#the wings! the bleeding grace!

[shiny-jr]

from POMEFIORE

- Warning: Yes, this is still a yandere thing. You have been warned. Gender-neutral reader. 

- Characters: Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Epel Felmier.

- Summary: (Continuation, after this “we just got a letter, wonder where it’s from”) You have barred them from entering the safety of Ramshackle Dorm, but they are determined to make their words reach you. Which is why the letters begin arriving at your doorstep.

- Note: Hoping its not too out of character.

Ignihyde   |   Pomefiore   |   Scarabia

Perfume. The carefully sealed envelope reeked of it, like the sweet smell of lavender with spice. The envelope containing the message looked like something you would find when getting an invitation to a ball or a wedding. The envelope was pristine, and the wax sealing it was done so perfectly without a single awkward edge.

It almost looked unnatural with how perfect it appeared. The thick beige parchment was cut evenly, and not a blot of ink strayed from the elegantly curved cursive words that looked like ribbons upon the page. Looks could be deceiving. It was beautiful, but as you might've already guessed, the interior didn't entirely match what was hidden beneath the surface.

To my darling player,

I am at fault and take full responsibility for my actions.

All I've ever wished for, was to admire you. You are the epitome of magnificence, divinity that I can only dream to one day achieve but knowing I will never truly reach. There's an otherworldly sort of allure to you, which drew me in far too close. Much like the man who enhanced himself with wings of wax, but flew too close to the sun so his wings melted and he met a terrible fate. You are the sun, and I was that reckless fool with fake wings.

I allowed myself to get too close, tainting your light with my imperfect presence. Your grace was the warm sunlight on my skin, when everything around me was a horrible darkness. To think, I attempted to put out that light. It was nearly diminished. For that, I should be burned. I'm sorry, so so sorry.

I've thought long and hard on what I could possibly say to you, what sort of response could be adequate enough considering what you mean to me and the delicate situation. It didn't take long for me to arrive to the answer: no response is fitting. It doesn't matter if I pen a letter long enough to rival the river of tears I shed, coat the envelope in gold and ink of silver, with a message that would have moved the seven themselves to weep. It does not change the betrayal that occurred. I betrayed the trust you gave me, and shattered it into millions of pieces. However, know that I'll be on my hands and knees piecing it back together again, even if the shards cause me to bleed, you are worth it.

The stabbing sensation on my skin would be nothing compared to the one in my heart that I feel when I consider the fact that you might despise me. There's nothing more I would want than to see your face, hold your hands and feel the warmth of your skin that's so unlike the coldness of your vessel. Requesting a meeting would be imperious, as I have no right to ask you of this. But if I could, I would love to see you and discuss what comes next, perhaps over lunch. This is just a thought, a wish of mine, but one you are not required to fulfill.

I'd love to believe that I know you and your vessel better than anyone else could even dream of understanding, but I know that is far from the truth. Even as I pampered and polished your precious doll, your secrets continue to escape me. Did you ever hear me, when I brushed and washed Yuu's hair? When I took their freezing cold hands and painted their nails? When kneeled down in front of them to polish their shoes? When I adorned the best luxuries of brand accessories on their body?

I would kneel down to no one else.

There was always this wish, a dream of mine, that one day I might perhaps one day get to pamper you. Not Yuu. But you. Is that a scandalous desire?

Your hands would be warm, and I would hold them as I file your nails. Your arm wouldn't be so rigid and mechanical, you could actually extend it as I slather a creamy scented lotion along your skin. And if you do desired, I could lift your head and apply lipstick to your lips... This is just the process I commonly used while your vessel was under my care.

Although, I would gladly take up the responsibility of nursing you back to health, or any other role you would give me. There are countless things I can accomplish for you. I commonly deal in potent poisons, but I can just as well deal in healing and comforting. I'm skilled in self-defense and various forms of magic, so I can be your companion to protect you from everything that would wish you harm. You know of my business in acting and singing, so even if you wanted nothing else I could be there to entertain or serenade you. I only wish to be with you again, even though I know I'm underserving. I'm selfish.

If you want nothing more, then I have to be satisfied knowing I was in your thoughts for a brief moment. A twisted part of me wants your mind to be plagued by thoughts of me, just as my mind and heart is full of you.

I have to remind myself, that by getting too close I risk being burnt. But, at this point, I do not care for my own safety. I only care for yours, and I do this to keep my sanity. I truly admire you so much, that I cannot adore you from afar behind a rope like sculpture in a museum. I have to stand nearby, inspect your beauty, polish you to a shine, and value you like the priceless treasure that you are. Should someone threaten to chip off even the slightest speck on you, forcing you through more suffering...

I will shatter them into a million pieces, to preserve your peace.

Yours,

Vil Schoenheit

The wonderful aromatic smell that filled your nose brought back some not so pleasant memories. The smell of the earth beneath your feet, the scent of dew collected on every still surface, but above all were fragrant tangs that immediately alerted you to any nearby presence of a student belonging to Pomefiore.

They had chased you through those deep dark woods, like a pack of rabid hounds tracking and hunting a poor wounded rabbit. Besides their shouts and footfall, their perfume gave them away. There was one in particular which you only caught a whiff of only when you had too closely encountered the dormleader. The scent of lavender and spice hit your nose, the same fragrance on the letter.

"That reeks! Burn it!" A certain feline hissed, covering his little black nose with his paws. You swore the fragrance was beginning to form a migraine at the front of your skull. If the smell was strong for you, it must've been much worse for Grim since he had a superior sense of smell.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if the smell wasn't that strong and it wasn't the particular scent. Like vanilla or freshly baked bread. If that were the case, Grim might've insisted on keeping it or even be tempted to take a bite out of the sheet.

But it was lavender and spice. So the letter was tossed into a corner several feet away, left to an unknown fate that you would ultimately decide later. When you glanced back to Grim, you saw him holding and sniffing another letter.

For a long moment his sniffed the rolled up paper, his black nose twitching as he was likely just searching for another gift to claim as a snack. After a few seconds, he discarded it, sliding it over to you before he opted to dig through the pile like a raccoon digging into a heap of trash. "Meh, this one smells boring."

"Boring, huh?"

Boring wouldn't exactly be your choice of adjectives to describe this letter. It wasn't an envelope, it was a scroll tied by ribbon, attached to an arrow. An arrow, of all things, was likely the messenger for this message. Thankfully, this one didn't smell of anything. Even without a fragrance to match to a profile, the arrow was a dead giveaway.

Opening it up and using your hands to smooth out the curled edges, you blatantly ignored the wax seal over the ribbon. Once it was fully unsealed, a few single flower petals drifted down from the paper. Just another mess you would sweep up later and decide whether to dispose of it or not, like the first letter from the dormleader. For this one you were a pinch anxious. The sender was not like the others who came before.

Trickster,

It relieves me to see that you are finally safe.

To see you rest and heal in tranquility, nothing steadies my anxiously beating heart more than knowing you are sheltered. Well guarded by a trio of ghosts and the courageous feline Grim, I have no need to stress over your wellbeing with them acting as your valiant knights in shining armor! Although, I would also wish to join their ranks, blessed by your grace and fit to serve as your shield. However...

I am conscious enough to know that I am nowhere near fitting, no matter how much I may wish to reach out and shield you from every evil. In that most vital moment, I had failed to recognize you. I may have spared you from the sharpness of my blade, but I couldn't have guarded you from the suffering that was to come afterwards.

I'm so deeply and truly sorry. Many sleepless nights have followed, since and even before our first fateful encounter in those woods of the Pomefiore estate. Before our encounter, I was conflicted. I wanted to detest you, but I could not, I thought there must be a reason this was all occurring. I couldn't slumber peacefully, so long as I knew there was turbulence surrounding your beloved vessel. After our encounter, I couldn't get the vision of you fragile, frightened, and wounded, out of my mind. Raising a blade against you, who were a stranger shrouded in infamy, made my very heart stop.

Now I know why I was so unexplainably drawn to you. It was not due to the wild frenzy that overtook the entire campus, or a burning hatred to destroy, or even my own desire to discover answers I desperately wanted, although that last one may have played a role. The reason as to I was so enticed by you, a cunning 'imposter,' was because my heart recognized you. It must have been my very soul that pulled me towards you, and perhaps my own nature as well. My body recognized you, my heart and my soul led me to you, but I was blinded by my sorrows.

Throughout the few years I've had on this wonderful earth, I've seen countless peoples, and you are unlike any of which I've seen. In the places I've been, I have witnessed poetry be written by masters of literacy, melodies sung by the most angelic voices ever heard on a stage, and devoted worshippers in holy places kneel in solemn prayer. Somehow you as a single being, or entity, encompass all those elements into one. My aim is to admire beauty, and I see beauty in its finest form when I look at you.

I truly understand what you mean to me, and to others.

But at the same time, you remain a mystery. And I believe I'm speaking for all those who admire you when I say this. We could only dream of truly understanding you, when we only had Yuu.

So, I try to make sense of it all in what I do understand, in the beautiful things I adore that I associate with you who I cherish. In literature, music, photography, I see you in everything all at once. When I read poetic lines, I think I could share it with you. When I hear beautiful music, I imagine you might enjoy listening to the tune too. When I discover stunning sceneries, I plan to bring you there someday to share a moment with you.

Now, I can make sense of it. I understand how the poets of old felt as they penned the love and awe they felt towards the Fairest Queen. It's a rare sentiment that cannot easily be put into words, a feeling as if it held my delicate heart and squeezed when I so much as thought of you. When a song and its composer can bring an audience to tears, I understand that now too. Hearing your voice for the first time, formed a knot in my throat that prevented me from saying much. Catching that first glimpse of you, was like gazing at a perfect painted portrait hanging in a museum.

My dearest player, I am a Hunt. I am naturally inquisitive by nature, and my fondness for you comes just as naturally. You may consider it wrong, but I will continue to offer my loyalty even if you may not accept it.

My aim is to one day unlock your secrets, solve your mysteries, and understand you fully, learn what makes you tick and what drives you forward. Perhaps when the day comes when you've forgiven me for my crimes, I can proudly stand in your presence and recite the poems I have written in your name. I could admire you everyday from then on, and remind you everyday of your worth. Then, I will protect you, from all harm, and I will not allow myself to fail you once again. This is a promise.

Should you need me, I will be there.

Yours,

Rook Hunt

There was something that felt... off. Compared to some of the previous letters, these were rather tame. Of course, there was the desperation and fascination evident in their words captured by the ink, but it was nowhere near as extreme as other cases.

Although, it was still chilling, to read the thoughts they penned.

In your hand you held the arrow the letter had been connected to, feeling its thin shape and the sharpened head at its tip that nearly pricked your finger. The vice dormleader had excellent aim, and had he not been so kind, arrows like this one in your hand could've easily been driven through your flesh and caught you against a tree where you would've been helpless in their grasps.

And yet, despite the opportunities he had, he didn't let a single weapon touch you. All it would take was one arrow, one moment and he could've ended you where you stood. But he spared you. However, there's the lingering doubt that maybe the primary reason he did it was he hoped you had answers to the malfunctioning vessel. You couldn't be sure exactly why he spared you, when everyone had wanted to torment and imprison you or worse.

Beside you, there's a large crunch and a content purr. When you look over, there's Grim, happily munching away on an apple he held with his little paws. He sank his fangs into the fruit, content that he finally found an offering that appeased him. In front of him was a small basket, filled with more juicy red apples.

"These are great! And, even though I was the one who found them, I'll let you have some!" Grim picked up another apple from the basket, sticking his claws into the red peel and offering it with his little grin. Nevermind the fact that these were probably meant as a gift for you and not for him, but you didn't mind. They would have likely ended up in the trash anyways, at least someone could enjoy them.

"You should really have one. You haven't eaten all day."

"I'm not hungry, but thanks. You can have them." Ever since everything happened, you weren't too keen on accepting gifts, especially if they were consumable. For now, the only places you'd accept food from, was the cafeteria you'd venture too at the dead of night when no one was there, or Sam's shop.

In the spot of the basket where Grim had removed the apple, there was a white layer at the bottom of the basket. Perplexed, you reached in and found an envelope hidden by the piled apples.

Unsurprisingly, the envelope smelled of sweet things, apples, cinnamon, and freshly baked pies. The envelope itself was nothing special, it had no intricate wax seal or marking. It was loosely sealed shut by a brown piece of string, and covered in some white and pink apples blossoms.

The inside was less impressive, more authentic, which was refreshing in a way. Smooth cursive flowed into slightly choppy print scrawled out in uneven lines, before eventually returning back to cursive at the end of some sentences. It appears parts were rushed judging by the blotted ink stains at multiple periods. The apples were a clue as to who the sender may be, but why would the letter be hidden in a gift?

Dear Player,

If you're reading this, that means my letter got through.

Where do I even start? It seems right that I first say sorry. I'm sorry. It sounds like a load of bull, but I am sorry. Apologizing in all these other ways, won't make this any better, so, I thought this might help. I'm gonna be completely honest with you, no lies, no tricks, just the blunt truth. I'm not going to be showing you these pretty sides I polished to impress and to mask all the ugly. I'll tell you everything that's been going on. That's something only I have the guts to do.

The reason I hid this letter was because Vil and Rook have been checking anything I want to write to you. They want to keep up this positive front, they wanna at least pretend to be perfect enough to be near you. At least, that's what I think. Although I know we won't ever come close to that.

Instead of trying to write a real and honest letter for you, it feels like I was writing some essay for Professor Trein to grade. I'd have to write and write, and even if the grammar was right, the message wasn't. They want to make you think everything's okay, when it's not. I can only imagine what elegant crap they were spewing in their own fancy letters, while we're actually all a mess. We've been like this since Yuu broke down. I try to understand them, and in a way I do, but sometimes they freak me out. Yeah, I got my own problems trying to comprehend all this chaos, but they're different.

Is everyone else in the other dorms this extreme? This miserable and on the verge of breaking? Maybe you won't believe me, or maybe you'll realize that there's some truth to what I'm saying. Here, in Pomefiore, I can only tell you what I've seen. These days, Rook's smile seems strained, like he's about to snap, his eyes are sharp and watchful. The only time his smile is normal is when he's looking at some photo, but he won't ever let me see what it is. Vil, well, the only sign he's still alive and kicking are the packages that come in for him, new makeup and all that stuff, things he's using to craft that perfect mask. I did see him one night out in the hall, I swear there was mascara down his face but I was too put off to approach when he was like that.

Don't ever tell them I told you all this. Vil would probably skin me alive and wear me as a robe, and Rook... I don't want to think about what he would do... I'm kidding by the way, but seriously, don't ever tell them. I told you I would be honest to you, so here's my reason. I thought that maybe telling you all this would score me points with you, get you to trust me again. Even if this is a rotten way to go about it, I don't care.

I am rotten, and I won't hide it like them.

If I can't even be honest with you, then do I really deserve a second chance at all?

Scratch that. I don't deserve a second chance at all after everything that happened. What I did was downright terrible, but I'm trying my damnedest to be deserving again. And I won't stop trying, even if part of me thinks it's useless. I never cared for Yuu, the only reason I acted for them was because it was you behind them. My goal is to eventually be beside you, the real you.

Although, a basket of apples is a crummy way to go about things, but think of it like a peace offering. Just cause I can't get word to you, don't mean I give up. I'm not giving up. Ever. Everyone's going about their own roundabout ways of mending things. If you want to hear more, I'll gladly tell you. I don't think anyone else would tell you the truth of what's happening, because in a sense everyone wants to appeal to you with the best image of themselves they can possible portray. Don't believe all the hogwash they send you. If whoever sends something and seems to be stable, they're not. Not completely.

I'm awfully ashamed to admit it, but I'm not okay. Not since everything started, and not since everything went to hell when shit hit the fan. I'm not okay without you, and I got myself to blame for that.

