setting the blade down on the counter beside the gorey mess.

Your eyes were darting everywhere but her, panicked breaths leaving your parted lips. Your gaze finally settled in the corner of the room where a pile of clothing sat and a familiar axe. The lumberjack, she had murdered the lumberjack.

“Why?” You cried, trembling as if you had been drenched to the bone. “Why did you do it?!”

“I had too sweetie, I have to feed them.”

“Them? Who?” You asked, backing out of the kitchen as she followed your trail, her face soft with sympathy despite the flecks of blood that decorated her cheeks.

“The wolves, of course. I made a deal with them long ago, if I fed them in the winter I could stay here.” She replied, her voice alarmingly calm. “The lumberjack was a sweet man but this winter was a rough one, not many travelers I’m afraid.”

“You’ve gone mad.” You whispered.

“I know this is a lot to take in, but it’s best if you listen to me darling. Your grandfather was one of them, he courted me and then we had your father and your uncles. It’s always tricky with litters, you never know who is going to take after who. Your father though, he was the most human out of all of them. Poor thing couldn’t even shift.” She sighed, her eyes glazing over.

“You need help, you’re not well.” You tried again, doing your best to keep distance between the two of you.

“I know you’re a bit shaken up, but you need to listen to me, it’s in your best interest.” She sighed, untying the leather apron from around her waist.

“That cloak you’re wearing, it’s a symbol that you’ve come of age and Namjoon has had every intention of courting you. He’s been rather obvious really, he’s becoming quite frustrated with you.”

You suddenly became still, your mind flashing through every time Namjoon had ever touched the very item you were wearing. What she was saying, although deluded, had some semblance of truth.

“I-I have to go.” You mumbled, your throat tightening from the copper scent and smell of flesh that hung heavily in the air. You needed to get home and far away from her before she killed you too.

A deep sadness spread over her features as her head hung low, shaking from side to side. “Don’t run,” She breathed, “They find the chase seductive.”

All this time you had been slowly backing away from the person you loved the most, and now you had been stopped by the feeling of a solid form behind you. You quickly spun around, a shriek of horror escaping you as you met the bright, gold eyes of your escort, Namjoon.

And, without thinking, you ran.

Your cloak was fluttering behind you rapidly in the harsh, cold winds, the snow coming down thicker than it ever had before. And, to your absolute horror, a loud howl was echoing throughout the trees.

You peered over your shoulder as you sprinted to the best of your ability through the snow drifts. The wolf that had sat outside your window days before had returned and was chasing you down. Now that there was nothing separating you from the creature you were terrified, it was massive and hunting you down. It had the clear advantage, you were inevitably going to die. You were never going home again, another child was going to be ripped from their mother.

Tears were pouring down your cheeks like waterfalls as you blindly ran, unsure as to where you were going. You knew that you didn’t have time, four legs were faster than two and you were greatly impaired by the weather.

With no goal in mind, no destination in sight, you ran in hopes you would be able to live for a little longer. You did your best to weave between the trees, slide down hills of snow, and keep running for your life. Your lungs burned and your legs ached but still you ran, even as you heard the loud steps of the wolf coming nearer and nearer.

And, just as you had lost all hope, an outcropping of rocks became visible at the base of a snowy hill. And with every intention to save your life, you recklessly threw yourself down the hill allowing gravity to take over for you.

The second you felt yourself cease rolling, you rose to your unsteady legs and dizzily stumbled into the cluster of rocks, pulling yourself into the shelter away from the blizzard.

But your hope was fleeting as you came to a realization. The shelter was a den, one that had clearly been in use. It was littered with furs, blankets, books, and materials for a fire. The creature had been corralling you to this very location.

You turned as another burst of adrenaline shot through your body only to be stunted by the sight of the silver wolf blocking the exit to the den.

It’s bright eyes stared back at you with a gleam of satisfaction as it crouched down, shimming it’s way into the den and backing you up further into its depths.

You watched, horrified, as the wolf began to whimper, it’s body shaking violently as the sound of bones beginning to snap and crunch echoed throughout the space, reforming and distorting themselves into vaguely familiar shapes as it’s fur began to melt away.

Those bright golden eyes faded to a recognizable honey shade, and the silver fur disappeared and showed itself as ashen hair. On the floor of the den sat Namjoon in the place of where the powerful wolf had once stood.

He carefully rolled his head from side to side, his neck cracking loudly in response as he rose to his feet. A mischievous smirk pulled at his lips, a triumphant gleam to his eyes as he confidently approached your trembling form.

A broken cry escaped from your throat as you felt him press his forehead to your own, lightly nuzzling his head against yours. His strange behavior now made sense, he had been courting you in a way that was unfamiliar to you, but natural to him.

All of the people that had gone missing were male’s your age, he had been wiping out the competition.

And the bloody organ he had left outside of your window, had been a horrific present. A show of his dominance and his twisted affection.

You were crying uncontrollably now, everything you had experienced suddenly crashing down on you. You flinched in terror as you felt his fingers grip your jaw, his lips just brushing against your own and he hummed happily.

“You have nowhere left to run, little red.”

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scvrllet · 3 years

Note

Hey!! May I request c!purpled x reader where purpled is best friends with a witch?

contains; gender-neutral reader, platonic pairing, in game AU

There was an odd thing about Purpled and that is the fact that he wants to be known and remembered but not seen. He’d rather take to the forest and be a memory in peoples minds rather than be an active part in their lives. He was always one of secrecy

Perhaps this was why meeting you was easy. Being a witch, most of the people on the server had it out to get you and your people. Not saying that Purpled’s initial thought wasn’t that, but he did quickly realize you were probably less of a threat than he originally thought. You seemed to be more of a ally than anything

When you first met, he had wandered into your hut as you were brewing a potion. Startled by the presence of each other, your wide eyed expression was the last he saw of you before you threw a glass bottle onto the ground. A cloud of grey smoke engulfed the hut only to quickly vanish, and with the smoke, went you and your brewing stand. The only remnants of you being in his memory.

Intrigued at how quickly you just up and vanished, he went out to search for you. No matter how long and how hard that task would be, though he quickly started getting angry at how hard you were to find. It was almost like, you never existed. As if this was the worlds way of bringing him back to reality

Just as he was going to give up, somehow, you were there. Or your house specifically. Off in a clearing in the dee dark forest that no one dared to travel far, was a quaint cottage. It didn’t seem to belong, far too beautiful and peaceful to be in such a horrid forest but yet, there it was!

Approaching it carefully, Purpled kept his hand on the handle of his sword as he hesitantly knocked on the door. He was shocked, to say the least, when you actually opened the door: someone who seemed to be close to his age but was living alone in the woods with no apparent signs of outside connections.

Tilting his head to the side as he studied you briefly, he opened his mouth to say something before your table littered in glass bottles and cauldron lined wall caught his eye. The shelves filled with various potion ingredients were next and slowly, he pieced the clues together.

"You're a witch!" He said a bit too eagerly.

"And you're an alien." You replied in a less energetic tone than his though your smile mirrored his. Puprled felt youd be stuck with him for awhile, whether you’d like it or not, eventually you’d grow to like his company but thankfully, the two of you got along quite fine.

He was glad the two of you got off on the right foot. Despite having only met you a few minutes prior, he was immediately surrounded by this warm and comforting energy as he'd described it, coming from you. Perhaps it was the way your house reminded him of a safe haven or simply the fact that you reminded him of home. Whatever it was, he relished in the feeling greatly.

As Purpled started spending more time at you little hut, up until you gave him his own room because he’s start staying after sundown to which he just never left, you started to realize just how much you grew to enjoy his company. He didn’t interfere with your work all to much, often times it was just his curiosity but he never went out of his way to disturb you, which you were thankful for. At one point, he even started helping you out which put you both into a comfortable rhythm: he would help you with your work in the morning and once the sun began to set, you would help Purpled with his UFO.

Though you were skeptical of him at first, he grew on you, even becoming someone you’d consider a friend and while you’d never outwardly tell him, you would take an arrow in a heartbeat. And if some man owning a casino thinks he could trick him into joining him when he’s already had enough with the people from his past than he was going to get quite a surprise.

“Where are you going?” Purpled asked as you shoved bottles of potions into your satchel. “And why do you need strength?”

He knew you rarely ever used your splash bottles of strength. Usually harming along with your sword was enough to keep enemies at bay but for safe measures, you’d like to keep your options open.

“Just some business down in the desert, I’ll be back before dinner but feel free to eat without me.” You told him, shooting him a small smile before heading out the door.

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hongism · 3 years

Text

the little things - c. jongho

↣ pairing: jongho x reader; mentioned poly ot8 x reader ↣ genre: sfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, fantasy au, witch ateez au ↣ wc: 3.6k ↣ summary: when the winters seem to drag and last forever, you find yourself slipping a bit into murky waters of despair. jongho is your lifeline, your lifesaver, your lifeboat, determined to guide you back to peaceful shores. ↣ warnings: mentions of intrusive thoughts, depression, lots of Talking about depression/grief/mourning, mentions of death/talking about someone who has died

The air bites harshly at your skin, nipping the areas where you can’t be bothered to pull your blanket up over, and if you were in a different emotional state, perhaps you would find it in you to care more. Instead, you remain rooted to the spot — a small stump behind your cottage that overlooks the quiet and expansive forest just over the lip of the hill. It’s a beautiful sight, even in the midst of winter like this where snow has just fallen and left a white sheen to the tips of the trees below you.

It would be wise for you to be inside just in case someone decides to climb the hill to your shop and request a prescription, but you know you will sense them coming before they even reach the stairs.

So, you stay where you are, letting your blanket slip a little more from your shoulders. Your guest — even the loud and boisterous one as he works — sings along to a silent melody, painting your ears with the pleasant sound of his voice as he moves freshly chopped wood to your dwindling pile by the house. Despite your attempts to help, he simply told you to stay put and not move a muscle while he chopped and moved them. Arguing with him would be a losing fight anyway.

In all honesty, as beautiful and delightful as the forest below you usually is, you cannot find it in you to see that beauty right now. Nothing seems to be working. All your wasted and helpless attempts to feel some type of way about your surroundings have failed time and time again. Either that or they are drowned out by that lingering ache in your chest, the one that clenches your heart tight in its clutches and pins you to the ground in a state of numbness that sadly is not foreign to you.

You wish you had a better explanation for that tightness in your chest. Whenever Seonghwa or Hongjoong asks after you and how you’re faring, you scrape by and say you are doing fine. Because yes, you are arguably fine. Not bad but not particularly good either. Just a middle ground of fine. (Nothing is ever truly fine in such a world where the word has become a cloak for how one truly feels, and you know both Hongjoong and Seonghwa can see right through your ruse each time you utter the words ‘I’m fine’. Neither push you further than that, however, so you don’t say anything else). Part of you feels the tuggings of guilt on your heartstrings when one of the others tries to cheer you up — Wooyoung with his playful jokes and endless tickle fights on the couch that end with you exhaling an exasperated sigh and leaving him there alone, San who does anything and everything to help but is too clumsy for his own good so he accidentally makes things worse, Yunho who tries his best to sit with you in absolute silence without moving while you read but inevitably cannot sit still for more than five minutes without doing something. So you do feel guilty for not being able to cheer up when they try their hardest to break that emotional wall around you.

It must be frustrating for them to have to deal with you while in such a state of emotional distortion and confusion; you aren’t sure whether you could be nearly as patient as they are with you (god, they are all so endlessly patient — another thing to feel guilty about). Yet you must admit that it is frustrating for you as well. Because as much as you want to be more than just fine or okay or whatever variation of “I’m not good, not bad, I don’t know what the fuck I am, I just am” you are on a certain day, you cannot will yourself into pushing those negative thoughts and feelings out of the picture. Almost like the thing holding you down has an anchor tied to your ankle and causes you to sink deeper and deeper each time you try to fight your way out of it.

Maybe you aren’t paying as much attention as you thought you were after all because when a firm hand reaches down to clasp around your shoulder, you are more than a little startled.

The little jump in your body as well as the sudden gasp that tears through your lips catches your companion off-guard too, it seems. Although Jongho is always a hard book to read; he doesn’t wear his feelings on his sleeve the way people like Wooyoung and San do. The slight and momentary widening of his eyes tells you all you need to know before you let yourself relax under his warm touch.

That’s another thing about Jongho — he is always so warm. Now, of course, you are fairly certain that part of that relates to him being an elemental witch, so obviously he will carry some extra warmth in his body because of those energies, but he holds a different kind of warmth with him as well. One that makes you believe for almost a second that it will be okay.

The sun flickering at the edge of the horizon.

Two swallows flitting across the bright and clear morning sky.

The rolling forest that rests at the foot of your hill.

It’s green today. The snow caps the trees just enough to leave hints of winter foliage peeking through.

Green and alive and beautiful.

Then the illusion breaks, like the anchor around your foot let up for just that moment to let you gasp in a desperate gulp of air and beauty before dragging you back into its abyss.

What a cruel, cruel mistress.

“Too cold?” Jongho inquires as he squats down beside you. A smile twists his lips, gentle and effervescent. (“Love,” your mind helpfully supplies, “he looks at you with love”).

“It’s not too bad today,” you reply in a quiet tone. There lies an alternate meaning to what you said, something contained and locked away in the box you call your heart, and Jongho takes that box into his hands so carefully as always. Sits down on the snow-covered ground without complaint beside your tiny stump and lets his hand slip down to rest over where your thigh meets your knee. It’s careful. Your lip twitches in some direction.

“That still implies it’s a little bad.”

You hum in response. There isn’t much for you to say to that even though he is unfortunately all too correct in saying such a thing.

“I chopped enough wood to last you through February. Should be a harsher winter than usual, so don’t hesitate to send for me if you need more before then.” You reach down to cover Jongho’s hand, tracing pointless and unknown patterns into the back of his hand. The touch is more for you than anything else; a peace of mind that allows you to disconnect the brutal reality of your pained chest from what is sitting right in front of you. Love, joy, care, warmth.

Why does your chest only grow colder in the face of something that burns so hot?

Jongho’s lips move again, and you are almost certain that he is speaking to you but the deep waters clog your ears and make it impossible to understand what he’s saying to you.

Why does this anchor never find a place to rest? You want to rest.

When you fail to respond or even acknowledge whatever Jongho has said in the slightest, he takes it upon himself to stand back up and nudge you away from your little stump. You are understandably confused by the action but too …absent to reality to complain or fight back against whatever he’s doing.

So you opt to simply stand off to the side and watch as Jongho brushes stray pieces of snow off your blanket. He wraps it snug back around your shoulders. It’s a bit warmer this time. Then, he guides you to the back door, hand closing around the soft white handle and pushing into the cottage without a word. This is just another language you speak. Understanding. Push and pull. The complex nature of working with an emotionally stunted and constipated individual who does not know how to communicate what exactly they are feeling or thinking in the moment.

You prefer to just exist rather than bog yourself down with such detailed intricacies — it makes things easier for you in the long run.

Once inside, Jongho continues to push you forward until you reach the positively tiny dining table you have set up next to the kitchen. Hardly an excuse for a dining table since it’s barely bigger than your bedside table but then again it’s made to seat you and only you. That doesn’t stop Jongho from pulling a second chair up to slot into the space directly to the right of your chair. Again you do not fight him when he eases you down onto the soft ivory cushion.

Instinct causes you to shift and look out the window above your table, finding the first few flakes of the morning snow beginning to fall. You wonder if Jongho sensed the weather shifting or if it’s merely happenstance that brought you both inside before the snow started.

“Seonghwa went on a rampage and cleaned the house again,” Jongho murmurs. He follows your gaze out the window but doesn’t say anything more than that, leaving the conversation open and hanging onto a hope for your response.

“Is he worried over Hongjoong?”

“No more than usual. You know how he gets. Can’t sit still even when you ask him to.” You shift to look at Jongho, noting the smile that curls at the corners of his lips, and this time you return the gesture with a lopsided grin of your own. “All before sunrise too.”

“He always has to be the first to wake up, otherwise he doesn’t get to tell you that you’re his darling sunrise.”

Jongho’s smile stretches wider and shows off his gums and teeth. It’s beautiful, you think, somewhere in the back of your mind that remains untouched by that cold sadness. Happiness looks good on Jongho — warm, alive, and beautiful. You wonder if it looks the same on your features as well, if it were ever to come back to you.

“Shall I prepare some tea?”

“You’re beginning to sound like Yeosang.”

