I wish I could go back to my younger self and say “hey., yeah it’s all really shitty, I know you know that. But you know there’s a lot of good shit too., the stuff worth staying alive for, being there to see. There will still be a lot of bad shit., but you’ll find strength in each passing year. You’ll fumble and fall., and worry about this scary place your head is in catching up to you. But you’ll finally be in control., and that’s something worth staying alive for.”
A Glimpse of Us
Steve Harrington x Reader
Warnings: severe angst? Blood, tears, I can’t give too much away
Summary: when you’re trying to save the world, not everyone walks away unscathed
A/N: I would literally sacrifice myself for Steve Harrington, y’all do not understand. If the duffers kill my boy I will be raising hell.
Steve didn’t want to be here.
Hell, if he was being honest he knew no one wanted to be here. It wasn’t exactly an event that people got excited over. If anything it was one that people dreaded.
He can sense Dustin shift on his feet besides him, every once and while giving him a slide glance as well. He knows Dustin wants to say something, try anything to comfort Steve—but the kid remains silent.
And internally he thanks him for it.
Robins here too. It’s the first time Steve sees her quiet for such a long period of time. He knows she’s trying to process too.
Despite the fresh spring air and the bursts of color sprouting from the flower beds and tree branches, Steve feels like he’s drowning in a sea of black— but he doesn’t try to paddle or reach for the surface. He allows it to settle around him.
Usually he would play notice to the soft chatter of voices around him, but today he doesn’t. Instead he lets his brain block it all out.
The only thing Steve is focusing on is the large portrait set against the stand several feet away, the base of it overflowing with lilies and daisies and hydrangeas.
God was there a massive amount of hydrangeas.
Then again they always were your favorite.
As he stood there he could see you beaming back at him from the framed photograph, completely unaware that your life like so many of those before you, was drawing to a close.
Despite everything that had happened in the past four years, Steve thought he would be immune to being caught off guard and surprised. . . Yet here he was. It had been two weeks and yet he still couldn’t wrap his head and heart around the fact that you were gone and not coming back.
He would have to walk back into work Monday morning with Robin and act like everything was normal even thought it wasn’t. You wouldn’t be stocking the shelves from all the Sunday evening movie returns or stealing his milk duds. All you would be is a headline article and a picture in the Hawkins Post.
He takes a painful glance at the headstone a few feet away, only to move his eyes back to his shoes. Your life could never be marked by a gravestone, something so cold and immobile. Perhaps a tree with a wind-chime in the branches could do you more justice, or a simple song sung into the wind. What lied in the ground is only flesh and blood, and that was never what you were.
You were so much more than that.
You were sunsets and big smiles. You were rose colored sunglasses and hand written birthday cards. You were pressed Pennie’s and never remembering to set your alarm. You were warm summer nights and loud contagious laughter.
You were. . . You.
And Steve loved every bit, he was just to late to realize it. And when he did he was ready, he was so ready to tell you—
And then you slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.
And now he was here.
Watching as your casket was lowered into the ground The fact that he would forever be six feet apart from you settled heavy over him.
Six feet never felt so far until now.
Feeling a hand squeeze his shoulder, he lifts his head- eyes till stuck to the casket. “Hmm?”
“Dustin and I will meet you at the Y/L/Ns. Take your time though.” Robins voice was gentle and soft as she gave him one more squeeze and departed his side along with Dustin.
Sticking his hands into his suit pocket, he squeezed a fist around the piece of paper tucked inside- trying everything int his power to ground himself to reality before he slipped back into that nightmare of a memory.
*. *. *. *. *. *.
“You son of a bitch!” You yelled, giving Steve a firm shove as you inhaled deeply, slightly out of breath.
“Me?! You were the one that just went running headfirst into danger!”
“Only because you were in danger to begin with!” You jammed a finger into his chest. “Could you not make me worry for five damn minutes Harrington?”
If someone told you a week ago that you would be standing in the middle of some back road outside Hawkins in the middle of the night right after climbing out of a nasty ass hell gate you would have emmediatly nodded and gone and raided your parents liquor cabinet—-
Yet here you were, covered in dirt, blood, and god knows what else.
A few yards away lay the damn portal, glowing a henious red and smelling like literal sewage. Things had gone sideways on your return trip to the upside down, leaving you and Steve spectated from the rest of the group and running for your life as those stupid bats flooded across the landscape.
Luckily Dustin had figured out earlier that a portal opened up every time Vecna took another victim, which had you and Steve aiming for the one were Fred had died.
It was a whole other miracle that no one in Hawkins had stumbled across the gate that was smack dab in the middle of a road.
Taking in a shuttered breath, you stumbled slightly back. With the adreline in your body starting to wear off you were beginning to feel all the aches and pains of the last two hours.
Grabbing at your side you winced, god did that hurt.
Seeing the change expression, Steve’s face shifted. “Y/N?”
And then like a switch being flicked, your knees buckled and Steve was rushing forward to catch you before you slammed into the pavement.
“Must be more tired than I originally thought.” You breathed, allowing Steve to lower you gently to the ground, unaware that you had now soaked Steve’s hands in deep crimson, making his face fall all the more.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Looking up at Steve you felt your own face fall and then you saw his eyes directed at his shaking palms, thick red blood coating his fingers from where he had caught you.
So maybe one of those bats had gotten you way worse than you originally thought.
The pain wasn’t the worst part though. No, it was the look of sheer panic on Steve’s face.
Steve. The boy you’d been friends with since first grade, who used to share his snacks with you at recess and ride bikes with you. The Boy who pulled pranks on you and would push you into his pool when you were kids.
The boy you fell in love with a few years back but never had the courage to tell.
“We Uh, shit- we gotta get you to a hospital. He breathed, running bloody hands through sweat drenched hair.
“Steve let’s think rationally here. My side is literally ripped open, the hospital is on the other side of town and we have no way of getting there.”
He was silent for a moment and then his eyes widened and he was scrambling across the pavement. Then there was the distinct hiss of static and Steve playing with the dials of the walk-in talkie the two of you had.
“Dustin?! Come in Dustin!” The panic was so heavy in Steve’s voice it made you slightly wince. You didn’t like seeing him like this.
Within another moment he was back at you side, peeking off his shirt as he tried to staunch the flow of blood coming from your abdomen. The walk-in crackled to life besides him.
“Steve?! Thank god, we thought we had lost you guys! What the hell happened?!” Dustins voice breaking through the heavy breathing coming from your friend.
“Dustin! I’ll fill you in later, but I need you to grab Max and get down here to Dawson Road as fast as you can?”
“What’s going o-“
“Nows not the time Henderson! I left my keys on Eddie’s counter, have Max drive-“
“Wait now you want Max to drive?”
“We don’t really have another choice! Just get your asses down here! We need help!” At this point Steve was practically screaming into the walkie, the pain in his voice only getting stronger.
“Copy that. We’re on our way.”
With a heavy sigh Steve tossed town the walkie yet again, before returning all his attention to you. With one hand pressed firmly against your abdomen and the other gripping your hand tightly, he tried to fight back the nausea stirring in his belly.
You looked so fragile in this moment, your eyelids drooping as you weakly held his hand. Your pulse growing weaker by the minute as he kept one of his fingers pressed to your wrist. Despite how dark it was outside he could still see the blood on both of your sets of hands. Real blood was nothing like movie blood, just as real death was nothing like movie death. There is no amount of horror that can prepare a person for seeing the life ebb from another, the hopelessness.
“Hey talk to me Y/N, you gotta stay awake.”
Humming a response you brought your eyes up to look at Steve, “how bout just a little nap?”
“Nope, nope-“ he shook his head, still trying to keep the fear from bubbling up. “Come on, stay with me.” Steve paused, trying to think of anything to keep you talking and awake. “Hey, tell me about one of your favorite memories.
“Yeah, there’s gotta be one. You’ve lived a pretty exciting life.” He mused, giving your hand another squeeze as he moved to brush a stray hair away from your face.
You answer came quick, so quick in fact it caught Steve off guard. “Probably that time we sat in that empty parking lot of that gas station off I-20 and ate shitty gas station snacks.”
“Wait really? You could have gone with anything and you went with that?” He cracked a smile at you, fortunately getting a weak one in return.
“Yeah, cause that’s when I realized I had fallen in love with my best friend.” You voice was so quiet but the words so loud.
It was enough to stun Steve Harrington into complete silence.
“Since junior year.”
“Why- why didn’t you ever say anything?” He breathed, trying to ignore the war raging between the fear of losing you and the euphoria you saying you loved him.
“Monsters we’re taking over Hawkins, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”
“Oh well that’s kind of lame.” He tried joking, only to fail miserably due to how you shot him a glare.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What’s your favorite memory?”
Falling silent yet again, Steve squeezed your hand even tighter. “The night after Starcourt,” he slowly admitted, “when we sat in your living room and ate that pint of cherry jubilee. Despite everything that had just happened you still managed to find a way to smile and crack jokes. That’s when I realized I had loved you way longer than I thought I had.” He paused, glancing down at his hand in embrassment. “Sorry, that shit was cheesy as hell.”
“I’ve known you since first grade. I’m used to it.” You mused weakly, finding it increasingly harder to keep your eyes open.
You knew they weren’t gonna get here in time. But you stayed silent.
Letting out another rattled breath, you casted your eyes towards the night sky. It least you were here and not in the Upside Down. Here there were stars, a whole canopy of them just beyond your reach.
The sound of your name brought your eyes back to Steve, his big brown irises locking onto your own.
“It’s not such a bad way to go.” You admitted, giving him a weak and tired smile, “at least I’m here with you.”
“And you said, I’m cheesy?” He smiled, before feeling his face slowly drop. He could feel you slipping, even though he had been trying his damndest to ignore it.
In that moment you knew you were saying goodbye but neither of you want to admit it. Because of you said it out loud it was real. Steve locked his eyes onto yours and brought you into his chest, each of you bathed in your blood. Steve felt his face crack into the look he had seen at the hospital several times before, that point of no return, when love is torn apart. Your hair tumbled over your face and so he swept it back, feeling the coldness of your skin, before gently leaning down and placing a delicate kiss to your lips. You smiled so briefly before your breathing became a noisy rattle...
And then you were gone.
Just like that. One minute you were looking up a Steve with that famous Y/N smile, and the next—
That's how Dustin and Max found the two of you. You departed, Steve sitting in a pool of cold blood, hugging your body as if you were still in there somewhere.
You never figured you would die at eighteen. But then again you never figured you’d fall in love with your best friend either.
*. *. *. *. *. *. *. *.
Once the last person had trickled out of the cemetery, Steve found the courage to fish the small paper out of his pocket. Your parents had asked him if he would write a euology for your funeral, and he did. . . He just didn’t read it, not to everyone.
These words were for you.
He unfolded it with shaky hands, doing his best to smooth out the creases in the wrinkled paper.
“I’m not very good at writing sentimental shit so your gonna have to bear with me.” He breathed, glancing over at your portrait once more.
“Your parents told me I should do this, that it might help with your passing. . . But I don’t think anything could help with that. I mean, shit- how the hell Am I supposed to go back to a normal life when your not in it. You’ve been in my life since we were kids. You are my normal.
I think I was in love with you for way longer than I realized. I can’t really pin point when it started. All I know is that all of a sudden I was in the middle of it. If I’m begin honest you were the only thing keeping me sane for a long time in this godforsaken town. But then you introduced me to Robin and all three of us became friends. . . And nothings been the same since.”
Each word that left his tongue felt like a weight being lifted off his shoulders. He should have said these things to you in person, but hey- he was a coward so this was as good as it was going to get.
“I know your dead. I mean, I know it in my head, but it doesn’t seem real. I still feel like your here, with me somehow, like one night you’ll be sneaking into family video after close, back from sneaking out after curfew to tell me and Robin about some solo adventure you went on.
I wish you could tell me where you are now. I mean, like I said, I know your gone, but I think there must be something in a person that can’t just disappear.
I guess that’s my formal invitation for you to haunt my ass until the end of time.
I know your out there. Somewhere. Just give me a sign when you can.
In the meantime don’t worry about me. Vecnas gone, and I’m not alone. Robin and Dustin are still looking out for me.
I’m grateful that I got to grow up with you as my best friend, and for all that you showed me.
Okay Mir I know this is mean but like what would happen if Bunny got lost in the woods during a snowstorm while Lumby was at work.....
lost in the woods
beefy!lumberjack bucky x f!reader (lumby x bunny au)
warnings: angst, gross fluff and body worship, a very very very needy scared and hopelessly in love lumby
a/n: yes like the most amazing Disney ballad to ever exist. thanks for always ruining me so sweetly, col. not edited or proofread, all mistakes are my own. happy spring babes xx
𝐢 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢
“Last storm of the season is always the worst, bun. Make sure you stay inside, can’t have my bunny gettin’ lost on me– or frostbite. Alright, pretty girl? Can’t love you the way I need to if you’re not safe and sound.”
God, you should’ve listened.
But the snow just looked so joyous as it fell, surrounding the trees sprouting with their new buds and blossoming flowers. The passing of winter to spring was always the most exciting time to be living in the middle of such a grand wood– but it was your first time; your first time living in Bucky’s cabin.
Sure, you’d caught glimpses of the beauty of it in the beginnings of your relationship– on those mornings you’d slept over, awaking happily to the vision of a sweetly snoring Bucky and the comfort of the forest’s morning hymnal. The sight of flowers dangling on the very edges of tree branches, slowly opening and embracing the rustle and song of the rest of the forest life; the painting you’d find yourself inside of after a few weeks, the trek from your car to his front door littered in petals of vibrant pinks and whites, of dying cones and senseless berries– some still dancing towards the forest floor– drowning all paths in the proclamation of spring’s arrival. But now, you were experiencing the end of winter and the start of spring firsthand; there was no chance you’d ever grow tired of it.
Maybe your Bucky was wrong– there was no way this last snow could be deemed anything short of magical and whimsical, let alone “the worst”.
But he was never wrong. Especially not when it came to his bunny.
The itch to tug on your winter gear one last time at the sight of soft flakes was too great– a thick pair of Bucky’s socks and an oversized thermal loosely clinging to you under your parka and sweats before you could reason against it.
Staring at the falling snow, secure and safe underneath the warmth of a blanket cuddled in your favorite chair perched at the window was nothing compared to feeling it– having it sing and whistle past your ears; to have it fall and tease against your lashes; against the frigid apples of your cheeks; along the flush of your numbing lips.
It was easy to lose track of time while dancing in the middle of such wonder.
It’s how you found yourself, unaware of how long you’d been aimlessly walking, now struggling to find a way back home, fighting to hold your footing and to keep your eyes open at the incessant prickling of the metastasizing crystalline snow pellets hitting roughly against you. Each pierce of the rough snow hitting the skin of your face, bouncing around your heavy outerwear and sending unpleasant tremors and tingles along every inch of your body confirmed a terrible truth– you could hear your mistake loudly and with a bold punch.
The darkening of the sky was fading eerie, sealing your fate further and further into the fervor and strength of the last winter storm Bucky warned you about.
Well shit. What now?
Your hands shakily move to free your cell from the confines of your sweats. Struggling to hold the phone with numb hands, to see the screen in the middle of such a blizzard growing angrier and harsher by the second, you manage to unlock the device and click on Bucky’s name.
Service was terrible in the middle of the woods, but it seems luck felt it in her heart to hand you a little bit of reprieve from the trouble you'd managed to get yourself into; 4 bars of reception and a working dial tone that would save you from this mess.
But it seemed luck was also in a business of mockery– your own negligence besting you, phone battery lingering on 3%.
Come on Bucky, please pick up the phone. Pick up pick up pick up–
“Hey bunny,” his soothing voice greets you in a delighted sigh, “you have no idea the day I’m having. I’ll be home soon and I just need to feel my swe–”
Concern that you’ll freeze to death prompts you, cutting off Bucky’s silky voice viciously with the chattering of teeth and stuttering words, “B-bucky, please, I need you! D-don’t know where I am ‘nd I need you. P-please Bucky, I’m in the–”
And then the comforting sound of his breathing stopped.
Silence– only the unrelenting whir of the snow gusting around you and the melody it rang out within your jaw.
Of course, your phone would die.
You’re fucked. Alone, lost, shaking, and freezing from the inside out in the middle of the forest that brought you a life filled with warmth and Bucky. How ironic.
Maybe if you tried to find your way to the lumberyard… it was only a few miles from his cabin. If he could do it, so could you.
But Bucky had lived here most of his life.
The chance of you finding that path was as slim as the chance of you finding the road back to the house.
A crippling realization hit you when that sharp left turn at the large evergreen you could’ve sworn was a sign of the path leading to Bucky’s cabin just happened to be a tree that looked familiar.
Turning, you were met with the same fate– harsh wind and unforgiving snow, row after row of high and brooding evergreen trunks, of thickets and a now white forest floor, mocking you in their pious stature.
Every inch of this damn forest looked exactly the same.
A few more turns, a few more furious swipes at the snow fogging your sight, a few more hazy visions of ginormous bark that were perfect carbon copies of the one next to it.
Moving in frantic circles, your brain tries to keep up with the ominous thudding of the adrenaline coursing through your veins. But even your brain couldn’t seem to form coherent or quick enough thoughts, your eyes and limbs fighting to keep your body moving in any direction.
You’re growing tired– exhausted.
Keep your eyes open. Keep moving. Follow your footprints.
That’s what Bucky would say.
It could’ve been seconds, minutes, hours– time was as lost to you as you were. Scrambling to find sight of something you knew, pushing yourself to the brink of a psychotic break trying to find some semblance of something you recognized.
Your hopes of following your own trail were cleanly wiped by the unrelenting fall of the harsh snow, sight of your presence in the woods something out of an old ghost tale– with every next step, snow would fill the one preceding it.
Tears of fright welled in every avenue of your body that was ridden with nerves and a pulse, unable to breach the surface in any motion of exhale against the harsh cold biting at every last ounce of your warmth and moisture.
The sky began to grow still, your once hazy vision clouding over entirely and closing your eyes entirely to the storm encompassing you. The turmoil– inner and out once raging vivaciously, now a distant nagging of a far-off memory.
Maybe the forest floor would be a good place to lie down for a bit.
It’d feel soft, comforting– to feel the soft kiss of winter bidding you her sweet farewell. Bucky’s two favorite sights– the falling snow and you. His precious bunny, blanketed and sheltered in a rage of a frozen squall.
And then you hear it.
A faint howl, sharper and straining the more it seemed to breathe. A heady affliction of burning desperation– of a blood-curdling yell. Growing louder and louder, surrounding you in bursts of wind and harsh pellets hitting against your numb skin.
Your name– screamed, frightfully over and over, breaking and cracking in boiling anguish each time its bellow pierced the dark sky.
“Oh fuck, come on bun! Please, I gotta find you! Please… bunny, where are you?” a harsh cry wails, a sound so chilling you never would’ve thought your Bucky could make it.
“B-bucky?” it takes all of your remaining strength not spent on keeping you right side up to whimper out, screaming in the lowest part of your throat.
His large frame hurtles towards you, shaking hands hastily ripping his big jacket off of him as his bloodshot eyes devour your trembling form.