This letter is helping. The thought of communicating with you again, even if I can't see your face or hear your voice and its reduced to words on paper, it's more than I could ask for. So, if you want me to spill the beans, just ask. If not, if there's no response, well, I'll get a bit of comfort thinking you might've read this. Besides, I have hope with each attempt I'll make. I'm not just rottenly selfish, I'm stubborn to a fault. And if I have to knock down someone else's chances to get closer, then that's fine by me.

All you gotta do is talk to me.

Until then, hoping to speak to you soon,

Epel Felmier

#twisted wonderland #twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #twst imposter au #i didn't ask to isekaied #we just got a letter wonder who it’s from #vil schoenheit #yandere vil schoenheit #twst vil #rook hunt #yandere rook hunt #twst rook #epel felmier #yandere epel felmier #twst epel #pomefiore

[jinuaei]

Alastor x Fallen Angel! Reader

Accidentally getting 'married' to Alastor

Part 2

You fucked up.

You don't know what you did but you know you fucked up somewhere. One moment you were in heaven doing something, the next you see a red sky in front of you. The feeling of air rush behind you as you finally realize that you were falling, the smell of something burning and rotten eggs surrounding you as you fall deeper and deeper to your demise. Or what you thought was your demise, what you instead fell onto was a roof that momentarily broke your fall, before face planting to the ground. That wasn't graceful of you.

Groaning in pain you try to sit up before a sharp burning sensation spreads through your back, at where your wings was supposed to be. The sound of dripping enters your ears and your vision is blurry when you try to open your eyes, you can only see blobs of colours and the most prominent one was red as well as... Gold. Pupils dilating, your eyes finally take in the view in front of you. White feathers fall around you as golden blood seeps into your white clothes, the pain, you realise came from your wings, getting ripped apart and burning off when you fell. You try to decipher where you're currently at, from what you see, you seem to be in an alleyway, behind you is a dumpster covered in your blood and feathers, following the trail of blood you see the roof you hit when you were falling.

You hypothesize where you're supposed to be, with how adamant Heaven is in teaching angels not to do any sins nor question the higher ups, its kind of impossible not to know what will happen to those who defy heaven as well as where they will go. A pentagram encompassing the whole red sky, the scent of sulfur, blood, and brimstone flooding your senses, with this in mind you now know where you are.

"I'm in hell..."

"Yes you are, my good fellow!"

Startled, you scream and cover your head in hopes of protecting it.

"Well that's quite rude! You're not supposed to scream bloody murder when someones trying to be friendly you know?," his voice was odd, staticy, akin to an old radio.

You sheepishly drop your hands down to your lap and look up at the man in front of you. He's quite the tall demon, dressed in red... well actually everything about him is red, save for the black accents in his outfit and ends of his hair. Speaking of hair you keep glancing up at the tufts of hair attached to his head, and if you look closely, the antlers hidden behind his fluffy bangs. Is he supposed to be a deer? That's actually really cute.

"Erm... Sorry, just I was just surprised someone popping out from nowhere," you reply, hands fidgeting with one of your broken feathers.

Eyeing the golden blood and the broken wings behind you, the demon grins, showing off his sharp yellowed teeth. Nevermind that's TERRIFYING.

"Now what's an angel doing in hell? Not to mention a bleeding one! How tempting," he licks his teeth, already thinking about how delicious your angel meat would be.

Something tells me that this demon is NOT here to help. Now think! Make something up so you wont get killed by this red deer thing!

"I'm your spouse assigned by heaven!," you blurt out, not even thinking properly due to the fear of death.

Both of you froze as you stare at each other, one with horror, and one with disgust.

"And why do you think I would believe that?," sneering, he starts to creep closer and closer.

"Because... That's the reason why I fell! How can I meet my husband if I'm in heaven and you're in hell? I was so eager to meet you that I turned myself into a fallen angel just to be with you!," you smile widely, desperately trying to convince him.

He raises an eyebrow at that, mulling over whether you're telling the truth or not. Even if you are lying it'll be good to have a fallen angel on his side, and it'll be quite hilarious seeing the expressions of the hotel staff reacting to you being his spouse.

"If I am your fated one, what's my name? Surely heaven must have given you my name at least?"

Oh Gabriel's trumpet he got you there. "Alastor...?," unsure, you gave out a random name. If you're wrong, hopefully he kills you quickly.

...

"Hm. Perhaps you truly are who you say you are. Forgive me for being quite rude earlier, it's unbecoming from your husband to be." Holy cow you are lucky. You breathe out, the nerves simmering.

"Come on then let's get you cleaned up! What kind of husband will I be if I don't provide for you my dear?," he grabs your hand and leads you somewhere. His shadow cleaning up all the blood and feathers in the alley.

Now that's out of the way... What the fuck did I do to become a fallen angel???

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #maybeeeee soon to be yandere alastor?

[chenfleur]

the long way home

summary. in which park sunghoon decides that nothing is more important than having you in his life.

pairing. sunghoon x y/n ft jake

genre. high school au, fluff, angst

word count. 4.8k

released. 11.05.2023

author's note. feedback is appreciated! experimented with writing style so sorry if this is bad and makes no sense 💔 enjoy 🙏

masterlist

"Two cotton candies, please."

The first time Park Sunghoon speaks to you, you're dressed head-to-toe in a blinding, neon pink.

The fundraiser uniform was your co-president's idea. She'd suggested it offhandedly in a delirious, late-night planning session, and in a rather unserious fashion, you'd agreed. It's hilarity overruled any embarrassment bundled with it.

When Park Sunghoon is the one standing in front of you, embarrassment crashes into you with the force of an eighteen wheeler.

His presence is overwhelming. It looms over you as you prepare his order. It sends a shiver down your spine, which is absurd when you've never even met him.

Someone could tell you that Sunghoon lives on a completely separate plane of existence and you'd believe them without thinking twice.

He's the basketball team's star player. He adorns the number twenty-three with poise and grace. He's the principal actor in people's dreams and fantasies.

To you, Park Sunghoon is like the moon.

Beautiful, and so, so far away.

The two cotton candies you hand him are less than perfect. Without much thought, a mumbled apology falls from your lips. He still accepts them with a polite smile. It sends a nervous jolt to your chest.

You watch him as he walks away and joins Jake Sim's side, handing him one of the cotton candies.

You know Jake Sim from your physics class. He catches your eye and sends you a friendly wave. You shoot him one back before hastily turning around.

A second later and you would have noticed Sunghoon's gaze, lingering.

Tuesday after school, Sunghoon agrees to meet with Jay and Jake in the East Wing.

He leans against a locker, watching his two friends bicker with each other. Occasionally cracking a smile when one of them says something particularly nonsensical.

Someone rushes past him. His breath hitches. Gaze flickering. When they stop in front of a classroom door, Sunghoon realizes it's you.

You knock on the door. While you wait, he takes you in.

The way your yellow sundress hugs your body in all of the right places. The way the pearl barrettes clipped to your hair reflect the afternoon sun. The way you tug the sleeves of your cardigan down over your hands. Sunghoon has the urge to roll them back up and interlock his fingers with yours.

Each second Sunghoon spends taking you in, his chest grows tighter.

The metal behind him is suddenly freezing to the touch. It bleeds through the fabric of his shirt. Pierces his shoulder blades. Is he shivering? He doesn't know.

The classroom door is opened. Another girl appears in the threshold, an easy smile on her face. The two of you exchange words before breaking out into giggles.

Park Sunghoon takes notice of you.

There’s a part of him that finds it unbelievable that he hadn’t done it earlier. There’s another that is deeply unsettled about it happening at all.

Either way, he takes great care in memorizing the outline of your figure. Grasping onto each note of your laughter.

Sunghoon bails on this week's team outing. His reason is that he has an important language arts assignment due at 11:59PM.

He isn't lying. His teacher had carved the words ‘no excuses’ into the very core of his being.

When the words on his page start looking like globs of nonsense, Sunghoon’s mind drifts.

The basketball season begins soon. Who is the first game against?

He searches up the school website intending to find the season schedule.

He pauses when he sees a photo of you.

It’s from the other day. The same day Sunghoon saw you in that pretty sundress. You’re watching the other people in the photo strike funny poses with a soft, tender smile on your lips.

The list of names goes left to right, top to bottom. Sunghoon’s eyes dart around.

L/N Y/N.

That night, Sunghoon has an important language arts assignment due at 11:59PM. His teacher had carved the words ‘no excuses’ into the very core of his being.

That night, Sunghoon spends his time learning about you.

Curiosity spared no mercy for the cat. You pray it's kinder to you.

There are three other water fountains located around the school, all perfectly capable of refilling your water bottle. Yet, their existence escapes you when you realize the person using the one you'd chosen to go to is Park Sunghoon.

You try to leave. You can't. His presence binds the soles of your feet to the tiles of the floor.

The first game of the season is a few, short weeks away. The air is full of the distant screeching of basketballs. Sunghoon's hair is damp with sweat. His arms and nape glisten under the fluorescent lighting.

Sunghoon's lips leave the jet of water. A loud exhale follows. You watch as he wipes harshly at the corners of his mouth.

When he turns around, his eyes widen. He looks surprised to see you.

Why wouldn't he? The two of you are strangers. Mutuals, at best.

Yet, he doesn't move from his spot. He doesn't cast his eyes away or walk past you.

His stare is heavy. You feel like he's peering into your soul. Judging it. Tearing it to shreds.

He silently moves to the side. You realize he's making way for you to use the fountain. Embarrassment floods your system.

The sound of running water ceases when your foot lifts off the pedal. A double twist ensures the cap of your bottle is screwed shut. You're set to leave.

But a hand encircles your wrist, stopping you. Spinning you around.

You're inches away from Park Sunghoon.

You're shocked.

You don't tug away.

Your eyes dart around his face, searching for an explanation. His expression is indecipherable. He suddenly won't meet your gaze, only unravelling your closed fist with gentle fingers.

You notice a slip of paper clasped in his hold. You watch it as he places it into your open palm.

His voice is near silent. Words evaporating when they leave his lips and hit air. You manage to catch them before they're completely gone.

"Call me."

When Sunghoon is sure the slip is securely slotted in your hand, he leaves.

There is an unfathomable amount of things Sunghoon's worried about. You throwing his number away. Laughing at him. Thinking he's a freak.

But in the deepest part of his brain, where he keeps his muscle memory of how to ride a bike or snap his fingers, the voice of his first ever coach resounds; something about missing one hundred percent of the shots he never takes. Sunghoon thinks he's heard it more in his lifetime than he's heard his own name.

It dawns on him that you being in his life, as even just the smallest of features, was not a shot he was willing to ruin.

You call Sunghoon at a quarter past midnight.

The clock on your wall ticks loudly, mocking you for taking so long.

You don't expect him to pick up at all. You don't need him to. Hearing his voicemail would be enough to assure you that what had happened was real. That it wasn't a figment of your imagination.

Park Sunghoon had left you paralyzed. All of your work had been neglected because of that crinkled slip of paper.

It's been on the edge of your desk for hours. It taunts you.

When you will yourself to call him, you had climbed onto your bed. The slip of paper stayed on your desk, untouched.

You didn't need it to call him. The digits of his phone number were already engraved in your head from how many times you thumbed over them on the way home from school.

The line rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Hello?"

You finally breathe.

"Sunghoon?"

A pause. Shuffling sounds from the receiver. "Y/N?"

"You told me to call you."

"I'm happy you did."

You hear the sound of birds singing.

You wonder if it's coming from outside or the other end of the line.

"Sunghoon?"

"Mm?"

"It's nearly six. We have school soon."

A huff. "Shit."

You break out into a smile.

Sunghoon makes hours feel like seconds. Conversation flows between the two of you with the ease of changing seasons. You don't think you could ever grow tired of listening to his voice.

There's a certain playful lilt to it. Teasing, yet kind. Each syllable spoken with a gentleness you can't quite grasp. Each boyish laugh that leaves his lips sweeping you off your feet. When periods of silence dotted your conversations, his slow breaths filled them in.

He had yawned, here and there. You told him to go to sleep. He refused. You didn't protest. Selfishly, you wanted to have him for a bit longer.

You can't discern what about him makes your insides turn upside down. He makes you feel vulnerable. All he'd have to do is ask and you'd be willing to bare your soul to him.

You decide you're okay with that.

"Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"Talk to you soon?"

"Yeah."

Your friendship with Sunghoon is a quiet one.

It's found behind small actions that seem to communicate everything.

Candies slipped into lockers. Split-second eye contact in the halls. Candid photos of each other in the courtyard. Your eyes searching the cluster of players during games from above, his searching each row of the bleachers from on the court.

It's hidden away from prying eyes, and that makes you cherish it even more.

At the first game of the season, Park Sunghoon scores a tie-breaking basket just as the countdown hit zero.

The gymnasium erupts into a thundering ovation. His teammates roar with victory. Tackling him to the ground. Clapping him on the back. Hoisting him into the air, tossing him up. Your heart lurches at the absolutely radiant smile on his face.

Chants of his name fill the entire venue. The commentator's voice booms through the speakers. Ladies and gentlemen, number twenty-three: Park Sunghoon.

You silently watch the scene, a ghost of a smile on your lips.

The difference between the intensity of a crowd and the stillness of the night air is jarring.

Park Sunghoon confuses you. You don't know how he has the opportunity or the desire to meet you after the game. He should be out with his teammates celebrating.

Instead, you receive a message to wait by the West gate.

Tonight is colder than usual. Icy wind grazes your bare knees. As you wait, anticipation knocks at your front door. You let it in when you catch sight of Sunghoon making his way towards you, a golden medal dangling from his neck.

He's glowing. Victory looks good on him.

A gasp escapes you when your feet leave the ground. Sunghoon spins you around in his arms, adorable giggles falling from his lips. Blissful warmth sprawls across your chest, seeping in every crevice.

"Tonight's MVP and you still have time to spare for me?" you tease, eyes shining.

"I have all the time in the world for you."

Sunghoon recounts the game with fervor. Galaxies swirl in his irises. You wonder if you'd ever feel as elated as he looks.

When he embraces you again, head slotting into the crook of your neck, holding you like he never wants to let go, your wonders are answered.

Park Sunghoon does not idle.

He walks with a destination in mind. He gives courteous greetings to those who he passes by in the halls, but his movements never stop.

The only thing Sunghoon willingly stops for is the sunset.

On days where he leaves school late, he takes the long way home. Down a street lined with yellow ginkgo trees, a left turn too early. Across the bridge bound for the city centre.

The long way home never really takes him home.

Sunghoon ends up on a pier in the harbour, letting vermillion and marigold rays of warmth soak into each pore of his skin. Unwinding with a low puff of air.

Recently, Sunghoon stops for you, too.

Whenever he sees you, there's a stutter in his strides. A stiffness in his fingers. A clog in his airway. The world around him starts to spin, yet he himself freezes.

The next time Sunghoon takes the long way home, he stays with the sunset for longer than usual. He sits instead of standing, letting his feet dangle off of the pier's edge. It makes the sloshing sound of the water below him even clearer.

Sunghoon closes his eyes. He inhales the salty, sweet air. Feels his teammates hugging him. Hears hundreds of people chanting his name.

Sunghoon closes his eyes, and sees you.

It takes ten games for defeat to seize Sunghoon by the throat.

Under the dim light of the locker room, Jake eyes his friend warily. He searches for any sign of emotion in the lines of his stone cold face. If he didn't know him any better, he'd believe he's simply reserved.

But Jake Sim has spent too much time uncovering Park Sunghoon to be ignorant to his character.

He’s torturing himself.

"Jay," Jake whispers. Caution laces his voice. "I feel like we should do something."

Jay's eyes flit over Sunghoon's figure. The air is heavy before he responds.

"I think it’s best we don’t pry."

When the sound of their steps fade away, Park Sunghoon drives his fist into a locker door.

He knew something was off. When their score plateaued while the opposition's climbed. Frowns painted themselves on his teammates' faces. Shots kept getting fumbled. Intercepted. Rolling off the rim.

Sunghoon feels his knuckles throb as he lets his hand fall to the side.