“Maybe all those naps on the couch are finally starting to have weird side effects on me.” Jongho shrugs then laughs under his breath, but the sound is still clear and bright on your ears. He pushes back from the table to step into your small kitchen nonetheless, not waiting for your answer to his question as he begins to rummage through your cabinets.

“That would make sense; you’re his favorite after all.”

“Hm, I think Seonghwa has me beat there.”

“Only because of their familiar bond. Otherwise, I’m positive you would take the cake.” You prop your elbows up on the edge of the table, leaning forward until your chin rests atop your clenched fists, and you simply watch Jongho move around the kitchen with little on your mind for a bit. He’s quiet again; this time, he doesn’t speak as he works, and it allows you to stew in the silence while you can. You have to remind yourself that sometimes it’s like this. Some days are harder than others. Some days are easier, and some are like today where you can’t even manage to pinpoint the source of your negative feelings.

You glance over at the wall, staring hard at the small chalkboard that sits there with your messing scrawling and intelligible handwriting. Then your stare settles on today’s date. The small red circle around the number placed in roman numerals there. You left no other note there, no indication of what the red circle means, but after several years of practicing said habit, the knowledge is deeply ingrained in your mind now.

“Ah…” you exhale without thinking. You don’t notice the way Jongho’s gaze flickers over to you, how his hand hesitates near the kettle, or how he follows your stare to the calendar. You’re far too engrossed in the swarm of hurt in your chest. Suddenly your shifting moods make much more sense. “Another year, another birthday passed.”

The day always feels so odd and cathartic to you. A day one is supposed to celebrate that has long since grown cold and lonely because the one you are meant to be celebrating is nothing present. Birthdays are almost worse than the other melancholy anniversary that hasn’t left your mind.

You force your gaze away from the calendar to look back at where Jongho stands frozen as a statue in the kitchen.

“Did you… remember?” You ask. Jongho doesn’t typically come over unannounced, but he rarely explains why he comes to visit either. He did neither again today. It is far more understandable now that you’ve finally realized what day it is.

“I did,” he whispers back before settling back into his routine of making tea. “I did not want to mention it unless you brought it up first.”

His tone is careful and wary, like he’s treading on broken glass and trying not to make the damage worse. You are almost grateful for it.

“It’s okay,” you say through a strained smile. “At least I know why I’m feeling this way now.”

Next thing you know, Jongho is abandoning his station at the stove, leaving the kettle behind to heat up, and he returns to your side within seconds. Although this time, he merely stands beside your chair and brings his hands down to cradle your face in his rough and warm hands. You can’t understand why until his thumbs brush something damp away from your cheeks. You don’t even remember feeling the tears spring up.

“It’s okay.”

You nearly snap back and say it’s not okay, why would it be okay if you’re crying like this? But then it hits you that Jongho is not implying the situation is okay or that it is not something to be upset over. Rather, he’s telling you that it’s okay to cry like this, to be affected and hurt and in pain. You wish you could believe it.

“I thought it would get easier as more time passed.” You keep your tone quiet, knowing that if you lift your voice any higher it will begin to crack and break.

“Sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn’t. But I think you’ve made lots of progress as it is.” Jongho squats down until most of his weight is pushed onto his toes, sitting just beneath your eye level now. His hands don’t drift from your face for a second though, and right now, you couldn’t be more grateful for the warmth of his touch. “It’s not always about measuring the pain or comparing how much it hurts not to how much it hurt back then. Sometimes it’s about being able to see how you’ve grown and how you can look back at memories that were once painful with fondness now. And occasionally, it’s about being able to look at the calendar and smile because you know you get to celebrate a life and a soul that you still cherish.”

“What if one day I look at that calendar and don’t remember though? I don’t want to forget, but I want to be okay.” You suck your lower lip between your teeth and bite down hard on the skin. It doesn’t help with your sudden influx of tears (not that you expected it to) but Jongho wipes them away with each one that falls.

“Is that what you’re afraid of? Forgetting?”

“Y-Yeah. I get… I get upset because — I don’t know. Part of me feels guilty to even want to be okay when I know that he didn’t get to be. He didn’t have the chance to be okay, he was gone before he had that, and I’m here and I just… feeling a lot less deserving of that.”

Jongho shifts his weight to rest on his knees now, and he pulls you a bit further down to still comfortably hold your face between his palms.

“Would he want you to punish yourself for something out of your control? Or would he want you to rest in the knowledge that he is okay now? Resting easy after a long fight and at peace because he did well in his life? Even if that life did not last as long as we might have hoped, he still did well and worked hard and showed a life that was full of many beautiful things, no?”

“You’re right,” you murmur, eyes flitting away from Jongho’s ever so gentle ones. “I’m thankful for the time I had with him, even if it wasn’t as long as I imagined it would be. He’s at peace and he’s resting and okay now. Just the selfish part of me isn’t ready to let go.”

“You don’t ever have to let go, darling. Not completely. And if you don’t want to let go, then that gives me confidence that you won’t forget him or the memories of him. He will always be resting here.” Jongho’s left hand falls to rest over your heart, fingers barely brushing against the soft material of your clothes there. You instinctively reach over to cover his hand with one of your own and press him closer and closer until his palm lies flat against your chest. “He would want you to find the peace you deserve even if he isn’t here on earth anymore.”

“I’m trying my best to remember that,” you counter. The words come out a bit choked and thick thanks to your tears but you push through that and continue speaking nonetheless. “I’m trying to remember that he would want us to celebrate him and remember him fondly, not just the sad parts or the tragedy. He wouldn’t want to be remembered as something sad or a tragedy, and he wouldn’t want to only be remembered when times are sad. I just feel like I’m drowning in these feelings and can’t get out sometimes.”

“In times of grief, we often let ourselves sink because we lose ourselves in the feelings of pain and sadness. It’s easier to get lost in it than it is to fight your way out of it, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. There’s always a way out. Sometimes you just need someone to hold your hand and help guide you home.”

“I want to go home,” you whisper. It sounds utterly stupid to say aloud since you are sitting in your own damn kitchen right now, you are home physically, of course you are, and you are more than well aware of that. Still, your heart feels like it’s torn from your chest and off who knows where with no hope of coming home, yet Jongho just twists his hand around and takes hold of yours. You cling to your lifeline harder.

“Do you trust us to stand by you until you find your way home?”

“Always.”

“Then I promise that’s exactly what we’ll do.” Jongho pulls your hand close to his face, then presses his lips to your knuckles. The gesture is soft and intimate, even moreso with the knowledge that Jongho isn’t one to typically engage in such physical affection often, and you feel some warmth creep into your chest again.

“Will you stay even after that?” You ask through a breathless whisper, bracing your hands on Jongho’s firm shoulders and offering a teary smile. Jongho pushes up, and his head bumps haphazardly into your shoulder as he moves suddenly. It causes you to tip back a bit, nearly falling all the way off the chair, but he catches you before you can slip. It’s not a verbal answer, nor do you need it to be because you’d like to think you can understand what Jongho means in the movements without hearing him say it. “Thank you for being patient with me. All of you are so patient and gentle with me.”

“I think this is where Seonghwa would say something grossly sappy like ‘that’s part of being in love’,” Jongho murmurs before his forehead finds purchase against yours. You let your eyes flutter shut and rest in the gentle embrace. “Thank you for opening your heart to me.” You hum back, not bothering with words in favor of just drinking in Jongho’s presence. “The kettle is boiling away, you know.”

“Let me have this for just a few moments more.”

“Always,” Jongho sighs against you, but it’s not a tired or exasperated sound, merely content in the peaceful space the two of you have created. You’re content as well — okay for now, fine for now, but maybe even leaning more on doing well and feeling good. Not perfect, although you don’t think it needs to be perfect as long as you have the hopes of reaching safe shores.

...

a/n: this came at an opportune time i think? april 7th/8th is always difficult for me and i know many people can relate to that well and understand that feeling, and i kinda unintentionally reflected those feelings into this part of little things, but i hope maybe that you can find comfort in this and understand how important and valid your feelings are, no matter what ❤❤

#atzinc #kdiarynet #kwritersworldnet #jongho x reader #ateez fluff #ateez angst #depression tw #anxiety tw #ateez x reader #jongho fluff #jongho angst #ateez imagines #ateez drabbles #jongho imagines #jongho drabbles #fic; the little things

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potter-imagines · 3 years

Text

Meadow (George Weasley x Reader)

Prompt: Hi, maybe fred or george (you can choose) and the reader are spending the afternoon in a flower meadow together? (sorry for my english, it's not my first language)🙈😊

Notes: okay I'm sure spring break isn't a thing at hogwarts but for this write, it is . hope you enjoy !!

Warnings: none, just a lot of fluff cause everyone loves george

Word Count: 3.5k

Spring break was winding down to a close as early April broke through. New life was brought to fruition as the snow from the harsh winter evaporated into the ground. Outside the grounds of the Weasley’s home were fields and fields of open land. Flowers sprouted in every step creating a kaleidoscope of colors. Those tumbling plains seemed to extend for miles beyond the horizon. Just beyond those grassy hills and slopes was a large, secluded meadow.

It was the early hours of a Saturday morning when a pair invaded the area far before the sun began to rise. The meadow Y/n and George had been occupying seemed to be the perfect location to view the birth of the new season. The perfect spot to enjoy each other’s company. Soon they would be ushered back to Kings Cross and board the Hogwarts Express- George for his last time and Y/n, well it certainly wouldn’t be her last time, no matter how hard she dreamed it was. The topic of George leaving Hogwarts was one the couple tip-toed around. Break was only two weeks but that meant two extra weeks for the pair to be together. With the school year tumbling to an end, George would be leaving school soon with his brother to start his dream and Y/n would be stuck needing to finish her last year at Hogwarts alone. The girl was a year below her boyfriend and although it never caused any friction for the pair, the gap was finally giving them issues.

In George’s mind, arriving to his last school year was both an accomplishment, and a burden. As excited as he was to finally leave those stone walls that held him back, the last thing he wanted was to leave her behind. It didn’t make any of the pain easier knowing that he’d be leaving alongside Fred earlier than the rest of their classmates. Y/n had been the only other living soul Fred and George had filled in on their grand exit plan. They needed someone to keep guard and be a lookout so who better than the one person they trusted not to run their mouth.

There was a heavy smell of earth in the air, mixed with the faint odor of new growth. The vivid green leaves and the cheerful colors of the blossoms are a feast. Flowers popped up from the soiled ground and the fruit hanging from the trees were starting to come to life.

The couple had spent a good portion of their break at the secluded meadow. In a way, it became their little secret spot. Not that it was a secret location by any means. Fred and George had discovered the meadow a few years back when they had ventured miles away from the burrow. The boys were always adventurous, especially when Molly and Arthur finally allowed them free range outside the family home when they were eleven. There were miles and miles of tall grass and woodland that made it easy to get lost. Of course with Fred and George, losing their way was never a worry. When the boys stumbled upon the breathtaking meadow, George seemed to be the only one interested in their find. Fred had wandered off into the section of forest they entered through, his attention captured by a group of baby deer camouflage in the woods. For years George would wander back to the meadow on his own when he needed a break from the loudness of his siblings or grew tired of Ron trailing on his coattails every turn. He promised himself he would keep the spot to himself, let it be his own private sanctuary. This plan ran smooth for a few years before George made the exception to break the rule for one person only.

But for now, the two could only take advantage of the time they had together and they didn’t intend to spend a second apart. It looked as if Y/n and George had stepped straight into a storybook. The grass was Eden-green and thigh-high to a thrush. A neon-blue ribbon of river ran through the ground in a squiggle line. A party of bright yellow ducklings scattered in the calm water, small quacks filling the air. Chirping and sweet songs from the birds made that feeling of Spring become a reality. Buzzing bumble bees and wildflowers sprung along the land. The sounds of nature engulfed the girl whole as she melted into the soft grass.

“I could stay here for the rest of my life- away from people, away from the world. It’s peaceful.” Y/n hummed softly. Her large doe eyes observed the clouds that formed a perfect line-up in the baby blue sky, as if they were boats safely moored in celestial harbour. Peeks of sunlight seeped in through the cracks in the fluffy clouds casting a shimmering light as they danced slowly by in the sky. Just a moment before she was listing off all the animals and objects she saw in the sky. Now she was considering the thought of staring at them forever.

George stole a quick glance down where she laid in his lap. Strands of her h/c hair flowing across his legs and hands. It tickled against his skin as a light breeze swept past. Her abrupt words had caught him off guard. He had missed the sound of her voice for the last hour, although adored the trance-like state of happiness that she was in so he was constantly biting his tongue to keep his thoughts from pouring out. Now that she was somewhat back to earth, he was eager to chat. Tilting his head in her direction George raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah?” He questioned.

A smile graced her lips as she nodded in confirmation. The land was beautiful, unlike anything she had seen. There certainly weren’t any meadows with such serenity as this in the city of London. For once in her life she could hear the sound of her heart beating in the quietness of the open land and she loved it. No cars honking, no crabby cityfolk shoving their way through crowds, no taxi drivers screaming at pedestrians to move, no bright lights, just nature and all of its creations.

Extending her arm, Y/n pointed out to the land. George followed her direction to see she was gesturing to a small section of the meadow that was surrounded by an eyecatching army of poppies and bellflowers. A large willow tree stood towering over the side. In the middle was a bare section- large enough for a home to fit. Y/n grinned in excitement as she suddenly sat up straight.

“Yeah. Build a little cottage, start a garden, maybe even a family… I think it would be lovely.” She said dreamily. Her eyes looked up to George in wonder, silently asking him to share his opinion. Mirroring her previous actions, George scanned the meadow. He placed his hand against his chin, pretending to think long and hard about her idea. Y/n giggled besides him and shoved him lightly on the shoulder. He chuckled in response and leaned back into the log supporting him. George nodded in agreement to the pondering dream.

There was a casual grace to the meadow, as if it has a peripheral awareness of its own beauty yet would rather be at peace in this warm sun. It was quaint and humble yet glowing in - like a glorious mansion hidden away in a forest. A hidden gem that was to be kept away from the rest of society. Their own little happy place that opened and bloomed just for them. There was something so magical about the meadow that George couldn’t pass it up. It felt like fate leading him there- leading them.

“Think we could make that work. The family part is a definante- it’s just building a home that’ll take a bit of time. We could get started on making a family of our own right now-” George was cut off when a hand clamped over his mouth. Although he was only joking, he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.

“George-” She warned playfully.

“Or in a few years. But living out here would be nice. ‘S not like I got to worry about commuting for work. It’d be a nice escape from the shop once we get business running, and once you graduate. Not to mention moving out here would mean I’d get to see more of you in that pretty dress. Flowers in your hair... you look so enchanting, darling.” A bashfulness struck Y/n to her core at his words. Her eyes instinctively shot down to the grass as a paint of red rose to her face. George’s heart quite literally stuttered at her reaction. Making her blush, seeing her smile because of something he said never failed to bring a sense of happiness to George. That damn smile, he thought to himself. He was sure she could convince him of anything when that innocent look took over. It was natural for her. Y/n was simply ethereal in every way.

His hand brushed as gently as a feather across the skin of her cheek. Pushing the daisy back in place behind her ear, George drew his hand down from her ear to her neck. Gripping her softly George pulled her towards his body, lessening the space between the pair. Dipping his head he leaned in towards the girl until their lips were only inches apart. He smirked teasingly, ready to make a remark when Y/n took matters into her own hands.

Linking her hand around his chin she pulled his face in hers with a deep kiss. Although she initiated the gesture, it was George’s response that made her lose all sense of control. His large hands moved from her face to her waist in an instant. Much to Y/n’s surprise he lifted her without warning, still holding her lips in his, and placed her in his lap so she was facing him. Her hands instinctively switched to wrap around his neck for stability. Fingers gripped at his short ginger locks as she adjusted her hips into his.