“My sweet girl, oh fuck– Bunny you’re– shit. You’re okay, I gotcha. I’m here bun, can you keep your eyes on me, hmm? I’m gonna get you home, but you gotta keep your eyes on me. Come on, need you...” he pleads.
Y-your jacket Buck, youcan’t give–
But your shaking was too great, your words strewn together and clinging to your dry tongue as your body finally goes limp.
Y’can’t, you'llbe cold baby…
The words never had the strength to leave your mouth.
His coat was already wrapped around you, your body secure and suffocated in his strong but wobbling hold before you could even bat an eye in recognition. Your eyes struggle to stay parted, vision of snow and dark greens whizzing past you, all around you in a hazy blur as Bucky runs.
Immobile, unfeeling, and unable to do anything but lie quaking and crushed in Bucky’s tormented embrace.
Your frozen nose rests harshly pressed on the spot just below his ear. The frigid temperature of the air and of that leaving your body in brutal waves hardly touches him.
It simply doesn’t matter– holding you close to him as he jets back to the safety of the cabin is all he can let his body and mind dwell on.
He nears the clearing leading to the cabin, somehow managing to pick up an even greater speed. Your body clings to him from the great force alone, your limbs asleep and thankful for the assistance.
“Gotta get you warm, gonna take care of you… gotta make it all better. You have to let me, please bunny...” his faint voice whimpers against your temple, more for the sake of his own sanity than yours.
“Please bun, I need you…” a broken whisper.
“M’kay Buck,” your voice pushes through chattering teeth as the warmth of the cabin immediately greets you. Shutting the cabin door with his leg, he swiftly runs towards your bedroom, “m’fine baby…”.
If your voice actually spoke, he ignores it– his hands move in a fury of lightning to strip you of your soaked layers. His pained nerves ignited with tremors of the thunderous hiccups of his breathing hardly delay him from the task at hand. Before you can open your eyes again, he has you cradled against his unclothed chest, pressing a warm towel up and down your wet skin.
When did he get undressed?
A mumbling mantra of concern breathlessly leaves his lips and soft cries continue to rack his body, still overwhelmed with grief even though he has you, alive and only a bit shook up in his arms.
He entangles his legs with your thighs, pulling himself around you, cocooning the thick duvet adorning your bed around your shaking form.
His tears brush against your face, his lashes and the stubble of his beard dripping them down your skin in unrhythmic plops. “Bunny, my precious girl– it’s gonna be okay. I’m sorry… m’so sorry bun…”. He rubs his hands up and down your body, trembling but trying to get a normal pulse of warmth back in your body.
His lips quiver along your temple, soft pecks of his concern meant to soothe you– but acting in penance of his own torture.
The only thing that could turn Bucky’s world upside was currently playing out in real-time. He could’ve lost the love of his life inside a world she only knew because of him. He almost did.
“Oh my sweet girl, please,” he sobs, a whimper lost against the base of your neck.
Your fingers finally have a bit of feeling back in them, slowly crawling their way out from under your stomach and up to his chest. They shake slightly, unable to press any harder than with the most feather-like reverence, ghosting softly over his warm muscles. “Baby, I’m ‘kay, m’right here,” your lips lazily make out, tickling faintly against his collarbone.
He pulls you tighter, his hands moving to warm the length of your spine. His head shakes against you, a disheartened sob leaving his mouth. “I love you more than anything, bun. I’m so sorry…”
You tap your fingers against his chest gently, attempting to leave a soft kiss against his neck. A pained whisper of I love you Lumby, teases up the column of his throat and sends goosebumps along his neck and past his ear.
His eyes close, breathing in the feel of you alive in his arms, allowing him the time he needs to process everything as warmth finally begins to thaw you.
He clings to you a few minutes longer, feeling every inch of skin he can rub his hands along to prompt more heat to flow through you. His tears never cease, but they quiet– the true torment of the situation, succumb to plaguing his mind with guilt.
Bucky allows himself a few more moments of this quiet shame, breathing softly against your neck and the curves of your face.
When you’re finally able to move in his arms he shifts, removing himself from the bed and wrapping the blanket around you. He presses a shaky kiss to your forehead, a tear dropping against your chin.
“Bucky?” you watch as he moves to the bathroom across the hall, hearing the knob to the bath faucet turning on. He fiddles around with a few of the drawers, a few of the cabinets, setting up the bath and room to his liking while ruminating in the painful stew his mind has him soaking in.
He returns to your shared room, a tub of body butter and a soft towel in hand. Placing them gently next to you on the nightstand, he removes the duvet and towel from your body, remaining silent and keeping his eyes downcast the whole way.
You reach for him as best as you can, the chill of the air causing you to desperately miss the warmth only his body seems to bring. But he always seems to know what you want, gathering you tightly in his arms and carrying you into the bathroom.
The room is dimly lit with a few of your favorite candles and incense, perched unceremoniously on the corner of the tub. The faint scent of your body wash fills your nostrils, floating in the air as it bubbles contently in the swell of the water. You pull his face towards yours, begging to meet his stare.
Tears rest as radiant as ever in the breath of his eyes, wells of love and sadness pooling deep. He bends at the hip slightly with you still cradled in his arms, eyes still not meeting yours as his hand tests the temperature of the water before placing you in it. The heat of the water immediately quells your remaining shakes, replacing them with a shudder of relief and a sigh of welcomed air.
Kneeling, Bucky grabs your shampoo and scoops some into his palm, working it gently against your scalp, massaging any tension away he could manage. He knew nothing of how to care for your hair– not the way you did– but he needed to do this.
For himself, for you, for the terrible thought of never having taken the time to try and almost having the opportunity ripped from him.
He pays close attention to your body; to the way the bubbles cling to you in delight as you melt under his fingertips; the way the water encases you in such still protection. He can’t meet your eyes, he won’t. He needs this. He presses a sigh to your temple as you curl close into his bicep, letting him rub your scalp.
His hands scoop up water and work their best to rid your hair of shampoo, anxiously wanting to wash all traces of the remnants of the frozen hell you got trapped in. “Feels s’nice, Lumby,” you whisper. His eyes flutter to meet yours, his face unchanging of its somber expression.
Bucky stands up, placing one foot into the tub before the other, staring down at you for a moment before taking you in his arms, positioning you between his legs. He brings your back to his chest and your hand to his lips, painting your skin in kisses from the palm of your left hand all the way up to your right shoulder. You sink into his touch, letting him feel you in whatever way he needs.
“Wanna talk about it?” you mouth against his forearm, your hand gently scratching up and down the muscles of his hard thigh.
He clears his throat, shakily sighing before his scratchy and hoarse whisper breaks the air, “Have you ever felt like you lost the ground you were standing on? I never– I’ve never felt my heart stop beating the way I– I swear. I… do you know what that was like? Hearing you? So afraid; so hollowed by a sound I have nightmares of? The wind. I know that noise. That’s how I knew bun– what was going on. I was already on my way to find you before you could… I just knew. And when the line cut out, I ran. Straight from the yard, I dropped everything. Only a mile or two, but I had to. I’d never… never be able to live– I can’t even…” a pained breath cuts himself off, prompting him to squeeze his arms tighter around your stomach and inhale through a deep sob, his calloused hands unmoving but trembling firmly on your hips.
Grounding himself– the close proximity of your body against his in the heat of the soothing water, not enough. He breathes in the smell of your neck, of the spot behind your ear as his lips quake against your skin. The need to confirm you were there– the need to feel you there, alive and breathing under his watch is all that could help him breathe right now.
“You don’t understand just how my world turns for you; how my heart beats for you. I felt it– true pain, bunny. Never felt anything like that in my life. I still feel it.”
“I’m right here Bucky. I’m so sorry I ever went out there… you told me not to and I di–” the force of his shaking head cuts you off, a troubled whine vibrating roughly into the skin of your neck.
“Don’t do that. I’d never blame this on you, ever. I should have that part of the woods marked off, I should’ve been home sooner. I almost didn’t even go in today, I shouldn’t have. I should–” you turn yourself in his hold to cradle his face between your hands. His eyes tightly shut as tears roll down his cheeks, the water sloshing and spilling around you both.
“There’s no way I’m allowing you to ruin yourself by thinking of how you could’ve prevented this. I shouldn’t have gone out in a storm, Buck. But I’m here, and you found me. Right? You saved me, baby. I love you– and you have me.”
He shakes his head as best he can while held between your palms, not wanting to miss your gentle touch for a second. His hands smooth up your sides and shoulders, shifting his position in the tub to envelop you wholly, needing to ease the ache of his chest.
After a few minutes of conditioning your hair and peppering gentle kisses along your shoulders, against the crook of your neck; thankful sighs against the shell of your ear; after wandering hands massage body wash into your skin, he brings your lips to his for a lingering kiss.
“Come on bun,” a whisper pressed to the side of your mouth, “lemme love you. Gotta take care of you.”
He stands out of the tub first, drying himself off quickly with a towel before picking you up, wrapping you in a fluffy blue one. He sits on the toilet lid holding you in his lap, letting the material wrapped tightly around you soak up all the water it can without having to let you leave his embrace.
He presses a kiss to the back of your head and you pepper his hand cradled around your stomach with sweet pecks. He squeezes you tight, sighing into the towel covering your back.
He places you on your feet in front of him, dragging the towel over the remaining dampness of your skin. Bucky looks up at you, grabbing your chin and pulling gently at your bottom lip with his thumb. His eyes drink in your face; the plump curves of your cheek and the soft lines of your nose. The dip in your upper lip and the crease of your eyes.
A sad smile taints his face, moving forward to press a kiss against your stomach. He stands, hooking his arms around your waist and carrying you to your room. His hand taps at your thigh gently when turning into your doorway, prompting you to wrap them around his waist.
“Grab that towel for me, bun,” he whispers. You lean down gently from his hip and grab it. Taking it from you he lays it against your bed, kissing your hand that gave it to him, placing you down on it.
You lay watching him as he grabs the body butter from the nightstand, gathering some and quickly warming it up in his palms.
He starts down at your feet, rubbing soft circles into your skin, moving up to your ankles and making sure not even a centimeter goes untouched. His lips meet your shin, following the movements of his hands.
“You don’t know what you mean to me, I love you so much, it hurts. I need you,” he breathes against your knee.
“Can’t ever scare me like that again, please bun, can’t handle it,” he grabs your hand, massaging at the tension of your wrist and palm, tracing all the lines and tips of each of your fingers.
“These fingers,” he kisses them gently, moving to your other hand to do the same. Grabbing more lotion and repeating his actions, rubbing over your knuckles with a firm thumb and a soft ghosting of his lips.
“This stomach,” he kneads reverently. Causing you to squirm as he kisses every fold, bump, curve, and mark that makes up his favorite mural he longs to study again and again. His hands massage the skin of your ribs, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses. He moans softly, trailing his hands down over your hips. “These hips– make me fucking crazy.”
Bucky’s lips slow their motions, nose nudging against the divots and swell of your skin, teasing himself more than you. His hands travel down, encircling each thigh firmly.
“Fuck– these thighs. Need these thighs, so fucking perfect,” he whimpers. His lips worshipping with feather-soft precision and hushed sighs of his love. He can't help but get overwhelmed, working his mouth a bit harder, hands firmly grasping your thighs and pulling you closer to his pleading lips.
“Your shoulders... this spine that keeps my sweet girl whole,” he wraps his arms under you, kneading from your tailbone to your upper back. “Need you, need all of you,” he pulls you close by your hips, angling you upwards and kissing the pudge of your stomach.
Tears trail your skin, his words affecting you more than he’d ever know. “Need you too, Buck. I love you so much.”
“So fucking soft. So good for me,” his low whisper praises against your belly.
“Bucky. I…thank you. I’m so in love with you. More than anything, more than you’ll ever know,” he gathers you in his arms, sitting up in the bed and moving you to his lap. Your arms circle themselves around his neck, his lips caressing the skin of your right arm with tender kisses.
“I know, bunny. I need to love you forever. There’s no way I won’t– but I just really need you to know that, bun,” his hands wander up your spine, pressing you tightly against him. His lips embrace the skin of your sternum. “The way I need to love you is necessary. You’ve ruined me, given me such life. I’d do anything for you.”
“Lumby?” your fingers trace up the curve of his chest.
“Yes, sweet girl?”
“I could use a kiss–” his lips meet yours before you can blink. A squeak escapes you, a giggle of surprise teasing up your throat and urging you to thread your fingers through his damp locks, drawing him closer.
His lips move against yours, tender and desperate, cradling you in his hands and stealing all the breath from your lungs. A low moan sounds from the back of your throat, his tongue caressing your mouth as your fingers scratch at his scalp. He whimpers against you, lost in the feel of you.
“How’s that?” he breathes against your lips. His lips press earnestly along the length of your mouth. “Need a few more? I think you do, bunny,” his hands wrap around your jaw and neck, tilting your head and holding you where he needs you.
“Perfect,” he mumbles, your eyes flutter open to take in his appearance. His eyes are tightly shut, cheeks pink and wet with a few stray tears. You thumb them away, grabbing his face protectively between your palms.
“Never stop, Bucky,” you kiss along his reddened cheeks.
“If today means you’ll finally let me keep you wrapped around me all the time now, I might have a heart attack.”
You throw your head back in a loud laugh, crinkles forming at the squint of your eyes and flutter of your lashes. You burrow your face in his neck, an open-mouthed kiss snug at the base. “What do you mean, now? As if any other time is any different,” your sweet giggle teases at his ears. “Anything you want, baby. Just don’t ever like seeing you so upset… I’ll do anything to make sure you’re never like that again.”
He lets out a deep groan, his hands tracing along the expanse of your thighs. “Shouldn’t have said that bun. Now you’re never leaving this bed ever again,” he swiftly grabs you, gently pushing you until your back is against the mattress. His hands stroke and squeeze at your flesh as they work up and down your thighs, claiming your hips and up the swell of your stomach.
His lips meet your skin, softly scattering kisses along the journey his hands have taken the last hour until his lips meet yours.
He hovers over you, his arms caging you under him as his fingers trace the curves of your face, “Now that I think about it, I need a kiss for every second of this awful day I had. Need you to fix it,” he dramatically pouts, “so I can love you better... yeah. I need as many kisses as I can give ya. You’re not leaving this bed until I’m feeling 100% better, which definitely will be a really, really, long time.”
He mimics crying, a loud and stupid noise meant to make you laugh, blaring loudly from his chest and into the space of your bedroom. He continues, a few of his own giggles and boyish laughter seeping through his theatrics. "I'm never leaving you alone again," he sighs.
Adoring hands trail down your body as his plump lips follow suit. “Gosh bun, can’t even fathom the thought that this perfect body had to bear the cold today…these thighs. Are you sure you’re okay?” he smirks, a teasing glimmer filling his reverent ceruleans. “Are you sure you’re feeling warm enough? These thighs look a bit cold to me… we can’t have that.”
“Bucky��” you giggle.
“Bunny…” his hands spider along the stretch marks mapped out along the skin of your belly and hips. “Come on, they’re freezing bun!” he traces soft circles into the crease of your thighs, tiny tingles and a teasing tickle erupting in shivers. “Look, they’re shaking…” he grins triumphantly, knowing just how to perfectly play your body against you. “They’re begging for my attention. Come on bunny, I need to feel ya, please,” he whines. “Ya’know I can’t say no to ‘em. Uhnn,” he groans, “you’re always just laying there looking so pretty, s’not fair,” he kisses his way down your stomach, painting gentle strokes of love along every inch of you.
His lips turn into a smirk the closer he gets to the swell of your thigh. His teeth trace down your lower stomach, nipping and mouthing at the sensitive skin at the top of your legs. Bucky sighs happily for the first time all day, laying against the cushion of your thigh, turning his head to look up at you. The look in his eyes nearly sends you back outside, deep and lost in the middle of the forest– only now, numb from head to toe with nothing but his heated adoration for you.
“Need a few kisses with these thighs, bun. I’ll get my sweet girl warm in no time...”
Secular Celebrations - Spring Equinox
Next on the calendar is the Vernal Equinox, which marks the beginning of spring and the start of the growing season. In the northern hemisphere, this usually happens right around March 20th to March 22nd, depending on the year, while in the Southern Hemisphere, this occurs around September 20th - 23rd.
This is the time to start shaking off the winter and those cold weather blues. And as someone who is firmly on that Seasonal Affective Disorder train, believe me when I tell you that this is IMPORTANT. So when you think about what you’re going to do for the spring equinox, make sure you include self-care and a continuation of that cleaning kick you hopefully started back around Imbolc. Actually, every holiday observance should include a little bit of both of these things. Not just because they’re important, but because holidays are easy to remember, and even if you don’t always have time to fit these things into your schedule, it might be more feasible to work them into your holiday observances.
If the weather allows it, try cracking a window, even for a few minutes, and get some light and fresh air into your home. Even if it’s still chilly outside, sometimes it helps alleviate that dry, stuffy feeling we all get from being stuck inside with the heat on for months at a time. Open up those shades, let some sun in, turn on a sun lamp or one of those little antidepressant desk lights if you have one. Like the musical says, “Let the sunshine in.”
Or, if you can, get outside for a little while. Hopefully there will be a nice clear day that allows this. Look for signs of spring in your neighborhood - birds, flowers, buds on the trees, maybe some snowmelt if you live in a place that still has snow in late winter. If you have children, this might be a fun spring bingo type activity. The birds will be coming back, so scatter some seeds for them while you’re out and about. And speaking of snowmelt, melted snow and icicles can be used as a base for moonwater. Just make sure you select...er...CLEAN material to work with, and strain the meltwater through some paper towels before you store it for magical use.
You can also note the progress of seasonal changes in your journal or your planner, if you have one. This doesn’t always have a magical application, but it’s important to mental health to be able to track the passage of time through changes in your environment. If you have trouble with Seasonal Affective Disorder, or if you just hate winter, noting when the weather starts warming and the sun comes out and the early bulbs start to come up can be very encouraging.
Getting back to the subject of children’s activities, this is a great time for spring-related crafts, fingerpainting (you are NEVER too old for fingerpainting), and a discussion about why the seasons change and what it means in your household as far as traditions go. Your kids may be seeing their peers going on Easter egg hunts and getting baskets of candy, so if you’d like to do something similar but secular, maybe have a “signs of spring” scavenger hunt. If you want to decorate some eggs, go right ahead! Make some special witchy equinox eggs, why not.
If you want to make a special meal to celebrate the change in seasons, I suggest a breakfast. It’s the beginning of the yearly planting cycle, so why not mark it with the first meal of the day? Appropriate foods include bread, eggs, cheese, cured meats, preserves, sprouts, sweets, and pastries. So bust out that french toast casserole recipe, the good jams, and your best quiche lorraine and go to town!
Once you’ve recovered from the food coma, get cracking on that spring cleaning you started back on Imbolc. There’s always more to do! If you’ve finished decluttering one area, start on another. If you’ve finished one project, pick another one. Keep yourself motivated and moving as much as you can. If you’ve been meaning to start a new self care routine or exercise program, go for it. The world is waking up and coming back to life after a long winter’s nap; you can do the same.
Freshen up your household wards and protections while you’re tidying. This can be as simple as “cleaning with intent,” whereby you banish negativity or bad luck or sickness along with the dirt and grime, or as complex as a full casting to patch whatever needs patching, or anything in between. Get rid of any lingering stale energy from the winter. You’ll know best what needs to be done. It never hurts to have a freshly-cleansed home.