Anger and guilt are a dangerous pairing. They swirl in the pit of his stomach like a storm and render him feeling weak.

He hates how badly he's taking this.

"Sunghoon!"

Peace of mind reaches out to him in the form of anxious footsteps.

From around the wall, you appear. Worry taints your features. It's a blow to the stomach for him. "I- I was waiting for you outside but I heard a noise-"

In two urgent strides, Park Sunghoon's lips are on yours.

Time pauses. Uncertainty hangs in the air. Sunghoon is racing at a million miles an hour.

When he feels you kissing back, he crashes.

Anger and guilt are a dangerous pairing. They join forces and leave desperation in their wake.

Sunghoon kisses you harder. He wants you to fill in all of the parts that feel empty. He wants you to help him feel whole.

You're pliant under his fingers, back slightly arching whenever he squeezes your waist. Sunghoon revels in the gasp that leaves your mouth when his hands slide under your shirt and paint landscapes on the expanse of your back. It's music to his ears. He records it in his mind before drowning it out with another searing kiss.

When you part to catch your breath, your forehead instantly presses to his. Chasing his touch, craving more of his skin against yours.

You look up at Sunghoon. His eyes are downcast to the floor. He feels your hand travel up to his hair, gently pulling on it. A silent plead.

He doesn't meet your gaze. He's floating. Adrift at a lawless sea. His palms continue to rub up and down your sides.

Sunghoon doesn't know how long the two of you spend in each other's arms. He doesn't want to know. Knowing would define a beginning and an end.

Sunghoon never wants this to end.

Seven days.

It's been seven days since Park Sunghoon last spoke to you.

With the way he walks past you without a mere glance, you wonder if what happened was even real.

But, you can still feel it. You can still feel him.

He had kissed you in that locker room. He had stolen the air from your lungs and never returned it. His scorching hands had burned themselves into your skin.

You pass him in the hall wordlessly. That's how it's always been, except there's no more eye contact that asks silent questions of 'How are you?" and speaks delicate words of "I'm happy to see you today."

Every one of your waking hours is spent wondering what went wrong.

You begin to neglect assignments and reject invitations to go out. Teachers eye you with concern. Friends ask if you've been feeling off. Everyone spares you a glance and a hushed whisper, except Sunghoon.

A frustrated hand cards through your hair.

Do you consume his mind as much as he consumes yours?

The hateful part of you prays it does. Prays that he's getting a taste of his own, cruel medicine.

When you lie in bed, you peer out of your window. The moon glows as brightly as ever. Oblivious to your broken resolve.

To you, Park Sunghoon had always been like the moon. Beautiful, and so, so far away.

Except, for once, he didn't.

He didn't feel so far away when his lips were on yours, hands roaming your bare back, rough fingertips grazing your sides. When your breathing had mixed into one exchange. He'd felt so, so close.

If only you knew he was going to be out of reach again so quickly.

For someone who's ranked 230th out of 239 students, Jake Sim is exceptionally sharp.

With a gentle tug aside to an empty classroom, he asks you the question you've lost nights worth of sleep over in a single, easy breath.

"What's going on between you and Sunghoon?"

You shift uncomfortably in your spot. The straps of your bag were suddenly too tight, suffocating you.

You take your time loosening them. Jake only watches you silently.

You're exploiting his patience. Trying to dodge the inevitable. But, what can you do? Confrontation frightens you to no end.

You choose the easy way out: you tell a bad lie.

"Nothing's going on between Sunghoon and I. What business could I possibly have with Park Sunghoon, of all people?"

Jake subtly rolls his eyes. He can tell that you don't even believe your own words.

"I might've believed you if I hadn't seen the way you look at him in the hall, Y/N. I can tell Sunghoon's been off, too. He's all tensed up."

For a second, you rejoice. You haven't been the only one losing yourself to blurred lines and longing.

When that second is over, emptiness settles back into you. "I see."

"I didn't know the two of you knew each other," Jake muses innocently.

It takes all of your strength to turn away from him and grasp the door handle.

"We don't."

Desperation doesn't overpower fear. Fear is still there as you march up to Park Sunghoon's table in the cafeteria.

You just simply cannot take it anymore.

Jake notices you before Sunghoon does. He isn't any closer to discovering what had happened between the two of you. Your entire relation leaves him at a loss.

But, he can tell by the way the smile you flash him in greeting doesn't reach your eyes. The way your gaze immediately falls back onto Sunghoon with melancholy.

You're tired.

Lightly, he kicks Sunghoon in the shin. Jake ignores the glare he receives, only nodding his head towards you. He's praying he's done you a favour.

For the first time in weeks, Park Sunghoon looks you in the eye.

His silence stifles the rest of the table. Their attention weighs heavy on your shoulders.

Fear looms much closer and higher than before. Fear is about to pinch your nose until you pass out cold.

"Sunghoon."

His name is already bitter on your tongue. Is it from all the times you've cursed it in your head?

He stares at you before redirecting his gaze to his food. Like you're some sort of eyesore.

Fear drops to the ground, dead.

"Park Sunghoon, what is your problem?"

Whispers surround you. Chills travel the length of your spine.

You think back to your brief conversation with Jake. How you had said there was nothing happening between you and Sunghoon, and how evident it now is that all of that was bullshit.

But now, you couldn't care if the whole universe is privy to you and Sunghoon's relationship.

All you want is to know is what realization he had. In this moment, you're desperate to realize it too.

"When will you cut the shit?"

Silence. A fork scraps against a plate.

"You know, Sunghoon. I've thought many things of you. How could I not? The school's star athlete who has everyone at his feet."

A dry laugh, a nervous glance to the side.

"You had me, too."

Sunghoon's knuckles turn white from how harshly he grips his fork.

"Never did I think of you to be a coward."

The sound of your steps bounce off the walls. Every pair of eyes in the room trails behind you, this time, including Sunghoon's.

His brain is a broken record machine. Replaying your words again, again, and again.

What is Park Sunghoon so... afraid of?

What is he so defenseless against that it's worth seeing the lights in your eyes die?

Sunghoon doesn't know what compels him to ignore you. To walk past you each day, as if you didn't convince him that happiness doesn't exist anywhere except for in your arms.

Perhaps, it's that you are a whirlwind of unfamiliarity. An onslaught of foreign emotions. You make him unsure of what to do with himself. Perhaps he finds it easier to avoid that than to approach it.

He's been so adept at pushing it away, that he doesn't realize you're slipping through his fingers until his head is an echo chamber of your words.

He had you.

"Sunghoon..." A voice cuts through the fog. Sunghoon isn't sure which of his friends it belongs to. From the intonation, he assumes that it's Jake.

"Whatever this is, you've got to fix it."

Sunghoon has listened to your voicemail play six times. He's been trying for an answer, yet he doesn't mind dialling for a seventh.

You sound happy in your voicemail. He never wants to forget what you sound like happy.

"H-Hello?"

Sunghoon's been lingering at the summit of a cliff. Carefully composing himself to avoid slipping off the edge.

When he hears how utterly broken your voice is, suddenly, he's plummeting.

"Sunghoon?"

Falling, falling, falling—

A sniffle, followed by an impatient sigh. "Sunghoon, if you're just going to waste my time-"

"I'm outside."

Sunghoon closes his eyes. He sees the ridges and lines of your front door. He thinks they're permanently printed into his eyelids from how long he's been standing on your doorstep.

Don't hang up. Don't hang up.

"What?"

Sunghoon opens his eyes.

"I'm outside your door."

In his peripheral, the curtains of a window crack open. His heartbeat reaches his ears. You don't question him any further, but he hears distant footsteps from your end of the line.

The front door opens, then stops. Ajar. Hesitating.

Sunghoon knows you're on the other side. He prays you don't retract your movements.

You don't. You push through.

When you appear in the doorway, his breath dies in his throat.

Slightly bloodshot eyes. Strands of hair astray, haphazardly held together with a claw clip. A large sweatshirt swallowing your frame.

Sunghoon doesn't think he's ever seen anyone as beautiful as you.

He should've spoken by now. He'd planned on speaking by now, yet all he can do is look at you. Eyes trailing over every delicate curve. The slope of your nose, the moles on your hands.

When he hears the small sigh leave your lips, he knows you're slipping away.

His brain goes into overdrive. He needs to act fast.

Frantically, he clears his throat.

"Come watch the sunset with me."

A breeze blows by. The neighbour's wind chimes knock together, playing a soft jingle.

"Please."

The only words you speak to Sunghoon on the bus are to ask where you're going.

He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, remaining silent.

You close your eyes. Surrendering. You're so sick of his silence.

You shouldn't have come. You're stupid to have believed otherwise—

"Don't."

Eyes snap open.

You turn to look at Sunghoon. You find that he's already looking at you.

"Don't- don't regret this," he pleads. Desperation pours from his voice. You would've scoffed if he wasn't wearing the rawest expression you've lived to see.

Park Sunghoon leaves you in despair.

No matter which lens you look at him through, he has no solution. He's wrung you dry of hope, yet you don't find yourself objecting when he brings your head onto his shoulder. His hastiness screams craving for proximity. Craving for reassurance.

Deep down, you know you're just the same.

You let Sleep take you.

It's the soundest you've slept in weeks.

You've seen the sunset thousands of times in your life.

From every place you've ever been. School grounds. Your bedroom. The drive home. Through the eyes of others.

And yet, none of those thousands of times hold a candle to the sight from the pier.

"It's beautiful," you breathe out.

A small hum in agreement. You smile weakly.

You know he isn't looking at the sunset, but you don't face him just yet.

"Sunghoon?"

He steps closer.

"What happened?"

You can feel him stiffen. Your eyes never tear from the vermillion sky. You're not sure if you're paralyzed by beauty, or by fear.

A head drops onto your shoulder. Its weight is comforting. Slowly, he readjusts himself to stand in front of you. Face pressing into your neck. Hands wrapping around your waist, holding on like you'd disappear if he let go.

His body shakes with each breath. It takes every bit of your resolve to not wrap your arms around him.

You let Park Sunghoon cry on your shoulder.

You don't think you'd ever deny him of it.

The sun doesn't budge from where it sits in the sky. It seems to be waiting for the two of you.

When Sunghoon peels his face away from you, you finally look at him. You can feel your heart fall apart in your chest.

Park Sunghoon is more beautiful than any sunset you'll ever see.

A careful hand reaches up. It barely rests against his jaw. You nearly chuckle at how he instantly leans into your touch.

He's staring at you through half-lidded eyes. Slightly parted lips. A gaze filled with longing, remorse, and a million unspoken words.

He leans in, nose brushing against yours. Before he can mouth the words he wants to say, you meet him half way.

The kiss is slow. Delicate. Fragile. Sunghoon is too scared to treat you as anything less.

It lacks the hunger of the one before. Your body is pulled flush against his. He's trying to convey thousands of apologies all at once. Hoping his sincerity can penetrate your skin, travel through your veins, and reach your soul. The way he's kissing you is heart-wrenching.

"I-" he gasps when you part. "Please. Please forgive me."

"Come back to me," you croak. "Why did you shut me out?"

He presses kisses to your jaw, then to your cheek. His hands slide up to your cup your face.

"Because I love you."

You close your eyes. Soaking in each sacred word that falls from his lips. Shuddering.

You feel like crying.

"I love you so much that I don't know what to do with myself. With you, nothing feels real. Time stops ticking. Everyone else fades into oblivion, and I feel like I'm on top of the fucking world," he whispers, voice wet and rushed.

Your forehead connects with his. A gentle rhythm is tapped onto his nape with the intention of calming him down.

"I've never felt like this before. I- I just-"

Sunghoon's face twists. He's fighting against his emotions.

You watch as he deflates.

"Please... find it in your heart to forgive me."

A small smile graces your face.

Under the glow of the setting sun, everything is okay.

"Stop staring at me like that."

Sunghoon peers up at you from your lap. His face glows golden.

A mischievous smile appears on his face. It infects you like a virus.

"Is it illegal for me to admire my girlfriend?"

"Yes." You shoot him with a finger gun. "Hands up."

Soft laughter fills your ears. You let Sunghoon pull you down into a gentle, loving kiss.

You'd let him do it for all of eternity.

To you, Park Sunghoon is like the moon. Beautiful, and so, so far away.

Now, you think Park Sunghoon is more like the setting sun.

Beautiful, and just on the way home.

#im never writing again (i jest i need an outlet for delusion but i am not FUCKING AROUND when i say this shit FRIED MY BRAINCELLS) #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen oneshots #enhypen drabbles #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon scenarios #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #enhypen angst #sunghoon angst

[nvuy]

briar rose — argenti

summary. you venture off to search for flowers, and in the midst of the trees, you meet a stranger.

notes. argenti has been running through my mind like a hamster on a wheel. then @localj8 dropped the most insane concept and the wheel went even faster. channeled my inner disney princess for this because aurora was always one of my favourites. is it exactly the same as the original 1958 sleeping beauty clip? no. because truthfully, i think argenti would be a terrible singer, and i didn't want to write a singing segment......................... but anyway...

warnings. none (except a little spindle prick reference and a bit of blood, but thats all disney movie violence)

You’d been happily picking roses from the bushes with a set of trimmers whilst humming a tune when you’d pricked your finger on a thorn. 

It had stung for a good moment. Ruby red had trailed down and caught in the joints of your finger until you tended to the small cut. You’d forgotten to pack essentials as you’d only be out in the forest for an hour, and yet still, you found a way to hurt yourself.

You smeared red on your shirt in an attempt to halt the bleeding.

You plucked another rose—this time, mindful of the thorns—from the rosebush. The petals were gentle; a unique contrast to the auricles in the side of the stems. You wished to take more so you could create more bouquets for the flower stand back home, but most of the roses had shied away into rosebuds. You’d have to wait longer.

Hmm. 

The leaves of the bushes rustled in the gentle breeze, and water droplets rippled off of the leaflets and into the soil below. The seeds wishing to germinate would provide you more flowers soon. And in return, you’d take care of them. 

You admired the roses in your basket. They would do. The petals would disperse as the moon shrank towards the horizon. 

Distantly, birds chirped. There was an owl sitting atop a branch nearby, watching you with giant dark eyes and rustled feathers. A beautiful white owl, with grand wings when it stretched them outwards, almost to show them off.

Petrichor. You missed the smell of rain. The soil was damp beneath your feet. The grass grew dewy, and there was the nearby squeaking of a small fluffy animal with a curled bushy tail feeding from the treesap. 

You parted from the bushes and followed the rushing river from the bed. The roses rustled and tangled within the woven basket in your hands. 

In a pleasant twist of a surprise, there was another rosebush by its lonesome, hiding behind a fallen tree. And sadly, there was a cycrane flapping its wings, trapped and entangled in a bush of ivy.

You freed the poor thing. It let out a robotic chirp before it flew away. 

Then, you admired the flowers, feeling the plush petals with your fingers. It was almost soothing against the small wound.

Your finger touched another imposing hand, decorated with white armory and black leather palms.

The cut stang, and your hand flinched away from the touch.

The scent of pear and bergamot graced you when the offending hand shifted away.

“Forgive me.”

The stranger plucked a rose you had missed. A beautiful one with crimson petals and a brilliant deep green stem, that he then handed to you. 

You took it gratefully, a wry smile pulled onto your lips. You weren’t quite sure a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet. The fragrance was aromatic; a tender note of the water droplets left behind from the evening rain. 

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Oh…” You turned, briskly standing up, trying to chase the fluster crawling up your neck. “It wasn’t that.” You tried your sore finger, bending it at your side. It ached. “It’s just–” The stranger did startle you. Nobody ever ventured out into the woods.

“I am a stranger.” He nodded, understanding. “Allow me to introduce myself.” His armour was a gleaming gold and porcelain, and his red hair spilled over the pieces like silk and satin sashes on an old and loved dress. “I am Argenti. A dedicated knight of the Knights of Beauty. I couldn’t help but traverse into the woods, and I am ever so grateful I did.”