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest as her entire body got weaker. She could only focus on how soft he felt against her mouth, how addictively he invaded all her senses. Everytime their lips met a rush of adrenaline and love ran through her veins. The muscles in her body went limp at his touch, jelly like. George held a tight lock around her waist keeping her steady against him. He slipped his tongue against her mouth, visibly shuddering when she slid her tongue against his in return. Tension was pooling by the second as the kiss intensified. Y/n’s strawberry dress cascaded down the side of legs as she repositioned in his lap earning a groan from George. Hot breath fanned against her face briefly at her movements. His hand darted from the small of her back to the exposed skin on her upper thigh, pushing her further into his body. The vibration of his voice against her lips and the tight grip of his hands on her thighs sent shivers down her spine. His kiss was sweet, like a long awaited embrace. Stars blurred her vision as George gripped her against his chest. The moment was quickly turning into a not so innocent kiss causing Y/n to slowly detach her lips from his. As she pulled away she remained sat in his lap, fingers brushing along the skin of his face as she admired his beauty. A smug smile was displayed on his face while he repositioned his hands behind his body to hold the pair up. Still holding his face in her palms, Y/n pressed forward to scatter a line of kisses on his cheeks. He chuckled in amusement before her kiss latched to his mouth once more. Between short and passionate pecks she fought for words to tell him how much he meant to her. She wanted to tell him all the emotions of love and desire he brought onto her. Tell him how she could never live with another- how he was the only one she wanted for the rest of her life.

“You’re too good to me, George.” She whispered against his lips. The lack of space between them was intoxicating. Heat emanated from George’s cheeks as he desperately attempted to regain his breath and compose himself. His chest was light with air caused by the sweetness of the girl before him. A small smear of glitter lip gloss covered his bottom lip in a shine.

George tasted a hint of bubble gum as his tongue swept along the skin of his bottom lip.

“I’d give you the whole world if I could but I’m afraid I don’t have the coins for that yet, princess.” Pressing his forehead against hers, George hummed the words. Y/n shook her head with a smile as she countered his grand proposition with one of her own.

“All I need is a quaint, cozy cottage out here and you… well a dog or a kitten would be nice too.” She laughed.

George could only stare at her in that moment. Her words registered although the naturalness to her beauty was too much for him to process. The sun hit her back in with such purpose it was as if she were an angel breaking through the sky. Her strawberry midi dress flowed down her sides and pooled in between his legs. Pretty pink satin clung to her form. The sparkling red strawberries fitted her perfectly. The ruffles on her shoulders gave her the look of a cottage princess, a fairy even. Hair flowing freely in the wind, it was a sight he’d never grow tired of seeing. He’d never seen someone as breathtaking as her.

Taking advantage of his silence, Y/n looked up to George in seriousness. His large brown eyes stared lovingly back to her. Gesturing to the meadow surrounding them, Y/n asked him,

“Do you think you’d be happy out here?”

George tore his stare from the girl to scope out the land once more. All the years he spent wandering down here alone in his mind and looking for some sort of answer to life, now he had found it. He could already picture where he would build a playset for the children and where he’d be able to make a small Quidditch pitch to teach your future kids. Ideas were forming for the house and how many rooms you’d both want. George was thinking somewhere around eight- extra room for more kids. Mapped out where the house would go, where he’d build a garden for you, figured out what tree would be perfect for him to put together a treehouse with Fred for the kids, and where the path would go towards the lake. The layout was quickly forming and he wanted in.

Y/n watched in curiosity as the thoughts swarmed through her lover’s head. She could see him intently thinking things over, then smiling before tilting his face back down at the girl. His head moved down so his lips could press against the skin of her forehead as he kissed her.

“Darling, as long as I’m with you, I’ll be more than happy.” He reassured her.

Y/n melted into the warmth provided by his lips. Her body leaned into his, desperate for more of him. George wrapped his arm around her shoulder tightly and fixed his body so he was sitting tall. She clung to his frame like a koala to a tree, burying her face into the material of his hoodie.

“Once I graduate?” Her muffled voice vibrated against his sternum. George ran his fingers up and down her spine as he held her tight.

“Once you graduate.” George repeated sincerely. Although they’d gone over the conversation a million different times, Y/n couldn’t help the shadow of doubts that crept into her mind. She trusted George with all her heart- every inch of her being but they’d be living in two separate worlds for a year and she worried that was something he might not want. Maybe he would realize he wanted to be with a girl his age, or someone older, someone not stuck at Hogwarts. Even without reason for worry, it still came.

Remaining in his hold yet moving back slightly, Y/n’s eyes darted to the flower covered ground. Her fingers ran along the petals absentmindedly as she worked to find the courage to speak. Her shift in emotions did not go unnoticed by the boy. George focused on the look of contemplation adorning her. As adorable as she looked, he hated seeing her in the slightest bit of distress. This went for any situation whether Y/n was stressed about a class, feeling ill, or just sad because she’s hungry, George does everything in his control to fix it for her.

“You’ll wait for me?” The sudden question took George aback. Her tone was a mix of innocence and fear. His confusion arose for the grave manner of her inquiry. Even if her worries were astonishingly unworldly to George, he knew better than to shut down her insecurities brashly. If the topic at hand weren’t so significant to their relationship, he might even crack a joke. However the seriousness in her features was not to be ignored.

George reached out to interlock his fingers through her warm hands. That comforting smile of his graced his face as he brought her knuckles up to his lips and placed a trial of kisses along the bones.

“Of course I’ll wait, love. No other girl I’d want to spend the rest of my life with- no other girl I want to call my wife, the mother of my children. No one but you, my love.” George insisted. It seemed magical to Y/n the way he always knew exactly what to say. Always so heartfelt and honest in meaning. He never told her a lie to make her happy but somehow managed to piece together a perfect string of words to make her whole again. Something in the way he spoke, in his words, it made her believe nearly anything was plausible. Most of all, she trusted him and believed that he had every intention of sticking around, which brought a sneaking grin to Y/n’s face. All those worries washed away at his words. It was a part she loved deeply about him.

The feeling of George’s touch smoothing over the bottom of her pink dress pulled Y/n back to the meadow. The scent of lavender and vanilla wafted past his nose from the perfume he had gifted her for Christmas. His fingers would skim against her bare leg in a teasing fashion as he smirked. Y/n let out a giggle at the tickling sensation of his touch. Her arms wrapped around his neck for support while her bashful grin never ceased.

“There’s that pretty smile.” George remarked with a chuckle. A sense of victory took hold of him at seeing her worries vanish. Arms locked around his neck, Y/n pulled him towards her as her head fell to his chest. Given their limited time, all the couple wanted to do for the next month was be in each other’s arms. George cherished every opportunity he got to hold her, knowing he’d spend the next year missing her everyday. It came in the little things as well like the way her hair always smelled like a basket of delicious fruits, or how she’d hum to herself while they were studying together. He already knew he’d spend most days babbling on to Fred about how much he missed Y/n. Break was almost over which meant the twins would be leaving Hogwarts for good within a few weeks. Y/n dreaded the idea of not seeing George every day, not getting to kiss him or hug him. George hated thinking about having to hear from her through letters and not getting to hear that sweet laughter every day. So for now, all George wanted was to hold his girl and enjoy the excitement for their future he felt budding inside of him.

The colors in the sky were starting to grow brighter by the minute and without saying it, the pair both knew they’d be needing to head back to The Burrow for lunch sooner then they’d care to admit. In the serenity of the meadows the couple found a sense of home. Y/n soaked in their last bits of time in the meadow before George mentioned them heading back. Although neither moved at his words but instead remained holding onto one another.

“I love you, George.”

“I love you more, princess.”

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.35

Sacrifices to Save the World

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 9,582

Warnings: smut, LOTS of fluff, angst

A/N: (THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER! One more to go!) Here it is everyone! The moment I have been waiting for. I can’t really say much and I don’t want to give anything away so, I’ll just let the chapter speak for itself. I also want to say that I’m sorry that I haven’t been as diligent about responding to comments. Trust me when I say that I read and reread them often! I appreciate your thoughts and reactions so much. As always, if you happen to reblog, thank you so much for helping me spread my work!

Tags are closed!

Please DO NOT repost my stories. Reblogs are MOST welcome!

You bustle around the cottage sweeping cat hair and dust, mixing the white of the chalk dust with the crimson blood of Grandmother’s sacrificial cat.

Your attempts to tidy the space is wasted as you’re only making it worse, but rather than focus on her words you prefer to clean.

She watches you from the seat at her table where you placed her. A cup of water gripped in her withered hand, still trembling slightly.

“Stop cleaning, girl!” Grandmother chides, watching you with annoyance as you stop amongst the mess on her floor and throw your hands out to your sides in a clear indication of not understanding.

“What would you have me do?” You ask her, voice tight with distress. “You tell me that my husband will fight to his death and I am supposed to what? Dance?”

“Just sit down.” She points at the seat across from her, her finger crooked and weak.

You drop the broom where you stand and plop yourself down on the indicated seat while ignoring the creak of the weathered wood. The old woman would resist new furnishings though you’d managed to sneak in a new bed and kitchenware.

“You killed your cat.” You tell her, as if she doesn’t know.

“Yes.” She agrees and lifts the small cup to her lips to take a drink.

“Why?”

“I had to see.” She explains. “Something was…was there.”

“When I found you outside Steve’s office?” You check, though you know her answer.

“Yes.” With a sigh she captures your gaze and does not release it. “I have sensed a darkness growing in the world. Something elusive. Hidden. It has kept its face secret, behind that of puppets. It uses others to do its bidding and until today I had no idea what that bidding was.

“He is gathering six relics. Stones. Rich in magic properties. Richer than any other relics I have ever come across. Each of them with powers more terrifying than the last.”

“What kind of powers?” You ask her, voice feeble and wispy.

“Powers to control time. Power to manipulate the mind and the very fabric of space and reality.” She warns. “Powers to rule the world…or wipe it from existence.”

Your heart grows cold, slipping into the pit of your stomach as you picture Steve in his armor standing before such massive power. What could your warrior husband do in the face of such might?

“Who is he?” You ask her, eager to put a face to the threat.

“I don’t know.” She says, looking down at the necklace that always rests around your neck. The locket that is Steve’s insignia, with his picture along with your parents. “I cannot see his face. I can only feel him. He is stronger than the king. Stronger than many of those who fight here. Together they may defeat him, but I did not see them together. I saw only your husband, the bodies of those you love surrounded him, and he fell too.”

You get up, unwilling to let her convince you despite you having already accepted her words. “I cannot listen to this.”

“You must, girl. You must take heed of what I tell you and prepare yourself for what is to come. Take your daughter and go as far away from here as possible but even that may not save you.” She adds as an afterthought. “I feel this evil plans for more than death. He has such a will.”

Turning to her you consider her thoughtful expression and the way she seems lost to her vision. She believes it with every fiber of her being and your own heart is swayed into panic as you throw yourself onto your knees at her feet.

Gripping the hand she has resting on her lap, you raise it to your breast and hold it there to where your heart is pounding.

“There must be something you can do. Something that will save him.” You reason, pleading for her to see reason as if she held the very fate of Steve within her old hands. “Won’t you try?”

“I cannot.” She shakes her head. “Such magics are forbidden. I am no dark witch.”

Her insistence is fractured, her own eyes betray her as she eyes you up and then turns away.

Her fondness is clear. You know that she loves you despite the way she speaks to you at times. She has fought hard for your happiness. If you would beg for her life, you think she might give it up.

“Is there no way? Nothing? Surely there is a chance to change things without resorting to dark magics? Please, Grandmother…” Before you know what’s happening, you’re crying.

Tears flow freely across your cheeks but your voice is strong in the only way that it can be when you’re pleading for your husband’s life.

“I cannot live in a world where my husband is not alive. Please…help me. Help me save him. There must be a way. There must be…please. We just had our daughter…” You lay your head in her lap, overcome with fear at this future she’s seen. “Please.”

Her silence is heavy. You can feel her thinking, can feel her mind searching for a way to give you what you want.

You have always loved this old woman but until today, you had not considered how much she might truly love you as one would a true granddaughter.

“Give me time.” She sighs.

“You’ll try?!” You gasp, your heart soaring.

With an elated sob you drop your head onto her lap and with gentle, feeble hands, she strokes the back of your head.

“I will think on it. I will try. I cannot make any promises.” She warns you, reaching under your chin to draw your gaze up. “What you ask for will not be easy. Is he worth it?”

You blink, confused by her question because in your mind there is absolutely no doubt.

“He’s worth more. He’s worth everything.” You nod. “I love him.”

Grandmother’s gaze withers and she releases you, nudging you away.

“Go. Be with your husband and child. Let me ponder.” She orders and slowly you rise.

You’re so stunned you have to keep a hand on the table as you rise to keep your knees buckling.

“When will you know?” You ask her, sniffling from the tears you shed.

“Go.” She orders again, staring at the hem of your dress. “And change your dress. You’re covered in blood.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Standing still, you hold tight to the lower left post of your bed as your corset is laced again.

The copper tub by the roaring fire in your bedroom sits lukewarm, full pink and wine-colored peony blooms floating within its oiled surface.

“Why was there blood on your dress?” Natasha wonders, tugging tight on your laces making you gasp.

“It’s not important.” You tell her, then think better of keeping her completely in the dark. “There was a dead cat on the way to Grandmother’s and I didn’t realize it until I came upon it.”

Fuck, was that believable? Does she trust you enough to accept your words without doubt?

“You’re keeping something from me.” She counters, frowning as she ties the corset closed.

Apparently not.

“I’m not.” You argue, but after her silence pierces your soul, you sigh. “I’m worried.”

“About Hydra?” She asks, supplying you with an appropriate alternative to the truth.

“Of course.” You grasp onto this straw and lean your stress onto this very real threat. “The last time I was within their vicinity someone tried to kill me and Maggie.”

“That won’t happen again.” Natasha assures you, moving towards you with a long ivory gown. The slightly yellowish tinge to the flowing fabric is pretty, though you note this in the back of your head. You’re too preoccupied with the threats looming overhead to notice how pretty the dress is. “I should have stayed with you.”

“It wasn’t your fault Nat. Pierce knew what he was doing. He’d been to father’s many times and he knew that I’d be in that part of the castle. He knew that you’d all be focused elsewhere. He was going to find a way to me one way or another.” You reason, but you know that if Peter or Nat had been there with you, there would have been a better chance of getting away with greater speed.

“I will never leave your side again.” Nat declares passionately but you huff a laugh and turn to look at her as she gathers up the skirt of your dress, hooking her arms through it to make ready for you to wear.

“Nat,” You smile. “I love you, and maybe you’re right and things would have been better if you or someone else had been by my side that night. But you cannot be beside me always. You’re a wife now. And even if you cannot be a mother naturally, there are many other ways to have children.”

Nat drops her arms, watching you with a concerned and furrowed brow. She’s clearly focused on you and not herself. You want to remedy that quickly. You love her, how can you allow her to only ever let you be her concern?

“You two must have discussed it?” You prompt, knowing that Bucky would not give up on giving Nat what she most desperately desires. “I know you want to be a mother. You love children.”

She seems to realize that you are not about to let this drop, so she sighs, relaxing a bit.

“I have thought about it.” She nods. “And yes, I do love children but I’m not sure if it’s right for me with the life that Bucky and I lead.”

Your heart aches suddenly, a renewal of Grandmother’s words reminding you that your daughter could lose her father. She so damn right about that.

“I don’t blame you.” You nod, sitting yourself on the end of the bed. “This life that all of you have chosen is one most unwelcome to the traditional family. But it is possible. Father and Mother have Morgana, Lord and Lady Lang have their daughter. Steve and I now have Margaret.

“It may not be ideal, certainly. But possible.” You offer in encouragement.

You don’t want her to give up. You want her to be happy.

Nat looks down at your stocking covered feet and nods.

“You don’t have to. Of course, it is entirely your choice and Bucky’s. I’m not trying to say that you should have children. But if you should you choose to have them, it is possible to live both lives.” You really hope that you’re not putting any pressure on her to raise a child when she might not want to.

Natasha’s inability to have children naturally should not be a hindrance on her desire to be a mother if she should decide to try. There are thousands of children in orphanages across the Kingdoms that would benefit greatly from a loving home that you know Bucky and Nat would provide effortlessly.

At the end of the day however, you know it is their choice.

“I appreciate your support.” Nat admits, gathering your skirts again and then holding them open for you to put your head through. “Truly. It means so much to me that you think I could do a good job. As a mother.”

You stand and stick your head through the dress and begin to pull your arms through the large puffed sleeves as Natasha straightens your skirt.

The neckline is ruffled, heart shaped, and low. The sleeves are also ruffled, small cinches that wrap around your arm mid-bicep leaving your shoulders and neckline exposed. Nat turns you and quickly laces up the back of the dress. She pulls it tight so that there is no chance of it slipping down.

“Isn’t this a little-?”