If you’re planning to plant a garden, the Vernal Equinox is a great time to start. Whether you’re buying seeds, filling starter trays, or just sketching out what you want to plant when the ground thaws, get a jump start on your green witchery. Housewares stores should begin stocking seeds around this time, or you can order free catalogs from places like Burpee, Seed Savers, or Baker Creek to help you plan.
Of course, not all of us have green thumbs. If you’d like a garden but can’t seem to keep your sprouts going, try putting together a succulent patch. These hardy little plants are easy to care for and harder to kill than the mutant offspring of a rabid zombie and the T-1000. (I can personally speak to this - I have two sprouts of aloe that are actively growing in trays that have no dirt or water in them. It’s a little bit freaky.)
For those who are more inclined to crafty activities, you can create a fairy garden with a couple of flowerpots, some moss or lichen, and whimsical miniature decorations like fairy gardens.
You can also bring fresh flowers into your home. Give yourself a bouquet or a potted plant for a splash of color and scent. Swap that wintry pine bunting for early blooms like forsythia, dogwood, pussy willow, and cherry blossoms. Some traditions call for a bonfire in March or April, on which the old bunting will be burned, but obviously, please only do this if you’re using actual pine boughs, not plastic and silk.
And silk flowers ARE valid seasonal decorations for the witchy home, by the by. If you don’t have access to fresh foliage or can’t keep houseplants for whatever reason, go with silk ones. They can stay up for months on your walls or on your altar with just a little dusting, and provide ambience and magical symbolism with comparatively little effort. Plus, you can save them from year to year to be reused. I have a set of seasonal garlands that I hang over my altar that is entirely composed of silk flowers and leaves, and they provide a really nice aesthetic without too much worry about dead flowers or crumbling leaves catching on fire from the candles.
We experienced the promise of spring on Imbolc, and now we see that promise fulfilled at the vernal equinox. Sketch out your goals for the upcoming season. Think about the positive changes you wish to make and how you intend to grow. Meditate on the importance of keeping promises, both to yourself and to others, and on making only those promises you know you can keep.
And remember - you’ll reap what you sow later in the year, so sow ever so carefully.
-from Hex Positive, Ep. 011 - Secular Celebrations (Nov 01, 2020)
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. . .pairing: kazuha x gn!reader
. . .cw: fluff! soft hours<33
. . .a/n: kazuha please come home;-; // acco does this count as a strike:pensive:
the sun sets over the distant horizon, kissing the shimmering navy sea.
golden summer sun drifts its dreamy fingers over the land, setting grass and trees ablaze. in the light, kazuha's eyes turn into deep crimson pools, and his cheeks bloom a rosy hue.
or, perhaps, the pink of his cheeks was due to his proximity to you.
dusk breeze blows over the both of you, pulling the scents of the city's restaurants and the soft chill of the waters up to your little portion of mountainside.
"the sunset is beautiful," you comment quietly, and kazuha hums in agreement.
"the clouds are exquisite," he adds after a beat of silence. "like fields of dandelions."
you break into a grin at that. "have you seen dandelions before?"
"once," kazuha admits, returning your smile. "i'd always wanted to visit the city of freedom."
"well then," you sweep a hand out with dramatic flair, settling back onto the grass on your elbows. "tell me about them."
for a moment, kazuha falls silent, brows furrowing ever so gently as he recalls the memory.
"dandelions... they blow apart at a single breath, yet withstand the daily breeze. they look harmless but tickle your nose to an almost insufferable degree. they're soft, and so so light, and when you hold its fluff in your hands, it's barely there-- they catch a ride on the next wind that comes by and they're gone. just like that," kazuha brushes his fingers together and opens his palm, as though he's a magician performing for an audience. "you know, i once heard that dandelions carry messages. so every day I was in mondstadt, I would collect a few dandelions and whisper to them, 'would you tell my y/n that i love them?' and send them on their journey."
kazuha laughs, shaking his head as if it was silly of him to have done so.
you shift closer, letting your fingers twine gently, subtly with his.
his smile and blush grow, eyes still watching the sliver of sun sink under the horizon.
"some days, i'd look up at the sky and wonder if you'd ever received my messages-- if the legend was really true."
you hum, remembering the season he refers to: the spring that he'd left you with a promise of return-- one that he'd kept.
you remember the drifting leaves as blooming flowers took their place, remember the slow, warm rain, remember the sprouting grass.
you lift a hand to turn his face towards you.
slowly, you press a gentle kiss first to the corner of his mouth, then his lips.
neither of you pull away when your lips break apart. while you still breathe the same air, forehead pressed softly against yours, you murmur,
"trust me, kazuha. i received every single one."
taglist: @tiredsleep @serenenation @xienn @azureexursion @surukaze @yuzuricebun @uchihaeirin @loptido @dawndelion-winery
Guerrilla Gardening Commodification (?)
Alright friends so I was shopping at Target with a friend and I went to check out their Spring/Outdoors section because of course I did and I saw an assortment of 'seed ball' gardening kits. See below.
Now, this caught my eye for several reasons. For one, I'd been thinking about making seed bombs (another term for seed balls) for awhile now, but hadn't figured out where exactly to get the clay from. I've also already started thinking about what I wanted to grow in my garden, as well as what I wanted to put in my hypothetical seed bombs. Not to mention, they're bright and colorful.
Perhaps I'm reading into it too far. But the origin of guerrilla gardening is gardeners planting things--food, flowers, etc--on land that they don't have the legal rights to. It's been a form of direct action and protest from the beginning, and not necessarily one that always has positive connotations either, depending on who you ask.
Granted, in recent years, it's gotten a lot of positive press--I'd heard of the idea of guerrilla gardening in this time, where lovely positive articles were being written, morning news shows were doing quirky little shorts showing off seed bombs as a cute fun activity with your kids in the backyard, and guerrilla gardeners were getting TedTalks. Hell, the first time I'd heard of a 'seed bomb' was volunteering at the zoo as a teenager and making and selling them for a dollar donation to help save tigers. It was literally the whole thing that made me want to garden in the first place! Is the positive PR a bad thing? Not in my opinion, no. Sharing positive radical ideas and concepts, drawing attention to the lack of green spaces and food access in communities, and boosting the amount of habitat for pollinators are all fantastic things! But at the same time, I don't know how to feel about these kits. It sort of feels like commodifying and capitalizing a revolutionary act, sort of 'sanitizing' it to be more PR friendly? Again, I could be overreacting.
The entire air these kits had to me was sort of a 'hey, make seed bombs, toss them in your backyard! How fun!' Am I going to demand that the company making these puts an entire history lesson on the back of every package, mentioning the origins of seed bombs and their revolutionary nature? Not necessarily, but still.
Obviously, this seed bomb kit could be the thing that gets someone into gardening, which is always a plus in my book. Maybe people will use the seed bombs for their intended purpose, and throw them into empty lots and neglected spaces to create some color in their worlds (though, at that note, I'm not sure how excited to be about people throwing tomato seeds into lots where they may pick up toxins from the ground that people may try to eat later). But still, in the moment, I was getting a very heavy 'oh hey we're sanitizing your movement' sort of vibe.
History of guerrilla gardening aside, as a pollinator gardener, I wanna talk about the stuff included in the wildflower kit.
The front of the box has cute pictures of hummingbirds, bees, and butterflies, hanging out around drawn and labeled flowers; dwarf snapdragons, plains coreopsis, sweet william pinks, dwarf cosmos, coneflower, and milkweed (if you know me you know I love milkweed). The back lists all the flowers included in each 'set' of seeds. But you've gotta wonder... are these native? And to where? It says it was made in the USA, but the USA is pretty big, with a wide variety of different pollinators and pollinator plants in each region. Something native to one area can be invasive in another, which is never really good. The company making these kits, Modern Sprout, is based in Chicago, Illinois. They have a lot of other products on their website, many of which are all very cute, but. There are over 100 species of milkweed native to the United States, and they don't all grow well in the same places or are even native to the same places. The back of this kit only says 'Milkweed.' Thank you. Which one is it? Am I going to plant swamp milkweed (Asclepias incarnata) in an area better suited for common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca)? Am I going to be planting the mildly-controversial tropical milkweed (Asclepias curassavica) all over my neighborhood? This doesn't even begin to address the other plants in this kit, which I recognized the names of but not enough to know intimately if they're native to my area. The idea of someone intending to do good but accidentally spreading an invasive species around is scary because it's possible.
I don't think I'm allowed to critique too much, seeing as I did end up impulse-buying the kit. I'm going to double check and see if these are all native (maybe the inside has more information, specific species names?), and if not I'll just use the clay and worm castings to make my own seed bombs. I just had a lot of thoughts, and wanted to start a discussion of sorts?
Idk if you read Lore Olympus but chapter 129 gave me an angsty request idea.
So Persephone, who’s the goddess of spring, goes into a hibernation-like state and when her emotions go out of control, she ends up growing her hair really long and her body sprouts a lot of plants from her; to the point of covering her and whatever area she’s in with her plants.
So I would like to request head cannons of the Brothers reacting to an MC who gets really sad whenever the brothers insult or threaten them and after several weeks of being berated by demons it causes MC to shut down and go to their room but mistakes a comfort spell with a plant curse that causes their hair and plants to grow continuously long. The plants fill up MC’s room and while they would normally be surprised at the mistake, they don’t care any more. They allow the plants to to grow, even wrap around their neck and body, and hopes the curse kills them off before the brothers notice as they go in the “hibernation” stage of the curse (The curse causes the victim to grow a lot of plants and vines from their body until they die, which can take a few days).
I’m sorry for being so long and descriptive, I just wanna see the Bros panic and feel guilty that MC felt pushed to do this to themselves but I understand if you don’t want to do it
I don't read Lore Olympus but you described the situation really well so I hope this is something close to what you wanted.
Comfort spell gone wrong
Lately, nothing seemed to be good enough for the demons. No matter what you did one of them would find something to berate you for.
“Mc, your grades are subpar even for an exchange student. You’ll have to try harder in order to not be a disappointment to Diavolo and myself.” Lucifer warned over breakfast.
“Mc, you burned dinner. You should learn to be a better cook.” Beel grumbled. As if you had ever seen any of these ingredients before ending up in the Devildom.
Even Mammon seemed to be in a particularly unpleasant mood. A never-ending string of complaints about how hard it is to protect an ordinary human. “Geez, you’re such a hassle human.”
Taking refuge in the library to study and to give Mammon a break from you proved disastrous and nearly deadly. Somehow you’d managed to spill your cup of tea all over an old somewhat rare text after Asmo had barged in and startled you. Your string of bad luck continued when Satan rounded the corner and saw the soggy tea-stained pages you’d been trying to decipher. In his fit of rage, he’d called you several unpleasant names and asked if you were “capable of doing anything right or if all humans are as stupid as you?” You’d left as quickly as you were able to avoid any more of his wrath.
No matter where you went you kept walking in on Belphie napping and without fail he’d say something nasty to you, that would make tears burn the backs of your eyes.
Levi had angrily called you a “useless normie,” who he wished would “never come back.” and had pushed you from his room with a slam of his door.
Even Asmo who usually just ignored you when he was upset found every reason imaginable to critique your every aspect. Physical and personality. Not a single one of which made you feel any more than worthless.
So was it any wonder when at the end of a long week you’d locked yourself in your room and decided to try that comfort spell you’d heard Solomon talking about? It seemed simple enough. But then your tears had blurred your vision as you’d recited the words and your Latin was still shaky at best. But it was just a few lines! And there was no way you were going to go to one of the brothers for comfort when they had seemed perfectly happy to make you miserable for the last few weeks.
You’d read the spell aloud and curled up hoping that the spell would kick in and you’d feel even just the slightest bit better. The blinding green light and sudden drop in energy was the first and only warning the spell had gone wrong. But being new to magic meant it still sapped your energy, so you didn’t stop to think something might be wrong. By the time you realized what was happening, everything was out of control. Plants had begun to sprout from your skin and the floor around you, growing and growing. With each inch they grew you felt your exhaustion creep up and consume you. You were just so tired. Your eyes fluttered closed. This was wrong! You forced your eyes open again. You need to fix this. The spell! But a short nap wouldn’t hurt, would it? You’d have more energy after you woke up. Then you could go get one of the brothers. Satan would know how to fix this. Or Lucifer! He’d clean the spell up easily. Yes, after you woke up…
Lucifer hadn’t seen you all weekend. He figures you’re most likely studying. But you don’t show up for meals and none of his brothers have seen you either… and oh Diavolo! He can feel the spell from the dining room. How did he not notice sooner? The cold pulling sensation of the spell, like it was sucking the warmth and life from its surroundings.
When Lucifer reaches your door Mammon is already there. Knocking and shouting for you, but there's no answer. He all but breaks your door down, his brothers behind him, and finds you at the center of the spell. Unresponsive and covered in the plants using your energy to grow. The plants had begun climbing up the walls and twisting through your hair, sending out snow-white flowers.
“Beel! Don’t!” Lucifer warns as Beel reaches out to pull a handful of plants from you. “We don’t know what did this and what will happen to Mc if we just rip the spell off like that.”
“Lucifer, Mc did this to themself,” Satan points to the open spellbook. “It looks like they got a comfort spell mixed up.”
Fortunately, your last tired thoughts were correct and Lucifer is able to break the spell quickly. You wake surrounded by the brothers.
All this happened for a comfort spell? Because you didn’t feel like you could come to him, to any of them?
He’s so sorry Mc. Enough that as he leans down to pick you up out of the mess of withering plants you can feel tears fall onto your face.
“Nothing I did was good enough for you Lucifer. Any of you. I just wanted to feel… I just wanted-”
His heart breaks when he realizes this is his brother’s fault, his fault. “You are always good enough, Mc. Much more than I could ever ask you to be, and if I ever made you feel like you weren't. No, the fact that I made you feel like you weren’t, means I have been truly terrible.”
You’re choking back your own tears now and you curl further into his arms as he carries you down the hall. “You said I was a disappointment.”
“My dear Mc, you have never been, nor could you ever be a disappointment to me. Forgive me for ever making you feel as if you were.”
Lucifer takes you to his bathroom and draws you a bath to wash away the last of the plant matter from your body.
Afterward, he’ll bring you anything you ask for. He wants to wrap you in his arms but doesn’t want to push you, so he asks softly if he can hold you.
He’ll spend weeks trying to make this up to you, even after you forgive him, he’ll be sure to tell you how much he loves you more often than he did before.
Shit human! Why didn’t you come to him? He loves you so much and oh. He made you feel like a burden.
How could he be so stupid when he knows how his brothers make him feel?
Mammon begs for your forgiveness in front of all his brothers.
“Please can ya forgive me? I never meant to make ya feel like a burden. You're the only human I- I want to protect you Mc. I’m so sorry.”
Mammon helps you up and since your room is covered in plants he offers to let you sleep in his room for the night.
He wraps you in blankets and brushes the hair from your face with trembling fingertips.
There are still a few stubborn leaves sticking to your face and in your hair so Mammon takes a warm washcloth and wipes them from your face before gently untangling the plants from your hair.
You’ll be getting little gifts and tokens of mammon’s affections for the foreseeable future.
He threw you out of his room when you came to him for comfort and the guilt at seeing you almost die because of it is eating him alive.
He feels frozen
Maybe you would be better off without an otaku shut-in like him. He starts avoiding you like the plague.
You start to think that Levi is so disgusted with the fact that you did that spell that he doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore.
Despite this Levi still checks up on you. He wants to know that you are ok, he just does it without you knowing.
He’ll ask his brothers about you and discreetly glance at you during meals to make sure you’re eating enough and look healthy.
A few days later when your favorite and manga anime start showing up outside your door you confront Levi. “Are you mad at me? Do you just not want to be around me after what happened? Levi, I miss you!”
He is shook, and he can’t believe he messed up so badly.
He’s happy that he can invite you to hang out again, and he makes sure to spend long nights gaming or watching movies with you until you fall asleep against him. He’ll even stutter out how much he treasures his time with you, blushing fiercely all the while.
Satan feels anger swell up inside him. How could he have let this happen? How could no one have seen how upset you were?
Once the spell has been dissolved he is at your side instantly. Brushing vines from your skin. His fingers are shaking in anger but his touch is so gentle.
When both you and your room are cleaned up Satan sits at your bedside, book in hand, reading to you.
He just wants to be close to you now. He wants you to know how much he cares about you but is still too worked up to get his thoughts out properly.
Eventually, his thoughts calm and he stops reading in the middle of a sentence. “Mc, I am so sorry. I never meant to make you feel unwanted. Every day I spend with you is infinitely better than a day without you. I know the spell was a mistake but… we almost lost you. I almost lost you.”
He wants to talk about what pushed you to do this. He won’t push but he really does think that he will be better able to help you if he understands.
Satan makes sure to spend more time with you from now on. He makes a conscious effort to check his temper at the door and be with you when you need him.
Sometimes he’ll just read to you until one of you confides in the other in quiet voices.
As you blink your eyes open Asmo gently brushes some plants from your cheek.
You are so pale and his heart breaks as you flinch away from him. You feel like a mess and you know you must look like one too so curl your body away from him trying to hide. Trying to avoid his critical gaze.
This is the moment Asmo knows he screwed up.
He draws his hand back, for a moment, before reaching out to you again. Cupping your cheek and wiping your tears away with perfectly manicured hands.
Lucifer has him take you to his bathroom to clean up while the rest of the brothers work to clear the plants from your room.
Asmo is quiet for a long while as he untangles plants from your hair.
“You’re so loved, Mc,” he says softly. “You are.” he insists when you shake your head no.
“More than you could ever know, and it’s our fault for not telling you. My fault for not making you feel worthy.”
After this incident, Asmo wants to make sure you know how beautiful you are. He starts self-care days once a week that soon turn into whole family affairs. Each week different combinations of his brother attend and you all work to pamper each other.
Asmo makes sure nothing like this happens again, he never wants to be part of the reason you feel unloved ever again.
At first, Beel thinks you did this on purpose. Once the brothers realize you messed up the spell he is less angry but no less distraught.
Once you wake up, he wants to take you to get desserts. He’s heard humans eat Chocolate/ other sweets to feel better. And this makes sense to him, food does make everything better.
But you don’t want to go to Madam Screams or the kitchen to make your own. You’re still so tired. Not to mention embarrassed that you screwed the spell up this bad.
And now they are all staring at you like they care so much when none of them had any time to notice how they were making you feel before.
When you become unresponsive to the brother’s questions and apologies Beel scoops you up in his arms and walks away with you.
Something about the way he holds you close to his chest and his warmth causes you to finally let go.
You bury your face in his shirt to muffle your crying.
“I just… I felt so alone! And… I...but no one” you gasp out shakily between sobs.
Beel soothes you with soft murmuring as he gently cards his fingers through your hair and strokes down your back.
Once your crying quiets he starts to speak “Don’t do that again. You can always come to me Mc. I’m so sorry you felt like you couldn’t”
Belphie thinks it’s a joke at first. “Man, how could they mess up this bad?”
Then he sees Lucifer’s panicked expression and it hits him how serious this is.
Belphie is immediately by your side. Hands frantically feeling your wrist for a pulse.
After Lucifer breaks the spell and your eyes flutter open Belphie is filled with relief until a wave of guilt washes through him.