You shouldn’t speak to strangers, no matter how well-mannered they were.

But maybe, you could selfishly indulge in his presence, even for a few fleeting moments. 

You greeted him with your name. You weren’t sure your smile could equvicate to his dazzling grin, though there was a red tinge to the tips of his ears you couldn’t quite ignore.

“Mellifluous.” Argenti could simply die. “A honour it is to learn your name. I will remember it well and forever.” He then noticed the crimson along your finger. "You're hurt."

"It's nothing." You wiped the blood on your shirt again. "Don't worry about it. I'm alright."

His face twisted with concern, though he remained silent. He must have been a dream. It was a dream too good to be true. 

There was a slow and long silence. He was distracted with admiring the delicate swoop of your lashes, the shadows dusting upon your cheeks accentuated by the silver light of the moon.

“You collect roses?” he asked once he’d blinked. He nodded towards the basket.

“Oh!” You pulled back the lid to show him the flowers. “I collect all sorts of flowers, actually.” You pulled one from the basket. “But, the rosebushes have graced me today, it seems.” This rose was a light red, almost leaning towards a rouge, and absent of thorns on the stem. 

You slotted it carefully above his ear. The red sat nicely in his hair, and the stem matched the colour of his eyes.

The scent of vanilla wavered from his hair. What an interesting mix. You felt yourself drawing closer.

You are too dangerous for him. He felt his heart weigh light in his chest. The dark tinge of your cheeks and the curious purse of your lips when his gloved fingers raised to stroke the petals in his hair.

The soft chirp of the nightbirds and the distant flutter of the cycranes played a soothing song within the wind. 

What a pleasant, perfect night. The sky was clear, save for a fading cloud crossing over the moon’s silver gaze. 

And so, he bathed in the presence of Idrila’s beauty. Never would he had thought to have the opportunity to experience this moment. 

He could’t even begin to describe how his heart leapt in his chest, how it hammered against his ribcage, desperate to be set free. So desperate to press to your own chest, to feel your own heartbeat against his skin. A blessed song, only for him to hear.

Argenti held out a hand once more. “May I indulge in a dance?”

You blinked, knitting your brows together. 

You looked around. “There’s no music.” You also couldn’t dance. You were afraid you’d trample on his toes.

Argenti simply let out a mellow laugh. “The sound of the quiet of the night and your voice is a tune of its own, is it not?” His hand settled gently onto your waist. “Allow me to lead.”

You let out a laugh when he whisked you into a circle, your fingers slotting perfectly in between the spaces of his. “You’re a madman.”

Perhaps he was. Perhaps you had figured him out already, like opening a book and following every line of writing with that gorgeous gaze of yours. Perhaps he was already enchanted by the flutter of your lashes, and the small imperfections dotting along your skin.

Grace. A flower amidst the rubble and ruin. He believed elegance and beauty were synonymous, interchangeable, even.

But, when you almost tripped over his foot, and then a stray root from a nearby tree in the damp soil, he caught you, and realised that you were everything he had been searching for his entire life. 

#argenti x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #argenti x you #$. the macrocosmos #$. he’s so girl i love him a little bit too much

[haunting-venus]

line 'em up and measure ↳ lo'ak sully x male!human!reader

content warnings | smut ( mdni ), characters are aged up, brief description of wounds, slight intoxication, mutual masturbation, literal dick measuring contest, xenophilia ( alien biology ), dirty talk, praise

word count: 3995

notes | this was originally supposed to be for the last day of @eywaite and @tallulah477 romancing pandora event, but life got in the way. still, i couldn't get this out of my head so please enjoy this now !

na'vi dictionary | narlor — beautiful ( visually )

It was stupid—absolutely fucking insane, really—the situation you’ve planted yourself in. You knew you were a trespasser, not looked upon with any grace by Eywa on this exomoon but fuck, this must be some kind of sick joke.

“Dude, my dick is definitely nicer than yours.” Lo’ak’s cheeks are flushed with alcohol, grin toothy and shit-eating as his knee bumps yours.

You’d come across the Omatikaya purely by chance—a lone xenobotanist presumed dead after the tragic and fiery crash of your research team’s buggy in the depths of Pandora’s forests. You’d been warned about the local indigenous population, of course, and had been explicitly told your group was not important enough to risk more lives should you fuck up this exploration.

No one was looking for you, and you were alone on an alien planet with nothing but a scalpel and a faulty research tablet.

You’d wandered for hours, bleeding and disoriented, ears ringing with the impact of your buggy into the tree and heart pounding in fear at the inescapable situation you were now in. You were certain that you were smaller than anything in this forest, and that your sluggishly bleeding wounds and pounding headache would soon make you easy prey for whatever roamed in these woods.

You’d thought the time had finally come as you gasped against a tree for air, vision blurring with pain as your legs shook with the exertion to keep you upright. The air was rife with beastly screeching, the sound so high-pitched you thought briefly that this might be what death sounds like. The deafening flapping of giant wings had you scrambling to the forest floor, using the last of your strength to move pitifully away from the gnashing jaws of the creature who landed in front of you.

You were able to catch a glimpse of worried golden eyes and a lean blue frame that towered over you before the world slipped into inky blackness.

You’d learned afterwards that the Omatikaya did routine patrols in the areas known to the RDA, scheduled bouts of precautionary scouting should the Earth’s military ever stray too far from their boundaries. Well, you’d strayed a lot, apparently.

The man who’d saved you had carried you in a princess hold before the chief, his strong arm holding up your back and looped under your bent knees. It should’ve been embarrassing, you thought, a grown man having to be carried like a ragdoll by a stranger who was bargaining for your life to be saved. Then again, you didn’t exactly have time to worry about how tough you looked when you were on the verge of slipping unconscious again.

It had taken over a week in the medical care of the nearby human outpost before you were on your feet again, body weak from dehydration and healing minor fractures. The man who saved you, Lo’ak, came to check on you regularly, asking questions about your life and your intentions—how you’d wandered into the Omaticaya borders, why you were traveling in the forest, if you had any trackers on you, if anyone was following you.

After several days of him poking and prodding at you with questions, he returned with a much more intimidating man at his back—The chief, Jake Sully, adorned in ornate feathered regalia and a stern expression.

You knew you were best off telling the truth—you were a researcher with many injuries, nowhere else to go, and of no harm to any of the People. You’d even offered to leave once you healed, return to the RDA encampment with tight lips and fake amnesia, though Jake Sully had quickly brushed that off. It was in the People’s best interest that the RDA never knew you came in contact with them, and the only way you could do that was by never returning.

You were met with a mix of fear and anger from the local population. You were an intruder, an unwanted reminder of just how closely war knocked at their doorstep. It would’ve been easy to feel isolated, a bird without a nest.

Except you were surrounded with the most incredible flora and fauna you had ever laid your eyes on, the lands near the village so much more rife with life than the secluded bases of the RDA. The scientists at the outpost just outside the village welcomed you eagerly, sharing their notes and knowledge and living space with open arms. Then, of course, there was Lo’ak.

Lo’ak was a friend, one of the few that you’d acquired in the months since the crash. Turns out, one of his best friends was a human boy who’d grown up in the labs outside the Na’vi encampments, Spider, so he was neither scared nor angry with you. He was mostly curious, poking and prodding you with questions about Earth and showing you hidden wonders of the Forest when he got a rare day off.

He was also damn beautiful—tall and indigo-skinned, with lean muscles and swirling tattoos over the length of his strong arms and the curve of his ribs. You would be able to get over your little infatuation with some ease, you’d met plenty of good-looking people in your life, except he wasn’t just beautiful. He was fucking kind too, and it drove you nuts. 

So yes, Lo’ak was beautiful, funny and kind. He made you feel safe and wanted in a world that wanted to kill you at every turn, and he did it with the most endearingly toothy smile you’d ever seen.

He was also the chief’s son, which made him explicitly off-limits even if you did have any chance in any multiverse of getting to be with him. Which was exactly why you shouldn’t be in this situation right now, lazing together on a couch that is far too small for the two of you, passing a leather flask of pxir that was quickly emptying.

You must have been more drunk than you thought, letting the rogue idea slip between your teeth. It was supposed to be a joke, really—a dumb quip about how much you missed getting dicked down back on Earth. Your options were extremely limited, even more than they had been in the RDA outpost. At least over there there had been some sexually repressed military guys to get it on with. Here, everyone was either decades your senior, or definitely not your type.

“You just need to get some Na’vi cock. It’ll make you forget all about whatever puny action you were getting on Earth, bro.” Lo’ak laughed

 You were two young men, tipsy and comfortable with one another, it was completely natural to talk about sex. You knew that the Na’vi were extremely comfortable with sex, seeing it as a connection between life forms, something natural and beautiful. Plus, humans were inherently curious, not to mention repressed and hormonal. You figured that sexual experimentation between the two species was something nearly inevitable.

Still, it made you hot beneath the collar, having Lo’ak’s eyes so keen on you with hazy comfort as he suggests you get down and dirty with a Na’vi. With someone like him.

“Hey, watch how you talk about human cock. I’ve still got one, dude.” You scoff, taking another deep swig of the bitter alcohol. It’s always been so easy this way, hiding your discomfort behind sarcasm and dumb jokes. “Besides, it can’t be all that different.”

“Dude, my dick is definitely nicer than yours.”

It should be insulting. It is insulting, you tell yourself. That’s why your cheeks flush so devastatingly red, definitely. “Oh, fuck you, pretty boy. If that’s what you tell yourself to sleep at night, go ahead.”

“Well, there’s one way to find out.” Lo’ak’s eyes glisten with amusement, obviously reveling in the dumbstruck look on your face.

That was another thing you’d come to love about Lo’ak. He was always competitive, even over the stupidest things, even with stuff that will get him smacked or killed. He jumps at any opportunity to prove to himself and others that he was capable and brave. It usually made your heart flutter with admiration, now it just puts you on edge.

“You’re not seriously suggesting to whip it out, are you?” You chuckle

“What, you’re scared I might be right?” He goads.You’re about to deny him, about to insist you’ve had too much to drink when you’re barely even feeling a buzz so you can  

Except that Lo’ak is already pulling his hips up from the couch, moving to sit up on the arm of the seat so he can untie his loincloth. His muscled torso stretches while he extends his body, black swirling lines of tattoos he acquired with the reef tribes etched down his ribs and tapering just at the edge of the v-line leading into his bottoms.

It’s completely stupid and irrational. It’s definitely something that could get you smacked or even exiled if people found out. Hell, Lo’ak could never talk to you again if he knew what dirty things were running through your mind. It’s also the start of every stupid, dirty fantasy you’ve been unable to repress for months.

If you were a stronger man, you’d get up and leave. Except, you’re not.

“Alright, pretty boy. Put your money where your mouth is.”

Lo’ak’s grin is a little smaller than before, still confident but edged with something that seems bashful, his tail swinging leisurely behind him. It only takes a few tugs of his practiced fingers for the leather of his loincloth to loosen, then fall to the tiled ground of your room.

You feel ashamed for looking, even though that was the whole point of this stupid competition, if it could even be called that. You try to keep your face neutral as Lo’ak lighty spreads his legs, brows furrowing a bit. The apex of Lo’ak’s legs resembles more of a human female’s anatomy than anything. His skin is smooth, hairless just as the rest of his body, the darker stripes on his skin narrowing to a slit in his crotch

You swallow heavily, tucking one of your legs up to your chest to hopefully obscure the growing bulge in your shorts. You try to keep your voice even, teasing, even as it shakes. “From where I’m standing, looks like there’s nothing to compare, bro.”

“Fuck off, just give me a second.” Lo’ak mutters, cheeks warm as he brings a hand between his own legs. “Only humans are dumb enough to have their shit hanging out all the damn time.”

You’re glad to see a flush on Lo’ak’s cheeks, hear the gruff rasp of his voice. It’s comforting to know you’re not the only one a little affected, and you feel a bit of hope blossom inside your chest.

His fingers move between his legs, parting the slit with soft movements, his fingers shining with slick between his legs as he coaxes the opening open. He keeps his lips tight, chest moving with heavy breaths at each of his own touches.

Your eyes are rapt at his every movement, heart pounding .You briefly wonder if this is how he touches himself when he’s all alone, if he makes the same heavy breaths and twitches of his ears.

It takes only moments for something to begin breaching the folds of Lo’ak’s slit, his breath coming a little heavier. Slowly, a cock emerges from the sheath inside his body, a lighter shade of blue tapering to pinkish at the tip. There’s no balls that follow it, though the base seems a bit swollen as he hangs at half-mast before you. 

“Whoa.” You clear your throat quickly, averting your gaze from Lo’ak’s laughing eyes. “Thought you’d be bigger, honestly.”

It’s a big fat lie, and an obvious one too. Even without being fully hard, Lo’ak’s cock almost easily matches the length of your forearm.

“Oh, fuck off. I can smell you, you know. I know just what you think of your first Na’vi cock.” His tone isn’t malicious, just teasing, each word laced with 

Your face flushes, fingers twitching anxiously against your thigh that still sits tucked up against you. It’s easy to forget how superior Na’vi senses are when you spend so little time with them, especially outside of the lab. You briefly wonder if Lo’ak has been able to tell every time you’ve felt a flare of arousal in his presence, if he had connected the dots that your brain constantly wandered to your filthiest thoughts in his presence.

He leans forward, pressing one hand on the arm of the couch behind you. He’s close now, his breath near ghosting over your face as his eyes search yours. “Your turn. Not much of a competition if I’m the only one showing off, now is it?”

This is quickly treading into dangerous territory, something that sobers you up quicker than any water of coffee could. Lo’ak’s hand is still cradling his length, just ghosting lightly along the enlarged base as he leans over you with his muscled body. You know you’re hard, can feel the blood rushing from your head to pound between your thighs, can feel your length pressing uncomfortably against the cotton of your shorts. Unlike him, there’s nowhere for you to hide, no way to conceal just how affected you are.

You feel like you’re free-falling, diving head first into all the emotions you’d convinced yourself would be better off tucked away. Part of you wanted to keep it all at arm’s length, to let this be a moment of lust, another memory to be tucked away. The other part wanted to jump in feet first, consequences be damned, fuck the fallout.

You steel your nerves as Lo’ak backs off a little, giving you the space to undo the buttons of your pants. You know you can end this all with a few words, that if it really bothered you Lo’ak would forget this ever happened and never bring it up again, because he was that kind of guy. Except, you’re sure you aren’t imagining the lingering heat in Lo’ak’s gaze, or the excited flick of his tail as his eyes follow the movements of your fingers as you drop your pants.

You don’t need visual confirmation to know you’re already hard and leaking, the tip of your cock red and aching as your fingers ghost along your thighs.

“Looks like I win.” Lo’ak’s voice is breathier than before, his knee brushing against your leg as he lingers closely to you. His hand still sits close to his own cock, which has made no signs of retreating back into his body.

“Okay, you’re obviously gonna be bigger than me. You’re a fucking giant.” Your face flushes, trying to ignore the throb in your cock as Lo’ak’s eyes trail across your body.

“Don’t be so hateful, bro. No one likes a sore loser.” 

“Yeah, well, at least I have more stamina than you.” It’s so easy to slip back into teasing sarcasm, like a shield you can put around yourself to keep all the confusing emotions at arm’s length. It helps you feel some control that has been steadily slipping away, grasp onto some sort of reality.

Lo’ak just chuckles lowly. “More stamina? I’m a trained warrior, bro. Stamina is my game.”

You snort, trying desperately to forget the fact that you’re both naked beneath the waist. “You’re the most reckless fucker I’ve ever met. I bet you blow your load in two seconds.”

“Oh, come on, you’re the pent up little scientist. You really think you can last longer than me?” Lo’ak’s voice deepens, one of his hands trailing up across the outside of your thigh as he shadows over you.

“Try me.”