“You look beautiful.” Natasha smiles, fixing a long pink sash around your waist that she ties into a long loose bow above the curve of your bum. “Shall I braid your hair again?”

Natasha’s hands work fast, her fingers nimble and familiar with your hair’s texture and flow. The skirt is so long and flowing that you wonder if something special has been planned for you to attend as you feel that despite the somewhat casual look of the dress, it also doubles as pretty in that formal sense.

Your fingers find the embroidered pink and white peonies on the bodice that decorate your breast.

“Am I seeing someone special today?” You ask.

“No.” Natasha smiles. “Just us. Lunch is being served in the garden for you, Margaret, and Steve. Bucky and I shall be nearby. Peter will be close too. No one special.”

You huff a laugh as she lists all of the most precious people in your life. “So, only those special to me then?”

Nat chuckles and finishing tying off your hair.

“Lunch is for you, Steve, and Maggie. Steve expressed a wish to spend some quiet time alone with the two of you. He knows he’s been busy the past few weeks racing about chasing leads on this new Hydra weapon. He wants to make it up to you and I know he’d appreciate you in this dress.”

Her explanation makes sense but you’re successfully distracted from the dress by the mention of Hydra.

“How was the search?” You suddenly wonder, remembering Steve’s orders for her and Bucky.

“We’ve spread the word and will go out again tonight to search. I’ll tell you if anyone is found.”

“I’d like to know what’s happening with this.” You turn to her, adjusting within her grip as she reaches down to fuss with your dress. “I need to know, Nat. I can’t be kept in the dark again.”

Natasha drops her hands, placing them on her hips as she considers the look in your eyes.

“You’re not saying something.” She realizes. “What’s troubling you?”

“Nothing.” You say quickly, a shrug thrown her way just to brush off the concern. “I just don’t want any surprises. Not like before. This threat seems insignificant but what if there’s more to this mysterious weapon? I want to know what you’re all walking into.”

“Steve has promised to keep you appraised.” Nat promises you. “I will hold him to his word.”

Slowly, as the truth of her words shines through her eyes, a small smile stretches your lips.