He can’t believe he fucked up so badly again. Sure this time he didn’t directly cause you physical harm, but he did play a role in causing you to almost die again.
“I am so very sorry Mc, I never meant to hurt you.”
He does everything he can think of to make it up to you. Anything you ask him for, as long as it’s within his power, is yours. No questions asked.
He asks permission just to hold your hand for weeks afterward as if he thinks you’ll come to your senses and decide you don’t want anything to do with him.
He wants to comfort you so bad.
To make sure you don’t feel like this again Belphie pulls you away to nap with him as often as he can get away with it. Most likely only a few times a week (much less often than he would like). Sometimes he uses this time just to talk with you. Others you really do nap, and Belphie curls himself around you. Occasionally he enters your dreams while you nap together to make sure no nightmares can touch you.
Hello, if it's not too much trouble, could you write Reader x Dark Cacao while having a date in a garden? plz Your writing is beautiful and immersive! <3
HELL YEAH I GET TO WRITE FOR CACAO LETS GOOOOOO
thank you for the request (and compliment <3) anon!!! hope ya enjoy!!!!!!!!!
Content Warnings: none
A/N: been having some creativity block as of late so this one's a bit shorter and a bit less meaty than my other fics, but hopefully its aight :thumbs_up:
The tea has gotten cold.
It shouldn’t be a surprise, considering your surroundings. Snow capped mountains commune with a frigid blue sky that stretches to infinity above you. Melted ice drips from reinforced black walls into patches of adamant grass that have survived the previous season. Hardy winter flowers sparsely dot the flowerbeds that are still overflowing with snow. A glacial whisper of wind caresses your bones with an aching chill, piercing right through your insulated wool mantle.
Though spring has begun to take root in the Dark Cacao Kingdom, the frosty terrain and the bite in the air remain. The only hint of the turning of the seasons is the ancient cherry tree in the castle courtyard where you find yourself. Pink blossoms sprout outwards from its ample branches, encompassing nearly half of the open space.
The touch of the blushing hue against the stark black and white of the Citadel is enchanting — at least, that’s what those not native to the Kingdom say. To the denizens of Cacao, the blooming of the tree symbolizes a reprieve; an exhale of relief at the sunset of the winter’s cruel hold on the land. It is considered good luck for the tree to bloom early, so much so that there are offerings in the form of celebration to cultivate an early end to the coldest months.
The cold has not been entirely swept away, however, if your brew is anything to go by. The ghost of winter remains, but still, you worry yourself over the cold tea. Perhaps you were foolish to have poured it prematurely. Perhaps you were foolish to have waited outside, among the elements. Perhaps you were foolish for even brewing any at all.
Your musings wander as you watch the cherry blossoms sway lazily in the brisk spring air. While you are cycling through a checklist of tasks to ask of your dutiful servants, your thoughts are interrupted. Behind you, a sharp voice barks an order. It is followed by a courteous reply and the sound of the heavy door that leads to the castle’s interior latching shut. You shoot one last glance at the pathetically cold drink before you are no longer alone at the little garden table.
Dark Cacao drops into the chair across from yours with a heavy huff and an incomprehensible grumble. His hair has been pulled into a tight bundle on the back of his head, away from his gaunt, pallid face. Worry lines crease over his forehead as though they have been etched there by a sculptor. Intense violet eyes do not meet yours. They are cast downwards, clouded and dull, looking at nothing in particular as he worries his thoughts over the pleads and concerns of those he met with today.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting, dearest,” he finally says. He leans his elbows on the table and rubs his temple. “The crowd seeking my audience was greater than I have ever seen before.”
Your earlier dilemma about the tea dissipates into a frivolous notion at the distress of your husband. “My King…” you begin sympathetically as you reach to touch the sleeve of his hanbok. Before you can console his grievances, however, he continues to speak.
“Every day there are more and more reports of tribes being attacked, or of villagers going missing, or of the scarcity of food. I am met with multitudes of citizens, all looking for my help, but our troops are spread so thin. I don’t know how to help them all.”
“What’s more is that my soldiers inform me of movement in the Licorice Sea. We must allocate our resources accordingly towards the Wall, but those resources have become sparse during the wintering months. What soldiers I have that aren’t posted among the settlements are reinforcing the Wall, but with so few working, I fear the preparations are not being made fast enough.”
“I cannot fail my own people. What sort of king would that make me? I–”
“Dark Cacao.” You cup a hand over Dark Cacao’s cheek, and he freezes. Your voice is stern, like a parent scolding a child. He, for all his stoicism, is utterly shocked, eyes wide and at your attention and mouth agape from stopping mid-sentence.
He looks to the side, concern replaced with melancholy as he presses his hand over the back of yours. “Your hands are cold,” he says quietly. “I kept you waiting out here for longer than I thought.”
The resolution that drives Dark Cacao is the greatest strength he can offer his kingdom, but it is also his greatest downfall. The title of “King” is more than a title to him. It is who he is. It is his first name rather than his position. The line that separates his personal life and his duties to his citizens grows very thin at times, and sometimes the line between blurs and the sides bleed into one another. He does not have the introspection to keep the two sides of his life apart, so that is where you must come in.
“You have been the King for long enough today,” you say. You lift the burdensome crown from Dark Cacao’s head with both hands. The metal ring is cold, and it chills your fingertips to the bone. He watches you thumb over the diamond-shaped teeth before you set it onto the table. Some days, you are proud of the headpiece he wears. Other days, you rue the piece of scrap.
“Right now,” you say, reaching across the table and untying Dark Cacao’s hair, “you are my husband.” Thick black strands cascade down his back. You usher two strands on either side of his head forward to rest in front of his shoulders. He looks younger with his hair down, you think, as a stray strand falls out of place over his eye.
Dark Cacao sighs and closes his eyes. He takes your hand and threads his fingers into yours. “I forget myself, sometimes, my dear, and for that, I am sorry.” He squeezes your hand. “I… I do not know what I would do without you by my side.”
“Please, I am only doing my duties as the King’s spouse.” The lament in Dark Cacao’s features fade away, replaced with a warm smile capable of melting away all the snow in the Citadel. It is a rare sight meant for your eyes only. He brings your hand to his lips and hums as he kisses your knuckles. That, too, is meant for you and you alone.
“Then it is only right for me to distract you from your duties as well.”
“Ah, I believe that job is for our Prince,” you chuckle. Only yesterday, the young heir demanded you watch him practice his sparring on a rather beat-up training dummy. He had proudly showed you his spinning slashes and complex combinations of moves that he made up on the spot as he hacked away at the bundle of licorice. Dark Cacao smiles wider as you recount the event.
“Our Dark Choco has a bright future ahead of him as a warrior,” he says. “Where is the boy, anyway?”
“He’s off playing with some of the soldiers’ children. I’m sure they’re having some extravagant jousting competition right about now.”
“Hm, just as long as he’s finished his training for the day. I do not want to get after him for slacking off.” Dark Cacao shakes his head, then notices the two cups that have been sitting patiently on the table from the very start. He reaches for one, but you grab his hand.
“Wait,” you say nervously. “It’s cold. I can have some more made–”
“Let’s make some more together.” Dark Cacao has a twinkle in his amethyst eyes. “Let’s cook dinner together, too. Like we used to.”
You can’t help the warming excitement that rises in your chest. “That sounds perfect.”
A Sunday Kind of Love (R.L.)
Word Count: 0.8k
Summary: On the first Sunday in spring, Professor!reader and Professor Lupin take a trip to Hogsmeade
Notes: No warnings, just lots of springtime fluff! Era is not specified, so reader and Remus could be any age. No reader pronouns. Join my taglist here!
The sound of chatter filters through the crisp, cool air – a constant buzz of jumbled voices rejoicing the change of the season.
Small puddles adorn the path to Hogsmeade, their stillness interrupted by the footsteps of eager students that race to the cobblestone roads ahead. Remus’ hand finds yours in a gentle embrace, and the thrill of spring steeps through you once again.
In the years since graduation, you’ve come to appreciate the little things about Hogwarts – the lull of overgrown trees that sway in the evening wind; the persevering sense of comradery that unites houses without words; the encouraging hands that had guided you through your school years, now your colleagues as you teach the next era of students.
Now, as you stroll across the grounds of Hogwarts, you can’t help but feel a sense of belonging amongst these understated splendors.
The beginning of spring is celebrated every year by teachers and students alike. With a hopeful warmth and a spirited presence, the new season brings out the best in everyone.
Upperclassmen flood the streets of Hogsmeade, free from the confines of their heavy winter coats and eager to bask in the blissful sunlight; teachers open their windows and pull back their curtains, exposing their classrooms to the bright, blooming world outside.
You had been grading papers when Remus stepped through your doorway, a bouquet of fresh flowers in hand and a grin stretched across his face.
“Hello, darling,” he spoke with enthusiasm, crossing your classroom in quick strides. The effect of spring was evident in his upbeat presence and bright smile – a contagious energy that you welcomed gladly.
“Remus,” you tittered, swept up in his cheerfulness.
He held the bouquet out to you, displaying an arrangement of white and yellow flowers. “Sprout sends her love,” he said, a glint of humor in his eyes.
You wondered for a moment if Professor Sprout knew that Remus had nicked flowers from the greenhouse, and you stifled a laugh at the thought of her chastising him for his mischievousness.
“These are lovely,” you praised, fingers ghosting over the delicate, bright blossoms.
“Not as lovely as you,” Remus returned, earnest in his affection.
You waved off his zealous compliment, feeling heat spread across your cheeks under his loving gaze. Rising from your seat, you extended a hand out to Remus, grinning as he pulled you into his chest. He angled his face downward, lips brushing softly against yours as he smiled.
“Feeling up for an adventure?”
Like Hogwarts, the village of Hogsmeade changes with each season.
In the summer, shopkeeps stave off the heat with propped-open doors and cold drinks while children lead their parents through the bustling village. In the spirit of tradition, autumn brings orange leaves and a new torrent of eager-eyed students into the busy shops as they experience the intrigue of unfettered magic for the first time. In winter, presents are bought and bestowed in the warmth of dimly lit cottages and shops.
Spring is no exception to this pattern; the vibrancy that fills the halls of the school can be found here, too, as students enjoy fresh air and a green horizon with carefree enthusiasm. No longer is the ground frozen over, but is now spotted with fast-growing dandelions and tall grass.
On your walk through Hogsmeade, you and Remus swap stories of your time visiting the village as students – loitering in the pub and spending weekends window-shopping after you’d spent your last galleon.
Remus’ hand stays locked onto yours as he points out his favorite shops, his excitement matching the crowd that flows around you. He glances over to you for a moment, admiring the beauty of adoration that you wear in his presence.
He leans over to press a gentle kiss to your cheek, causing a fit of giggles to erupt from a group of girls that had noticed the show of affection between their favorite teachers.
You hum in contentment, swinging your intertwined hands as Remus pauses to peer into the window of a shop.
“Hogsmeade never changes, you know.”
“Because it’s always busy?” you ask, brows furrowed slightly.
“That,” he agrees, “and the fact that it’s always here – for everyone.”
His words bring you an odd sense of comfort. No matter the season, no matter the occasion, Hogsmeade stands tall.
You think back on the times that you’ve visited the village with Remus over the years. From your first fall at Hogwarts and through every season after, you’ve found yourself beside the sandy-haired lycanthrope, exploring shops with renewed enthusiasm and interlocked hands.
“I suppose you’re right,” you reply after a moment.
Remus offers you an easy smile, pausing to commit this moment to memory. Wordlessly, the two of you move onto the next shop, appreciating the sentiment that’s written into the silence.
This spring might’ve begun the same way as the last – and the one before that – but each new season is cherished, nevertheless.
Tag List: @florqlness @magicalxdaydream @velvetcloxds @natashxromanovfreads @uraveragequeer @imabee-oralizard @screechingtrashkid @messers-moony-lupin @the-blue-forest @sleepingpillsworld @evesbiggestf4n @scarlet-prey @wrathspoet @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts
first days of spring | huang renjun
pairing: renjun x fem!reader
genre: angst, romance, body horror
warnings: major character death, mentions of blood/gore, body horror, implied death
word count: 2.1k
song: first days of spring - neverending white lights
from my disconnected series goodbye friends of the heavenly bodies
Bury me in the meadow.
In the tall grass, by the light of the evening sun. Bury me where the wildflowers grow–resplendent in their baby blues and soft pinks. Bury me where no one will ever find me save for those who mean the most. Bury me where only you will find me.
I need no coffin–no protection. Just the open air of the sky and of the field and of you. Allow the wildflowers to take root in my skin, in my heart, in my flesh. To consume me until there is nothing left except soil and bone.
A mournful refrain plays relentlessly in Renjun’s mind every time he enters the grove where you spent your childhood. And your adolescence. And then your youth. Where you spent days endlessly in companionable silence–reading together, watching the birds, softly sitting in the womb of friendship and love that blossomed like oh so many flowers. Endlessly and alway; withering and dying only to be replaced by yet more. More beautiful blooms springing up out of the earth–purple and violet and pink and blue–and taking the space of the dead in the way that only the natural world can. The cycle of birth and death and rebirth in the microcosm of a meadow where you first felt those same flowers burst forth in your chest.
Love was a spring blossom in your heart. Echoed in kind in Renjun’s. The seeds, you were sure, had been planted the first day you met, in the tender soil of your burgeoning friendship–all wide smiles and wider eyes. Bonding over a love of silence and solitude amidst the usual chaos that is children.
Seeds that grew in time to sprouts–creeping out of the earth like soft tendrils reaching for the open blue of the sky above. His eyes meeting yours as you sit together in the soft grasses of the meadow, his hands melting into your skin until separation is a mere fallacy and the only thing known is together, together, together.
Meetings more and more frequent. Time stolen away from your families, your studies, your hopes and dreams for a future beyond each other. Together, together, together. Renjun was your future now; and you were his. A fact as solid and as real as the ground you trod on–the ground you lay on, together. Body against body, soul against soul. The ground bore witness to your love as it now bore witness to the tears shed over the loss of it.
It was never supposed to end like this. In blood and in screams. You were supposed to go gently into the night together–to that endless meadow of the afterlife, where you could remain. In love. He stayed as your only future, but his had been ripped out from underneath him the second the news broke. It split the ground open like a tectonic plate–moving the earth to make room for the cloying pit of emptiness that opened up inside of him in place of you.
Nothing grew there anymore. No seeds were planted, no sprouts were sprung, spring would never return. All was winter–cold and grey and alone. His future was gone and now there was only apart, apart, apart.
He sat in silence still–but the silence was different in your absence. It lacked the warmth and companionship that had occupied the space between you. It lacked your smile, the slight upturn of the corners of your lips as he stole a kiss from you under the midday sun during one of your outings. It lacked the gentle humming that you sometimes unknowingly took to. A humming that at first came as a disruption to the peace that existed around you but that he grew to accept as simply another facet of this life. In it buzzed the vibrations of spring, summer, autumn. The sun and the rain and the air. It was the soft humming of bees as they visited the meadow–stealing away bits of yellow pollen for their hives, flitting around your bodies as you lay together and watched the lazy clouds float overhead.
It was the humming that he grew to miss the most in those first few months.
In its place, the soft silence where you once existed was replaced now with the unwelcome droning of people from outside. Opinions and comments that felt to him less like a natural extension of the earth’s inner symphony and more like the turmoil of a railyard. All clanging and clattering in the open air. His skin would prickle at the sound of your name, always spoken in soft, reverent tones like you were haunting the room around them–like you were listening. Like you weren’t gone.
‘Face completely destroyed, a shame she was so beautiful–’
‘Blood all over the carpet, can’t believe no one heard anything–’
‘Closed casket, and then cremation I heard–’
‘Of course, there was no possible way they could do an open one with such a grotesque sight–’
The clamour pounded through his head like a freight train. Cutting through the numbness and the pitiful glances cast in his direction–an icicle in the dark cold night, through the chest straight into the withering heart inside. A pain so acute he could hardly breathe.
The sky was no longer blue, he noticed as he walked into the meadow for the first time alone. All shades of periwinkle and cornflower faded into monochrome, lit by a pale, white sun. How melancholy, he thought. How cliché. How he wanted to smile and laugh and tell you that it turns out grief was both exactly like you expected it to be and yet still nothing like it at all. It held all of the sorrow with none of the catharsis that you so often performed in your readings. None of the wailing and the crying–all potential purification of emotions completely subducted by that overwhelming numbness.
He couldn’t bury you in the meadow. Your body was ash and dust on the mantle of your parents. All beauty vanished in the flame. Wildfire held captive in a small, silver grave with your name scratched in by someone who had never touched your warmth.
As he sat with himself in the meadow, it’s this thought that pained him the most. That no part of you could exist in this space you occupied so much time together. That you would remain enclosed in gilded metal for all time, until such a day comes that you pass into hands that have no memory of you. That can’t be concerned with the weight of you. You remain enclosed until they choose to discard you in whatever way they see fit–ash to ash, dust to the wind. Carried on into nothingness.
Renjun wasn’t sure if he believed in the eternity of the soul, but he believed in memory. He believed in the memory of a person carried through into the endless forever that lay ahead of him–and endless forever with nothing but his memories of you.
So this is what he brings to the meadow now. Not the weight of your body, but the weight of your soul. Your memory. Photographs, books, the ghosts of your hands on his bare skin, the kiss of your lips on his cheek. He buries them along with his hopes and dreams in the fertile soil of the field where he aches to lay with you one more time. Buries them one at a time, day after day, for weeks on end. An endeavour with no end goal but to maybe bring some life to his memories of you. To help you grow again–corporeal and colourful. Blotting out the endless grey of the grasses and flowers that stretch out before him like a tomb.
The first time he sees it, he thinks he’s losing his mind.
A small flower like a hand stretching towards the sky–brilliant and bright and so soft in shades of pink and lilac. Your favourite–a flower he never learned the name of but now could only call you. He reaches out tentative fingers towards it, afraid that it might crumple and fold under the weight of his fingers. Gentle and exploratory like the first time he properly laid his hands on you–hoping, hoping, hoping.
The bloom remains intact–it reaches back towards him like there is thought behind the motion, and not just some wayward wind. Reaching for him. He all but bursts at the feeling that erupts in his chest at the sight. He leaves the meadow on a cloud and returns later carried in on a baby blue breeze–brimming with the first taste of warm weather he has felt in months since you left this world.
The flower is still there, stretching its petals up towards the sky–reaching for sunlight and air. Free of the confinement of the earth and dirt. He smiles at it, soft and familiar, like he would if he saw you walking through the fields towards him. Like he would if you had never left in the first place. This was simply another spring morning in May at the cusp of everything bursting to life around you. He smiles at it and then he sees another. And then another. They spring up around him in a shape both eerie and intimate.
The curve of a spine, the dip where he would rest his hand on an afternoon, painted in soft blues. His eyes graze down the floral form; legs resplendent in vibrant reds, arms outstretched in violet and sapphire. The sun fades from white to yellow and he almost sees a spray of white blooms stretching into a smile as the rays shine down golden and dazzling.
He sits down in the grass next to the form–awe spreads spade-like over his face–heart thumping hard in his throat–and he feels you. As he brushes his hand along the myriad of petals, he feels you. Your cadence, your laughter, your humming, your memory come to life. Sprung from seeds of you planted by his loving, hopeful hands.