Lo’ak’s mouth is on yours before you have a chance to regret the challenge. He’s so much bigger than you, and the way his entire mouth encompasses yours is strange but not unpleasant. One of his hands eagerly comes up under your shirt and along your ribs, the other holding up his weight on the couch behind you. You run your fingers up along the planes of his body, tracing the ridges of his ribs and the curve of his shoulders, to embed them in your memory.

He gasps as he pulls away from you, his hips dipping to nudge his hardening cock against your hip as he leaves a line of wet kisses from the corner of your mouth to underneath your jaw. You vaguely register his tail thumping excitedly into the plush of the couch, the way his ears twitch forward to catch every hitch of your breathing.

“Shit, you’re so hot.” Lo’ak’s voice mumbles across your skin, canines grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as he pushes himself closer to you.

“Touch yourself.” You gasp, tightening your grip on Lo’ak’s bicep as he pushes his hips down into you.

Lo’ak pauses. “What?”

“Come on, you wanted to talk a big game. Let’s see how long you really last.” Your grin is devilish, edged with excitement and desire as you trail your fingers teasingly across the muscle of his arms. You delight in the little shiver that passes through him.

“Wouldn’t you rather be the one to touch me?” His voice is raspy, breathless as he nibbles along the curve of your neck.

“Oh, where’s the fun in that, pretty boy?” You bite your lip in a grin, resting your forehead along his own. “We want this to be a fair trial, and having my skilled hands on you could definitely skew the results.”

Lo’ak laughs, removing his hand reluctantly from your ribs to palm along his own cock. “Fine, no touching. For your results.”

You can feel yourself steadily losing control as you lean back and watch Lo’ak—the way he teasingly trails his fingers down his own chest and across his cock, the little gasp he lets out when he tightens his fingers around the base, the desperate hitching of his hips as he keeps his eyes firmly on you as he works himself over.

Lo’ak’s eyes flick expectantly towards your own hard cock, moaning loud as he finally sees you grip yourself in your palm. You’re so sensitive and it’s been so long, each touch feels magnified with Lo’ak above you, watching your every move with panting breaths. Lo’ak slows his movements on himself a bit, moving to grip himself at the swollen base of his cock. His reaction is immediate, a deep groan vibrating through his chest as his eyes roll a bit.

You tighten your grip on the base, heat shooting through you as you drink in the sounds of Lo’ak’s moans. Fuck, of course he’s loud. Your lips brush against his own as you speak. “Jesus, the sounds you make are fucking incredible.” 

A knowing smile reaches across Lo’ak’s flushed face. He parts his lips to run over yours, drinking in the sigh you let out. “Really? Well, you’ve got a pretty incredible mouth too.”

“S-shut up-” You gasp. You know you should go slow because some stupid part of you still wants to win, to make Lo’ak come undone first because of you. Yet, you can’t help the way your fist tightens at each wet little gasp coming from Lo’ak’s mouth, the way your hand quickens around yourself as you watch his pretty cock move through his fist.

“It’s true. You don’t know how many times I’ve done this thinking of your stupid smart mouth, how it would feel.” Your breath hitches at Lo’ak’s words, each breath emphasized with the roll of his hips into his own fist.

“Oh, oh, shit.” You know your desperation is seeping into your tone, suppressed moans barely being hidden by your gritted teeth. You’ve always been weak to Lo’ak, and now is no exception, especially now with the admission that he’s thought of you before.

“You look so sexy like this, all spread out under me. You know, you’re always calling me pretty boy but you’re putting me to shame here, narlor.” Lo’ak’s eyes are hazy but calculating, watching each expression on your face as the filth he’s saying echoes into the air around you. He has a look in his eye, like he knows he’s winning.

“Oh fuck you.” You groan, your hips moving desperately up into your hand. You can feel the heat of Lo’ak’s body encompassing you, the head of your cock brushing against his leg with each movement of your hips. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Hah, really?” Lo’ak gasps. The sly grin that comes across his face is all the confirmation you need.

“You’re trying to get me off, by…by saying that stuff. I-it’s cheating.” You moan as your fingers snag against the head of your cock, catching the precum leaking from your tip to slicken the slide of your fist.

“Oh, that wasn’t in the rules,” he teases, licking a stripe up your neck. He lowers himself closer to you, the head of his cock bumping against your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. “Not my fault I can’t stop thinking how perfect you’d feel wrapped around me.”

Fuck, you don’t know if he means your mouth or your ass but it really doesn’t matter, either one of the images sending your brain into a frenzy. A moan rips through you, fingers twisting around your cock. It’s so easy to picture how Lo’ak would look inside you, or how he would fall apart on your fingers. It has you hurtling dangerously close to the edge.

Your breath quickens as you look up into Lo’ak’s eyes, dark pools ringed with the slightest amount of gold. His tail coils around himself, wrapping possessively around your shin.

“Fuck, look at you. It’s like you’re out of a wet dream.” Lo’ak grits his teeth, pushing his cock up against you as he strokes himself. You can see the slick from his slit dripping across his cock and down his thighs, a sweet and musky smell coating the air.

“Hah, have a lot of d-dreams about me?” You tease, but your voice is thready, more pleading than asking.

He grins against your lips. “Maybe. Wouldn’t you like to know.”

And fuck the thought has you reeling. It’s so easy to see Lo’ak in your mind, waking up hot and needy to dirty thoughts of you, half-asleep as he stuffs a fist in his mouth and strokes himself to completion with your name on his lips.

“S-shit, shit, Lo’ak, I-” your breaths come in quick gasps, too turned on to care about any embarrassing sounds that are leaking from your throat.Your body is thrumming with energy as heat coils tightly in your stomach.

“I want you to come, narlor. Right now, on me.” Lo’ak groans and you can feel his fist bumping into your hip with his rapid movements. Your eyes are clenched shut, riding the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm 

“Come, let me see it. Now.” His voice is urgent, pleading.

“Oh, f—uh-”

The muscles in your thighs clench as you buck up into your fist, your cock bumping Lo’ak as you come across your fist and stomach, smearing your release onto your partner with each movement onto Lo’ak. Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulder, a moan tumbling from your throat as you come harder than you ever had. Maybe there was something to Lo’ak’s theory about Na’vi cock after all.

Lo’ak isn’t far behind you, panting into your mouth as his hips move unsteadily against you. His throat strains around a loud groan, and you’re able to open your eyes just soon enough to see his face scrunch in pleasure, ears twitching with each rolling wave of pleasure pulsing through him. 

You try to commit the look to memory, down to the lopsided and dopey grin that stretches across his face. Lo’ak sighs with satisfaction, his dirty hand coming to rub softly across your hip. “Told you I would win.”

You can’t help the giddy smile that comes across your face, giving a peck to his grinning lips. “Best two out of three?”

#lo’ak x reader #lo'ak te suli tsyeyk'itan #lo'ak sully #avatar smut #avatar the way of water #avatar 2009 #avatar #avatar fanfiction #smut #venus writes #romancingpandora2024 #male reader #lo'ak x male reader #lgbt #mlm

[celtic-crossbow]

I’m Your Fatal Sin

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Setting: Prison Era

Warnings: Typical TWD violence, descriptions of injuries

Summary: Daryl doesn’t like you going outside the safety of the prison.

Prompt: “I will leave now, or I’m going to say things I will regret later.” (Had to write in Daryl speak but it’s the same thing!)

A/N: Second request by @alldevilsarehere90. I took so long writing the first one that I did the second they asked for…and took equally as long. Apparently, “drabble” is not a word I’m familiar with and I should just call these novels. The prompt is waaaay up in the beginning but I just kept going. Sorry again, my friend! Also, I have not had this checked for errors and my brain is too tired tonight. I’ll go over and fix stuff tomorrow…. Because no beta, we die like men.

You watched him pace the length of the room, fingertips rubbing roughly at his temples as if he was fighting off a headache. That would be you, Y/N. You thought, biting back a chuckle. Your group had arrived back at the prison, battered, bruised, and bleeding but hearts still beating. You counted that as a win. 

Daryl was not so easily mollified. 

He had stayed behind on this run, having only returned from hunting just as your group was heading out. He wasn’t happy that you were going out without him. It was all so amusing to you, personally. When the two of you had first met back at the quarry, you had taken one of the squirrels he had brought back, held it by the tail, and smacked him upside the head with it after he had said something particularly offensive. It was even funnier that you couldn’t remember now what it was that he had said. Regardless, he had retaliated by soaking you in the blood he drained from the rodent he had been skinning. Even in his anger back then, you had caught the look in his eye. 

You weren’t afraid of him. 

Your friendship started then and there. You spent more time in the Dixon camp than you had with your own boyfriend. That had not gone over well. Mark  was the younger brother of one of Ed Peletier’s friends. The moment Daryl had found you doing laundry and saw the shiner you sported, you were given your own small tent next to his and Merle’s. When the perpetrator had come looking for you, the Dixon brothers had formed an immovable wall in front of you. 

You still weren’t sure if Mark had been killed by a walker like Merle had said. 

Regardless, you were free. Daryl took you under his wing, teaching you to hunt and defend yourself. When he had finally handed you his beloved crossbow, you had laughed and asked if you needed to buy her dinner before squeezing her trigger. 

“Stop.” Daryl had huffed, amusement gleaming in those blue eyes. 

You had been out with the younger brother when Merle had been left abandoned. While you were angry, you knew how belligerent the man could be, so Rick’s explanation hadn’t seemed too far fetched to you. You went with the group to try and bring him home. You had taken the brunt of Daryl’s verbal aggression with grace, knowing he was in pain. He would never hurt you. That much you knew. When emotions were running high, Daryl floundered and would try to escape them by any means necessary. Even if that meant bucking against someone he cared about. 

Still, you stayed. 

Months had passed. You didn’t even try to keep up with that anymore, focusing more on the change of the seasons. It felt less like losing something if you only changed your perspective. The group became a family. You had lost the farm and wandered throughout the winter before finding the prison that was your home now. 

You and Daryl had remained steadfast, but he continued to open up, bit by bit. First with Carol, then with Rick. Him coming out of his shell made you happy, watching him become more and more comfortable with the others. You’d be lying, though, if you said you didn’t worry about being replaced. 

Then, after choosing the cells you all would call your rooms, you came back from your first shower to find the mattress missing from the one you had selected. Daryl was sitting on the top step that led down to the lower level, waiting for you. 

“Did you take my mattress, Dixon?” 

“Yep.” So nonchalant, like you had just asked if the sky was blue. 

“You gonna tell me why?” You pressed, kicking his hip gently with the toe of your boot. 

“Ya stay where I can keep a eye on ya.” He shrugged, continuing to fiddle with his crossbow. 

“What if I wanted my own space, huh?” You sat next to him and bumped your shoulder into his. 

“Cell ain’t goin’ nowhere. S’there if ya need it.”

You never seemed to need it, perfectly content on sharing his perch with him. You had brought things back from runs; books, pictures, and little what-nots that now decorated the area. He never complained beyond the occasional scoff or eyeroll. 

And time marched on. Your role in the group was just as vital as anyone else now. You took watches, went on runs, and helped clear the fence. You lost sleep, gave up your portions of the rations to make sure everyone else stayed fed, and you sustained injuries. You weren’t afraid to get your hands dirty for the good of your family. 

Which is exactly why you were now perched on one of the tables in the cafeteria, watching Daryl pace a hole into the concrete floor. 

“No one died, Dixon.” You leaned back with your palms pressed against the table, collected demeanor the polar opposite of his pulsing anxiety. 

“Ya coulda, though, Y/N!” The man snapped, his longer hair shifting to cover his face when he spun to look at you. 

“Calm down before you have a stroke.” You mused with a smile. 

“Can ya be serious for five fuckin’ seconds?” 

You could have sworn you saw smoke boiling out of his ears. Damn, he was mad. “I am.” You sat up straight with your best attempt at stoicism. “Stress can absolutely trigger a stroke and—” You had started laughing while he stomped over to you and grabbed your shoulders.

“Stop, goddamnit!”

“Okay, okay.” You patted his forearm and willed yourself to choke back the amusement. “We’re all fine, Daryl.” Lips pressed into a thin line, he gave you a nod, one that continued even as he released your left shoulder to roughly flick the bandage on your thigh that concealed a deep cut Hershel had earlier stitched. You were taken aback, eyes widening at the tendrils of pain that snaked out from the tender wound. “Ow.” You deadpanned. 

“Coulda been a lot worse, Y/N.” He seemed calmer now but his gaze was still intense, shoulders high and nostrils flaring. 

“I know that!” You finally snapped back, twisting around until he let you go altogether and stepped out of your space. “Christ, Daryl, I could die just going to piss! I know how dangerous the things we have to do are!” You hated arguing with him but sometimes, brandishing your own anger was the only way to get through to him. He watched you, obviously chewing on the inside of his cheek before he brought his thumb up to inflict the same abuse. 

“Nah, not you. Not anymore.” He shook his head and started to walk away. 

“What the—” Pain radiated through your leg when you hastily hopped down a little too roughly in your attempt to keep up with him. “What’s that supposed to mean? Daryl? Daryl!” When he made it clear he had no intention of stopping, you had to sprint to cut him off at the door, pressing your palms against his chest to force him to a halt. “Where are you going? What did you mean?”

“M’tellin’ Rick ya ain’t goin’ out there no more.” 

Your eyebrows shot up, mouth falling open. “Excuse me?”

“Ya heard me, Y/N.” He made to step around you but you moved with him. “Go get offa that leg.” He ordered in an attempt to persuade you into relenting. He knew better. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Who the hell are you to say where I can and can’t go?” You seethed. Now it was you who was fuming and pacing, though it wasn’t as intimidating with your profound limp. Daryl crossed his arms and squared his shoulders. You suddenly wanted to punch him square in the nose. 

“Ya ain’t got no business out there. Ya can do plenty here to help.”

“Says the man that goes off hunting alone every other day!” You hissed. Your fists were clenched at your sides. 

“That’s diff’rent.”

“Oh, please, enlighten me. This I’ve just got to hear.” You laughed emptily and mimicked his stance. 

“Ya just ain’t goin’ and that’s that.” When you moved to cut him off again, he was ready. His arm caught you at the chest and kept you from crossing in front of him. 

“Goddamnit, Daryl! This isn’t your decision!” You yelled, trailing after him once again. You grabbed his wrist but he shook you off. “I want to help!”

“Ya can help here!” He shot back without looking at you. 

“Would you just stop?!”

“Nah.” 

“Why the fuck do you even care?!” 

That stopped him in his tracks, nearly making you crash into his back. His fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides, his posture radiating with tension. He turned his head to the side and focused on something, anything but you, speaking to you over his shoulder. Somehow, this made you more nervous than his livid pacing. 

“Ya even hafta ask?” You didn’t respond, utterly confused. The archer gave you more time than necessary but when you remained silent, he shook his head and changed course, heading outdoors instead of to the cell blocks. “Do whatever ya want.”

Your anger dissipated. “Daryl, wait. Where are you going?”

“M’leavin’ now or I’ma say things I’ll regret later.”

You called his name again but the only reply was the slam of the heavy metal door. 

Your search for him didn’t last long. You knew better than anyone that there was no finding Daryl when he didn’t want to be found. In his absence, you did the only thing you could do: sulk. 

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Carol queried, adjusting the basket of laundry on her hip after she stopped by the picnic table you had been perched at for the last 3 hours. Your only response was a heavy sigh. “Staring at the woods won’t make him come back any faster.” Your head shot up to reveal her knowing smile. Aside from you, Carol was the only other person to even relatively understand the younger Dixon. “What’d you argue about?” The silver-haired woman deposited the laundry on the table and took a seat across from you. 

“He doesn’t want me to go on runs anymore.” A quiet reply while you toyed with some twine you had been using to hang up things around your space inside. 

“And that bothers you?”

“Of course it does!” You snapped before quickly muttering an apology, though Carol didn’t seem affected. “It feels like he doesn’t trust me.”

“You know that’s bullshit.” Your mouth dropped open in disbelief. To your recollection, you had never before heard the woman utter even a syllable of a curse. She, of course, only offered a cheeky grin. “What? You think I can hang around you two and not pick up something?”