“Thanks, Nat.”

~~~~~~~~~~

As you approach your renovated pavilion, peony blossoms blooming all around in varying shades of pink, you adjust Maggie in your arms.

You’re careful with your own dress. Double-checking the top of your bodice to make sure for the tenth time that you are covered after feeding your daughter. Nat made sure it was tight again but you’re fretting is ceaseless as a mother now.

The corset you’re wearing made especially for you since you are nursing, makes it easy for you to feed her without much fuss. Steve seems to favor it too though you’ve told him to be gentle and he’s avoided enjoying your breasts while you’re focused on raising your little one.

Aside from a loving caress and gentle butterfly kisses when the two of you make love, he’s avoided touching them.

Reaching the stairs, you fix your daughter’s dress—changed to match yours with endless ruffles but the same peony embroidery pattern on her little chest and pink sash around her little waist.

Steve rises quickly, rushing towards you with his arms extended.

Maggie coos excitedly, her little high-pitched squeaks and goos nearly make you swoon as she kicks her little legs excitedly. She’s not exactly screaming yet, but her noises are long and eager.

“There’s my princess.” Steve says proudly, his eyes flooding with love as he takes her into his large arms and kisses her chubby cheek.

He turns her to sit with her little back pressed against his chest and smiles at you while your own eyes are glued to your daughter.

“And my beautiful Queen.” He gushes, pulling your attention away from Maggie as he leans down slowly until he meets your lips with a long slow peck. “How are you?”

His voice is soft and deep. “I’m very well.”

It’s almost a lie.

In this moment, here with Steve and Maggie, you are most definitely well. You’re happy and you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Your heart still weighs a ton with Grandmother’s news.

For a terrible moment as Steve walks away from you to sit down with Maggie on his lap, you remember her words and your knees almost buckle.

With him focused on the little one, you manage to sit yourself down before he can notice.

Rapid footsteps climb the stairs behind you. You turn to find Peter moving in to stand beside you both. He smiles excitedly as he watches Maggie. He, like everyone else in the castle, is head over heels for her.

No one draws a smile quicker than Maggie, even from the gentry that had so readily spread rumors about you.

This makes you happy. Your daughter accepted.

“Cook will be out with your meals shortly, your Majesties.” He informs you both.

“Won’t you join us?” You ask him, but Peter meets Steve’s eyes for a moment then reaches up to scratch behind his head, his cheeks flushing pink.

Clearly Steve had made it clear that he wanted to spend time with you and Maggie alone to more than just Nat. However, there’s something else in that rosy tint in Peter’s cheeks.

“I…I’m actually meeting Morgana in the libraries to help her with her studies. I will cancel with her if you wish me to stay?” He offers, though you see the disappointment in his eyes.

“No.” You hurry to assure him. “No, we’re fine. I just wanted to be sure you ate.”

“Thank you, your Majesty. I believe Cook is sending sandwiches to the library for us.” Peter bows and with an excitement in his step you watch him until he’s out of sight.

“They make a good match.” You smile, turning to take a sip of water from the silver goblet before you.

“Who?” Steve asks, confused. He bounces his leg to keep Maggie occupied while allowing her to hold his finger in her tight tiny fist. She drags it to her mouth and bites it with her gums, yet Steve doesn’t seem to notice.

“Peter and Morgana.”

“Peter and your sister?” Steve asks in shock. “But…she’s so young.”

“She’s fifteen, going on sixteen.” You remind him. “If they are engaged this year that will still leave them with two years of courtship before they’re married. That is the custom in Malibia.

She’ll be eighteen by then and Peter will be twenty-four. Some people would say those are two ages perfect for marrying.”

Despite the pleasant picture you paint, Steve’s frown only grows.

“What?” You chuckle, reaching into your skirts to find the pocket where you’d placed a few small towels for Maggie’s constant drooling.

You offer Steve the towel but he’s still frowning? No…he’s pouting! You get up and move around to wipe her chin before placing the towel in Steve’s hand.

“Why are you pouting?”

“I’m not pouting.” Steve grumbles.

It makes you laugh again. “Steve…”

“Maggie will not be getting engaged until she’s at least twenty.” He suddenly declares. “I’ll lock her up in the West tower until she’s that age and only then will I allow her to entertain the idea of a suitor.”

“Are you worried that you’ll only have her for sixteen years?” You chuckle, watching the worry in his eyes as he cradles Maggie closer, stroking her rounded cheeks with gentle thumbs.

“She’s mine right now.” Steve laments, looking down at her as she continues to chew on his finger. “I don’t want to part with her. I’ve waited so long for her for some boy to come take her from me.”

“Oh, my darling.” You chuckle but this time with full sympathy for his heartbreak. “We will have lots of time with her. And even after she marries, she will always be our daughter.”

Steve’s eyes are glued to her little face and he completely doesn’t notice Cook come up to serve your meal. A few roast chickens with potatoes and carrots.

You eat in silence but quickly. Enjoying the sight of him growing more and more enamored with your daughter. Steve doesn’t seem to notice the time slip by as he distracts her with the towel you’d handed him.

She chatters about nothing in her baby speak, drawing smiles and chuckles from your husband.

Finally, you eat your last carrot and slide your chair back.

“I’m sorry.” You tell him, rising to your feet knowing you have no reason to be sorry. He’s so in love with her. Luckily, you’ve still managed to eat fast enough that the food is still warm for him. “I should hire a maid to watch her when we eat.”

It’s true that you’ll eventually need to hire someone to take care of her when you must deal with kingdom affairs too. You’re so reluctant to let someone else care for her. Just as Steve claims her passionately, you feel just as he does. She’s yours.

“Not yet.” Steve counters, letting you take her from him. He adjusts in his chair, wipes his hand then proceeds to eat, stealing glances at both of you as you move towards the benches that line the inner edge of the pavilion.

Everything is so perfect. So lovely.

You’re almost content in this moment, with your little girl in your arms and Steve sharing a meal with you. You’re very nearly happy until you look at him and like a raging storm Grandmother’s words destroy your fragile peace once more.

Steve is going to die.

He turns to you and smiles. He smiles at Maggie. He confesses his love for you both with it pouring from his eyes and while your heart aches, you vow to do anything to stop this new threat from taking him away.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Come to bed.” Steve pleads.

You glance at him through your looking glass, a hazy image because of the distance from your small table to the bed. The silver is in need of polishing or perhaps replacing. You don’t dare speak this thought aloud though.

Knowing Steve, he’d simply buy you a wall full of mirrors and you can’t have that.

Even blurry he’s a vision, an absolute fucking sight to behold with your daughter at the center of your bed his fingers tickling her tummy as she kicks her little legs excitedly. Her little hands absentmindedly stroking his arm.

He’s on his side, shirtless. His lower body hidden beneath the sheets of your bed as he lays naked underneath.

Despite that delectable fact, your eyes are glued to his gentle smile as he takes his hand and gently strokes the length of Maggie’s little nose. He’s noticed how that lulls her to sleep and does it to her every night to send her off when he’s not busy in meetings.

You finish tending to your hair, braiding it back once again to keep out of the way for your little one. When you turn in your seat to look at them, you find Maggie’s movements slowed. Her eyes are closing, little rosebud lips left open slightly.

She’s already fed and content. Your happy baby, so protected and cherished.

Despite his attentions to your daughter that you’ve spent the last ten minutes watching, when you look at him you find Steve’s eyes on you.

“Come to bed.” He urges you, a small twinkle of desire hidden in the tranquility of these moments he spends with Maggie but stares at you.

“Are you trying for a second?” You ask him, teasing as you rise and move to the bed. You know that look well by now.

Steve’s expression suddenly shift, concern etched across his face.

“Am I rushing you?” He asks, reaching for you as you kneel on the bed and gather your nightdress up so as not to trip on it. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He’s thinking of this morning, already having had you in his den.

Since you’d given birth, he’s been so careful with you. Even when you’d assured him you were ready to be intimate with him again, he’d hesitated. Worried about hurting you or rushing your body into doing things you should not be doing.

Your smile only grows, a small chuckle escaping your lips as you settle in on Maggie’s right. She doesn’t even stir. Steve’s hand remains around your forearm, fingers gently caressing your skin.

“Why do you laugh?” He asks, his mouth perking at the corners despite his worry.

“You are not like any man I’ve ever met or heard of.” You confess. “Some of the women in Bright Rise, when they still spoke with me, would tell me about their husbands. They were like you were at the beginning of our marriage. Worse, as they took without care for their wives’ wishes. Some of them were always pregnant now that I think about it. Always trailed by a line of toddlers and children.

“The men didn’t care about their wives’ bodies or how their need to satiate their hungers affected the other.” You shake your head. “Some of the women even confessed to me that they took on lovers to find the enjoyment in fucking again.”

“Something you would have been forced to do had I continued in my foolish ways.” Steve suggests, unphased by your still somewhat rural tongue.

“Maybe…in the future. It would have taken me years of neglect to get to that point.” You nod, “Even with Thor, his touch was…unwelcome. He didn’t force me, but I did not feel right accepting his affections. I’m married. Even unhappy that wasn’t something I took lightly.”

Steve’s hand moves up to the top of your arm then slowly he drags it down to your wrist.

“Were you always this considerate? I mean, before me?” You wonder, looking deep into his storm blue eyes. “Say with Margaret? Or, perhaps the other women you were with before we married?”

Steve turns, laying himself on his back.

He releases your arm and gently strokes the length of his chest, fingers dancing across the tuft of blonde hair that rails all the way down below where the blanket ends at his waist. His other hand he shoves underneath his head as he thinks.

You wait patiently for him to be ready to speak. You’ve never asked him about his habits with other women in bed.

He steals several quick looks your way which tells you he’s nervous about answering you. Wary, in case it should prompt a fight. You can see the moment he decides to give in. His lips part a little, they stutter, then he speaks.

“Margaret was strong.” He states plainly, as if that explains it all.

You wait.

“Not that you aren’t!” He rushes to say, sitting up as gently as he can to keep from waking your daughter.

Maggie still stirs and whimpers. You place your hand on her chest and soothe her until she stills again.

“Can you put her in her bed?” You begin to sit up too, ready to do it yourself but Steve is faster, rushing so that you won’t have to.

“Of course! I’ll get her.” He gently scoops her up into his arms then quickly moves around to your side of the bed as you follow them with your eyes, turning your body as they go.

Gently he places her in her crib and tucks her in, shushing and soothing her as she complains then goes silent once more.

She isn’t too close, but you can still see her from your spot on the bed. Steve double checks by looking at you to see if you can still see her.

When he’s satisfied that you can, he moves back to you, crawling over you and stopping to give the tip of your nose a kiss as he goes before plopping himself down on his side once again. This time he reaches for you, grabby hands tracing the shape of your curves as he pulls you a little closer.

“What I meant, is that Margaret was willful. She knew what she wanted, and she made certain that everyone else knew so too.” He clears his throat, suddenly nervous again. “In bed, she was just as certain of herself.

“Even though I made the first move, she was the one who took charge in our physical relationship. I knew that if something were to go wrong or if she was tired or too ill to be with me intimately, she would tell me.”

You listen without judgement and try to keep your face clear of all emotions other than the love you have for him. Even through this conversation, your heart pounds with dread as it repeats Grandmother’s words over and over, reminding you that every moment with Steve is precious.

“I never had to worry about Margaret’s body because she never had to compromise it for me. I did worry for her, but not in the same way.” Steve says, probably thinking about the risks that Margaret would have taken as part of the Avengers.

“And the other women?” You wonder.

“There weren’t many.” Steve assures you, looking down at your chest in embarrassment. “Only two.”

“You were grieving Margaret.” You nod, understanding. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t a man.”

Steve is silent for a moment, resting his head in his hand as he uses his elbow to prop himself up. With his other hand he traces nervous circles in the blanket between you.

“They were visiting ladies. Ladies who, like Margaret, knew what they wanted.” Steve sighs the lunges softly towards you, pushing you onto your back so suddenly it makes you gasp and then laugh.

As he settles his body halfway over yours, he smiles down at you.

His hands caress the sides of your face before he trails one hand along your sides, grabbing you with intent. You can feel the desire in his touch.

“Court ladies are all playing a game. It’s a language they speak that you don’t know.” Steve sighs heavily. “A set of rules that I’m glad you do not understand. You are nothing like them and I love you for it.”

“They had husbands?” You realize.

“Yes.” Steve nods. “Men who are too distracted by their own infidelities or too busy grasping at power to pay their wives any mind. With both of them it was only one night. It came and went so quickly I can barely remember them. I don’t even think I could tell you their names.”

His face grows solemn, sad as if remembering a painful memory that has since lost its sting but not the emotion of sorrow. “I didn’t enjoy myself. I was driven by lust, but I didn’t even…I made sure they were satisfied and left it at that.”

“Mm. You felt guilty.” You nod, understanding as you watch his full lips. The lower is so much bigger than the upper. You reach up and trace it, loving the soft plumpness of it.

“Does it not make you jealous?” He wonders, relaxing more of his weight onto you. “Does it not upset you?”

You meet his eyes again, a smile stretched across your face. You can see that he wants to know you’re jealous. He wants to know that you want him as much as he wants you.

So much progress…is this truly the man you married?

“Only as much as it would upset any wife to hear her beloved husband talk about his past adventures in fucking other women.”

Steve groans and buries his face into the side of your neck, wrapping his arms around you as you also wrap yours around his shoulders. You chuckle, caressing the back of his head.

“So, the concern is not normal?” You realize, feeling better but also worried that you’re not seeing the real Steve. That maybe he’s acting this way with you while acting a completely different way with everyone else.

Is this not who he is?

“No, the concern is normal.” Steve says, muffled against your skin, making you feel almost instantly better.

He pulls back to look down at you again.

“What I’m saying is that every woman that I have been with until you has never given me cause to be concerned. I didn’t hurt them the way I hurt you.” He frowns. “I didn’t take what they weren’t willing to give.”

You look away this time, the solemnity coming from you now. The shift of conversation making your heart ache. When you speak, your voice is quiet, subdued with the reminder of your wedding night.

“I wasn’t unwilling.” You correct him because you hadn’t been. Not that first night or any night after.

Your line was not one clearly drawn, certainly. You’d slept with him out of duty but that hadn’t meant you didn’t want to. He’s the most beautiful man you’d ever seen in your life. Of course, you’d wanted him.

You hadn’t told him no. You’d only told him to slow down. You know that for him, for Nat, for everyone who found out—that slow down had been enough. It should have been enough to stop him.

“You know what I mean.” Steve says, placing both his hands on the sides of your face to tilt your head back until you look at him. “I wounded you. I took something that was not mine to take.”

“But it was yours to take.” You correct him again, and he growls in his throat at you before shaking his head, the pain leaving his eyes to be replaced by admiration.

“I can still feel you, trembling and sobbing in my arms. I was disgusted with myself. I couldn’t believe that I could do that to anyone. And you were so…so kind and gentle. So eager to please and I took advantage of that.” Steve confesses. All of his thoughts spilling out of him like water. “I had turned this beautiful, sweet princess into a sobbing, fearful, and wounded creature. I was so consumed by my grief over Margaret and my anger at having to marry again when I wasn’t ready to do so that I wanted it over. In that moment, I didn’t care about the sweet woman beneath me.

“And even after I hurt you, when I came to see you, despite your fear your only concern was for the tears I shed.”

It takes a moment to find your voice, but you do. You swallow hard.

“I’d never seen a man cry.” You confess. “Much less a king.”

“I meant every tear.” Steve insists. “If I could take that night back, I would. If I could redo every night since, I would. I am concerned for you above anyone else, because in you I saw my darkest self and I never want to be that man for you again. I never want to hurt you.”

The two of you lapse into emotional but pleasant silence. Both hearts beating strongly against each other as his chest is pressed firmly against your own.

At last, you smile, a chuckle spilling from your lips as you reach up and tuck his hair behind his ear. It’s getting long again.

“Have you always made these long speeches? Or is that reserved for me as well?” You check, mostly just teasing.

Steve’s lips curl up, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I make sure to give every pretty woman I see a lengthy speech. Whether they’re enjoyable is a different matter.”

You bite your lip, glaring at him but only in jest. Quickly he dips down to kiss your lips, letting it linger for a moment before he pulls back only a bit so that when he speaks, his lips are fluttering against your own.

“My declarations of love, however, are entirely yours alone.” He whispers. “Tell me to stop and I will obey, my Queen.”

His right hand moves down, searching until it finds the hem of your nightdress which he begins to tug up until he finds the top of your leg. He traces the dip of flesh there, tickling your skin in search of your already yearning core.

As his fingers make contact, you gasp into his slightly open mouth and it draws his attention back up to your face. He licks your lips, just a gentle flick of the tip of his tongue before he kisses you, sinking it into your depths where you meet his eager kiss with your own.

You moan quietly, a whimper of yearning as his fingers spread your folds and begin to explore you. The noises his hand makes absolutely sinful.

Eager for his touch, you bring your knees up. You spread your legs for him, and he pulls out of the kiss to slide down along your body. He does down, down, down until he’s settled between your legs.

He grabs one and throws it over his left shoulder, then the other over his right. He kisses your thighs, trailing his tongue in small circles before every gentle pucker. The anticipation curls your toes as he moves closer and closer to your cunt.

“Steve…” You whisper, aware of the baby asleep in her crib and your need to keep quiet so that she can sleep.

He dives in, his tongue making one long swipe of your dripping core.

You gasp, curling up towards him as your body is sent into shivers.

He grabs hold of your thighs roughly, pulling you hard against his face. Opening his mouth, he suckles on your clit, the gentle sound of his sucking filling your limbs with fire.

As much as you enjoy his mouth where it is, there’s an impatience that wages war within you.

After months of waiting to enjoy sleeping with him, now that you do, it makes you eager to have him within you.

“Steve, please…” You beg, reaching down and tugging on his hair.

He likes that, growling a little at the lusty whisper that is your plea.

Pressing kisses along the length of your body while he shoves your nightdress up higher and higher, he finally helps you pull it off before taking your breasts within his mouth.

His lips are soft against them, gentle in their suckling as he knows how painful you can find it now.

When you whimper from the soreness, he steals a quick look at you to make sure you aren’t in too much pain before he simply kisses them around the nipple.

You run your hand over his hair, a promise that someday he’ll be able to enjoy your breasts again. He reads your reassurance but dismisses it as he rushes to meet your lips in a demanding kiss.

Without warning he pushes into you. He stretches you, filling you up so pleasantly that you throw your head back but swallow the moan you’d normally release.

Fuck…Your mind supplies, nails raking along the scarred flesh of his shoulders.

“Fuck…” Steve groans into your ear, stopping once he’s buried within you. Great minds think alike, you guess.

“Don’t stop.” You beg and wrap your left arm around his shoulders while the other reaches down as far as it can to grab as much of his bum as possible and pull him close.

He starts slowly, letting you both relish in the silky way his cock slides out of you then back in.

“Kiss me.” You tell him, needing his mouth to silence the moans you feel bound to make.

He obliges, roughly meeting your lips with a frenzied and lustful kiss as he loses himself within you.

He doesn’t pound into you the way he did at the cottage. He knows he shouldn’t, so he doesn’t. Even though you want it, you’re grateful for his forethought and instead focus on the way he seems to know which angles to adjust so that his cock not only pierces you but presses against the most sensitive spots inside of you.

He moves faster, reaching down to massage your clit as he kisses his way down your neck.

The moment is sudden, and it surprises you when your body goes tense for a moment as your climax washes over you.

You pull Steve down against you, gripping him hard as you hold him tight while your body is overcome.

Steve continues to push into you. Faster as he realizes that you’ve reached your limit. He grunts as he picks up speed, tracing the shape of your back down to your ass where he takes hold of it, fingers digging into the muscle.

He pulls up a little, searching for your lips with his own, tongue delving into your mouth as you give him what he wants. Both of you moan into each other, muffled and needy until Steve’s body stutters and his heat spills into you over and over.

He thrusts with each burst of ecstasy that overtakes him. His groans grow lazy. His body loose. Your own is already numb and you go still beneath him as he trails lazy kisses along the misty skin of your neck and shoulders.

He sighs, laying his head against your clavicle where he relaxes on top of you, your hands gently stroking his back.

You steal a glance at Maggie in her crib, but she’s sound asleep. It relaxes you to know she’s unbothered and without meaning to, you and Steve both fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

A loud thumping makes you twitch. It sounds distant but it startles you anyway.

In your arms, something large moves.

Your sleepy mind reminds you that it’s Steve and you sigh in your semi-sleep as your hands enjoy the feel of his hot body still resting on top of your own.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The thumping returns, this time louder and clearer.

A quiet whine to your right wakes you more quickly than the thumping and like you’ve been stunned with Thor’s lightning, you spring up from the bed, quickly sliding out from beneath Steve who also whines at your moving but peeks up at you as you rise.

“Whereyewgoin?” He asks, still mostly asleep.

“Go back to sleep.” You whisper to him from beside Maggie’s crib.

BOOM! BOOM-BOOM!

The thumping, which is actually a knocking on your door you realize, repeats.

Maggie whines again and you frown.

“Who’s there?” Steve asks towards the door, his voice more annoyed then upset.

“It’s Agatha, your Majesty.” One of the guards outside speaks.

“Don’t speak for me.” Grandmother’s voice grumbles.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty.” The guard says nervously, probably worried about the knocking, which means that was Grandmother and not the guard.

You look at Steve as Maggie begins to wake, her cries soft but rising as you continue to try and soothe her but now only halfheartedly.

Fear grips you, stealing you of your voice as you stare at your husband. Your little girl’s cries grow louder as she wakes but you’re frozen in place, terrified of what Grandmother could not wait until the morning to tell you.

“What, my flower?” Steve suddenly asks, sliding to the edge of the bed towards you.

“I…I should see what she wants.” You whisper, afraid to speak any louder despite your daughter already being awake.

“Go.” Steve urges you, grabbing your nightdress and moving towards you. He offers it to you as he reaches you. “I’ll put Maggie back to sleep.”

You take the nightdress with trembling hands. If Steve notices he doesn’t say so, but you don’t think he does as he’s already lifting Maggie from the crib, moving back towards the bed.

You dress in a hurry, then move to grab Steve’s robe as it’s closer and pull it over your body.

You’re tying it closed as the door opens upon your approach and find Grandmother pacing the hallway behind the two guards assigned to keep you and Maggie safe.

After what happened with Pierce, Steve is taking no chances.

“Grandmother?” You check, voice stronger but still just as terrified.

“We must speak.” She tells you, her voice strong and her eyes full of severity.

With a tentative nod you have her follow you into Steve’s den next door, shutting the door securely before you move into the room and offer her a seat in front of Steve’s desk.

“No.” She waves your offer off, pacing as you take a seat because your legs are weak again. “I have found a solution.”

“So quickly?” You gasp, hands balled into tight fists on your lap as you watch her pace.

“The sooner the better I would think in this situation. This is nothing like I have ever done before.” She admits. “It will take all of my power to do it.”

“It…will it hurt you?” You wonder, worried for her withered body.

“Probably not.” She shakes her head. “No way to know for sure. But it’s something I’m willing to die for.”

“What?” You gasp, suddenly terrified of losing her.

Finally, Grandmother stops her pacing and moves to stand before you.

“This threat is greater than I first thought.” She admits, slowly sitting herself down in the seat beside yours, turning it so that she can face you. “We cannot allow this power to grow. We can either stop it here, right now. Or we can let your husband stop it later. If we allow him to do it, it will take his life. There is no doubt in my mind of that. There will be others. He will not be the only to perish.

“Stopping this threat now is for everyone’s benefit and if I must pay with my life to save many others, I will do so willingly.” She declares.

“I can’t ask you to do that.” You shake your head, your emotions already raw.

“You’re not asking me, girl. I’m telling you that I must do it. I have already made my choice, now the only choice left to make is your own.” She fixes her gaze on you and you find you cannot look away.

“My own choice?”

“You asked me to save him. To ensure that he will live, a great sacrifice must be made. Separate from my own. I will provide the power, the strength for the incantation. Something else must be given for it to succeed.” Grandmother explains.

Your mind springs into action, thinking of the one thing you have of worth to give. Your life.

“So, I’ll…I’ll die?” You whisper, already in sorrow for leaving your husband and child.

“No.” Grandmother says. “No, I’m certain you will live.”

“Then what?”

“The price is impossible to know. It could be anything.” Grandmother gestures at you, looking you over from head to toe. “It could be your sight. Your ability to hear. Your voice. Your ability to walk. Whatever it is, it will be a great price to pay. Only you can choose to pay it but unless you do, I cannot go forward with the spell.”

“C-can I choose? Can I decide what it is that I sacrifice?” You hope, but what would you choose? What do you possibly have that could be worth your husband’s life?

“No. The magics will choose what to take. It will be equal to what it is you ask for, but only the magics can choose what that value is.” Grandmother explains.

This is impossible. This is unbelievable. This is torture.

You have to pay a price without knowing what it will be?

You know that your answer is yes. You’ll pay it. Whatever the price, you will give it willingly if it will save Steve’s life.

“I will pay it.” You nod. “Of course, I will. Yes.”

Grandmother takes your hand and squeezes it, a knowing look in her eyes. “I knew you would.”

She rises and you follow. Your hands feel weak but with the decision now made, you now it’s right and feel settled that you know this will soon be resolved.

Before the old woman can make it to the door, you reach out and grab her wrist, stopping her before she can leave.

“Grandmother…” You begin, waiting for her to turn.

She doesn’t. “Don’t get sentimental.” She says, voice strong though you’re sure that you can hear a small sadness in her tone.

“I want to thank you…for taking care of me. For loving me. I know that you could not always be there when I was young but you’re here now. Thank you.” You whisper, scared to speak louder in case you begin to cry. “I-I just wanted you to know. In case I cannot say it later or if you-”

You can’t even speak the words. She won’t die. She can’t.

With one withered hand, she reaches down and places it over your own. She gives you a squeeze, her hands trembling but reassuring.

“I don’t know when the spell will take effect. Go. Sleep soundly. Hold them close.” Grandmother advises then pushes your hand off her arm and disappears into the sleeping castle.

The very short walk back to your bedroom feels as if it takes forever. The guard make no comment as they open your door for you and you wander in, eyes searching for the loves of your life.

You find Steve snuggled up close to Maggie, his head pressed against the side of her own, his hand on her tummy and his eyes closed.

Maggie is not sleeping. She’s staring up at the ceiling with her little legs kicking gently as she coos and babbles her baby speak. One of her little hands is closed tightly around Steve’s finger, holding tight. As you move towards them, you notice how her hand doesn’t even close around his finger completely. She’s so small still. So fragile.

What if you can’t hold her after paying the price? What if you can’t hear her babble? What if you can’t see her little face or the way her eyes light up and her toothless smile spreads across her face as she spots you?

Just as she does now, she lets out a louder “Goo…” as she spots you and her legs go into a frenzy as she flails her limbs frantically.

You don’t want to cry but you feel the rush of sorrow overwhelm you. Quickly, before Steve can see, you drop onto the bed still wearing his robe and pull Maggie towards you. You hug her and turn her towards you, burying your face against her tiny chest.

Her little hands grab at you, whatever part of your head they can, and she pulls your ears, tugs your hair, scratches against your cheek but you don’t care. You inhale her scent, memorizing it just in case you lose the ability to smell.

After you’re sure you could never forget it, you tickle her sides until she’s giggling lightly, small bubbles and whines of amusement. It’s not a full laugh. She hasn’t done that for you yet. What if you never get to hear it?

You memorize this one anyway, put it away and lock it up within your heart where you know you will always be able to recall the pure sound of her innocence.

It takes every ounce of will power within you to stifle your desire to sob. Still, you manage it and when you’re certain you can face him, you pull back a bit to look at your daughter’s beautiful face.

She’s all Steve. You hardly recognize anything in her looks of you. She’s gorgeous. Pretty blonde hair, just like Steve’s only slightly darker in shade.

Her eyes are a piercing blue. Lighter than Steve’s but just as observant. She watches you, reaches out for your face where she places a small hand on your nose then slides it down to your lips which she casually grabs and releases before her eyes find her hand and she brings it to her mouth to taste.

You watch her for so long, you’re sure that it must nearly be morning, but the sky continues to be dark outside the windows of your room.

You sing to your little one. A quit lullaby that you hope she’ll remember if you can never speak to her again. You tell her you love her and sing some more.

She drifts off eventually, her little mouth open as she sleeps.

Finally, you turn your eyes on Steve, yearning to see him almost to an unnatural amount. You have never doubted it but in this moment as your eyes find him staring right back at you, you realize how much you truly love him. How much he’s changed your life.

Your world has grown since you met him. He’s changed you forever.

Will the sacrifice be your life? Will you be leaving them behind? Will you be wounding him again, just as Margaret had?

Even though Grandmother said it wouldn’t be, you can’t help but wonder and worry that you might very well be spending the last moments you’ll ever have with him and Maggie now.

What if you close your eyes and they should never open again?

At least she would have him. Maggie wouldn’t be alone. She would have her father. And he would have her.

If by some chance her father should also leave her behind, she’d have Nat and Bucky. She’d have Sam and Peter. She’d have the entire team to care for her. Father and Mother would probably try and take her to Malibia.

She would never need to worry about her meals or whether she could survive frigid winter temperatures. She would be protected and loved even if you aren’t around to make sure she is.

Steve blinks slowly. He’s sleepy but he’s trying to stay awake because you’re awake.

You’re not sure if he can tell that something is wrong, but you push yourself up towards him. You’re careful as you hover over Maggie, reaching to hook your hand behind his neck as he also pushes himself up and towards you.

You kiss him, slow and smooth until your heart begins to ache and your hand squeezes around his neck.

You kiss him with a bit more fervor and though he returns it, when you pull away, his brow is narrowed in confusion. Subtle concern.

“I love you.” You whisper to him, reaching down to trace the shape of his bottom lip with your thumb. You kiss him again. “I love you, forever.”

It’s a promise you have every intention of honoring. Will he love you even if you can’t talk? Will he love you if you can’t hear? Will he still love you if you are not the woman you are now?

You know that you can overcome anything. You can embrace a new way of living so long as it means that Steve and Maggie are safe. But will he see it that way? Will he love you for the woman you will become?

“You’re my entire world, Y/N.” He whispers back almost as if he can hear your thoughts and he wants to put you at ease.

His lips curl up at the corns softly as he blinks even slower than before as sleep begins to pull him under. “You and Maggie are my life.”

Your lip trembles as his eyes shut and do not open again, his head falling to his pillow.

“I love you…so…” He trails off, his words lost to dreams.

You stare at him and then Maggie. All night you stare at them, memorizing the way they breathe and smell. If you’re going to be changed forever, you’re going to remember this moment and cherish it until the day you die.

You will never forget it.