The cacophony was wrong. There was nothing grotesque in this. There was no blood. There was only beauty, and there would only be beauty. Endlessly. As long as he was here to bear witness to it.
He returns, day in and day out, with arm loads of physical memories of you. Manifestations of your life and your love. A snatch of your hair from a hairbrush your mother could never part with, a letter carrying your penmanship, a thousand more polaroids. He feeds the earth with you. Waters the seeds with his manifestations of you. His love spread over the land like a great wave of light–bathing the meadow in its soft warmth and glow.
A river to a stream to a trickle to a drop. Slowly he runs out of things to bury–things to take with him from house to home. A chance visit at your family’s house, left alone in the living room, a small pouch tucked into his coat pocket. Renjun was always quiet; quick and quiet, like a fox, his mother would say. Slinking around and accomplishing his goals sight unseen. You were left sitting there, encased in metal and engravings. No, not you. Remains of what you once were, but not you. He knows exactly where you are–inside of him, inside of the field you both loved. He manages a quick hand–in and out. Bits of you stowed close to his heart.
The following day he spreads the remains of your flesh body out with a wish over the you that now grows where he always knew you would. Your ashes rain down like glitter to the earth–coating the field and flowers in bone dust. They settle into the petals and you spring to life. Blooms moving and undulating as he watches–some unseen and unfelt breeze breathing life into your corporeal form. He lays down next to you and runs another tentative hand along your side. Feeling as the blossoms reach back towards him. Buoyed by love and a hope unhoped as you engulf him. Together, together, together.
The silence that had been cloying at him for months gives way to song and symphony. The sounds of the earth alive once again and carried into his ears. He smiles, he laughs. Happiness, warmth. Everything he thought he would never feel again.
The white flowers are back again–smiling back at him. Returning the warmth. Renjun moves closer, letting the blooms wrap themselves around his body–melting into your form as flesh would to flesh. He feels the hunger and knows that he needs more fuel for the flora, but his physical memories of you have all run dry. He has buried everything he possibly could–save for one.
For a moment you part, the blooms recede–sinking back in anticipation–as he stands to strip himself of his clothes. All barrier gone–only the sky, the air and you. Together, together, together. Grass tickles at his bare skin as he nestles back against you, feeling the tendrils spring up around him in an earthly embrace. Golden sunlight shines down and he sinks into you–no longer apart, only together. Forever, forever, forever.
Bury me in the meadow–the body, a garden.
© 2022, neonun-au, all rights reserved
if you enjoyed this, or any of my other writing, please consider reblogging and letting me know your thoughts! it truly means the world to me
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 ~ Alcina Dimitrescu x Reader
Summary: There was something so simple about mornings with the one you loved most, wasn't there? Tender touches, softly spoken words, oh, and don't forget playful teasing either. What else is there to expect from a happy marriage if not all the above?
Warnings: None! Just pure fluff, as expected from yours truly, lol.
Characters: Alcina x Reader, as well as some interactions with an OC Brienne and the lovely Dimitrescu daughters.
Notes: Hello my lovelies~ It's Tiffany, back with an all-new fic!! I haven't written in a hot minute, but a dear anon requested after I fangirled over their absolutely precious prompt that they sent in, so here we are! I apologize for any typos, I kinda had to speed run editing it since I'm quite literally going out in less than an hour, lol. Anyway, happy reading!!
Spring was here, this much was evident. The skies a bright blue, fluffy clouds floating by and providing periodic cover from the bright sun, the flowers only just beginning to sprout, and the birds making their way back home. The return of spring was always your favourite, even if it did mean rainy weather and bleary days at times, when it was just right, warm and sunny with a gentle breeze, that was when it was most perfect.
A lovely stroll through the blooming gardens was the best on days like those, especially because your entire family could join you now, the warm weather enough for your daughters to handle after a long winter.
Spring also meant that the workload was a little lighter, which provided a little leeway for sleeping in a while longer.
Early morning light and gentle conversation were heard for a few moments, only in bits in pieces though because of your drowsy sleep-filled mind...
Alcina had been up for a little while now, waking up before you was commonplace with how little she really needed to sleep after so many years with the cadou. To make it a little easier on the maids she decided to do her hair up in curlers on her own just to keep her hands busy before actually needing to do work in her study.
Not without the surprise of her personal maid Brienne, who walked in carrying a tray of tea as well as the readiness to help. Her eyes widened for a moment in seeing the Countess at her vanity pinning the final curl up into place.
“G-good morning, my lady,” Brienne says with a slight bow of her head, recovering from the initial shock. It wasn’t every day you see a noble doing the work maids are assigned to do after all. At the sound of Brienne’s voice you stir a bit, turning onto your side before falling asleep once more. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Alcina however and she raises her finger to her lip with a quiet shush before smiling gently.
“Good morning Brienne. I require no aid this morning, so you may go off to your the rest of your duties as usual” Alcina says quietly with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, and do be kind and bring up today’s breakfast. We’ll be taking it in here today.”
“Of course, my lady. Right away,” Brienne whispers back, and with a bow she places the tray down onto the nightstand and makes her leave, not without smiling internally at the softness of her lady this morning, however.
Turning away from the door, Alcina looks back at you sleeping peacefully on the bed, your hair sprawled every which way, a bit of drool at the corner of your mouth, but nevertheless still beautiful. Standing up from the vanity, Alcina makes her way back to you and sits down on your side of the bed. With a light hand she strokes your hair slowly, the soft strands effortlessly falling from her fingertips.
She does that for a little while, playing with your hair and simply admiring you as you slept. Her heart swelled with love at the sight of you, even after all these years of being together she could never get tired of waking up with you by her side.
Gently she moves down to stroke your cheek with the top of her knuckle and smiles softly as your nose scrunches at her touch before relaxing, a little grin replacing the expression. Then you begin to stir a bit more, waking up. Blearily you open your eyes, blinking the tired away while subconsciously leaning more into Alcina’s touch despite having only just woken up. At your sleepy daze, Alcina lets out a low chuckle, her heart bursting at how positively adorable you looked.
“There’s my sweet girl,” she says, cupping your cheek in her hand as she smiles at you fondly. Your cheeks flush at the term of endearment, but you smile right back up at her regardless.
“Good morning, my love,” you say, your voice still hoarse with sleep (little did you know Alcina absolutely adored your morning voice). Shifting your head, you move so that it could rest on her lap and began nuzzling in like a cat waiting to be pet. And pet is exactly what Alcina does, resuming playing with your hair once more.
“How did you sleep, my darling?” Alcina asks, meanwhile you’re trying your damnedest not to fall back asleep at her tender touch.
Humming for a moment, you think. “Very well. It was quite nice being able to sleep in,” you say before pausing. “Oh? Was Brienne already here? You two were awfully quiet this morning then,” you say, reaching up before gesturing to Alcina’s hair.
“Ah yes, she was here for a bit but only to drop off the morning tea. I decided to do my hair myself this morning since I had woken up quite a while before you. I hope it looks alright,” she says, touching her hair self-consciously.
Sitting up onto her lap, you inspect her work playfully, your fingers stroking your chin as though you were a judge at an art show. The sight makes Alcina laugh at your antics, shaking her head fondly.
“I will say you have quite the talent indeed, Madame. I cannot find any faults, they are positively flawless,” you say with an absolutely ridiculous British accent.
“Why thank you, kind miss. Your words are most kind” she says, playing along with your act. “But I think I am now entitled to a reward, no? If my work is so ‘flawless’ as you say” she smirks, her tongue poking out to lick her lipstick-free lips as she wraps her hands around your waist.
You snort at the sight, the mirth in your eyes making them gleam. “Hmm, I suppose that’s only fair. Very well, my lady.” Pressing your lips to hers you both let out a pleased sigh, wrapping your arms around her neck to be even closer. Not before your stomach lets out a monstrous grumble however, protesting the lack of food. Pulling away abruptly, Alcina throws her head back in laughter before looking at you with a wide grin despite your flustered face.
“Oh my! What kind of person would I be if I let my darling wife starve right here on our very own bed!” she says, laughing a bit more.
“Maybe almost as bad as a person who laughs at her ‘darling wife’ for sounds her body can’t control” you grumble, crossing your arms with a huff.
“Aww, I’m sorry my love. I just found it so adorable, will you ever forgive me?” she says, grabbing your cheeks and placing little kisses across your face. You can’t keep your grumpy facade up for long, not while Alcina’s happy mood is so contagious.
At that moment a loud knock comes from the door.
“Come in,” Alcina says, moving her hands back down to hold your waist.
With that, Brienne comes in carrying a small collection of pastries that looked absolutely drool-worthy, as well as a small bowl of fruit for the both of you. Your stomach almost growls again at the sight but you will it to stay quiet to save yourself from your wife’s incessant teasing once more.
“Oh!” Brienne says, her face flushing at the sight of you in Alcina’s lap. “My apologies, my ladies. I hope I’m not intruding,” she says quickly.
“Not to worry, Brienne. You have rather splendid timing, we were just beginning to grow hungry,” Alcina says, looking down at you with a knowing smirk.
“Y-yes. Well then this works out quite well then, happy to be of service my ladies,” she says, placing the tray down next to the tea before quickly bowing and making her leave, closing the door behind her.
“She’s still so skittish after all this time,” Alcina says with a quiet laugh, “you’d think she’d be alright after being my personal maid for so long now.”
“Well, I too would feel nervous if I had to work for an absolute goddess such as yourself Alcina.” With a smile, you reach up and place a hand over her cheek, “But I suppose that is the power of divinity.”
“Oh my, what a silver tongue you have today, darling. Have you already forgiven me so soon?” she says, placing her own hand over the top of yours. That quickly reminded you of the teasing you had endured not moments ago.
“Perhaps...” you say, slipping your hand from her grasp “surely that wonderful looking breakfast would make me more inclined to forgiveness,” you say as you eye the cinnamon rolls and fruit sitting on the side table.
“Of course, I was a fool for thinking it would be that easy,” she says with a lighthearted roll of her eyes, pressing one last kiss on your forehead before leaning over to get the food. Placing it down on the bed she grabs a fork before picking up a piece of fruit with it.
“Open up, dear,” she says, holding out the fork for you to eat from.
“I can eat by myself you know,” you say with a smirk but open your mouth regardless.
“I know, darling. But indulge me once in a while, will you?” she says with a slight pout before feeding you. You chuckle a bit at the face she makes as you chew. It was hard to believe that someone like Alcina who usually carried herself with an air of regality could make such an expression.
That’s what made it all the more fulfilling, knowing that she trusted you enough to let down her guard. It was never the cold and composed Countess when she was with you. She was simply...Alcina. Your kind, caring wife, mother to your three daughters and the love of your life.
Of course, she still had that sort of properness at all times, it was instilled in her since birth with being born a noble, but the fact that she could let down her guard as much as she did with you made your heart warm. What was a marriage if you couldn’t truly be yourself after all?
The conversation flows between the two of you after that, you both each taking turns feeding each other as you laugh at the little stories you tell and just inner thoughts you both have, all the while sipping your morning tea. It’s just so easy with Alcina, that’s the best way to describe it. It feels easy and right, just as it should be.
Halfway through breakfast, however, loud buzzing interrupts the quiet atmosphere you and Alcina had been talking in.
“Mama!! Mother!!” you hear from outside the door before Daniela comes barreling through with Bela and Cassandra in tow, a platter of food far larger than the one Brienne carried up in Bela’s hands. In her haste she speeds through the room, tripping over the rug in the process and crashes to the floor. Cassandra only snorts at her younger sister’s tumble while Bela cringes outwardly at the loud bang.
With a gasp you sit up a little straighter, trying to see if she was alright.
“Daniela? Are you okay?” you ask worriedly. Somehow they could be so grown but so childish at the same time, you thought fondly.
Almost like straight out of a comedy, Daniela’s head pops up from behind the bed frame with a silly grin before standing up properly. “Quite alright, mama. No need for worry,” she says as she dusts off her dress.
“What’s brings you three here this morning,” Alcina says, beckoning Daniela over to fix her unruly red hair that got messed up with the fall.
“Well, we decided to join you and Mama for breakfast,” Cassie states simply.
“Yes, it’s been too long since we’ve had breakfast in bed like this. We thought it’d be...nice since we saw Brienne carrying the food up for the two of you,” Bela says, “I hope you don’t mind.”
“It can be like a picnic! Speaking of which, since the weather is nicer now, we should definitely have a picnic in the gardens. Imagine how nice it would be~” Daniela says dreamily, plopping herself onto the bed before nabbing a piece of fruit for herself.
Glancing over to your wife you share a knowing look.
“We would be happy for you three to join us. But you better not make a mess, understood?” Alcina says, an eyebrow raised to make her point. It was a known fact your three daughters were messy eaters, much to Alcina’s dismay.
A chorus of “Of course, Mother!” rings out from the three girls, it was almost scary how in sync they were at times, you thought, but not without fondness.
You shift off of Alcina’s lap to seem a little more composed in front of your daughters, which only makes them giggle as you shake your head. If there was a competition for who shipped you and Alcina the most, the three of them would surely take the top spots.
Bela carefully places the tray she brought up onto the bed before joining everyone else, and the conversation begins to flow easily once more, all the while carrying a more excitable tone now in the presence of your three daughters.
This was the morning as it should be. Perfect.
A/N: Hopefully this is fluffy enough for the anon who requested it, haha. But I hope you all enjoyed! Have a wonderful day or night wherever you may be lovelies, and until next time~
“What are you doing out here, anyway?”
“Just checking on things,” Kazuha says nonchalantly. “Keeping an eye out to eliminate any oddities.” He gestures to the off-color dirt. “Like that. That is definitely wrong.”
“It does look… out of place,” you say, cocking your head.
“Ley lines,” Kazuha says. “Sometimes their energy permeates the ground, kills what it touches.” He walks back over, resumes his original position, his fingers skimming across the surface of the soil, before—
He places his palm flat, shuts his eyes, and you watch the dirt bubble, like it’s being boiled underneath the surface; the color corrects, the corruption somehow draining from it, and grass begins fluttering up around Kazuha’s hand, matching the rest of the area. You gaze on in silence, lips parted in surprise.
Kazuha raises his arm, stands back up; grass unfolds from underneath his palm, and the patch looks pristine, untouched. Kazuha says, “We can’t let tainted areas grow. They kill what they touch and attract more Hilichurls, and that poses a risk to travelers with no means to defend themselves.”
“How did you do that?” You breathe out, staring blankly at him.
Kazuha smiles. “Magic,” he says.
“I’m being serious.”
“No you’re not,” you snap, the pressure of unrelenting confusion finally getting to you. “Tell me the truth.”
Kazuha’s eyebrows raise at the demand, the tone, like people don’t often talk to him the way you’re talking to him now. He says, “You’re getting more interesting by the second.”
“Okay,” you say, adjusting your backpack on your shoulders and stepping around him. “I’m leaving.”
“Why?” Kazuha asks, following. “Because I can do magic?”
“No, because you’re making fun of me,” you say. “And I’m supposed to meet my friends.”
“I’m not making fun of you,” Kazuha says.
You spin around, and Kazuha stops just behind you, waiting expectantly. “Prove it,” you challenge.
Kazuha smirks widely, taking his hands out of his pockets. “Gladly,” he says. “Keep walking.”
“Keep walking,” Kazuha repeats, “and I’ll prove it.”
You turn around slowly, eyeing Kazuha cautiously, waiting for a trick or a trap. Kazuha gestures you on. You take a step, and a step, and another step; nothing changes in front of you, nothing shifts or moves: the sun shines brightly down, the breeze sweeps through the trees, the path extends on in front of you. You can hear Kazuha still following behind, and so you stop, whirl around, and—
“See?” you start, fully expecting more of the same, “you’re—“ and your voice falls apart in your throat, eyes widening.
Behind you are outlines of your footprints, but they’re surrounded by a sudden spring of bouquets, flowers sprouting up and growing around every place you’d stepped. The furthest back boasts a bed of peonies, their stems twisting and arching towards the sunlight. Kazuha is grinning, entirely too pleased with himself, your reaction exactly what he’d been aiming for.
“—not fucking with me,” you finish, gazing at the petals of a rose unfurling.
“No,” Kazuha says cheerfully. “I’m not.”
“It’s a long story,” Kazuha says, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t have much time to tell it now, but I’d love to tell it to you over dinner sometime.”
You blink at him, jaw still slightly unhinged, unable to respond. Kazuha seems to understand, pulls out his phone, and shoots a quick text to someone before you finally answer, “Uh, I have to get out of here,” and turn on your heel, stalking away.
Kazuha laughs from behind you. “I’ll see you around, gorgeous,” he calls. “You’re in my part of the woods now. Got it?”
You smile without even knowing why, without realizing you’re doing it, and quickly snap the expression away when you do, heart tangling itself up in your chest. You throw a glance over your shoulder, but when you look back, Kazuha is gone; in his place is a single lavender forget-me-not.
deity!kazuha drabble (but it’s a small continuation from meeting him in the woods :D )
deity!kazuha lives rent free in my brain, please send help—
THIS IS WHAT I LIVE FOR
DEITY!KAZUHA CONTENT GOT ME HOOKED
Locket and Key- Chapter Four (mob! Tom Holland x reader)
Warnings: mentions of drugs, death, kidnapping, shitty writing, fire, filthy smut in upcoming chapters also the format came out really weird IM SORRY
Note: Y/L/N- your last name, (your actual last name will be different within this fan-fiction)
As the sound of a metallic click resonated throughout the room, you felt your heartbeat pause. The oxygen within the air almost felt non-existent, as if someone had ripped every molecule from the air. Tom popped open the locket and revealed a picture: two young children sitting in the grass. The photograph was worn by time, its edges frayed and graying. Still it spoke volumes.
Everything he had said was true.
Your knees couldn’t support you anymore; you would’ve collapsed to the ground, if it wasn’t for his strong arms catching you. And strangely, they felt safe- like nothing in the world would ever harm you as long as you were within his arms. Slowly, he led you over to a chair and sat you down.
“It’s all right, darling. I can explain everything, I promise. I know this is a lot at once, but I had to take you before someone else got you.”
He was sitting on his desk, brown eyes staring into yours intently. They held a small spark of light within them, but they were also filled with darkness. As if a singular star had fallen from the sky into a black sea.
He had seen things. He had killed people. Life had not been easy on him.
“I-I don’t understand. Why would you move away?” you asked. The brief memories you had of the boy were on summer holidays to the countryside, but most of that was blurry. You were young, the memories could be false. The things you remembered most were times spent under the sun, and how he made you laugh.
“I didn’t move away, Y/N. You did. In fact, you were taken away.” he spat, clenching the wood beneath his fingers. His knuckles turned white at the pressure, blood leaving his veins.
“Everything you’ve ever known has been a lie. Those people? Not your parents. Your home? Not really your home. Ask yourself why your parents wanted to send you away, why you were so far from London, and why you could never really go out anywhere without one of your parents with you. Ask yourself why strange people would come into the house and discuss “business” at your dinner table.”
You were silent, unable to speak. There wasn’t much to say when your entire world was falling apart.