“Touché.” You nodded. 

“Listen, Y/N,” she started and took your hand, “Daryl cares about you, more than he lets on.” She wouldn’t mention all the times he had come to her with questions. How he would mumble and blush when trying to figure something out to make you happy. How he would actively look for at least one thing to bring back for you from a run. “I think you should try to see this from his perspective.” Just like she had told him to see it from yours. “I think then you may be able to compromise, yeah?”

You nodded with a small smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll think it over. Thanks, Carol.”

“Good.” The woman stood and grabbed up the basket. “Besides, you’re both insufferable when you’re fighting.” You reached out to give her a playful shove as she walked by and then patted the hand she laid briefly on your shoulder. 

She was right. You didn’t want to keep fighting with Daryl. It made you both (and apparently everyone else) miserable. You’d have to come up with something in the middle. 

The sky had faded to a pale lavender with the orange hue of the setting sun peeking over the trees. It was getting late and Daryl hadn’t returned. Your fingertips were sore from drumming on the table. Just as you stood with the intent to grab a weapon and go after him, a silhouette emerged from the treeline. There was a distinct outline of a crossbow on their back. The relief was immense and had you sinking back down onto the bench with your hand clutching the front of your shirt. 

Your eyes stayed trained on him as he made his way past the walkers outside and entered the gate that was promptly closed behind him. From a distance, he appeared fine albeit a little dirty. He walked slowly with his head down, but he had been out all day, so you hoped that was nothing more than fatigue. He made it a little closer than you thought he would before he raised his head and his gaze went straight to you. 

“Hey.” You offered, standing slowly. He gave you a nod and you thought he may walk on by, but he stopped just shy of the table. “You okay?” Another nod, his eyes seemingly studying your boots. “Look, Daryl—”

“I was wrong.” It came out so quickly that you had to think about it for a moment before you made sense of what he said. “Earlier. Was wrong. Ain’t got no right to tell ya what to do.” 

This time, it was you who nodded. “I know why though.” He looked up, blue eyes peering from behind his hair. 

“Ya do?” 

“Yeah. You want to keep me safe. You care about me.” You smiled, small but genuine. A strange look crossed his face but was gone a moment later. Was that disappointment? 

“Right.” He had started to chew on his thumbnail. 

Licking your lips nervously, you continued. “I’ll do no more than two runs a week. And only when you’re going too.” You were absolutely certain you caught a ghost of a smile. 

“Fair ‘nough.” He was shifting from foot to foot now, thumb still pressed against his lips. You had been so focused on the problem at hand that you hadn’t noticed the anxiety radiating from him in waves. Something was off. This had been too easy. 

“Daryl, are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Mhm, just—just tired.” His eyes said as much. You placed your hand on his bicep and ushered him along toward the door. 

“Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving!” Had your focus not been ahead, you would have seen the way he only smiled once he looked down at you. 

“Got some formula for Lil Asskicker.” Daryl rounded the end of the aisle you were knelt in, displaying the four cans in his pack before closing it up and placing it on his shoulder. 

“That’ll last her about 3 days.” You quirked, causing Daryl to snort behind you. “She’s growing like a little weed.” There wasn’t much left in the way of over the counter medications but you had scored some infants Tylenol and gas relief drops, as well as medication for the adults. “The food was pretty picked through. I got a couple of cans of fruit, though!” You placed three more bottles of tylenol in your bag and stood, your knees protesting the movement. 

“Y’ready then?” Daryl turned to head to the front of the old store. Glenn and Maggie were set to meet the two of you in the parking lot. 

“All set!” You confirmed, adjusting the backpack straps on your shoulders. You jogged to catch up with the archer, bumping into his side while pulling your knife from its sheath. Daryl smirked and ruffled your hair before gently shoving you away. “Pretty good haul, I think. Maybe we could stop by that gas—”

“Sshh.” The bowman had gone rigid, his hand just in front of your mouth. “Ya hear that?” It was faint at first but the closer the two of you moved towards the front of the store, the louder the thumping and moaning became.

“That sounds like an awful lot of walkers, Daryl.” You rounded the broken down checkout lanes to bring the doors into view and felt your stomach drop. The light that should have been filtering through the dusty glass doors was completely snuffed out by the multitude of bodies shuffling past. A glance at the archer found him tense and mirroring your expression. “Glenn and Maggie—” You whispered urgently. 

“They’ll wait ‘em out. Ain’t their first rodeo.” He had lowered his crossbow to his side. “Ours neither. Get comfy, girl. Might be here a bit.” He hopped up to sit on one of the conveyors while you walked through one of the other lanes to look at some of the old magazines. From the corner of your eye, you saw a small piece of bright orange peeking out from under the checkout shelf. 

“Oh my god!” You shrieked in an enthused whisper. 

“What?” Daryl was on his feet, crossbow leveled with his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

You were already on your knees to retrieve the object of your excitement. “Reese’s cups!” You sprang up to your feet, waving the small package around triumphantly. 

The archer let the crossbow fall to his side, his face hidden behind his palm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Big word, Dixon. I’m proud.” You bumped him deliberately with your hip as you walked by, hopping up where he had just been perched. The man leaned his weapon against the shelf where the cash register was positioned and sat beside you. You didn’t ask if he wanted the second treat, just handing it over habitually. You always shared with him. He accepted it with a smirk you didn’t see since you were already taking the first bite of the stale candy. “Buttery baby Jesus.” You moaned, eyes rolling back. 

Daryl barked a laugh, almost dropping the Reese’s. “M’not sure I wanna know why baby Jesus is buttery.” He was shaking his head when he caught your bewildered expression. “What?” He questioned around the first bite. 

“They told me it couldn’t happen. That it was impossible.” You whispered, eyes wide. The look on his face said he was waiting for you to continue. “You… you laughed.”

His expression deadpanned. “Shtop.” He mumbled around the chocolate and peanut butter. 

“I’m serious, Dixon. We were all wondering when we would stumble across the reanimated remains of your sense of humor.”

He swallowed and bumped you with his shoulder. “I hate ya.” 

“I love you too.” Your lips pressed against his cheek and pulled away just as quickly. The man went rigid, eyes straight forward. You didn’t seem to notice, wandering around the front. 

His blue eyes began to follow your movements, the tight feeling in his chest overpowering the butterflies fluttering madly in his stomach. His face was burning all the way to the tips of his ears. No longer hungry, he delicately wrapped the remaining Reese’s cup in its wrapper and put it in his bag to give to you later. 

You had knelt down to look through a basket labeled ‘return to stock.’ “Score! Batteries!” You exclaimed, mostly to yourself, and quickly shoved the different sizes into your pack. Behind you, the archer cleared his throat. 

“Think they’re gone.” He was motioning toward the door when you turned to acknowledge him.

You twisted to the other side to find nothing but dull light creeping through the glass. “Nice! You ready?”

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

You both shouldered your packs and grabbed your weapons, moving almost silently through the door. Glenn and Maggie had undoubtedly hunkered down as well, so it was anyone’s guess who would arrive first at the meeting spot. Daryl followed behind you, walking backwards to ensure the area you couldn’t see stayed clear. 

“I think we’re good. It’s this way. Maybe Glenn and—” You rounded the corner, voice cut off into surprised shriek as two walkers tumbled into you. The back of your head met the concrete with a sickening crack and black spots danced across your vision. There was a loud bang to your left that you couldn’t place. Your body moved almost on autopilot, fumbling for the weapon you had dropped while you held one walker back with your forearm and kicked back the other with your free leg. You could hear Daryl screaming your name above the blood rushing in your ears. “D-Daryl!” You managed around the bile creeping up your throat. What seemed like several minutes later, the weight above you vanished and your gun was thrust into your hands. 

“C’mon, girl! Up we go!” 

Daryl’s hands were on you, pulling you up haphazardly by your arm. His voice sounded muffled but strained, like he was shouting under water. The world tilted and spun, and you felt an arm tighten around your back that you hadn’t realized was even there. You blinked hard, willing your surroundings to come into focus, but Daryl’s jarring movements were aggravating the already present nausea. Before you could warn him, you listed to your right and retched, the bile burning the back of your throat. 

“Shit!” 

His voice was a little clearer now, but you must have thrown him off balance. You tumbled down, only barely catching yourself on your palms before you would have smashed face first into the puddle of sick on the asphalt. Daryl crashed into your back a second later but quickly averted his weight so he landed beside you. A string of curses left his mouth as he pushed himself up, your eyes trying to follow him but stopping short on the smear of crimson where he had fallen. 

“Daryl, are—are you bleeding?” Am I bleeding? You were being hauled to your feet again, the motion almost too much. Your vision grayed at the edges and you felt a strange tingling in your limbs. Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out. 

“Over here! Hurry!”

Glenn. You had never been so relieved to hear his voice. It was short lived as you felt yourself fading. Your body was shifted again and now the world was upside down, a strong grip pressing into your ribs and the side of your knees. The last thing you saw was the herd of walkers closing in before it all went dark. 

You awoke with a start, sitting up halfway before the pounding in your head made its presence known and you fell back with a grunt. 

“Easy.”

Daryl. Thank god. You risked opening your eyes, finding him to be looking down at you from straight above. Scenery was flying by just beside his head. You were in the car, your head pillowed on Daryl’s lap. “Glenn? Maggie?” You asked quietly. You didn’t think you were physically capable of talking any louder. 

“We’re here, Y/N.” Maggie’s voice came from the front seat. You felt her gentle touch in your arm and you immediately relaxed. You had all made it. 

“What happened?” You asked, trying to keep your eyes focused on the archer when they wanted nothing more than to close and let you be dragged back into oblivion. 

“Other half’a the herd came down on us. Ya cracked your melon when two’a ‘em took ya down.” 

Worry and fatigue laced his voice but as you studied him, you could see the clear indicators of pain. Daryl always hid it well but you knew him better than anyone. 

“You hurt?”

He shifted in the seat slightly and winced. “Ya must’a squeezed the trigger when ya went down. Shot me.” 

Your eyes blew wide and you were instantly moving, trying to sit up. Your body seemed to disagree with that plan of action. “Where are you hit? How bad is it? Damn it!” 

“Whoa! Hold up!” He pulled you back down, calloused finger smoothing the hair away from your face. “M’alright. Got the back’a my leg. Hershel’ll take care’a it.” You stared at him with wide, exhausted eyes. Were you actually lying on his wounded leg? 

“I shot you?” You could feel the tears collecting on your lashes, guilt eating away at your insides, colliding with the nausea so hard that it made your vision swim. “I’m so sorry.” Your fingertips found his jaw, barely brushing the prickly hair there before your arm became too heavy to hold up. 

“Ya didn’t do it on purpose, Y/N.” 

“I would…never…” You suddenly felt exhaustion pulling you under, Daryl’s pleas for you to stay awake fading into white noise as blackness swallowed you up once again. 

It had been three days since the run. Two had seen you lying in bed with Hershel doing periodic checks to ensure that the concussion wasn’t something more serious. Daryl had been there too. He would only leave when threatened by Carol, forced to go rest himself. He never stayed gone long.  Rick had finally dragged an extra mattress in and placed it in the corner. The archer finally allowed himself to fall asleep and that’s how you found him when you had awoken near the end of day two. Hershel arrived to check your vitals and found you propped up on your elbows, watching Daryl sleep. 

“How long has he been there?” You asked quietly. The old man smiled and released your wrist, satisfied with your pulse. 

“It’d be easier to tell you when he wasn’t in here.” He mused while shaking two pills from a bottle. The sound didn’t disturb the bowman in the slightest, a testament to his exhaustion. “Take these.”

You trusted the old veterinarian and took the offered medication, just assuming it was for pain. Your eyes never left Daryl. “His leg— did it—will he—”

Hershel patted your own leg and waited for you to finally look at him. He shone a small light in your eyes and smiled again. “He’ll be fine. And so will you. You both just need to rest.”

You nodded and laid your head back on the pillow, turning on your side so you could keep Daryl in your sights. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep. You didn’t hear Hershel leave. 

Now, you were perched in the tower. It was the only thing Rick would allow you to do after Hershel released you. The sun had long ago set and the prison was dark and silent, save for the moans of the walkers shuffling around outside the fences. You had learned to tune them out when you were out there, allowing yourself to enjoy the fresh air and the quiet peace the night offered. 

“Hey.”

You jerked around with a start, vision swimming only slightly as Daryl came into focus just beside the door leading to the ladder. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and chewed on the opposite thumbnail. 

“Hi.” You smiled at him but it faded as he limped toward where you sat, hissing as he took a seat next to you. “Still hurts?” 

“I’ll live.” He was looking out over the field and into the trees for a moment before turning to you. You avoided his gaze, and you knew he knew. “Ya alright?” You looked back at him and he tapped his finger against his forehead. 

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’m feeling much better.” A smile graced your lips once again, not quite reaching your eyes. Daryl nodded, his thumb to his mouth again. “You were right, you know.” His brow creased in confusion but you looked away, finding the treeline before continuing. “I shouldn’t be going out there anymore.”

The archer shook his head and moved his hand back to his lap. “Nah, Y/N. What happened was—”

“My fault.” You nodded resolutely, ignoring the twinge of discomfort it caused. “I wasn’t careful. I was distracted. I shot you.”

“That was a accident.”

“That doesn’t matter, Daryl!” Your voice escalated. The tears stinging your eyes threatened to fall. The walkers beyond the fence zeroed in on the noise and began to gather. The bowman glanced over, assessing the situation. When the fence held the extra weight, he looked back to you, your cheeks now wet before you angrily wiped at them with the back of your hand. “I’m a liability out there. You need someone better to—”

“Hey,” he cut you off, with a hand on your knee, “ya got my back out there. You do.” Daryl ducked down his head, searching for your gaze. “Ya got yer shit together. Y’know what yer doin’ out there. There ain’t no one I trust more. Ya hear me?”

Confusion twisted your expression. You turned to face him, careful that your legs didn’t bump his. “Then why?” You asked with a gentle shake of your head. “Why did you fight me so hard about going out?” You watched several emotions skitter across the archer’s face, but he settled on one: guilt. He scowled deeply, bottom lip caught between his teeth with his gaze anywhere but on you. “Daryl?”

“I, uh—” You saw a spot of blood on his lip before his tongue quickly erased it. “I just—need to know you’re safe.”

He wasn’t making much sense. “If you know I can take care of myself, why are you worried?” 

His face began to redden, the color spreading down his neck and up to the tips of his ears. “Damnit, y’know I ain’t no good with words, kid!”

“Obviously. Because I’m not a kid.” You chuckled, your fingertips brushing his cheek before you used your palm to coax his head to turn. He kept his eyes stubbornly downcast, his hand immediately lifting his thumb towards his mouth. You intercepted and gently pushed his hand to his lap, keeping your own over it. “Just say what you mean.” 

Daryl swallowed hard, his jaw clenching while he slumped in the chair. You knew where this was headed. He was trying to process something deep; something important. When faced head on with emotions, there was only one thing Daryl could count on: his anger. When his fingers folded into a fist below your hand, you didn’t let him pull away. 

“We don’t need to talk about this. Let’s just table it for later, alright?” You smiled gently and moved to turn yourself forward, away from him. 

This time, it was him that stopped you from pulling away. “Nah.” When you turned your face back to reassure him things were okay, he met you there. His lips pressed against yours firmly, almost aggressively. This definitely wasn’t something he had planned. Soon enough, the pressure minimized and you were able to react. Your brain was currently short-circuiting but you managed to move your mouth against his, finding a rhythm in the hungry dance. 

Of all the things Daryl could “say” to you, this was definitely not on your bingo card for the year. His hands gently held the sides of your neck, calloused fingers sliding up your skin to tangle in your hair. Your own hands found purchase in the front of his vest, using it to keep him close to you; afraid that he would change his mind now that you had accepted his confession. And that’s what this was. 

A confession. 