~~~~~~~~~~

1 Year & 3 Months Later

The sun is beaming. It’s strong. July is hot, even more so than normal. You groan as you look up to the sky and shield your eyes from the blinding light.

For a moment your mind goes hazy, full of fog. Something changes as it always does. Something shifts.

Something tugs at the corners of your mind. Something blurry and demanding. You get this way every single time you come here.

Every time you fill the wooden bucket, there’s a flash of something familiar.

You focus on the tug, allowing it to unearth the secret that eludes you.

There’s a quick flash that you don’t quite see. A golden hue. A storm blue circle.

Then your bucket overflows and the water splashes your feet, drenching your newly mended shoes.

They’re too small for your feet but it’s all you have.

“Damn.” You sigh, grunting as you lift the bucket and place it on the damp bank of the river.

Across the barren field, your little hut just at the opposite edge nestled into a grove of forest trees, Bright Rise begins to wake.

Another day, another scramble to find a way to keep your belly full.

“Time to check the traps.” You sigh, groaning as you lift the bucket and begin the trek back to your little hovel in the only village you’ve ever known.

The place you were born, but most definitely not home.

Your heart tells you that somewhere out there…somewhere else, your true home waits.

(THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER! One more to go!)

#steve x reader #king!steve x reader #captain america x reader #medieval au #royalty au #medieval fantasy au #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #avengers x reader #pseudo princess #king!steve x you #steve rogers x you #steve x you #captain america x you #pseudo princess pt35

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florencwrites · 3 years

Text

aphrodite 〚technoblade〛

in which his love finally returns to him, the voices trailing not far behind

(!) voices, mentions of trauma (!)

His mind was running a thousand miles an hour, heart in his throat. He knew very well that he was one of, if not the, most skilled warriors of the realm, however anytime an unexpected guest found their way to his chalet, he couldn't help but worry. Worry for not only his own but Phil's safety, too.

He moved stealthily, a thing he'd always been skilled in, stepping on just the right planks in his home. Letting his eyes roam over the surrounding lands through every window. A single pair of footsteps could be detected in the relatively fresh blanket of snow. It wasn't a straight line at first, it started right by the treeline. Phil was still sound asleep, the sun had barely peeked over the horizon after all.

They've found you.

Not a single noise could be perceived from anyone hiding outside, he was sure of it. He made sure of it. The path ran all the way to the walls of his base, despite that, his front steps were clear of any marks. He held his axe surely by his side, realizing that this might not be just any morning for him, after all.

With careful precision, he pushed his door open while immediately double-checking for any marks on the balustrade. None. They weren't in his house, he was sure there was no other way to enter. He'd learned that the hard way when he came back from one of his little adventures, one day.

They're here.

He remembered it quite vividly, the sweat that ran over his forehead, trailing from his eyebrows to his cheekbones before running down his neck. The blood spatter that had physically and mentally blurred his vision, the way he couldn't get a word in through his own running mind. He had just finished reinforcing his doors, there was no way anyone could've gotten in; how could they if he wasn't even capable of doing it himself?

He'd frozen his ass off that night, having no choice but sleep with his trusty steed in the muddy hay. Thankfully, Phil was supposed to arrive back at the cottage right before dawn, the savior of his own demise, many a time. He'd pulled him from the literal horse feces and dragged him to the stream just a while north, quickly rinsing him before hoisting him back into bed. Phil was nothing short of a father to Techno, he was sure they were meant to be. Phil was everything Techno had always wanted to be, brave, kind, caring, and vicious. Unpredictable, underestimated.

You'll never be half the man he is.

The fresh snow crinkled beneath his sturdy boots, his eyes were wary of any and all movements. Rabbits in the distance, a moaning undead somewhere beneath his feet. The clacking of hooves, restless whinnies. He pressed his back against the freezing concrete of his home, ducking a little before daring to peek around the corner. His eyes hovered over the stable, immediately taking notice of Carl's agitated sighs and disturbed snorts. The prints led right to the gate.

A very faint shush whispered itself out of Techno's mouth, barely loud enough for the horse to hear, nonetheless, it calmed him instantly. He crouched down right behind the shed, letting his fingers trace over the prints that lead into the stall. He delicately hovered over them, inspecting the trail that seemed to run through the footprints. A cape of some sorts, perhaps a dress, had been dragged through the snow. The prints themselves weren't made by any warrior boots, either. They seemed to have been any regular riding ones, leather, most likely. They hadn't been imprinted into the snow deep enough to belong to anyone of normal weight, nor anyone wearing armor. Not even iron armor would be able to lead to these featherlight touches in the frost.

You will die today.

His ears perked at the sound of soft snores coming from right behind the planked wall, rustling of hay, too. His senses were on high alert, his hog-like nose easily discerning the stench of lavender from horse dung at this distance. God, he needed to clean that fucking stable again soon. Perfume, they were wearing perfume. Nobody wore perfume around these parts, any parts really, except for.. L'Manburg.

Slowly, he rose to his feet again, making the tiniest of steps to the entrance of the stable. A deep, silent, breath. His eyes squinted at the sight before him. Right next to the watering trough, that desperately needed a refill, was a small body. Completely cocooned in what seemed like a brown cloak of some sort. Little tufts of hair stood from where their head was situated against the wooden structure. "Erm."

Just kill them.

"Hello?" His voice was still rough with sleep, way raspier than usual. He hid his snout into the seam of his cape a little, not immediately wanting to give away his person to whatever stranger decided to drop anchor in his stable. The body stirred a little at his comment, now revealing an icy hand from underneath the hem of the cloak. A dull undertone to the skin made him realize just how hypothermic they must've been, being out in the cold for God knows how long. he slurred his vowels a little as he tried again, "Hello."

This time the body turned around hastily, complete terror resting on their features. The cloak was still tightly wrapped around their torso, brown riding boots barely peeking from underneath it. A woman. A horrified woman. "Please don't hurt me."

Kill them.

"Give me one good reason why not to." He sternly spoke, not meaning a word he meant. He truly, utterly felt for her, no foe would choose to sleep in a goddamn stable when he was sleeping just two floors up, comfortably surrounded in feathered comforters, shielding him from any harm.

"I won't hurt you." She assured him hastily. He couldn't help but let out a chuckle at her vow, immediately reiterating in a tiny, meek voice, "You promise?"

"You're mocking me." Her voice wasn't any stronger at this point, he could even follow the line of a slight tremble in it as she spoke.

He crossed his arms over his torso, kicking the gate open with his foot. "C'mon." He mumbled, barely resisting the urge to dramatically roll his eyes. No movement from the stable, though, except for Carl's nervous trampling. "If I was going to slice your throat I'd have done it already."

A soft mutter rang from behind him as he made his way up the stairs to his home. "Fair point."

You can trust no one.

He held the door as she stumbled her way into the house, "Why didn't you call for me?"

She stumbled over the uneven planks in his home, quickly being caught by two large hands on her shoulders. He steadied her, meeting her eyes. His demeanor was soft, gentle. "I didn't- don't want to be a bother."

"You're always a bother." His hands still rested on her shoulders, he hesitated. He'd missed her so fucking much, all these weeks he'd been tucked away in the tundra, he'd longed for her warmth on his side. Were it her chest pressed to his back when they were riding through thick blizzards, or her ankles crossing over his when they slept. Her tiny hand in his when they ran from angry shopkeepers, he even missed her cold feet, pressed to his thighs in the middle of the night. Her eyes teared up a little, staring right back at him. He slid his arms around her neck, pulling her into a breathless hug. "You smell different."

"Do you like it better?" Her words were muffled against his chest, silently thanking God for his huge animalistic ears, he let out a croaky laugh. "Haven't decided yet."

❄ ❄ ❄

"She's safe here, Techno." Phil assured him as he hammered away at some sort of new contraction the older man had thought up. "She's safer with you than with them, you know that."

"Do I?" A harsh hit against the wood. "Do I know that, Phil?"

He was the worst-case scenario for her, he knew it. He was a goddamn war criminal, he shouldn't be taking in anyone, let alone her. She deserved a goddamn kingdom, a realm, but all he could offer her was a loosely woven bed in the attic. His bed, that is, but that didn't make it suck any less.

He'd sleep in the snow every single night if it meant she was safe inside. Right like she was right now, he'd pushed her up the ladder to his very own chamber, cladding her in his clothes and tucking her into bed. She hadn't been there for most of it, fast asleep in his arms as he hoisted her into the bed. He made sure to wake her before helping her change, "You've done it before." She softly muttered to him, eyes barely able to keep themselves alert.

He'd smiled down at his lap as he lifted some socks onto her freezing feet, "Just because it was okay then, doesn't mean it is now." He had gently taken her other foot, bringing the sock to almost halfway up her calf. Rather quickly, he exchanged the comforter for a pair of soft, almost corduroy-like trousers. She laid back into the pillow, letting her body fall limp as he handled her into a comfortable position. He crouched right by her head, tucking the blanket in so that she was completely encased in it.

"It's always okay for you." She sighed softly, her eyes closed with a whiff. She was gone, he knew it. He couldn't help but let his fingers carefully push a strand of hair from her face. "Get warm."

"Just because you can't trust yourself, doesn't mean we can't." Phil's mellow voice returned him back into reality, immediately cursing himself for drifting away in thought like that, losing his focus when they were both here. It wasn't just about him anymore, he needed to stay alert, keep them safe.

He huffed in annoyance at the man, secretly rolling his eyes as his back was turned towards him. "That's exactly what it-" Before he could fully finish his sentence, he heard a loud yelp come from behind him. He acted completely on instinct, already wielding his axe above his head, his other hand pressing a glowing, burgundy-colored potion to his lips before he could even truly process the sound. He hastily let his eyes shoot over the scenario, seeing no one near Phil. His eyes perked searching for any trace of the foe, his nose scrunching up; desperate to find a hint of despair in the slight tufts of wind that slid by his face.

"See." A smug expression plastered itself on the blonde's face, not even bothering to look up to meet Techno's eyes from where he was sat, replanting his crops. "She's got nothing to worry about."

Snap his neck.

And for the first time in a long while, he agreed with the voices that echoed through his head.

❄ ❄ ❄

"Morning." He tried his best to wake her as gently as he could, he even practiced it downstairs a few times, but his voice was too.. distinct. The croakiness of his words made her stir in the slightest, not enough, though. He placed his hand on her forearm as she continued her slumber, laying on her side with her arms somewhat crossed over her chest, burying her chin in the blanket. He couldn't help but let a faint smile crack through his normally hard facade as her tiny hand suddenly appeared from beneath the covers to rest itself on his own. "Princess."

A soft hum ran through her body, he could feel the tremble of it on her arm. "Just a little longer."

Nostalgia took over his body, something that had been happening quite often since she returned to him yesterday. Emotions he couldn't even distinguish ran rampant through his head, his veins filling with giddy youth. "Five minutes, that's it." He bit back a smile, taking his hand from hers, steadying himself to disappear down the latch again.

"C'mon, I know you're cold, too." She smiled, suddenly seeming a lot more alert than a few seconds ago. The corners of her lips tugged up almost unnoticeably, her eyes remaining screwed shut. He opened his mouth to retaliate, but she cut him off, "Don't argue, just lay down."

"Fine." He spat out with feigned agitated disinterest, meanwhile, his heart was bonking out of his chest. "Four minutes."

He moved to lay behind her in the tiny, extremely unstable, bed. She immediately went to share her blanket, making sure to cover him in her warmth. She laid on her side, still facing away from him, while he just rested on his back, staring at the ceiling. The silence was deafening, for him at least, he was convinced she'd already fallen back asleep. He laid intertwined his hands on his stomach, fiddling with the rings on his fingers to steady his unnecessary nerves. He could feel the bed shift from beside him, but he noticed only some of the most minuscule movements, right before he felt her warm hand take his, pulling his arm around her frame. He let it happen. She intertwined her fingers over her heart, keeping him to be her big. spoon. She knew very well that he hated being the smaller one, it made him feel inferior; useless. She shuffled in her place, desperate to feel his entire body flush against her, and he couldn't agree more. He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, trying his best to let his soft inhale go unnoticed. God, he'd missed her. "One minute." She whispered softly into the darkened room, he could practically hear the stupid grin playing on her lips, barely resisting a snort at her. Complete silence engulfed them, only their beating hearts and shared breaths filling the room.

She opened her mouth to announce that it was time to get up, moving to free herself from his arms, assuming he had places to be. However, his gruffy voice quickly sounded from behind her. "Don't move."

"God, you've always been so easy to rile up-" He clamped his hand over her mouth, effectively shutting her up immediately. "Don't. Move."

She moved to playfully bite his hand, right as she heard it, the hammering downstairs had stopped for the first time in hours. Phil was adamant about not taking a break before he finished the entire thing, so something must've caught his attention. Techno held his breath, letting his eyes screw shut almost painfully so as he heard his friend's voice from the garden.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Dream."

You should kill them before he does.

And for the first time in forever, the words that ran through his mind scared him. Not because of their meaning, or their tone, no because he hadn't been bothered by them all day. Which was exactly when he realized that they had stopped the second he had safely tucked her into his bed.

When she was safe, so was he.

#technoblade #dreamsmp #dream smp #dsmp #dreamwastaken #dream #georgenotfound #sapnap #fluff #smut #angst #one shot #oneshot #imagine #blurb #fanfic #fanfiction #minecraft #mcyt #youtube #twitch

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beansbeware · 3 years

Text

Beans’ Bagginshield Recs

Here it is! My first rec list eight years since I first started shipping Bagginshield. When this lockdown started (and ended and started again) I found myself re-reading OG/classics and discovering new ones. Sifting through my AO3 history I realized I have read and already forgotten so much fic over the years. For a while, I though the ship had run its course but as we can see now, Bagginshield lives! Check back for updates as I discover (and remember) more fics. Pay attention to the tags and trigger warnings!

I Sang In My Chains Like The Sea by orphan_account for lincesque, IronPanda

In which Bilbo is a Jaeger pilot candidate, and Middle Earth stands on the brink of destruction. (Pacific Rim AU) [Wasn’t sure how this one worked but man it did]

At the Turn of the Year by northerntrash

They say that strange things live in the woods, fair folk and things more spirit than man; don't step between the old oaks, parents mutter to their children, or they might find you, and eat you. Thorin never believed that, but now winter is settling into his bones, the shadows are growing longer through the hoar frost, and he is lost among the trees.

And it was there that Thorin met him, that strange, laughing creature, walking barefoot through the bracken.

Canon-ish

Homeward Bound by perkynurples for 61Below

His life slips away from him on an elven boat carrying him overseas, and there is one last journey Bilbo Baggins must take if he truly means to arrive home.

Sansûkh by determamfidd

The battle was over, and Thorin Oakenshield awoke, naked and shivering, in the Halls of his Ancestors.

The novelty of being dead fades quickly, and watching over his companions soon fills him with grief and guilt. Oddly, a faint flicker of hope arises in the form of his youngest kinsman, a Dwarf of Durin's line with bright red hair.

(Follows the story of the War of the Ring).

The Great Shire Conspiracy by Avelera for Emsiecat

Ten years later, Bilbo can't even go to the Green Dragon without a dwarven tourist buying him a beer and sobbing over Bilbo's great tragic love affair with Thorin Oakenshield. Which would all be quite touching and heartbreaking, if not for one little thing...

Dark (generally not a fan but this one made the cut)

Pain-Bearer by lilithiumwords (unfinished)

In an alternate reality, Erebor was never taken by Smaug, and the War of Dwarves and Orcs never happened. The Orcs invaded the Shire, slaughtering hundreds and taking countless more as slaves. Bilbo is slave to Azog, the Dwarf King's mortal enemy... until the Dwarf King rescues him.

Dwarves! in the Shire

Selling to Hobbits by HildyJ

Exiled from his kingdom and living on the mercy of others, Thorin is determined to make his own way in the world for him and his family. And the annual Summer Fair in Hobbiton sounds like the best place to sell enough of his crafted goods to do just that.

Oak and Mistletoe by HildyJ (series)

After a life dominated by a strange form of sickness, Thorin is sent to the Shire to seek a cure only Bilbo Baggins can offer.