“I have everything within a file here. Who you actually are, who your parents actually are, where you were born, and your death, apparently. Except, you never really died.” he seemed to be staring directly into your soul. Your eyes widened, and you stood up quickly.
“This can’t be. It can’t be. It can’t.”
The pressure building within your chest was unbearable, crushing, smothering. The chair fell back behind you, crashing to the floor. It echoed throughout the room, making your ears throb in repetition. Tom stood up, unsure of what to do. All he could think of was to comfort you as he had done as a kid.
The sky above was bright, the air balmy and warm. Small birds sang from the treetops, swinging from branch to branch. The sun filled the countryside with a rare, sunny day, casting golden light on growing flowers. The smell of spring was in the air, the promise of life after the coldness of winter.
Billy was fast, climbing up the hill with confident, boyish steps. You were almost as fast as him, but the day had been long, and you were tired. Suddenly, a hidden tree root seemed to sprout from the ground. You tripped, falling to your knees. The ground wasn’t kind, and you felt pain blossom after you fell. Billy heard you cry and turned around, immediately running to your side.
“You okay, bubs?” Immediately, you started crying. Billy sat on his knees and wiped the tears from your eyes, giving you a smile. “Don’t worry now, don’t cry. I can fix it up real quick.” He pulled you into his small arms, hugging you to him. And in that moment, pain didn’t exist.
And just like he did when you were a child, Tom brought you to his chest. He had changed over the years, but under all the exteriors he wanted to put on for the world, his heart was still good. He began to stroke your hair gently, quietly rocking you back and forth. The sudden physical contact startled you, but you soon melted within his touch. It was almost like you were meant to be there. Almost like the gods had crafted his arms specifically to hold you.
Hours seemed to pass as the room was enveloped in silence, except for the soft sound of your breaths and erratic heartbeat. Finally, Tom pulled away.
“You ready?” he asked, his hand grasping the file behind him. With a deep breath, you prepared yourself. “Yes.” It was the strongest your voice had sounded all evening.
He opened the file, pulling out a small stack of papers that were clearly very old. They were wrinkled, as if someone had gone over them several times. Hundreds, even.
“You were born in London to a powerful family, one that was once well-known and ruled the streets. Do you know of the mafia in London, love?” he paused for a moment, and waited for you to nod. “The mafia has ruled London for centuries, but the hand of power has passed from family to family. Several families have ruled at once, but very few empires have lasted for more than a few decades. My family has been in power for centuries, ruling the underground. And for a while, we held no allies- until your family came in. Just as powerful, but wanting to combine their power with ours. The Langstons, which is your real last name. I have your birth certificate here.” He tossed a small piece of paper over to you, and there it was.
Y/N Langston, born to Michael and Julia Langston. The date of your birthday was different, but within the same year. And it occurred to you that you had never actually seen your real birth certificate. Such curiosities had been dismissed by your parents. Except, they weren’t even your real parents.
“You were too young to remember, but you are correct about one thing. My family would take holidays with yours to the countryside when we were young, up until the age of seven. You knew me as Billy, a childhood nickname I was given because of a play I was in at a very young age. Everything was fine, up until the winter before we turned eight. And that’s when things got ugly.” He took a moment to let you take in the information.
“Being in the mafia, you have several enemies. The public, the police, and other people in the underground. People want that power for themselves, and at the time, another mob was rising. You’ll know them as Y/L/N. They hated my family and yours, but specifically your Father. Your father was a good man, but he wasn’t a saint. He stole a shipment of drugs from this rising mob, but in the process, lives were lost. He had attacked the family’s home, where the drugs had been stored until they could be sold for a large sum of money. It was around 30,000 pounds in street value, mostly cocaine, fentanyl, marijuana, and speed. Gunfire erupted, but the daughter of the Y/L/N was killed in the process. Your “father,” was outraged. That’s when everything collapsed.”
“You were probably around seven, and it was May 18th. A swarm broke into your home, and a fight broke out. Men were lost on both sides, but they took you and your parents, and dragged them to a warehouse in the outskirts of London. They set it on fire, and two bodies were found, whatever was left of them. Another body was found as well, and it was presumed to be yours. But we didn’t have the resources nor the technology to confirm it, and the police mostly stayed out of mafia business. So, it was confirmed that you were dead. But we didn’t know for sure, and I always held onto hope. People stopped looking, and we knew, at this point, your parents were definitely dead. The Y/L/N had fucked up so many things, shattered an empire, and wounded my family in the process.” he explained.
You hadn’t noticed, but tears were silently slipping down your cheeks. You couldn’t speak, you could only sit there in shock.
“But why take me?” your voice was barely heard, but there was anger hidden in it.
“Payback for taking their daughter from them. Your “so-called” family must be crazy, thinking they can use you as a replacement for their deceased daughter. It’s fucked up.” he ran a hand through his hair. “You’ve been a fugitive for most of your life.”
Placing your hands on your face, you brought your knees to your chest and began to cry. Everything was too much, it was all too much.
“And from what Tanner told me, you explained that you lived your life in the countryside, in a small town no one knows, far away from London. The attack on your real parents must have wounded the Y/L/N family, and they knew we would find them if they had stayed in London. So, they moved out to the countryside. And it’s no wonder you can’t remember anything; huge amounts of trauma at a young age are often blocked out by the brain, in an attempt to protect the individual.”
You nodded, unable to do anything else. “But how would it hurt you and your family?” you asked, thinking back to what he had said before.
“Because, Y/N,” he took a breath to compose himself. “Because we were arranged to be married. And, because you are alive, it still stands.”
My apologies on the lateness of the update, but here you go! and also for the cliffhanger oops
Taglist: @ellabellabus07 @aquawomxn @fangirl125reader @aiianovna
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AN: 1500 words. Get ready for some ridiculous fey shenanigans that has like just the hint of a flirty nature to it? Idk fey are weird and so is Alphonse. Had to bend over backwards to figure out how Alphonse can get floral allergies but I'm making it work!!
Courting the Fey (and other bad choices you can make)
Floral allergies were not something Alphonse had to deal with, thank the gods for that; he was practically half-plant. He’d spend his days wandering the forests, going on kill quests in all sorts of territories, slinking around busy cities full of scents and irritants and came out relatively unscathed.
That seemed to be a trait of the material plane.
Something about the feywild made his systems fold in on themselves, made him feel allergic to everything. Maybe not the plants, those were still bearable, but the…the inhabitants? The animals? Anything that left a small trail of fairy dust in its wake had him sneezing until he cried.
It was brutal…
“Well! I don’t get what you’re being so fussy about!” A high-pitched voice chirped at him from his shoulder. Alphonse looked up, sitting at the base of a large tree.
He’d taken up refuge in a freshwater spring, somewhere in the woods, sheltered by peacock-coloured trees and crystalline streams. He was bathing when an unfortunately familiar face popped up from the bushes and scared the wretched soul right out of him.
A certain fey by the name of Daphne Pin, or…Bee for short. She was the annoyance of all annoyances, her pointy little teeth, those freaky eyes, her…fuzzy bee-like hands. Made his skin crawl. She’d brought a bunch of her friends who were all sitting around in the trees and riverbank while he awkwardly redressed behind a tree.
He was part of this realm to some extent, so seeing her wasn't much of a surprise. Pin could pick up his scent like a bloodhound.
That built-in tracker had led her here.
Right on his shoulders, lighter than a feather. The concentration of human-sized fairies surrounding him gave his face a faint buzz, the itch burning into the corners of his eyes and the arch of his nostrils. It was like breathing in the sharpest, most potent mint.
The fey were tricky though, they could sense his fear- his disgust probably and started getting closer. Little freaky nymph lookin’ things, a gathering of pretty bugs surrounding a single hybrid olive and cherry tree.
“You dod’t get how…-“ He paused to sniffle for a solid five seconds, “How addoyi’g it is. A-annoyi’g…can't breathe, can't see, y-your whole face itches...”
A chorus of mocking giggles fluttered through the group. A rather handsome fellow laid down beside him, his skin adorned with large patches of what seemed to be dragonfly chitin.
“You should join us for tea!” He drew a finger along Alphonse’s collar, tugging free the ties at the laced-up centre. The man swatted his hand away, getting a needle-like smile in return, “Since you’re the one who gave Bee her nickname. She tells me you have plenty to spare, so I think that makes you a bit of a guest of honour! Mind if I have one?”
A crown of flowers sprouted up around his head, not of his own will, and definitely not flowers he usually sprouted. Alphonse shook them off with a sniff. Snapdragons...
The itching in his face intensified, prompting a firm scrub with his wrist.
He blinked, that’s how long it took, for the environment to fold itself into something new like origami. He was laying back on a picnic blanket, his backpack was laying under his head like a pillow and there were flowers coating every surface he could see, save for...himself. Ironic, isn't it?
The surrounding trees were smothered in pink, yellow and white petals, obscuring the sun in a way that created perfect columns of warmth and light. He lifted his head and he swore, he felt stems snapping from his scalp to the ground. That made his whole body shudder! Going back to the elements from which he came, it looks like! Gross! The little group was surrounding him as he sat up, a full curtain of daffodils and peonies falling from his forehead and over his face.
“HIIhh—iidyscHHHUHH!” Alphonse’s hand clamped up to his face, a second too late. The petals dispersed around his lap, shaking loose a fine blue powder. He gasped again, chest heaving under his loosened shirt, “IhhssshHHEHHWW!! sdff—! F-fuck! Ugh-“
He barely had a moment to curse before a set of hands smoothed down his shoulders. His vision went hazy as the pressure eased out any aches from travelling. A pair of familiar, unnaturally small irises were peering into his.
“How do you feel, Laertes?” Pin hummed, looking at him from upside down.
“Not as bad as before…” He mumbled, glancing awkwardly to the side as he tried to wipe off his face. His angular nose crinkled as he pushed up roughly against the underside with a bruised knuckle. Another set of hands was on his chest. That one from before, Pin's handsome friend. And…another set. A shorter one with butterfly wings the colour of chestnuts and sapphires. A young moth-looking fae knelt by his waist. Everyone’s wings fluttered softly as they stared at him.
Petals began to sprout from his head as the first one put a hand to his cheek to give it a pinch. Pansies, and cherry blossoms too. His cheeks felt warm.
“You’re crafty…” He mumbled, watching him grow slightly closer, seeing his dual pupils. There was a sudden, sort of impatient sensation just under his nose. Whoever they were, dragonfly person, whatever— they were drawing a long piece of grass under his septum, lips pursed in a way that he could only hope was curiosity. A sniff caused the blade of grass to stick against the still twitching surface of his teardrop-shaped nostrils.
“Hey…!” Pin’s voice rang like a buzz in his eyes. Her hands held him by the temples, “Don’t look at him. Look at me.”
“Can’t help it…he’s a handsome one—hfF!” Gods, he really couldn’t think straight and poking fun at her was second nature. Not that Pin wasn't pretty, she was, he just liked to take the piss out of the situation. Pin’s friend rested his head against his shoulder, his arm draped over Alphonse's bicep.
“Why don’t you give me a name, hm?” He asked, “I don’t think the one I have sounds very pleasant leaving your mouth.”
More flowers. His head was in a fog. Alphonse’s lips parted with a shuddery response, his hands slightly tightening with a knee-jerk reaction.
“IidsshHHUHHh!! iisschhHHEEOo! Ghuhh, stop…” His head arched away, but the blade of grass managed to slip into his nostril. Like a jolt of lightning, the itchiness intensified tenfold-! “HiHDSHh-!’sschHHHUHHww!”
For some reason, every time he sneeze, he could feel more flowers sprouting from his hairline, a crown that shed fine particles of fairy dust all over his teary lashes and slicked upper lip. His nostrils flared with another forceful sneeze, “—idsSHHEEUHHWw!”
“Give him a break, Ton…” Pin swatted her friend on the head as the other two got real comfortable in Alphonse’s lap. He swallowed. Oh gods, come on, think! He was so dizzy from sneezing, he could barely see straight. Damn, felt like the single blade of grass tripled into a set of three, more determined than the first. Hated the lack of logic in this place...rich, coming from him.
Another sneeze cleared the remaining petals from his chest, tears beginning to stream from his face. Ton, if he caught the name right, was smiling sort of dazedly as he went about conducting this. Oh, perfect, he’s the subject of the fae’s pleasure now, what could possibly go wrong?
The grass batted against his cheek, he angled his head away and it was waiting on the other side. Alphonse tried to roll his eyes but was cut off by a sharp gasp of air, his lips pulled up into a snarl before jerking forward, his knees pulling up with a jerk.
“IhH! HiHH- hdsshHHUHH! IiisccHHYIIHHww!! J-jusf—“
He gestured with his hand, unintentionally, a little to the left. The grass persisted but followed his orders. Hit that sweet spot-
“IIHH!! IhHSSHHeuuuhww!! Snfff…! Alright, ow…”
Dazed, he held up his head with a few watery blinks. Like bugs hovering around a yellow stamen, their focus pierced right into him. Uncanny…
“Are you finished?” He mumbled, pinching at his nose a few times. The grass was taken from Ton’s hand and thrown over his shoulder — seeing a fey pout huffily was always amusing. Ton stood, actually quite tall. Taller than he expected at least. Still kinda, y'know, bitty compared to himself.
“Very well, I have had my fun," He brushed back his wild hair, flaunting his chest out. Built like a warrior, not bad, "Not that I’m going anywhere, knowing this lot.”
“Says you,” Pin added, folding her arms over Alphonse’s shoulder, which shrugged abruptly to try and throw her off, “But no matter…you’ll let us hang around, won’t you, Laertes? Since we're such good company?”
Alphonse’s brows levelled, unconvinced. As if it really mattered what his answer was.
It could be worse.
It could be hags. A quartet of alluring fey rather than freaky shapeshifters who lived in huts and ate children's bones was preferable. Then again, it was Pin, and knowing fey, they would probably use the opportunity to pickpocket him dry…
Ah, fuck it. Not like he was much different. Besides, he reasoned, they were kinda touchy.
“That’s what we thought.”
Flowers in your Hair
a/n: so sorry i havent been able to put out writing in a long time! ive been busy and also the words havent been flowing properly so...
anyway, here’s something that had been sitting on my computer for a while and I hope everyone enjoys!
Despite everything Aelin Galathynius had endured in the kingdom of Doranelle, she could still find immense beauty within the city of rivers.
She had never really gotten a good look at the city. When she came with Rowan the first time to get answers about the Wyrdkeys from Maeve, she had been far too nervous to bother to take in her surroundings properly. The second time she was in Doranelle, she was trapped in an iron box.
But this time, Aelin was visiting as a queen and was able to fully take in the splendor of the last stronghold of the Fae.
Even though she knew the city of stone and water had been built as a deterrent for Brannon and all of his ancestors (including her), Aelin found the bright streets charming. Her head was practically hanging out of the window of their carriage as they traveled towards the Whitethorn estate. She didn’t want to miss any details, this time.
Aelin’s husband sat beside her, holding her hand and sending fond glances at her every once in a while. Though he hadn’t admitted it aloud, Aelin knew part of him was excited to show her where he had grown up properly for the first time.
It had been two years since the end of the war and Sellene had invited Aelin and Rowan to Doranelle for a brief visit. Aelin had been so wrapped up in everything her kingdom required that she hadn’t realized she was aching for a change of pace until one was offered to her. Besides, it had been far too long since Rowan had visited his home, anyway.
Aelin knew they were nearing the Whitethorn estate. Selene had wanted to meet here, where no bad memories lingered for Aelin. She truly appreciated her care. It would be nice to be able to enjoy the visit without unwanted memories hanging about.
Doranelle was quite pleasant this time of year. While in Terrasen, snow still covered the mountains, in Doranelle, the airs were much warmer and the snow had all melted away. The first grasses and flowers had already begun to sprout.
Aelin’s gaze caught on a group of Fae milling about a small patch of green, setting up tables and decorations. Her brows furrowed. It wasn’t any holiday that she was aware of.
“Ro, what are they setting up for?”
Her husband glanced through the window to see what she was referencing. “Ah. Imbolc, I believe.”
“Imbolc?” Aelin repeated, testing the unfamiliar word on her tongue. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a minor holiday for the Fae,” Rowan explained. “To celebrate the end of winter and the return of spring. My uncle will likely be holding his own get-together tonight on the estate.”
Aelin turned, grinning at her husband. “A party?”
His lips pressed together tightly. “I’m afraid that my family does not have the same definition of celebration as you do, Fireheart.”
Aelin waved a dismissive hand through the air. “It’s a celebration, isn’t it? It couldn’t be that bad. Even if your family is filled with boring old men like you.”
Rowan scoffed, throwing an arm around Aelin’s shoulders and tugging her close. He kissed the top of her head before murmuring, “Believe it or not, they’re far more boring than me.”
Aelin melted into her husband’s side, breathing in his pine and snow scent. He must have been exaggerating. Regardless of the opinion he held about his familys’ definition of celebration, it was a holiday. It was going to be fun.
Aelin had been completely, terribly, wrong.
Though she’d be dead before she admitted that to anyone. Especially Rowan. He would hold it over her head for the entirety of their immortal existence.
The Whitethorn estate was a sprawling, beautiful piece of property. The home was almost a palace in itself, sculpted out of white stone in an ancient style. The gardens were stunning, well-managed even when Doranelle was just creeping out of winter.
Aelin had met Rowan’s uncle once before. It was clear where her mate’s stony exterior came from. She greeted Rowan’s cousin Enda and his husband before receiving a warm welcome from Sellene, the Faerie queen of the east.
Technically, Aelin had just as much of a claim on Doranelle’s throne as Sellene did. Though she had absolutely no desire for another kingdom. Taking care of Terrasen was enough work as it was.
She spent the afternoon greeting and being reintroduced to Rowan’s never ending stream of family. Her head was starting to spin as she attempted to tell the hundreds of silver heads apart.
But eventually, Aelin changed into a nicer gown as the sun began to set and time for the celebration to start crept closer and closer. It was a new piece of hers, long and white. The dress drooped off her shoulders, sleeves long and flowing. The skirts were airy, billowing around her legs and she strode around the rooms as she prepared. The dress was simpler than most of her other gowns, but it was beautifully made.
Half of her hair was pulled back in tasteful braids, the rest of her golden waves were left to hang freely down her back.
Rowan had kissed her and told her how beautiful she looked. With all the sweet nothings he whispered in her ear, it was unsurprising when he hauled her up on the vanity and started kissing her neck. Aelin was halfway through undoing his belt when they were interrupted by a polite knock on their door informing them that the celebrations were starting.
Aelin had kissed her husband one last time with a whispered promise of, “Later.”
She was excited to celebrate her first Imbolc. The gardens of the Whitethorn estate had been decorated with white flowers and glowing candles, tables of food and wine flowing freely.
She had high hopes that her husband had been exaggerating about how boring his family was and yet…
It was nice, she supposed. There was a small band playing low, lovely songs, plenty of people milling about to make conversation with. The food provided was exquisite and the early spring wine simply wonderful. Rowan’s uncle and Sellene had invited other lords and ladies of Doranelle to the get-together.
It wasn’t that she was having a bad time but… just beyond the towering gates of the Whitethorn estate, Aelin could hear others celebrating in a way that seemed much more intriguing to her. She could hear cherry, jubilant music, the sounds of whoops and cheers of delight. She could scent spiced meat being roasted and smoke from a bonfire.