Daryl was a man of action, not words. He had been for as long as you had been a part of his life. So this? You could decipher this pretty easily. He cared about you more than a friend. He was willing to be vulnerable with you. He trusted you. He worried about you. He wanted you close by and safe. He loved you. Was he in love with you? That was the only question left. You definitely didn’t mind waiting for the answer as long as he could keep kissing you like this. 

You tried to pull back to breathe, but he held fast, tongue licking into your mouth the moment it opened to protest. Drawing a deep breath through your nose, you couldn’t help but let out a content sigh and allow yourself to taste him as well. Tobacco smoke and a hint of spice that you found delicable, craving more as you began to take charge. Releasing his vest, you opened your palms and pressed him against the back of the chair. Your lips never left his, even as the angle changed for you to be standing over him. He had released your hair and settled his palms on your hips as you lowered to straddle his lap. 

You had begun to wonder just how far this would go when your full weight settled onto him, and he yelped (in a very manly way, if anyone asked) against your mouth. You pulled back, tripping over his boot and crashing toward the floor. Daryl tried to stop your descent, managing to catch your bicep which led to your hand gripping the front of his vest while your leg was still trapped behind his. You successfully pulled him off the chair, the pair of you meeting the concrete one right after the other. 

You laid there for a moment, stunned and assessing the situation. When your eyes met Daryl’s wide blue gaze, you couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside. The entire prison could probably hear you but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Especially when you heard the brief chuckle from beside you. 

“Great first kiss, Dixon.” You let your head gingerly fall back, the stitched wound beneath your hair still tender. “Top notch.”

“Shut up.” There was no heat behind the words. In fact, he sounded rather relaxed. “First, huh?” 

You grinned at the stars, wondering how red his face would be if you chose to look at him at that moment. “Of many.” 

He hummed in reply. You started to rethink your words, worried that you were putting too much pressure on him, but then you felt his finger brush over the back of your hand. He didn’t do more than just press his hand against yours but allowed you to wrap your index finger around his. For several moments, the two of you laid there, silent but comfortable in it. 

“I’m still on watch.” You finally said, already missing his touch when he moved his hand away. “I guess I should be, you know, watching.”

“Mhmm.” He replied. You turned your head to watch him struggle to his feet, hurrying to get up yourself to steady him. Once he found his balance, you let go and took a deep breath. You didn’t want this moment to end. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“‘Course.” He gave you a look that meant you should have known the answer already. 

“Night, Daryl.” You plopped back down onto your chair and looked out through your binoculars while you waited to hear the door close. When it didn’t, you turned to find him still standing a few feet away. 

“You, uh—if ya want some company, I could—y’know, stay.” He was blushing again, rubbing the back of his neck like he had when he’d first arrived earlier. You’d never tell him how adorable he looked. He’d likely murder you in your sleep. So, you smiled and nodded before patting the other chair. 

“Yeah, I’d like it if you stayed.” As he limped back over, you felt a warmth rise and settle in your chest, one you hadn’t felt since before the world ended. Actually, this was new. This was different. This was the beginning of something. Something beautiful born out of darkness and death. Something you’d fight like hell to hold onto.

And you’d never have to fight alone.

#murda writes #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #the walking dead #Spotify

[actual-changeling]

crowley has never felt "damned", not directly after his fall, not centuries later.

it is hard to feel damned on earth, as he had discovered, when there is sunlight on his skin and wine on his tongue. when there are joys big and small, reasons to smile, to laugh. when there's aziraphale smiling back.

unforgivable, yes. fallen for certain. unlovable, sometimes, usually right before deciding to go to sleep for a few decades with the hope it will be gone once he wakes again.

he does not believe in salvation—it is hard to see god as a saviour when you remember her ripping everything good you had ever felt out of your chest. besides, compared to earth, heaven is empty. a room with bleached floors and sterile walls, devoid of anything truly real, truly alive. so the opposite, eternal damnation, logically cannot exist either.

believe in one, believe in the other. believe in none, and you lose them both.

maybe, he had thought, maybe there is no salvation but there certainly is hope.

hoping is easy when the world is whole, when his world is whole and next to him, smiling, constant, watching him with shining eyes. it had felt natural then, to dream about a future where all of this works out—where they worked out.

crowley remembers the burning hope in his chest, more gentle than her grace but just as alive, and it had danced over his skin, feeling utterly content and at home. sunlight and smiles flowing together with bubbling joy.

he has never been further from being a demon, and yet, with his hands falling and his lungs aching, damnation becomes tangible, definable.

after burning up in the sky, in fire and flames and pools of boiling sulphur, he falls a second time. crowley sees it then, clear on his face and sharper than the claws that had ripped him open and stolen his stars from inside his heart.

fallen. unforgivable. unlovable.

"i forgive you"

damned.

there had been a holiness to living, wisps of hope and promises. all of it is gone now, taken, stolen.

they were yours anyway, he doesn't say. all of me, it was yours.

offered to him with weeping hands, open and truthful, his heart beating and bleeding and melting through his fingers. take it, he had said, it's yours. let it be yours.

angels. white-winged and perfect and whole. blessed, the definition of blessing, of holiness, of everything good.

so, crowley tells himself, if salvation exists, if i can see it crack and shatter right in front of me, whatever remains must be the opposite.

it is all he can feel, the hollow that had been him, no soul to damn and yet there he is—damned. alone. lonely. power ripples through him, tasting desperation, tasting fury and heartbreak, and he allows it, embraces it. it doesn't matter anymore.

bad. evil. a liar and an enemy and unlovable the way he is—and worst of all, unchangeable. somehow after everything, that is what broke them. maybe he has been wrong about himself all along.

damned for now and all eternity, so he might as well, right?

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #just casually getting called an evil demon who cannot be loved by your husband before he breaks up with you #surely that will have no effect on his traumatized mind #surely crowley will just be normal after all that #i wouldn't be surprised if he goes apeshit for a while gods know he deserves it

[esther-dot]

The poor thing in the road, it's eyes still glistening 17k by @eruherdiriel

Hooves are not what wake Jon in the middle of the night, pulse racing and hands clammy with sweat. It’s fire. Orange and angry, eating away at houses and shops and shacks in his dream. Even now that he is awake, Jon can still taste burnt flesh on the back of his tongue. The wounds from his brother’s mutiny and Drogon’s gouge, frozen only hours ago, burn white. War leaves everyone broken, Jon perhaps most of all. Sansa finds even peacetime requires letting go.

the sky is big enough 15k @hopetorun

The war is over, except all the ways it isn't, and Sansa isn't alone, except for all the ways she is.

O Voyagers 28k WIP

Jon’s eyes are fixed on the floor at her feet. To a stranger it might look like respect, the proper deference shown to a queen, but Sansa knows better. If he wished to look at her, he would. He has not forgiven me, she thinks, her heart a stone in her chest. He likely never will.

daughters and queens bleed alone 4k

They crown Sansa with a rope of twisted steel, two wolves arching across her brow in a delicate embrace. No stags upon this crown—no branching antlers, no gleaming manes, no blooming hearts of southern roses. No fire, no blood, no graceful sweep of scales and wings, or the silver bite of dragon’s teeth. The Queen in the North stands before them, and Winter has come.

old wounds 2k by @jonsaslove

Jon left King's Landing and never returned. Sansa became Queen in the North and weathered the storm. When they see each other again, there is not much left to say.

stories to tell our children 1k by @jonsaslove

“You said that Old Nan used to tell you stories so scary you couldn’t sleep for a fortnight! That was a baby story!” Duncan nods, agreeing with his sister. Her father interrupts. “Well, Old Nan was a very good story teller. She could tell you a story about fairies and princesses and make it seem terrifying with just her voice and a menacing stare.” Or; Jon and Sansa tell their children bedtime stories.

Where the Shadow Ends 245k (I'm sure y'all have read this one, but it is THE post canon fic, so it must be mentioned!)

For years Sansa has ruled the North, wisely, justly, capably--and utterly alone. Everyone tells her she needs an heir; all she wants is a family. But after everything she’s suffered, there’s only one man she trusts won’t use her for her claim. Only one she trusts with her body. Unfortunately, she trusts him in no other way--especially not with her heart. For years Jon’s hidden in the far north, choosing solitude over the people he loves, choosing self-exile as punishment rather than atoning. But then Tormund tires of his moping and drags Jon back to Winterfell where guilt and consequences and a tempting offer await him. accompanying gifset by @thewindsofwolves

We Set Fire in the Snow 7k by @framboise-fics

Three days was long enough for moments of tenderness, for soft touches and gentle murmurs alongside the violence of their passions, but it was not long enough to burn this fire between them down to ashes, to put out the flames, he thinks ruefully, bitterly, achingly, as he rides out and looks back at her standing on the ramparts as he remembered her, her hair a curtain of fire, her body rigid like she has been sculpted from ice. He will take that fire back North, to warm him through frigid nights, he thinks; to burn inside of him so that he shall never find any peace; and let her feel the same, he thinks, let him not be alone in his agony. If he loved her he should surely wish her peace, so does he love her? Or is this how a wicked man loves, painfully, cruelly, selfishly? Is he her punishment just as she is his?

An Affair in Stages 13k by @justadram (not tagged post canon but works as one which is interesting as the first chapter was posted way back in 2013!)

It begins with a proposition, but where it will end neither of them knows.

Please Speak Well of Me 17k

A queen isn’t supposed to cry. So she’s learned to turn her tears to frost before they ever reach her cheeks. “Sansa,” Jon says to her, and the ice within shifts, weakens. Brackish water begins to leak through the cracks. She can barely remember how to speak, and it doesn’t come as much of a comfort that he seems to be fumbling as well. Over the foolish moons, Sansa had imagined that, if the time came that Jon ever returned, the mere sight of him would unwind the tangles of conflict inside of her. There would be something in his eyes, something she had forgotten about his face, something that would remind her what was real and what was not between the two of them.

breathe me in, taste my words 2k

Much to her surprise, marriage has only made Sansa less of a lady, not more. She doesn’t mind terribly, but maybe that’s because Jon doesn’t either.

Stone by Stone 8k

Finally, her words came in a rush. “But I seem to have built my own wall. Stone by stone, little by little, after each of them disappointed me, hurt me. And now that they are dead, I sometimes fear I may die behind my wall that no one can can walk thru.”

fire in exile 2k by @princemills

The thoughts of the others he’d lost were too unpleasant, and the thoughts of those who survived made him want to keel over like a babe, knowing he’d left them behind. It wasn’t really a choice, but it didn’t stop him from pondering his choices. From King in the North to bending the knee to Daenerys to stabbing her with a dagger beneath white ash borne from burning flesh, he’s never made the correct choice, and now he’ll burn in hell for it. Or, as Westeros deems hell: he’ll freeze his balls off at the wall, or Tormund will cut them off. Whichever comes first. - a quick study of jon and the choices he makes in exile.

watch me run right back to you 16k

Three times Jon and Sansa almost kiss…and three times they actually do.

come out of hiding (i'm right here beside you) 36k @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

AU after 8.05. After the death of Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow chooses to live beyond the Wall, while Sansa Stark, the newly-crowned Queen in the North, marries a Dornish prince. Three years later, when Jon finally gathers the courage to return to Winterfell, he finds that while many things have changed, one hasn't: he's still in love with Sansa. (Featuring widow!Sansa, contrite!Jon, and a cute baby.)

Homecoming 31k @theoriginalsuki

Halfway to him, she broke composure; she flew at him, an arrow from a bow, and he opened to receive her, lifting her, clutching her to the soft, neglected animal of his body. Sansa has one request of Jon, and then he can leave her forever: help her to find a husband.

Gifsets: Jonsa and Their Three Children by @kingbuckley , Together We Build Our Empire by @aureliacamargo, Future Jonsa with Children by @amandapeetshusband, In Which They Live a Long and Happy Life Together by @baelerion, To See Him Once Again by @theirwinterfell, Maybe We'll Meet Again by @thatmansplayinggalaga

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALE - REGENCY - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS

#jonsa #jonsa fic #post canon #dot fic list

[biteofcherry]

No such thing as finality

vampire!Curtis Everett x reader; Dracula!Curtis Everett x reader

summary: When Curtis returns to his newly acquired mansion in London, he's greeted by an unexpected sight...

warnings: angst; so so much angst; and feels; dark-ish; a bit of blood (there are vampires in this story, after all); mention of death;

Author's note: This is my small contribution to @witchywithwhiskey's Horror Movie Hoe-a-thon. The classic horror movie I based my inspiration on is Bram Stoker's Dracula. Though, me being me, I put a wicked twist to it. Hope you enjoy! The title "No such thing as finality" is also a quote from the Dracula book.

Lush scent of roses, bowing their graceful necks as wind gained momentum, didn’t fully cover the sweet, decadent smell of freshly spilled blood. 

It would lure him in curiosity in any other circumstances, but since he didn’t expect anyone to be willingly bleeding inside his mansion, it made him wary. 

Curtis wasn’t scared. There was no human, nor creature in this universe that could truly harm him. Any attack that may happen upon him, would be dealt with swiftly and mercilessly. He could rip them apart with bare hands; move so fast and snap their neck before they even blinked; sink his fangs into an artery and rip it out; take the shape of a beast and tear them inside out.

He should do it for the sheer audacity of breaking into his household, as newly acquired and not yet fully lived-in it was.  

Taking measured steps, Curtis walked through the open wings of the glass, orangerie doors. Moonlight reflected in crystal chandeliers. Shadows crept along the walls, attempting to intimidate, but quickly withdrawing in submission to his own, chilling darkness. 

There was a faint glow of warm light seeping from beneath the double door leading to the ballroom. The sound of crackling fire announced someone’s preparation for his return. 

Curtis lifted a hand and the door opened in a burst, a gust of wind rubbing against his cheek affectionately before it whipped inside in a cold snap. 

His gaze instantly fell on the crumpled body in the middle of the polished, hardwood dancefloor - a decorative gore centerpiece of blue silk, soft skin and pool of ruby red blood. 

He recognized her. 

Mina.

That dress was the one he gifted her; as inappropriate as it was, since her engagement ring still shined on her slender finger and she had made no promise of breaking that word to Jonathan Harker, even if her lips trembled to say more than just a thank you to Curtis. Her lovely face of soft lines and ethereal delicacy, which he drew obsessively in the past weeks, remained angelic as her life slipped away.  

Curtis knew her, craved her and now he felt… mildly irritated.

A frown marred his face as he searched his feelings. Surely he should feel something stronger. Rage that would fly him across the room. Despair that would turn him into a wailing beast. 

There was a flicker of annoyance - both at having her snatched from his grasp before he got to explore this madness and at being challenged so obviously. 

As an apex predator he didn’t entertain any form of challenge. 

Slowly, his eyes moved from Mina’s dying body to the hem of your shimmering gown inches from the dark pool of blood. 

It was one of your favorite dresses - an almost translucent, pale fabric lined with exquisite sparks that gave the illusion of your body being encrusted in diamonds. Yet you didn’t seem bothered by the fact it bore stains of blood where it splashed when you sunk your teeth into the woman’s neck. 

Red essence still dripped from your chin as you boldly stared at Curtis across the room. 

“Hello, husband.” 

Beads decorating your hair caught flickers of amber glow as you tilted your head in greeting. In that moment you were the epitome of a dark goddess from centuries ago; one he turned you into when he promised you an eternity at his side. One who walked with him through the darkness and filled it with your own light. 

Light he forgot about in the fleeting moment of obsession. 

“Beloved.” Though Curtis’ voice bore an undertone of reprimand at what you have done, his term of endearment didn’t change. “You’ve overstepped.”

Your eyes flashed red glow at his admonition, as it hinted at the importance of the dying, pathetic reflection of a woman from eons ago. She was not important! She couldn’t be important to him. You were! 

“Overstepped?!” You hissed, your fangs elongating as you turned abruptly. “I was left in the castle, foolishly dreaming of and preparing for the move to the estate my dear husband went to secure. Meanwhile he fucking romanced a silly, mortal goose!”