Erebor - Nope, Never Fell

A Most Sensible Idea by HildyJ

Bilbo Baggins isn't sure about this. Not one bit.

Frodo is definitely too young to enter into an arranged marriage with a dwarven king called Thorin Oakenshield. It's a good thing that Bilbo is there to chaperone him through their courtship.

After all, there's no chance that a fussy hobbit bachelor would ever catch the eye of a king.

Signs and Meanings by HildyJ

It shouldn't matter to Thorin that the visiting hobbit cook doesn't speak his language. But it does.

Per Aspera by northerntrash

Deep in the dungeons of the Kingdom of Erebor, in an old, unused storeroom, lived a Hobbit.

In which Bilbo Baggins, a strangely successful thief, makes a mistake, and meets a Prince.

Erebor - Rebuilding

Mother-Tongue by northerntrash for HildyJ

Forget-me-not: a small flower, with four petals, which are normally found in shades of blue with a pink or white centre. These are traditional flowers of intent in the Shire, used to express true love, and remembrance.

In which Bilbo plans to leave Erebor, and Thorin tries to understand why.

Previous Engagements by Lunarflare14

After the Battle of Five Armies Thorin and Company have a new task: rebuilding their reclaimed home. Suddenly Bilbo finds himself up to his ears in responsibility and he surprises himself with how well he can navigate negotiations with elf dignitaries, farmers in Dale, and a dwarf king who has patience for neither.

But as Spring approaches a caravan from the Blue mountains brings something everyone had nearly forgotten: the dwarf woman Thorin promised his hand to many years ago.

Which is fine. It's all fine. It wasn't like Bilbo was falling in love with the king or anything.

That would be tragic.

And I'm Your Lionheart by Lee_Whimsy

Bilbo lingers in Erebor while Thorin recovers from his wounds, and soon finds himself caught up in politics, romance, and the occasional kidnapping. Ensemble cast. AU. Eventually Thorin/Bilbo.

Fix-Its (Gawd we need them)

An Expected Journey by MarieJacquelyn

For years Bilbo has written about his adventures and told stories about his dealings with dwarves and dragons. To most it seemed like fanciful nonsense but to Bilbo it was all very real. A weight followed him home from his travels, one called regret. Now in his final moments Bilbo has a choice to make – go quietly into death’s embrace or go back again and face all the fear and pain for the chance to make things right?

Of course, change is a fickle thing and not everything can be done again as Bilbo is about to find out. In the end, it may not only be salvation that he’s fighting for.

though the stars walk backward by baggvinshield, killaidanturner

Bilbo wakes, always in Erebor, with dark shadows to one side and the first light of a terrible dawn to the other.

An Expected Journey by MarieJacquelyn

Of course, change is a fickle thing and not everything can be done again as Bilbo is about to find out. In the end, it may not only be salvation that he’s fighting for.

Over Your Shoulder by northerntrash

The battle is over, and the lost have been counted. There is too much death, too much blood, and in the middle of it sits one small Hobbit, left quite alone but for a body on the ground and the memory of what might have been. But he is a tenacious creature, and if there is one thing that he has learnt, it is not to give up hope.

In which Bilbo Baggins goes on one last journey, and doesn't come back alone.

Historical Setting

The Ghost And Mr Baggins by perkynurples

They say that everything can be cured by saltwater - sweat, tears or the sea. Bilbo Baggins chooses the last option, taking his recently orphaned nephew and moving to the charming Oak Cottage, overlooking England’s grislier shores. The house charms him instantly, and though he knows nothing at all about the sea, or about making ends meet on his own so far from everything he’s known his whole life for that matter, he’s quite determined to stay, and see his nephew get better, odd sounds in the night be damned. He’s living in a modern world, after all, and the nonsense he’s been hearing about the house being haunted by its former owner, the mysterious Captain Durin, is just silly superstition… isn’t it?

Hobbit! Thorin

I've Grown a Hedge Around My Heart by pibroch (littleblackdog)

Thorin Brandybuck, just recently come of age, still lives in his family’s smial in Buckland, with his parents and two younger siblings. Thorin is an odd duck amongst his relations and neighbours-- unsociable, grumpy, shy, and awkward. And beyond that, he looks rather strange even for a Bucklander, strongly favouring the thick, dark haired build of his Stoorish blood.

It defies all sense and reason why Bilbo Baggins, an exemplar of all the respectable traits Thorin lacked, would ever desire a friendship with him.

Bilbo, as Thorin discovers, is not always as sensible as he appears.

Marriage (or something like it)

An Unexpected Proposal by Eareniel

As Bilbo sat smoking in his empty hobbit hole, he couldn’t help but wonder – when did his life become so boring? Or better yet – when did his old life stop being enough?

He suspected the answer to that question lay somewhere around the time when he had refused Thorin Oakenshield’s offer of marriage.

Something Blue by Lapin

Thorin marries Bilbo after the Battle of Five Armies, a marriage of convenience, not love. Slowly, they must come to make the best of it, Bilbo resolves. After all, he's a Hobbit. They make the best of things.

Magical/Super Powers

On Adventures and Other Forms of Conduct Unbecoming of a Wizard by manic_intent for beingevil

For as long as even the old Gaffer could remember there had been a wizard living in the hill at Bag End, overlooking the Shire. As wizards went, this one wasn't the wandering sort, always out to lure gentle folk out onto nasty adventures, or even the powerful kind, the sort that lived in high towers, reaching out into the ways of the world.

Modern Setting

Old Stone, New Fires by northerntrash

Bilbo was not sure what he had expected when he had agreed to supervise the restoration of Erebor House, on the lonely tidal island in the North sea, but it was not this. The winters up here are cold and harsh, and there is a strange feeling on the air, thick with the brine of the sea and secrets to which he is not privy; there is some part of the long and troubled history of the place that has not been spoken of, a shadow between the broken family gravestones and the caves beneath the cliffs, dark and dangerous.

Perhaps it is all in Bilbo’s mind, but as the nights grow longer, he starts to doubt it, and as Thorin sinks ever deeper into black and incalculable moods, he will have to find what has been lost, before it takes them all.

For This by northerntrash

Thorin Durin had lived in his new flat for approximately eighty four minutes when things started to go terribly, terribly wrong. The wrongness came in the form of a package, delivered to his door, wrapped in brown paper and string, with a small tag wishing him a very sincere welcome to the building.

Nothing Gold Can Stay by perkynurples

Bilbo Baggins led a rather peaceful life, thank you very much, until an old acquaintance decided to turn it upside down, and he found himself agreeing to take a job that’s… let’s say not exactly up his alley, and might eventually cost him a little more than his treasured cozy lifestyle. Who would have thought tutoring a slightly menacing monarch’s more than slightly overbearing nephew could prove to be such an adventure?

Love-In-Idleness by perkynurples

Taking Bilbo Baggins, a successful movie actor who is only just getting used to the perks and intricacies of becoming A Face People Want To See, and putting him together with Thorin Oakenshield, with his very traditional (read: slightly backwards) ideas about what constitutes Real Art and Real Talent, might very well be viewed as just some clothead’s idea of a joke. But there are jokes, and then there are carefully calculated risks the size of controversial reproductions of classic Shakespearean plays - for Bilbo, it is the chance of a lifetime to prove himself to all those who have ever deemed him too one-dimensional to even attempt stage, while Thorin has the opportunity to get out of the rut that’s been hindering his career for so long now, and shine in a role worthy of his talent once again. That is if the two learn how to share the same space for more than ten minutes without wanting to tear each other’s hair out. The course of true love never did run smooth, after all…

If There Were Water by stickman

Bilbo Baggins might be in over his head. He’s purchased an old stone house atop a hill overlooking a city he doesn’t know, and plans to live quietly, largely ignoring the rest of the world. But it’s early April, the rainy season, and the roof leaks, and there's something strange about Bywater House that he can't quite figure out.

Thorin Oakenshield is in his fourth month of trying to reconcile his own grief with his failures at anything remotely resembling a competent single parent, living out of a shoebox flat with Fíli (seven, sullen, and stubborn as hell) and Kíli (five, resilient but cracking), working crap jobs and hating everything including himself.

Under the cover of rainy afternoons and sleepless nights, roof repairs and building restoration, Bilbo and Thorin try to figure out how one navigates isolation, and how one breaks out of it. Every step they manage to take forward finds them dragged back again; every question asked has too many answers, or too few. This is a story about living in a world where everyone is on their own, always, and how things go on.

How the West Was Won and Where It Got Us by stickman

Bilbo is a harried 1st year British literature Ph.D. (early 20th century fiction) who happens to have an interest in spatial narrative structures, a lack of time-management skills, and a tiny apartment with a lot of books and very little furniture. He’s stressed, always, and doesn't quite know where he belongs. He tells himself that really, this is, in fact, what he wants to be doing. But sometimes, as much as he loves books, he gets an urge to do something with his hands.

Thorin is a disgruntled M.Arch. 1 in his last year who can’t be arsed to shave and frightens his students, and, frankly, his profs, but his work is top-notch so no one can really say much. They can, however, bully him into running a hands-on design workshop on Saturday mornings, which is complete crap, because he’s used to drinking his Friday nights into oblivion so showing up at Milstein at 7:45 the next morning and trying to teach in a room of wall-to-wall windows as the sun rises is not at the top of his list. Besides, no one ever shows up.

Except one morning, someone does.

The Boy You Met (At The Coin Laundry) by Lee_Whimsy

Bilbo accidentally spends a summer in Ireland. One rainy day, Thorin appears in the hotel laundry room, naked and dripping wet and about to propose. (But not, unfortunately, to Bilbo.)

Gandalf, Thranduil, and a handful of Spanish footballers all guest-star.

Hooked On You by Chamelaucium

Thorin should have learnt not to trust his brother and sister by now.

Come with us on holiday, they’d said. It’ll be fun, they’d said. A nice break from work.

Yeah right. All this holiday had brought him was being knocked around the head, acute hay-fever, and the biggest, most ridiculous crush ever on the cute, golden-haired fishing instructor.

One-Sided Conversations by northerntrash

"Thank you for listening," Thorin said, getting to his feet. "I hope to be able to return the favour, one day."

The man on the bed didn't respond, but since he'd been in a coma for longer than Thorin had known him, that wasn't entirely surprising.

“One”/Soulmates

you lick your lips (you taste like years of being alone) by perkynurples for stopchasingflowers

Thorin Oakenshield was born without the longing, and has spent his whole life merely observing others as they pursued a feeling unknown to him until they finally found their One. He has made his peace with the prospect of being alone, and has been faring well enough, but little does he know the fates have a different story in store for him.

Things We Grow Together by serenbach

Dwarves are born with a bone-deep knowledge of their One, but Thorin stops feeling the pull of his after the dragon attacks Erebor. Needless to say, he is surprised, and not initially pleased, to find his One living behind a round green door decades later.

Hobbits find a seed that represents their innermost self and can offer it to someone else to plant. This creates a bond as strong as deep roots in the earth between them. It is just like Bilbo, after years of thinking that no one would want his, to offer his soul-seed to a dwarf that does not understand gardening metaphors.

But just because they have found each other does not make the quest to reclaim Erebor any easier, and in the end a sacrifice is still made.

Thorin has to trust in the strength of the bond between himself and his One, because otherwise he will never believe that the sacrifice was worth it.

Colour-struck by northerntrash

Soul mates are like adventures, Bilbo had often consoled himself. Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things that made you late for dinner. It was no great hardship that he had never met his, even if he couldn't tell which of his petunias were blue and which were purple.

Quest-ions

Discovering Mr Baggins by Eareniel

The story of a Hobbit, told through the eyes of the dwarves.

Thorin Oakenshield's Majestic Diary by Fruitsie

Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain and Totally Majestic Badass of Middle Earth, does not have a raging hard-on for Bilbo Baggins.

No, seriously.

Just read his diary.

Call You Home by northerntrash

In which the Company are entirely too nosy about matters that are supposed to be a secret, and Bilbo learns that being concerned about propriety is overrated when you could be making friends instead.

Time Travel (because walking Middle Earth is not enough)

Of an Arcane Binding by Salvia_G

An inexplicable magic ties Bilbo Baggins, hobbit of the Shire, to Thorin, dwarven prince of Erebor

#bagginshield #thorin x bilbo #the hobbit #fic rec #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield

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lightthewaybackhome · 3 years

Text

Sorry this is so long. Probably should have done a 2 parter.

"My darling girl, when are you going to realize that being normal is not necessarily a virtue? It rather denotes a lack of courage!" - Aunt Frances, Practical Magic

My whole life, as far back as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be artistic. I’ve wanted to create. I love beauty. I love artistry. I love creation. I love the artsy look: jewelry, tattoos, flowing clothing, and funky hair. It is a personal aesthetic I keep returning to, especially as I get older. As a child, I tried so many different forms of art—painting, photography, drawing— but none of them seemed quite right. None of them got what was in my head out. All of them fell short until I started writing. Writing was a flame, a fire, a drug. Writing allowed me to express what was in my imagination. This is the first thing to understand.

Everyone is artistic and art is everywhere. I’ve believed this as long as I can remember. There are amazing artistic feats in our world: books, movies, video games, paintings, sculptures, and magnificent pieces of music. Yes, art can be very high and very special. But, art can also be found in charcuterie boards, homemade quilts, sourdough bread, cocktails, soup, and all ordinary things if we but look and see. Art can be high magic and art can be ordinary. This is the second thing to understand.

As I’ve embraced being a homemaker, a HearthKeeper, a woman where she’s meant to be, I came across the term domestic artist. As much as I didn’t like the book Eve in Exile by Rebekah Merkle, it gave me this. It gave me the term domestic artist. That stuck with me. It spoke to me because it captured both the first and the second thing. It captured the never-ceasing call to create which haunts me at all times, and it elevated and honored the ordinary in a sprinkling of fairy dust. It said, “Yes, you have to cook today. Three meals plus snacks and drinks. It’s your job, but, but, what if, what if instead of looking at it as some drudgery, some Cinderella enslavement, what if you looked at it as an opportunity to create beauty?”

Not every meal, every outfit, every moment of your day can be a work of art. Some days you just have to do what you have to do. Some days get upended in the opening credits with a broken washer or a sleepless child. Some days plans change. Life changes. One minute life looks like this, and then the next it’s on to something completely different. But, the beauty of being a domestic artist is that you can create art in any of these moments and in any setting. You can find art in any moment and in any setting.

See, the world tells us that homemaking, HearthKeeping, is boring. It tells us it’s pointless. A waste. You could be changing the world. Only dumb useless women keep their homes. And that’s because they’re either tied down by a dictator of a husband or the demands of children or the cultural trappings of their religion. Courage, dear heart. Courage! Homemaking is magic. Homemaking is flexible. Homemaking changes with the seasons and the woman. I, I am a bit bohemian, a bit rustic, a mixture of rugged and romantic. I grew up a tomboy, but have embraced being a woman in her home since I was a child. I love leather and lace. I love cottage-witch aesthetics. I love boots and long flowing things. I like deer heads, linen, skulls, and ruffles. I like feathers and dreamcatchers, but I also love to decorate with open space. I love pies and feeding my husband. But, look at this, one of my best friends is a classic. She loves clean lines, traditional and timeless pieces. She loves modern accents. She loves beachy highlights and hammocks. She’s not into farmhouse, rustic modern, or raw-edged wood. On any given Sunday, she’s in a pencil skirt, simple top, simple heels with her three daughters in matching dresses while I’m in distressed boyfriend jeans, a mullet-tucked top, and wearing my crow skull. We’re very different, but we’re both homemakers who love making our homes.

I have a woman in my life who quilts and that flows out into their decorating. So many of her things are beautifully hand sewn. If she wants it, she makes it. Another friend grew up in Africa and her home is filled with her love of that culture. One dear friend loves plants and grows amazing flowers that she uses to create Instagram-worth bouquets. Another woman isn’t super fluffy-feminine but she has an eye for remodeling and so is constantly making improvements on her home: flooring, painting, and more. My sisters, like me, both enjoy a minimalist approach to decorating and all three of us have a special place for coffee. Both my sisters’ homes are welcoming and peaceful even with kids running around like crazy.