Aelin tried to focus back into the conversation she was having with Sellene and other ladies. Although part of her wanted to dance and drink until she was red in the face, she was a queen. And spending time with other royalty and nobility was part of the deal.
But she couldn’t stop keeping an ear out for that music.
Rowan was used to the kinds of parties his uncle threw.
He started the evening with Aelin at his side. There were plenty of people in Doranelle who had wanted to thank them for their efforts made in the war. They both accepted their thanks gracefully, but when some of the warriors started asking for stories about battle, Rowan took over and allowed Aelin to find less dismal conversation.
He had kept an eye on her through the evening, admiring how beautiful she looked in that white dress under the moonlight. She charmed and dazzled all that she spoke to, a true queen through and through.
Rowan got roped into a rather lengthy conversation debating some maneuvers made during a war he had fought over a hundred years ago. Eventually, he was aware of Sellene slipping up to his side, a quizzical look on her face.
“Where did your mate run off to?” she asked.
“She’s not here?”
Rowan sent a sweeping glance around the gardens, finding his cousin was right. Aelin was no longer here.
“She didn’t go to sleep without saying goodnight, did she?” Sellene asked.
Definitely not. It was far too early for her to go to bed, and even if she did, she likely would have found a way to coerce Rowan to come with her. Still, she certainly wasn’t in the gardens, but she was somewhere. And if Rowan knew Aelin at all…
His gaze snagged on the gates to the estate, finding one of the gilded doors opened a crack, leading to the music and laughter he could hear beyond.
He knew where his wife was.
Rowan excused himself from the celebration on his family’s estate, slipping away before anyone could ask him where he was heading. He was out the gate, following the winding path down from the estate towards the surrounding village.
It was easy to find the celebration. It was situated on a small patch of green on the otherwise stone city. There were one or two bonfires burning, cooking some delicious smelling meat. There was a band playing bouncing music, a few Fae children running around, chasing each other, and stealing sweets. A large group of people dancing spun and leapt to the enchanting music. And, in the center of those dancing bodies, was the woman Rowan was looking for.
Aelin was always stunning, but there were moments that took Rowan’s breath away. This was one of those moments.
The smile on his wife’s face was contagious as moved. Her cheeks were flushed a lovely shade of pink from either her smiling, her dancing, or likely the wine she had been drinking. Someone had twisted white flowers into her golden hair, she had lost her velvet slippers somewhere along the way, her bare feet moving swiftly across the grass. The hem of her dress had been stained by dirt, but Aelin didn’t seem to care. She lifted her skirts in her hand and twirled gracefully, locking elbows with another female before twisting towards another partner: a male who placed a respectful hand on her waist as they spun swifty.
It made him happier than he expected to see Aelin learning the folk dances of Doranelle so quickly. It didn’t surprise him at all that she would master them.
Rowan wondered if the people around knew exactly who was dancing amongst them. Though tales of Aelin Galathynius had spread far and wide, she had only been in Doranelle twice. And neither of those visits had allowed her much time to make herself known amongst its people.
Rowan, however, was much more recognizable. He pretended to ignore the curious glances people were sending his way, the hidden whispers. It was only so long before they put two and two together and realized that the woman he couldn’t take his eyes off of in the fine dress who had crashed their party was the Queen of Terrasen herself.
Rowan didn’t know what possessed him, but he found himself slipping through the crowd, dodging the bodies of the dancers, until he had swept his wife up in his arms and began to lead her in the next dance.
Aelin’s face lit up in delight before raising a mischievous brow. “You found me.”
“You knew I would.”
She laughed. “I did. But I wasn’t expecting a dance. I only get those on special occasions.”
“It is a special occasion.” Rowan braced his hands on Aelin’s waist, lifting her as the others around them did this same. “It’s your first Imbolc.”
“Ah. I was hoping I convinced you with my stunning beauty and irresistible dancing.”
“Perhaps both are factors. Besides, my uncle’s party was growing dull.”
“Oh no! I’ve finally corrupted you into liking fun!”
Rowan flicked her nose and her laughter rang through the cool night air.
Although Rowan didn’t dance often, when he danced with Aelin, he always loved it. She danced with just as much grace and ferocity as she did when she fought. He would do anything to see that glimmer that shone in her eyes, to feel his magic and heart jump with joy to have her so close.
The music sped up as it reached its climax, the dancers moving swifter to match the beat. His and Aelin’s bodies moved in question and answer to one another, not one misstep or fumble. Not that he expected there to be.
The song and dance came to an end with Rowan twirling his wife back into his arms, both of them breathing a bit heavier than normal after exerting themselves. Aelin was smiling up at him, a few stray, golden hairs sticking to her forehead. Around them, people cheered and laughed, but to Rowan, it felt as if they were in their own world.
Aelin threaded her fingers through Rowan’s hair, pushing up on her toes and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.
“I think I love Imbolc,” she said breathily.
Rowan smiled back down on her, kissing her again. “Then we’ll bring it back to Terrasen with us.”
Her grin didn’t fade as she rested her head against his chest. “I think I love you, too.”
Rowan held her close, resting his head on hers.
He was pretty damn sure he loved her too.
1.6k words | drabble | fairy!au | sfw | shownu
he discovers a fairy in his yard, wondering if they're actually real.
Hyunwoo never had a green thumb.
Truthfully, he had no interest in growing his garden or taking care of plants. Vegetation was more of his grandparents’ thing, as they needed something to do during retirement. There’s no need for Hyunwoo to frequent markets for fresh produce when he can find most of it in their backyards, and he doesn’t see a point in gardening when they live so close to them. It wasn’t until he moved out to live alone in a small town did he randomly ask his grandfather for advice on starting a garden.
Did he suddenly have interest because of all the gardening space that came with the cottage? Not precisely.
Hyunwoo liked peace and quiet. He kept very few people by his side as he’s not keen on being amongst a crowd, which was why he decided that a fresh slate was needed: moving from the city to a small town. It’s quiet enough for him to hear his own thoughts and revel in his own presence, but not pin-drop quiet. The occasional bird chirps and the distant flow of rivers kept him going, and seeing the best of Mother Nature was a true luxury. Still, he didn’t have any desire to garden or plant flowers. The farmer’s market was a few blocks away and provided the fresh affordable produce that one could only wish to have in the city.
Then spring came around. He was getting ready to go to work, slipping on his work shoes, when he caught a glimpse of something out the window.
At seven in the morning, sunlight was barely filtering through with all the trees surrounding him, but a bright glimmer didn’t go unnoticed. He was half expecting it to be headlights, albeit he hadn’t truly gotten close to any residents for them to be invited over, but what he saw made him wonder how sleep deprived he actually was.
He squatted down and tiptoed towards the window. He could’ve been blinded by the light by how bright it was but when it dimmed down, the source wasn’t a car–or a vehicle. It was a strange woman donning a short silk dress–or satin?–that barely reached the middle of her thighs, with thin straps that sat unmoved on her shoulders. She had no shoes, which made him grimace because there was harmful debris on the forest ground due to how long it’d gone untended. The strangest thing about her was a pair of wings fluttering behind her–gorgeous panels of blue that shone like stained glass with subtle outlines of black. She had kneeled before a flower that he never noticed had sprouted up from the ground, and grinned as if it was the greatest source of joy.
He rubbed his eyes, then looked once more. She was still there in all her glory. Her glittering glory and wings. Aside from her iridescence and fantastical attributes, she was a sight to behold, unlike any other human but also just like a woman.
Since then, he had decided to dip his toes into the world of gardening with the hopes of her return. It started with wanting to plant a peony shrub. Not just any peony shrub, but a blue peony shrub that embodied the same glorious beauty as the woman’s–fairy’s–wings. Blue peony shrubs were harder to come by because he needed to order them online or drive nearly two hours for a shrub. Honestly, with a flower as ordinary as the one she was marveling at, he could’ve just accepted a standard pink peony. It will always be a mystery as to why he wanted to go the extra unnecessary mile. With the shrub, he might as well attempt a vegetable garden too.
His grandparents were delighted that their stubborn grandson randomly decided to do the very thing he claimed he would never do, and they will never let him live it down. With the gardening advice came the jokes, the ‘I told you so’s, and quoting his words from the past about how he didn’t like being outside shoveling dirt and getting ravaged by insects. He had to suck it up every time he called them.
He will never let them or his parents know the sole reason for wanting to garden. Doing it for a woman was wild enough because that meant he met someone wonderful enough to get him to change his mind about the outdoors and self-sustenance. But doing it for a woman with wings who didn’t know he existed?
It is now summer and several crops have matured enough to be harvested. Since it was just Hyunwoo by himself, he didn’t grow an entire garden like his grandparents, even though he has more than enough space to do so. But they had plenty of friends and an entire community to give their excess harvest away to. While his vegetables were growing just fine, his peony shrub requires patience. If he had known it would take a couple of years to fully establish, he would’ve chosen another flower. But there’s something about the vibrant blue peonies that really reminds him of the fairy’s wings. He has accepted that he may not see her for those few years while the shrub is taking root in his land–or he may never see her again. After all, she may have just chanced on a visit to his barren residence.
As nightfall descends earlier on his cottage, he expects complete darkness outside, aside from the dim porch light that barely illuminates the front steps. But a blast of white light draws him towards the window, disgruntled that perhaps it may be morning already and that nighttime was just an illusion. When he looks out, he sees the fairy has visited his garden and his heavy eyelids are immediately peeled back.
She’s hovering over the peony shrub that’s not supposed to bloom for three more years. The shrub that started out as a small stalk a few days ago suddenly flourished into a full-grown shrub with dozens of vivid blue peonies completely open, despite the sun not being out. She flies all around it, giggling and cradling each flower in her hand, the glitter in her wings sprinkling down onto the shrub. As the flowers call on her attention, Hyunwoo is compelled by unknown desires to sneak out the door and pad towards her. The closer he gets, the more mesmerized he is by this strange being.
A deafening crunch sounds beneath his shoe and it’s followed by a gasp. The fairy immediately ascends higher, and he sees the fear on her face.
“It’s okay!,” he reassures a tad bit assertively. He clears his throat and softens his tone. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
For a moment, she hesitates, and remains up in the air–rightfully so. He continues soothing her and airing out his promises of no harm. Miraculously, she begins fluttering back to the ground on her bare feet and her wings dissipate into thin air, though her glow still remains. Her eyes are an iridescent blue as bright as her wings, a color that he has never seen on a regular person, and her irises are doe-like. When she looks up at him, his breath is taken away.
“Have I disturbed you?,” she asks, feet planted firmly on the ground while he slowly approaches her.
He shakes his head. “You’re more than welcome here. I had planted the flowers just for you.”
Her eyes grow wide. “For me…?”
He nods. “I saw you a few months ago. You seemed to really like a flower that you saw here, so I decided to plant a whole bush for you.”
The literal spark in her eyes doesn't go unnoticed as she grins. “Did you just happen to know peonies are my favorite?”
“I did not.” He laughs. “These blue peonies just reminded me of you in some way.”
Blue peonies that somehow sprouted, bloomed, and opened. There may be a supernatural answer to the mystery but regardless, they’ve finally bloomed for her to witness. He plucks a fully flourished peony from the shrub and hands it over to her. “Please, take as many as you’d like, and stay for as long as you wish. This will always be here for you.”
She softens and accepts it from him. “You’re.. so sweet. What’s your name?”
“Hyunwoo..,” she repeats in a quieter voice as she gently tugs at the peony’s delicate petals. “You have such a lovely garden.”
“And it’s always open when you need anything.”
He hears distinct chatter in the distance, buried in the throes of the forest trees. She whips her head around in the general direction, then turns back to him with a small smile. “I’m afraid I must go.”
Her wings spring back to life, and it will never fail to amaze him. “But I’ll visit again soon. I promise to not disturb too much.”
“Please,” he insists, not knowing why he is or should. “Disturb me as much as you’d like.”
She giggles and hovers towards him to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “If you say so, Hyunwoo.”
She tucks the peony behind her ear, which highlights her ethereal beauty, before flying off to her friends or family. Once again shrouded in utter darkness, Hyunwoo sighs as he stumbles his way back into his cottage. Locking the door behind him, he leans against it, wondering what the hell happened and whether or not it was just a figment of his imagination. Whatever it was, it felt real. The conversations felt real. Her presence felt real.
Yet, he can’t be so sure.
COLORFUL, a domestic smut drabble.
BOSS, a smutty ceo!au.
LIAISON, a smutty royal au.
Yellow | Draco Malfoy
Hey lovelies, here’s another Draco. I don’t know why but right now he’s all I have the motivation to write for. I hope you don’t mind!
Description: Y/n and Draco falling in love with the color yellow and each other
Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader
Warnings: It’s a little angsty, a little smutty, very fluffy, and way too long
Word count: 6k
Tags: FLUFF, angst at times, the ending hints at smut
Tag list: @fashionably-crying , @draconisxcaput
Yes, I’m using this gif again, sue me
Yellow. Sunshine, flowers, freshly pressed gold. Everything that’s eternally happy and pure and good.
Yellow. Sickness, potions gone bad, poison. Bile when there’s nothing left to throw up.
Yellow. Kissing, and fighting, and doing. The color of life itself.
The color of the pumpkins growing in Professor Sprout’s greenhouse and of her nails as she writes notes on information long ingrained in her memory.
“Can anyone tell me the name for what is in front of you all right now?” Professor Sprout’s jolly voice rings through the greenhouse and you can’t help but smile as you raise your hand.
Sprout nods at you, a smile on her face too, knowing quite well that you’ll tell her what she wanted to hear and more.
“It’s a cucurbita pepo, also known as a pumpkin. They’re grown during the summer months and then harvested in autumn, just in time for the muggle celebration of Halloween. They are used in cooking quite often however they are rich in tryptophan, which is converted to serotonin upon consumption, which in turn causes fatigue. Thus cucurbita pepo seeds are used in certain forms of the sleeping draught potion. It’s also why we get sleepy after eating pumpkin pie.”
You giggle at the end of your spiel and the sound trickles through the greenhouse and wraps around a certain blonde at the back of the class who is furiously writing down everything you just said. You don’t notice, though, you’re too busy revelling in Sprout’s approving nod. She begins speaking in depth about the facts you shared and you hurry to write them in your journal, the one that you keep specifically for herbology. It’s filled with plants of all kinds, each with detailed notes and sketches that you drew yourself.
When you flip to your page on pumpkins you begin adding notes you don’t have, just a few details here and there. You aren’t gifted in every subject, not like Hermione, but you are proud to admit that you excel in herbology and know that you will keep the notes you have been working on for many years to come. You brush your sunshine nails across the page as Sprout rattles on about the antioxidants and other nutrients found in Pumpkins. Vitamin A, magnesium, potassium. You already have it all written down.
“Those are well done,” you’re startled by a voice emanating from over your shoulder, “no wonder you’re so good at this class. Your notes are amazing.”
You’re shocked to find none other than Draco Malfoy standing behind you, towering over you and peering curiously at the sketches that you made of some pumpkins a few days earlier. You know the Hufflepuffs share this class with the Slytherins but usually your groups don’t mix. As in they never do. It’s well known throughout the school that Slytherins hate Hufflepuffs. A lot. So it’s only natural that you, one of the softest Hufflepuffs in the school, cower slightly in the presence of the prince of the Slytherins.
“Oh, um,” you shuffle closer to the table, putting some space between you and him, “thank you, Draco.”
His eyes widen when you say his name and the entire class goes silent. Even professor Sprout ducks her head, stopping her rambling and busying herself with watering a patch of sunflowers behind her. Regret immediately floods your system and you feel slightly sick. Every eye in the class is on you and him, waiting with bated breath to see what happens next. You almost expect him to slap you by the way everyone is acting. You curl into yourself, pulling your hands into your sleeves. You’re undeniably terrified.
What happens next though astounds everyone, most of all you. Draco doesn’t quite smile but his eyes crinkle at the corners and he reaches his hand out, curling his fingers around your shoulder gently. Your head springs up at the contact, fuzzy and spinning. What is he doing?
“You’re welcome, y/n.”
Your cheeks immediately heat at the sound of your name coming from his lips. Since when does he know who you are?
He lets go of your shoulder and looks around the greenhouse, as if noticing the eyes on the two of you for the first time, “what are you all staring at? Mind your own bloody business.”
And just like that the sound and bustle of the greenhouse returns to normal, if not a little more forced and with a few more whispers than before. He nods at you, your entire face burning this time, and walks back to his spot, falling into conversation with his housemates like nothing had happened.
You run a hand through your hair before returning to your notes, trying to fend off the peppermint scent still clinging to your jumper.
The color of the potion that earns his house ten extra points.
You have never been good at potions class. You can try to blame it on Professor Snape, claim that he has it out for you and is the reason all your potions bubble a puke green and smell of death, but that would just be avoiding the truth. The horrible, disheartening, and cruel truth that is, quite simply, that you are absolute garbage at brewing potions.
Draco, on the other hand, is the best chemist Hogwarts has seen in years it seems. Even better than local witch prodigy Hermione Granger. Again, you could blame it on your professor. You could argue that since Snape was also a Slytherin that he gives special favor to Draco. But that wouldn’t be fair to him.
You pout from your seat in potions class, watching the clock tick too slowly and too quickly at the same time. It’s much too slow given that this is your last class of the day and dinner is calling your name. It is, however, much too quick as you only have forty minutes left to complete the dreaded invisibility potion. In front of you lay the ingredients, taunting you relentlessly. The invisibility potion is among one of the more difficult potions you have to master before the end of year exam and, so far, you’ve had no luck.
“Well done, Mr. Malfoy. This is the fifth time you’ve completed your potion first and without error. ten points,” at the sound of Snape’s voice, and the cheering from Draco’s housemates, your head slumps, “perhaps now in your spare time you could help Miss. y/l/n. She seems to be having,” he clicks his tongue sharply, “difficulty.”
Your head snaps up, turning to face the blonde boy across the room, your cheeks fiery. His blue eyes, in turn, are wide, much like your own. You’re a deer caught in the headlights of the freight train that is Draco Malfoy. You’re frozen at the thought of having to speak to him and of having him answer you. As he starts to get up, textbooks in tow, you finally thaw. You think back to the greenhouse, and his hand on your shoulder, and feel the color draining from your face.
“Professor that isn’t necessary, I can-”
Snape silences you with a flick of his wrist, “you can fail on your own instead of take help when it’s offered?”
You just lower your head, mumbling a “no, sir” and pretending to search your textbook. Your heartbeat skyrockets as the blonde boy joins you. He places his own textbook next to yours, his long fingers skimming the pages. Your eyes are drawn to the rings on his fingers and you want to ask him about them but the two of you aren’t close like that and you don’t want to make it more awkward than it already is. The same peppermint scent floats around you, stronger this time. You swallow tensely, feeling once more the eyes of your peers.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble more into your cauldron than to him, “I know you don’t want to help me. You can just pretend if you want and I’ll figure out this mess myself.”
You stare at the bubbling, black potion and hold back the nausea. It is very much not the sunshine yellow that it’s supposed to be. You sigh and tuck your hair behind your ears. You begin crushing chameleon scales in silence. You can feel his stare on the side of your face, searing into your cheekbone. You do your best to stay focussed but you can barely concentrate under the weight of his gaze. Being this close to the Slytherin boy still makes you nervous. What kind of nervousness, that is though, you aren’t so sure.