That’s the point, the world tells women to band together, that we’re a sisterhood, that we should go out and change the world, abandoning our homes before we’re relegated to only kitchen and nursery work, but reality tells me that the most amazing women I know are busy in their homes. This is sisterhood. This is where we bloom. It is here that we have flexibility. For over five years, I’ve struggled with chronic health issues. Homemaking lets me decide each day what I can do and how I’m going to do it. Homemaking lets you change what you do for each season of life. Lots of littles? Keep it simple. Empty nest? Explore. Somewhere in between? Keep growing. Lots of energy? So many things you can expand into if you just refuse to believe the lie that homemaking is beneath you. Don’t be normal. Don’t believe that homemaking is a waste of time. Don’t buy into the lie that you are somehow being less than everyone else when you raise your children, love your husband, and create beauty. Have the courage to be strange. We were made for this! It suits us. This is an environment women thrive in.

When I got over my grammar inhibitions and started writing, I felt like my soul came alive. I felt like I’d finally found what I’d been searching for since I came into this world. It doesn’t matter whether I’m writing an epic story or writing about HearthKeeping or just word doodling, writing, words, stories just flow from me. Wonderfully, homemaking is like that for me, too. I want to read books, I want to learn, I want to talk about it, I want to do it. It’s not perfect. I don’t always feel glorious, but I do feel ‘right’ when I’m doing this. I feel like I’m where I belong. I feel like this is a place I can both rest in and grow in. I feel safe when I’m having a fatigue flare up and I feel excited when I think about all that I can do.

A real-life example: Sundays are long hard days. They’re days that generally spike my fatigue and my husband is worn out. They’re both the best and hardest day of the week. When we get home I make a cocktail and we crash. Inevitably, the minute I sit down my man asks for a snack and what we’re having for dinner. For several years, this drove me up a wall. It is Sunday. The day of REST, why is it my responsibility to always make food? Epic sigh. Epic whiny sigh. I would meal plan for the whole week and then wing it on Sunday and Monday, always with poor results and grumpiness on my part. Then, one week as I meal-planned, I realized that I could also prepare for the weekend. Lightbulb. Facepalm. Really? Why had it taken me into my 40th year of life to realize that if I want a quiet, restful, happy weekend, I should just plan snacks, drinks, and meals ahead of time? I’m going to blame it on my chronic health, brain fog addled mind. I’m going to blame it on laziness. I’m going to blame it on being a young homemaker. Some are understandable, some are inexcusable.

Sundays now involve way less stress because I can immediately prepare snacks and know what we’re eating the minute we get home. No more attitude issue. No more stress. Easy and nice.

Did this change the world? Does this matter to anyone but myself? Did my husband even notice? Maybe not, but this is homemaking. This is HearthKeeping. It is my job and my calling. Even without notice or world-shattering consequences, I’m pleased with the outcome. More than pleased, I’m really happy about it. It brings me joy and delight to find a better way to take care of my family. It allows me to sprinkle my Sunday afternoon with just a little bit of artistry. I make drinks, snacks, dinner. I feed my family.

See, one of the lies that the feminists preach is that we’re wasted in our homes. And yet, the majority of the women I know who work outside the home aren’t doing glamorous jobs. They’re not travel bloggers or world-renowned chiefs or CEOs. They’re cosmetologists, retail workers, bank tellers, nurses, teachers, and such. Now, none of those are bad. Working outside the home isn’t bad. (I think each family has to decide what family looks like to them.) Please, please, don’t read that as degrading. I worked retail and I think retail is important. These are all God-honoring employment in which you can strive and serve. I’m not bashing any of those jobs. I have many many dear friends who work outside the home. What I am saying is that I think we as women need to ask ourselves if leaving our homes en masse was worth it. Has it given us all the joy, delight, and fulfillment the feminists promised us?

I’ve done both. I’ve been a co-owner of a business that I helped grow from nothing to something amazing. I’ve worked as an everyday retail worker. I write and am the main editor for a small neighborhood magazine. And I’m a HearthKeeper. I will tell you right now, no qualifications, that HearthKeeping is the most satisfying job I’ve ever had. It not only challenges me every day but it also works with me. The boundaries are what I set in place and so I grow as I can. The work never ends, yes, but it also never ends. There is always something else to explore.

I think being a homemaker is largely attitude. You can buck against what you do, and most women do. Just spend two minutes on Pinterest looking at doing laundry or dishes and the bitter hatred comes pouring out. Look at the complaints women make against their churches: we’re relegated to doing nursery work and kitchen duty. What if, just for a moment, we decided to be Domestic Artists? What if, for just a moment, we tried loving our jobs instead of complaining? What if we thought that dishes meant food and good times and healing of the souls around us? What if we saw laundry as a way to keep beauty and cleanliness around us? What if we saw it as our privilege and delight to take care of the food, children, clothing, cleaning, cooking, gardening, growing of the next generation, and the men of the world? What if we embraced the domestic arts and saw them as truly magnificent, glorious, unique arts? How many of us would be able to say with a straight face that working retail is more fulfilling than managing a small world? Is it more fulfilling to go work in an office than it is to orchestrate a place of welcome, rest, and renewal for your husband and yourself? It might be more visible, but is it truly more long-lasting?

I can say that it isn’t. I can say that I think being a homemaker is uniquely suited for women and that we should have the courage to go against the grain of our world and say no. No, I’m not going to give all of myself to work outside the home when the home is far more challenging and interesting. No, I’m not going to believe the lie that homemaking is oppression and boredom. I will find beauty in the ordinary and I will embrace art in the everyday. This is one of those amazing jobs where it is what you make it. It is what you pour into it. If you think it’s boring or demeaning you won’t get anything out of it. If you think it is challenging and rewarding, you will get the world out of it. You will grow yourself and those around you. Think about what a wonderful thing it would be if we made our homes our careers! If we women really took on the label Domestic Artist in our own individual ways.

#homemaking #hearthkeeper #housewife #prose #trad wives #traditional femininity #domestic artist #writing #artists on tumblr #art

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starkovsnesta · 3 years

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silence and noise (nesta x cassian)

Hey everyone! I’ve been wanting to publish something of these two for a long time but never actually found the courage untile now. I apologize for any mistakes you may find. Please read it and let me know what you think, even criticism is well accepted as long as it helps me grow and get better in what I love to do. I hope you are all well, God bless you and enjoy.

read on ao3

The walls became narrower and narrower. It was a dark room, the darkness solid enough to climb all the way up over her legs, torso, arms, and chest. Yes, the darkness tightened her chest, overbearing.

"Surrender" whispered in her ear with her muffled voice. But Nesta could not respond.

She continued to drown. And drown.

"Nesta" she called her.

Her name sounded like a hiss. "Nesta", another voice was added. And another one.

She closed her eyes, trying to drive away the noise but with no result. She could not send the darkness away, she could not silence the voices.

She tried and tried again every night. But it was all useless.

So, she surrendered.

-------

She woke up reeling, her hands clasped to her heart as if this would be enough to calm its tumult.

It was still late at night, barely a ray of moonlight came in through the window.

Nesta closed her eyes, inhaled deeply for a few seconds and then let her breath go.

The process had to be repeated for a good half an hour before it took effect. When her heart finally calmed down, the woman decided to get out of bed and head for the kitchen.

This wasn't the first time she had a nightmare, nor was it the first time this particular scenario had tormented her like this. She did not understand its meaning, and most of the time she preferred to forget rather than think about it.

Cassian's small house was cozy. A medium-sized cottage, clearly not intended to be shared with several people. The bare walls showed signs of aged paint. Everything was reminiscent of the past, a small casket suspended in time.

Sometimes, Nesta felt she could get used to that simple life. She had been living there for a few months now. She was not happy, yet she could not say she was sad. Somehow, staying away from Velaris made it easier for her to ignore some of her demons.

The male who lived with her tried every day to knock down her walls, never discouraged by how his fire went out once it fell on the stone fortress she had built. Cassian burned with a living fire. It was very different from the chilling one that consumed Nesta.

He was as welcoming as the four walls that housed her, and like the latter, she felt as if he were surrounding her.

He was in everything she did, in everything she thought, in the few times she opened her mouth. He flowed in her veins like her blood, and while everything seemed to her as a fruit of her own mind, he was an undeniable reality for her. Maybe that was the reason why sometimes she found it hard to face. Reality had the bad habit to make her suffocate, and the only solution , the only way she could breathe again was by ignoring it completely. And yet, the darkness followed her around. Sometimes quietly, not making a sound. Other times louder and louder, inviting her to welcome her embrace. This were the times where she had to fight with all of her fragile strength, and also the moments when she thought most of giving up. Cassian saw it all. Like her darkness, sometimes he stood by her silently. Other times, he made noise. He provoked her, sometimes screamed at her, sometimes teased her. As if he wanted his light to overcome her.

For this reason, she was not surprised when she entered the kitchen and found him sitting in a chair, silent.

His arms were resting on the table. His head tilted, his defeated gaze pointed at the wood as if it could reveal some hidden truth to him.

She knew that he had heard her footsteps and felt her closeness, yet he did not look up.

"Can't you sleep either?" he only asked her in a soft voice.

Nesta answered with a small sound of assent.

He looked up at her, who stood in front of the door.

He pointed a chair at her with his hand, inviting her to sit down.

"I will prepare a herbal tea," he said, and he stood up without waiting for her answer.

The woman had the impression that he was not doing it to do her a favor, but rather to have something to do, a goal although small.

For once, she did not stop him.

She was too tired even to fight, she realized. And from the way his shoulders were curved, she knew that the same was true for him.

Neither of them could sleep well at night.

Sometimes Nesta would hear him fidgeting in his bed, whispering words in a language she did not know, but which seemed familiar to her because of the desperation with which they were pronounced. Other times, on those nights when all she could do was stare at the ceiling hoping that it would collapse on her, she would hear him get out of bed and wander around the house like a ghost, looking for something.

Those were the times when Nesta felt a strange instinct making room inside her, to move the blankets and go to him, just to make him aware of her presence. She would not tell him anything, she would just show herself to him. She would show herself.

What would have changed? How would it have helped him? She did not know.

But when, at the beginning of her alcohol detoxification, she had found herself hugging the toilet and throwing up whatever was still in her stomach, he was there.

He never went into the bathroom with her, knowing that she did not want to be seen in that painful state.

He remained outside the closed door, invisible to her eyes but present.

He wouldn't leave until her pulse calmed down. When her ears would ring from the pain, from the voices who did not shut up inside her head, she would find herself concentrating on his heartbeat. It marveled her how fast it was, a continuous sound, that managed to distract her mind. There were times when that heartbeat lulled her to sleep, so she often fell asleep on that cold floor, but miraculously woke up on the warm bed.

Cassian was as attracted to her coldness as she was to his warmth. And while neither of them ever wanted to admit that somehow their souls were always searching each other in the dark, they both welcomed the crumbs that the other left them.

Cassian put a steaming cup of tea in front of her. She whispered a "thank you" and drank. For a long moment, neither of them said a word.

"Is it to your liking?" asked the male in front of her.

She looked at him. Seeing him so tired made her heart ache a little bit, but her face remained unreadable when she replied "I will be satisfied", her tone the personification of superiority.

He laughed slightly.

"What would I do without your sweet words, darling?"

"It doesn't concern me," she replied, and then "don't call me that".

"Admit it, you actually love it when I call you that". He came slightly closer when he said those words. She didn’t know if the teasing was just a device to get his own mind off whatever was keeping him from rest, from peace.

Nesta puffed annoyed, hoping this would hide the slight redness that had risen to her cheeks due to the proximity. Even after months, she couldn’t stop herself. Mostly so when she felt this vulnerable.

"I would say that you say these things to sleep better at night but clearly, this is not the case".

Cassian burst out laughing, throwing his head back. The sound sent a vibration inside her, and she chilled a little.

He looked at her with his eyes wide open. "Did I really just hear a joke from Nesta Archeron?"

"Please don't let anyone hear you. I have a reputation"

Cassian whistled, "I don't think people could be less terrified of you even if you were to pursue a career as a court jester, sweetheart."

Nesta smiled a little. When he described her that way, he did so with admiration and respect. Almost as if she were a dreaded general like him.

It made her wonder if he saw her that way, as an equal. It wasn’t a thing men did when confronted to her. She knew she didn’t meet the expectations of human society, that as a woman she wasn’t meant to be proud and strong-willed. Ever since she was a kid, she had hoped inside of her that she could change the rules somehow. Be just as the heroines in her precious books, and make a man fall in love with her just by existing. But she had learnt the hard way that somehow dreams were just meant to be that. Thomas had proved it to her. And yet, Cassian was everything she never expected a man to be. Especially towards a woman. He was teasing and provoking, sure. But he could also be gentle and respectful. He never forced himself on her, defying her most profound fears. Instead, he waited patiently for her to give him what she wanted, even if she knew her drops left him unsatisfied.

"You are not terrified of me, though," she reminded him.

He sneered, "Oh no, the truth is danger has an annoying tendency to attract me."

She laid her arms on the table and leaned a little towards him. She couldn't help but notice the way his jaw tightened, and his eyes fell for a brief moment on her lips.

A thrill of energy burst inside her, enjoying the distraction that this conversation was giving her.

"Are you saying I'm dangerous, General?"

"Terribly."

In response, she smiled.

They continued to observe each other, two tired souls awakened by the same desire. It would have been so easy to abandon herself in his arms, allowing him to hold her tight to himself until he suffocated her.

But this would have given him a power that Nesta was not ready to give away.

She didn't know if she would ever be.

She desired him. And yet, the idea of lowering her defenses for a time, even just to have sex, terrified her.

And she was sure that no matter what she repeated to herself, sleeping with him would please her heart as much as her body.

And she could not allow it.

In Cassian's eyes seemed to burn the same battle.

Their faces were a few inches away. She could see the way he looked at her.

If only she had come a little bit closer, just a little bit -

"What nightmare won't let you sleep?" he suddenly asked her.

She violently withdrew, as if someone had slapped her in the face.

She had forgotten her dream.

"What do you care?" she asked him abruptly.

How dare he bring her back to reality like that? But as she demanded it to herself, with rage, she also gave herself the answer: he is as real as a forest fire can be. She could pretend he was not there, but that wouldn’t stop him from getting closer and closer, until she could feel her skin burn, she could feel herself be marked by him. There was no way to stop it. And again, the only solution was to run away. To build a tower that was so high, so hard, that all his fire could was to accept the defeat.

He shrugged "Simple curiosity."

But from the way he kept staring at her, Nesta knew it was much more than that.

"What is it? Are you anxious to tell your beloved High Lady that her devastated sister can't sleep at night?" she spat poisonously.

Cassian stiffened.

Feyre was a delicate subject between them. His loyalty to her sister made her angry. No one seemed to notice the faults of the young fae, or rather they decided to justify them without too much thought.

"She cares about you," he replied, just as she expected.

She snorted. "Sure, because my little sister is so good and dear, isn't she? She is doing all of this for me, not to get rid of a dead weight."

Cassian stood up and stood in front of her. His fists were clenched.

"Don't talk like that" he imposed.

She remembered his face in battle, his eyes lit up with rage, his body alive and full of a force capable of destroying everything around him.

She remembered his words

I have no regret but this.

No. Nesta repelled those thoughts with all her strength, closing herself in her coldness.

She watched him recognize her defense mechanism instantly. Cassian's face changed.

"I think I'll go to bed now," she announced, before she could turn around and climb the stairs ignoring the male who called for her blood like a siren, he grasped her hand. They both seemed to paralyze at the gesture. They were brought back in time, at a terrible night who had scarred them deeper than they could admit. Nesta looked at him in the eyes, daring him to plead her as he did when she broke his heart. But he didn’t. Instead, he let go gently, and with a tired tone he asserted ”I wish I could hate you.”

It was a punch she didn’t expect, but she knew she deserved. She did not know what hurt more: the fact that he had tried to feel like that towards her, or his impossibility of him to do so despite everything, despite her. She climbed the stairs with fury.

She reached the door to her room quickly, anxious to get rid of that annoying feeling that had been insidious in her belly. That desire to scream, to destroy something, to fight.

She closed her eyes as soon as she was in her room.

She breathed deeply, then let her breath go, trying to catch her control again. For a moment, there was only the dark inside her room. No sound was made by either of them, as if scared of the consequence it could cause. If only a few words could make her burn and get cold at once, what would happen if they were to sit down and actually have a discussion about every single thing they felt? Before she could go back to bed, though, she heard his voice faintly whisper "you are not a dead weight".

She stopped in front of her bed for a moment. And, before she could stop it, before she could go back to pretend that nothing could ever touch her, a quiet tear slid on her cheek.

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