You’re startled when he takes the ingredients from your hands, his fingers brushing yours lightly, “I never said I didn’t want to help you.”
You look up at him, meeting his eyes and giving him a soft smile, one that makes his eyes widen and his fingers clench. That’s all it takes for the two of you to begin fixing your botched potion. You work side by side, silently except for when he asks you to hand him some ingredients. It’s hypnotic, watching him take what you ruined and make it all better. You feel almost special for a moment before you shake your head slightly, clearing the silly thought. You don’t notice him watching you from the corner of his eye, his lips slightly turned as he notes how flustered you are.
By the end of the class your potion is it’s proper sunshine yellow again and you feel entirely relieved. Although you can’t help but worry about tomorrow's class and how you’ll have to do it all over again.
As if reading your mind Draco turns to you, his hand on your book preventing you from darting away, “do you want to be partners?”
The color of the scarf she wraps around him when she finds him asleep in the courtyard.
It’s mid October and the days have already begun getting shorter. The air is crisp and stings your ears as you walk through the courtyard, admiring the changing leaves during your spare period. You’re the only person there, the chill in the air having deterred the other students from crowding the benches and tree stumps. You don’t mind. You needed a little bit of quiet today.
You’ve been a little out of it all week. Some Slytherins had been making your life a little hard, goading you in the hallways and talking loudly about you whenever you were in ear shot. You have no doubt that it’s about Draco helping you in potions. You don’t talk to him outside of class. Merlin, you barely speak to him in class. You just copy his notes and let him guide you through the potions. You definitely don’t deserve the torment but you can’t do anything about it so you’ve just been trying your best to ignore it.
You take a corner, rounding a rather large oak tree before you suddenly halt. You come inches away from a boy slumped against the base of the tree. His eyes are shut and soft snores fall from his gaped mouth. Upon further inspection, that is noting his green and silver jumper and white blonde hair, you realize that it’s Draco. Your pulse picks up as soon as you see him, your eyes taking in the school books scattered around him. He must have been studying, or trying to at least.
Your heart aches for him. You wonder what on earth could have possibly made him exhausted enough to fall asleep in the freezing courtyard. As if on cue, the wind picks up and you ring your hands together to create some heat. You move around him quickly, closing his textbooks and piling them next to his bag. You put the cap on his ink bottle and tuck his quill next to it and the books.
You step away from him. You don’t want him to wake up and have him find you hovering over him. For just a second, though, you admire how peaceful he looks while he’s sleeping. Usually his forehead is creased and his lips pursed. Right now, however, he’s relaxed. He looks his age for once: seventeen and alive. Alive, just asleep. You sigh as you look at the boy, wishing you could wrap your arms around him.
As you go to walk away, you take one last look at his face. Your heart pangs again at his rosy nose and cheeks. His ears are also a bright red, bitten from the cold and definitely painful. You don’t think before you act, you just take the grey and yellow scarf from around your neck and carefully wrap it around his. You make sure it covers his ears and nose, sofly pulling the ends to wrap around his hands as well.
You take one last look at him. You don’t know what comes over you but you lean down and press a soft kiss to his hair. He smells like green apples today and your heart aches more than ever.
The color of the first snitch he caught as captain and the color of her sweater from the front row.
It’s the first quidditch match of the year, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and you’re more excited than you can say. There have been rumours spreading that Slytherin has a new captain and everyone has been dying to know who. They’ve kept it under wraps, no doubt wanting to stun Gryffindor during the match. The stands around you howl in anticipation, practically vibrating from all the voices speaking at once.
The wind whips around your ears, loud and bone chilling, and you think for a moment to the scarf you left with Draco. You blow in your hands, warming them before wrapping them around your ears. Hogwarts really needs to work on bettering the stands or at least accommodate them for the colder months.
You’re with a few of your friends, each one of you more high on adrenaline than the last. You stand in your bright yellow jumper at the front of the stands, gripping the railing and watching the field for any signs of movement. You’re more excited to see the Slytherin team than anyone else. Perhaps that’s because Draco has been on the team since second year and you now get to stare at him for an entire game, uninterrupted. You shake your head quickly. Where did that come from?
“Y/n, where’s your scarf? It’s freezing out here!” you turn to your best friend, Luna, and give her a small smile, your cheeks red but not from the cold.
Luna has a lion hat on her head and you can’t help but giggle. It’s definitely protecting her from the cold.
“Someone needed it more than I did,” you rub your hands together again.
She smiles at you like she knows you gave it to Draco but that would be impossible. She pulls you into her side, letting you share her body heat again. You speak a little about the upcoming match but ultimately end up doing more teeth chattering than talking. Soon there are trumpets blaring and you can’t stop yourself from leaning against the railing of the bleachers once more, your heart pounding in your chest.
Everyone holds their breath, the only sound throughout the stadium is the howling wind. Your head pounds, not from a headache but from the blood rushing through your body, electrified. You grip the railing right, the cold of the metal stinging your fingertips. The hairs on the back of your neck raise instinctively. They’re so close, you can feel it in your bones.
You blink and the next thing you know the sky is streaked with green, smoke billowing around the players who fly in a tight ‘V’ formation. You squint your eyes, just like every other student and professor around you, trying to make out who is leading the pack. When you catch a glimpse of his white blonde hair your mouth drops. Before you can register what’s happening, you’re cheering like mad. The wind picks up your hair, whipping it around your face as you throw your hands up and scream like you don’t have a care in the world for what anybody else thinks of you. And you don’t, not right now while the boy you think you’re falling for has just been announced as the new Slytherin captain.
Before you know it Luna has joined in, screaming with you, not for the sake of Draco but because you look like you’re having fun for the first time in weeks. She grabs your hand, waving your arms in the air and shouting into the wind. With the two of you screaming together it’s just enough for Draco to hear over the wind. He turns his head, his eyes easily pulling your yellow jumper from the sea of blue around you. He smirks and your heart stops. Before you can even begin to process the glint in his eyes he’s in front of you, hovering over the railing on a broom that looks like it costs more than your life. He’s biting back a cheeky smile.
You let go of Luna’s hand, stepping towards him, “Draco, you made captain!”
You don’t know where you gained the sudden courage to talk to him like you’re friends but right now you don’t care. All you can see is the boy on the broom, smiling at you like you’ve never seen him smile before. The stands around you roar but you can’t hear them. They don’t exist, not right now at least.
“You know it, pumpkin,” your heart stops, you mouth gaping at his casual use of a nickname, and he laughs, a real and absolutely mind melting laugh, “I can’t stay but I got something for you. I noticed you look a little chilly.”
He pulls the green and silver scarf from around his neck, wrapping it around yours but keeping hold of the two ends. The stands fall silent but it doesn’t matter, you still can’t see or hear anything but Draco. He tugs on the ends of the scarf, bringing your face inches away from his own. You almost think he’s going to kiss you for a moment. Oh, what you wouldn’t give for him to kiss you right now. Anything, you would give absolutely anything. Instead, though, he leans down and rubs his nose against yours and you giggle easily.
He lets go of the scarf, flying off to start the game but not before turning around and shouting, “wish me luck, pumpkin!”
You giggle again, your face flushing, “you don’t need luck, Draco!”
He winks and flies to meet his teammates. The game is fast paced and intense. Your eyes stay glued to him the entire time. His nickname wraps around every part of you, his voice echoing in your ears, warming you better than any scarf. You aren’t at all surprised when he catches the golden snitch. No one in the stands cheers louder than you do.
The color of the bruises on his cheekbone and his knuckles and on Zabini’s fucking stomach.
Your back is pressed against the stoney wall of the castle, his chest almost touching yours. You’re backed into the corner, not daring to even breathe. His breath is hot on your face and you cringe backwards, your head cracking against the hard surface behind you.
Blaise Zabini pushes you closer to the wall, if that’s even possible, and you feel like an animal, trapped and frantic, “who do you think you are, puff?”
“I-,” you glance around his head, looking anywhere but his murderous eyes, “what are you talking about?”
That is clearly not the answer he is looking for, practically growling in your face, “what did you do to Malfoy?”
“Nothing!” you cower away from him, your blood turning cold at his accusatory tone.
You squeeze your eyes shut. If he’s going to hit you, you don’t want to see his fists before they land on you. Tears drip down your face relentlessly and you don’t care. They aren’t going to change anything. Blaise Zabini hates you and there is nothing you can do about it. Your mind goes immediately to Draco, something that doesn’t shock you anymore. All you think about these days is him.
Blaise’s breath smells like liquorice and death as he gets up in your face, “stay away from him, y/l/n, or you’ll regret it. I promise you that.”
Just like that, Blaise isn’t touching you anymore. The cold air of the castle wraps around you and you snap your eyes open, watching his retreating form stalk out of the hidden hallway he dragged you into. You sag against the brick behind you, finally letting the full on sobs that you had been holding in rise to the surface. You collapse, sliding down the stone, not caring as it scrapes and rips your shirt as you do so. You curl into a ball, letting all the pain from the last few weeks consume you.
You get lost in the memories. You see Pansy pushing you down the steps outside of the great hall and Crabbe lacing your soup with a puking potion. You hear all the insults and slurs that have been thrown at you ever since Draco complimented you in the greenhouse and it stings. Your chest and throat and wrists burn and you grip your hair in your fists, hoping that if you just tug hard enough then you can make every bad word said to you and every bruise disappear. Of course you can’t, but if you don’t try then you might lose yourself right here, right now. Well, more than you already are that is.
No matter how hard you tug, you can’t stop the cries from spilling out of your mouth. They mask the footsteps pounding towards you. You slam your fists into the marble floor repeatedly, your palms bruising. Your blood rushes through your ears, muffling the sounds of the castle and everyone in them. You hear your name being called but it sounds like whoever is shouting is underwater. Are they shouting, though, or are you just losing your mind? You hear your name again and you scream. You just want the voices to stop. Please, someone make them stop.
Gentle hands grab your fists before you can do any more damage to yourself, pulling you into a chest and wrapping two strong arms around your shoulders, “y/n, what’s going on? What happened?”
Draco’s voice is panicked. That’s the only word for it. He sounds absolutely terrified. His voice soothes you for a moment but soon you’re pushing against his chest, Blaise’s words in your ears again. Your palms collide with his chest as you shove him with all strength you have. It isn’t enough. Of course you aren’t strong enough to knock away a quidditch captain. His green apple scent clings to you, wrapped in his arms, and you cry harder. You clutch his shirt in your hands now, clinging to him for dear life. You cry out his name and his heart shatters.
“Y/n please, pumpkin, tell me what happened,” he kisses your hair hard, like he’s hoping it’ll magically calm you down.
And it does, sort of, but only when he trails kisses down the sides of your face and along your cheekbones as well. His lips are like a gift from the heavens, working quickly and easily to draw your attention from your showdown with Blaise and place it on him, and him alone. Soon your sobs have stopped completely. You’re still crying but you can breathe and that’s more than you would have been able to do on your own. When you finally wrap your arms around his neck he stops, pulling his head back to look into your eyes.
You swallow hard when you see his face, more importantly the tears slowly trailing down his creamy skin, “I’m sorry, Draco, you shouldn’t have to see me this way.”
“Stop,” he shushes and runs his hand up and down your back, trying not to grimace when his fingers slide over the rips in your shirt, “I’m just glad I found you. Now tell me what happened so I can’t beat up whoever made you so upset.”
You want to chuckle, because you know he’s trying to make you feel better, but you can’t, because you also know that when you tell him he’ll probably push you away too. You tug your lip between your teeth, looking over his shoulder and then back at him. You squeeze your eyes shut, you can’t look at him while you say it. You can’t see his face when he drops you.
“I don’t think you want to beat up Blaise, Draco.”
He lets go of you. Of course he lets go of you. Your veins sting as the cold air rushes around you again. You clench your fingers into tight fists, your nails digging into your palms. Your throat aches, like you’ve been poisoned and the antidote is walking away. You open your eyes to Draco at the end of the hall, just about to turn the corner. You do your best to choke back the sobs again but you can’t and even if you could what would be the point? He clearly already thinks you’re pathetic so honestly why bother anymore? You need to just let it all out.
When you do though, cry that is, he stops, his shoulders and back going rigid as he listens. He turns quickly and his eyes widen when he sees you. You take a step back, gripping your shirt, or what’s left of it, and smoothing the material beneath your fingers, doing your best to keep it together. This was the final straw, the last kick to a foundation that has already been crumbling, and you’re just waiting for everything to come caving in now so it can take you with it.
You don’t realise that your eyes are closed until there are hands on your body and you’re forced to open them again, “Draco, what are you doing-”
He smashes his lips against yours, fast and hard and unrelenting. He tastes like peppermint and desperation and, by god, does it breathe a new life into you that you cling to. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down exactly where you had. His hands tangle through your hair, tilting your head slightly and tugging. You can feel his rings against your scalp and it’s the epitome of bliss. You have to to grab his cloak to keep from falling over, your entire body clay in his hands. He pulls back, barely so but in any way it’s still too far.
His lips brush yours as he speaks, his fingers massaging your scalp slightly, “I’ll be back, pumpkin, I promise,” he kisses you hard one more time, “but I really need to go beat Zabini into next month now.”
The color of the fireplace they fall asleep beside on Christmas Eve.
Your dorm is dreadfully empty and you feel a little bit alone, even if it’s only for a week or so. Your parents are renovating the house and decided it was best if you spend the holidays in a place that isn’t covered in dust and smells like paint. You know it’s for the best, and that you more than likely would have been miserable, but the Hufflepuff common room just isn’t the same without it’s usual life.
You pull a sweater over your head, grabbing your notebook before heading out to breakfast. The corridors are empty and it’s eerie, the only other faces being the ones held in frames. They smile at you as you pass and you wave politely, hurrying to the great hall.
When you step through the grand doors you finally see some real people, but not many. You see Harry Potter and Ron Weasley at the Gryffindor table and a few familiar faces in the Ravenclaw section, but none you know enough to join. You sigh, tucking your hair behind your ears. This is going to be a long week. As you turn to the Hufflepuff table, however, your eyes skim over a familiar blonde head buried in today’s paper. Your heart races as you switch courses, heading straight to the Slytherin table and trying not to lose your nerve.
You round the table, walking up behind Draco and stopping quietly. Whatever he’s reading has his full attention because he has yet to notice you. You take the moment to play with him a little.
You lean down, resting your head on his shoulder and whispering, “broomstick stocks are up three percent. That’s good I hear.”
Draco drops the paper and you giggle as he turns his face to look at you, the shock mixing with something gentler in his blue eyes. He jumps out of his seat immediately, pulling you into his arms and burying his face in your shoulder. You wrap your arms around his neck, lacing your fingers through his hair and melting into his warmth. The worry you felt walking into the great hall disappears at his touch. You press your face to his neck like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Y/n, what are you doing here? I thought you went home,” he mumbles into your shoulder, his lips brushing your sensitive skin.
You hold back the shiver. It takes all your willpower to not tilt your head and give him better access to your sweetest spot. You tighten your hands instinctively, forgetting they’re wrapped in his hair. You don’t mean to tug on the strands, and you almost feel bad about it, but at the noise that leaves his lips you almost do it again. It’s low and primal and, Merlin, you want to hear it again. His arms tighten around you and all the nerves in your body are painfully aware of every place his body meets yours.
And every place you wish it is but it isn’t.
You clear your throat lightly before you speak, clearing the lump but doing nothing to make your words any less breathy, “I could ask you the same thing, don’t your parents usually hold large parties during the holidays?”
His hands find your hips as you talk and the end of your sentence comes out as a mere whisper. You squeeze your eyes tighter, his touch driving you crazy in the middle of the damn dining hall. It’s not even ten yet!
“That’s exactly the reason I stayed,” his voice is strained, his hands squeeze your hips and you barely bite back the moan between your teeth, “however, pumpkin, now I see that it’s a fucking gift from Salazar himself that I did.”
You lift your head from his shoulder and meet his eyes, gasping at the sight. His pupils are blown wide and his lip is between his teeth. His hair is mused from your fingers running through it, pulling it, and it makes you want to do it again and again until he does something other than look at you like that. Like he's a starved lion and you’re his next meal. Or maybe you just want to tug until he does something about it.
He squeezes your hips again, harder than the last time, and this time you can’t hold back your moan. It’s quiet, thank Merlin, but he hears it. It wraps around him, like your scarf, and something in him snaps. Soon he’s dragging you into the hallway and you’re tripping on your feet trying to keep up with him. The few people in the great hall openly stare but, as has become your new norm, you don’t care. All you can think about is Draco and all the possibilities of where he could be taking you.
He drags you to an area of the castle you’ve never been to before: the dungeons. Your blood pumps quickly through your veins and you’re filled with adrenaline, each step feeling more like walking on a cloud than the last. His hand in yours is warm and strong, sure of himself and of you and, most importantly, that you want him. He looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you in a way that makes you almost push him quicker down the halls. You glance around, noting the empty corridor. What is it people always say?
You stop abruptly and he looks back at you again, only this time concerned. His expression doesn’t last though, probably because you push him against the wall and pull his lips to yours. You have to stand on your tiptoes to reach his face, your palms splayed against his flushed cheeks as you take your turn in pulling his lip between your teeth. You bite down gently and he moans into your mouth, a deep and masculine sound that makes you want to rip his clothes off right here in the middle of the hall. You press your body against his, needing to feel as much of him as you can get. Of course it isn’t enough. It never is.
He pushes back against you, clearly having enough of his passive position. He flips the two of you, pressing you deliciously into the stone behind you. His hands glide along your hips but, unlike in the great hall, they don’t stop there. No, Draco’s hands find your bare thighs and his fingers wrap around them, the cold metal of the rings biting into your soft flesh. You say a silent prayer to whoever up there was looking out for you enough to sway you to put a skirt on this morning.
His lips are still on yours and, when he all of a sudden lifts you and presses you harder against the wall with his hips, he swallows the moan that rips from your chest, matching it with an equally fierce groan. For the first time all morning he’s exactly where you need him and it’s absolutely breathtaking. You squeeze your legs around him, pulling him as close to you as you can get him. He doesn’t protest, rolling his hips against you and edging your vision with stars.
“Draco, common room. Now,” even as you say it your hands are on his shirt, already working at undoing it.
He wastes no time, rushing down the stairs with you still in his arms, still working on the buttons. He breathlessly murmurs the password before pushing through the door. You grab his face again, hungrily pulling his mouth to yours again as he sets you on a table. His hands find the hem of your jumper, ripping it over your head before tossing it aside. You finish opening the last button quickly, pulling his shirt from his shoulders and dropping it as well. You don’t think twice about letting it hit the ground.
You look back to him and feel breathless, the wild look in his eyes mixing with something so heart wrenchingly soft. His hands smooth up your exposed back, igniting your skin with a fire you’ve never felt before. He leans his face into your neck again, his lips finding where your shoulder and neck meet and pulling your skin between his teeth. The only thing you can think to push past your lips is his name, crying out into the room lit only by some embers in the grand fireplace.
“What do you want, pumpkin. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”
You push him back slightly so you can look into his mesmerising eyes, “I want you to make love to me on every surface in this room.”
And he does just that.
Yellow. The color they fell madly in love to.