“Mortal she may have been, but Mina wasn’t as unimpressive as you make her to be.” He didn’t know why he was defending his betrayal, since there was still not a single flare of rage urging him to snap your neck. 

Curtis didn’t think there’d ever be a time the mere thought of ending your immortal life entered his mind. Though he felt a pang of pain, somewhere in the hollowness of his chest where a heart should beat, when he realized the weight of hurt he must’ve caused you as he prowled after Mina.

“I’m sure her face resembling your dead first wife was a truly impressive genetic lottery win,” you snorted, “but have you become as all those pathetic mortal men, ready to cheat on their actual wife with a new hot piece of ass?!” 

“Do not accuse me of something that didn’t happen.” His irises splintered; red scythe filling over the blue iridescence like an eclipse taking over the sun.

A broken giggle bubbled on your lips. Your gaze shifted away from him, staring at the flames in one of the fireplaces. 

“Oh, have I come just in time to prevent you from giving her the biggest fang?” You asked bitterly.

In a flash, Curtis was across the room. Fingers curling around the front of your neck and slamming you into the opposite wall. He pressed you against it, his grip on your throat not loosening and the heat of his body enfolding yours.

Curtis was considered a dead creature, but he burned as if the hellfire itself ran through his veins. It was only him, though. He created you, but you never felt your own warmth. There were others whom he sired over the centuries and who sired next generations of vampires. They all ran cold, too. Only Curtis’ dark flame burned eternal.

“You’re treading on thin ice.” He warned you, even as he delighted in the intense emotion you provoked. With you everything was always intense. 

Always… alive.

Curtis was angry that you would accuse him of such a disgusting act like cheating. Angry at himself for giving you the reason to think the worst of him.

His obsession with Mina was unhealthy and borderline stalking. He was gifting her with attention and this one material present. But he didn’t have a plan of what he wanted from her exactly. Even as he played with the verbal seduction she was slowly falling for, not once did he imagine bedding her, or turning her.

It was more of a need to keep her, explore her, hold on to whatever she represented for his tortured soul. 

But he was blind to how his madness made him act towards you.

“What will you do?” You asked in a hushed tone, redness of your irises receding to the natural color of your eyes. “Are you going to destroy me? The woman you vowed to love for eternity? The woman you turned, branded in every possible way as yours?”

It wasn’t a spiteful challenge of a scorned queen, but a fear of a lively woman who stole his evil heart five centuries ago.

One who often walked barefoot, even before vampirism made you immune to the cold. Wearing simple dresses, with pockets filled with flowers and herbs and shiny stones plucked from mountain rivers. He bought you many stunning dresses over the centuries and you loved them, but most of the time you still wore the simplest ones. 

Curtis could only assume you dressed in the finest gown and adorned yourself with jewels to impose your power over Mina. To carry yourself as the queen about to crush a threat to her kingdom.   

There was never a threat. Not once did he consider leaving you behind and never returning. 

“I’d sooner meet my own end,” his fingers clenched on your throat as he squeezed his eyes in pain. 

When he vowed to love and care for you for eternity, until the sun burnt human cities down and reached to scorch your entwined bodies, he meant it with every fiber of his cursed being. 

“I haven’t cheated.” Curtis sighed, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t think I would have.”

“And yet here we are…” Your cool breath still carried the metallic scent of blood.

He wouldn’t allow these thoughts to linger, to hurt you with doubt and resentment. He’d rather have you angry with him than broken. And there were ways to stoke your fire, keep it burning and warming him.

“Yes, here we are, Beloved.” Curtis’ tongue flicked out to lick away a drop of blood from the corners of your lips; his tone dropped an octave, vibrating with a beastly timbre. “With you in my grasp. With her dead body getting cold a few steps away and me not even being angry about it.”

Because he really wasn’t. There was that irritation at not having fully figured out what it was exactly that he chased in Mina, but none at the loss of her. Not from your hands, anyway. 

You cupped Curtis face with your hands, showing him softness that he claimed he never deserved (but which you taught him to accept, adamant in your decision that he was worthy of your love). 

“What was it that you searched for with her?” You asked, even though you were scared of his answer.

“I don’t know.” Curtis admitted; his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. “A memory? A man I used to be? The humanity I lost?”

Mina looked like the exact image of Elisabeta - the wife he had as a human, whose death led him to do unspeakable things that cost him his soul. She was a reflection of the young, impulsive human man, who was too naive and too desperate in his love. 

Perhaps Mina’s angelic face brutally reminded him of the crushing pain and being the self-punishing bastard that he was, Curtis clung to her to hurt himself over and over again. Staying away from you, too, because he spiraled down into thoughts of unworthiness once again.  

“I didn’t know you at twenty one springs,” you said, “but the man I got to know at his honed one hundred years of vampirism and then spent centuries with? I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else.” 

Curtis was a vampire king. The oldest, the first to ever be made. At least the first either of you encountered. He fed on blood, could be brutal about it, or very gentle. Depending who the victim was. There were streaks of ruthlessness and cruelty in him, you witnessed him drown villages in blood then watch it sink into the ground with grim satisfaction. 

But he also carried the children from said villages in his arms, finding them new homes in places where humans weren’t as rotten and wouldn’t hurt them like the people of their hometowns had. 

Curtis was the monster parents scared their children with; but that monster saved those kids when their parents were the ones abusing them. Or when they allowed others, holy men included, to hurt them. 

No, you would never trade Curtis for any other man. 

“Not even at this moment of weakness?” Curtis’ deep, low voice resounded with a soft uncertainty.

You were still mad at him, but you couldn’t help that need to comfort him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, scratching lightly at the back of his head in a caress that always made him shudder and melt into your embrace.

“Why do you think I’m still here, facing you?” You sighed, tilting your head back enough to look Curtis in the eyes. 

“I could’ve ripped her to pieces and then fled. Leave you alone in the misery you would have brewed for yourself.” That was what Curtis did at least once every decade - sink into a really low mood and break your heart with how vulnerable and helpless he was at the time. 

“But, my dear husband, I love you too fiercely to let you go. The heart that you claim is void of humanity and care is one that made me say yes when you offered me immortality at your side.” 

“I feared…” You dropped your gaze down. “I feared you went after her, because you grew bored of me. That I was so easily replaceable.”

Throughout the centuries not once did Curtis stray away, nor did he isolate himself from you. Sometimes, when he was in his depressive mood he’d often space out, sinking into his gloomy thoughts, but even then he was physically nearby. Mindlessly caressing your body as you cuddled him and anchoring himself to you.

This trip across the sea took long, but the time kept stretching and stretching as Curtis worked on all the formalities of buying a mansion and re-settling onto a new soil. Impatient for his return, you decided on visiting him.

It was supposed to be a surprise for him, but turned into a shock for you when you saw that woman’s starstruck gaze as he escorted her to the carriage. 

Curtis gripped your chin between his fingers and gently tilted your face up. Sadness in his gaze crumbled way to determination. 

“Never.” He vowed. “It’s a burden I have to carry now, knowing that I’ve hurt you.”

“I’ll give you centuries to make it up to me.” You allowed your lips to curve in a small smile, then leaned to press a soft kiss to Curtis’ mouth. 

“Most gracious, Beloved.” Curtis smiled against your lips. He let go of your chin, sneaking that hand down your body and gripping your thigh. His other hand was still wrapped around your neck, fingers pressing a tad harder. Just the way you liked.

In a swift move, he hoisted you up. Your legs wrapped around his hips, the snick of ripping fabric making you giggle. 

“I’ve yet to welcome you properly to our new mansion.” Curtis purred, licking a broad stroke across your bloodied chin. “You’ve already christened it with blood. Now I want to fill the walls with your sounds of pleasure.”

#witchywithwhiskey #horrormoviehoeathon #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x you #curtis everett x female reader #curtis everett imagine #curtis everett fic #vampire!curtis everett #no such thing as finality

[throneofsmut]

BOUND IN FLAMES - Part 7

Eris Vanserra × Archeron-Sister- Reader

Description: Feyre and her younger sister go hunting in the forest behind their family's cottage and go through life changing experiences.

A / N: Sorry this took so long, work has been a shit show for the past two weeks and i have a fucking cold that makes me feel like a dying victorian child. Also the wolf in this part ( you’ll know once you get to that part of fic ) is basically like the wolves from twilight. Size wise at least. But still it’s a little bigger than that. He's also heavily inspired by Tairn from fourth wing. Him and reader's bond is similar to the bond Violet and Tairn have.

My tear stained cheek was pressed against my bent knee as I sat before the Yew Tree where the Summer Court Faerie was now buried. Fingers pulling and ripping the plush green spring grass beneath me.

Warm tears continued to wet my skin as I sat there and quietly said the prayer usually said when an Illyrian passed.

Voice cracking as I recited it, grateful that no one was around to hear the grief that was thick in my throat for a faerie I didn’t even know.

“Once soaring through skies with grace and might.

Now grounded and wounded in a fateful plight.

Though grounded they stand their soul takes flight.

Denying a flightless fate welcoming death's sweet embrace.

May the wings that once soared high carry their spirit to eternal skies.

So let us remember the fallen ones who will now become a star and be one with the night.

May they fly in the beautiful skies of immortal land of milk and honey.

Feel the wind beneath their wings.

The warm breeze a loving caress against skin.

As they lose themselves in the songs of the wind once again.”

Looking up at the stars, you searched the skies, as if you’d be able to see a whisper of the Summer Court faerie flying above you. Free from pain and suffering. Free from Amarantha. Letting out a deep sigh when you didn’t and stared at the grave at the base of the Yew Tree. You sniffled and then let out a shuddering breath, “I am so sorry I was late. Maybe—maybe if I had gone Under the Mountain as soon as I got into Prythian, Amarantha would’ve been too focused on me to take your wings.” Pulling out a small dagger from your pocket, cutting across your palm, letting your blood flow onto the earth. “Before I kill her or before she kills me… I’ll kill whoever she ordered to butcher you—your wings.” You swore.

Too drained to care to wrap your hand, you just sat there letting the darkness of the night comfort you. As it always did. But then you heard it: almost like a whisper, as if cloth were dragging over root and stone.

Nostrils flaring as you scented the air, without a doubt knowing who it was. The tall, thin veiled figure in dark tattered robes, came to sit next to me.

Then slowly, it turned to me, the dark veil draped over its bald head blowing in a phantom breeze. “Hello, Darkling.” Click, click went its fingers against each other, one for each word.

“Hello, old friend.”

The Suriel sniffed the air, once. Twice. “You’re bleeding.” Its fingers clicking again. You didn’t look at them, not even as its robes rustled as if it was looking for something. Then you heard the sound of cloth tearing. A moment later it’s too long fingers gently gripped my hand—carefully—to not touch the cut on my palm. Then it wrapped the piece of their torn robe around my hand. Squeezing my fingers before putting my now bandaged hand back in my lap. “She knows you’re in Prythian. She’s hunting you.”

“I know.”

“The faeries she sends into these lands are hunting you, faeries like the naga,” It said, its voice was at once one and many, old and young, beautiful and grotesque. “Her ilk will continue to invade these lands on her orders. To find you.”

I felt the Suriel’s eyes on me as I looked down at my wrapped hand. Then at the Suriel. They had torn the cleanest part of their robe to bandage me. “Thank you,” I gave them a small smile, it was all I could muster at the moment and they nodded their head in understanding.

“You know you’re being hunted, so why are you still out here all alone.” Not a question, but a mere fact.

As if on cue the grass brush a couple yards in front of you rustled, the Suriel and you looked up and you smiled knowing who was there. Without looking away from the blue glowing eyes that were now set on you, “I’m not alone.”

The Suriel only chuckled, “No, you are not.”

Moment of silence passed before you spoke again, “You know if I knew you were coming I would’ve brought you a new cloak,” You glanced at the old tattered cloak they wore.

“Well, I didn’t have time to schedule an appointment, my lady.” They said sarcastically, earning a chuckle from you.

“Fair enough, meet me here tomorrow night and I’ll bring you a new cloak.”

Their dark tattered robes rustled as they stood and placed a hand on my shoulder, “Thank you,” It’s fingers clicking in time with the words it spoke. Then they looked toward the grass brush again where those glowing blue eyes still watched us, “Get her back to the manor. It’s not safe out here.” All the Suriel got back was a low growl in response.

You don’t know how much time passed after the Suriel left, didn’t care, all that mattered were those blue eyes that stared back at you. Slowly you stood up from your spot in the grass and walked towards the grass brush. The same time you stood up, it did too, but it didn’t make a move. It was unnaturally still and silent. Until you spoke his name, “Raihn.” So quiet, it was barely a whisper but you know he heard by the way his ears twitched.

Then it was walking out to meet you, slowly. Menacingly.

“Raihn… It’s me. It’s me, Y/n” I whispered, I didn’t know who could be out here. Listening. Watching. He stalked closer, the night shielding most of him, all I could see were his eyes. Until he was right in front of me. Illuminated by the moonlight I could finally see him. He was bigger than I remembered, then again that was 10 years ago. He had always been huge but now he was massive. His fur was pure white and he had to be at least 10 feet in length and nearly 6 feet tall from paw to shoulders.

“Raihn, it’s me. Please. Please, you have to remember me.” My eyes filled with tears as I pleaded to him. He had to remember me, because I could never forget him.

My mother told me that her mother used to tell her stories about a rare species of wolves that hailed from the north. From deep in the mountains of the Night Court. They only ever bonded with the Lords and Princes of Illyria, if they were loyal, cunning, brave and possessed the raw killing power. The wolves used to fight beside them in battle and the more killing power the Illyrian possessed then the stronger the bond between them was. If the bond was strong enough they could channel power into each other but, if one of them was killed in battle the other would fall too even if they were physically unharmed.

It had been centuries since the last wolf had bonded with an Illyrian. Until me. Since I could remember, Raihn had always been by my side until I had to disappear.

My lips quivered as I spoke, voice cracking, “Raihn,” I slowly stuck my hand out so he could scent me. His snout twitched, once. Then twice. He looked back at me—assessing—then growled, so low, I felt the ground beneath me shake.

The massive wolf’s lips curled back as he bared his teeth inches away from my face. I know he’s confused because he can still scent my true scent beneath the blood spell my mother used on me. Which also changed my physical appearance. If only I could touch him, then I could talk to him and he could talk to me.

I let out a sharp breath, knowing what I had to do. I tried to brace myself for the pain I knew I was about to feel, it would only allow him to see me—the real me if only for a couple seconds. But still he would see me and then he’d remember who I am to him.

“Nochd.”

As soon as I uttered the word which meant reveal in the old language, my entire body felt as if it was being ripped apart yet it put back together. My veins felt as if they were on fire by the coldest flames. Gasping for breath felt like I was drowning in scorching hot water, my lungs expanding and constricting. And my head felt like it was going to explode.

Then nothing.

It was nearly dawn when I felt something nudging my face and hand. I could barely hear the whimpers over the blood roaring through my ears. My entire body felt heavy and sore as I lifted my hand and felt fur: soft and warm.

Raihn.

His head was still nudging my face. So I turned to look at him, really look at him. He has deep scarred scratches on the right side of his face but he wasn’t blinded. And most of his right ear was gone, “You’re as beautiful as the day I last saw you.” He flinched hearing my voice, hoarse from the pain inflicted from the blood spell.

You’re hurt. Stop talking, he orders, his voice deep and gruff.

Letting out a hiss as I sat up. “Yeah, and whose fault is that?”

He growled in response, Do not do that ever again. You almost died.

“Well, it’s your fault you didn’t recognize me. I had to show you it was me.” I tried to reason.

So it's my fault that you smell like you but don't look like you. How was I supposed to know. He argued.

I shrugged, “At least you know now.”

Yes, but you don't know how I felt all these years, not knowing if you would come back or if you were safe!

“I miss you too.” I chuckled.

Get on. He ordered.

I scoffed, “I can walk,” but made no move to stand.

I didn't ask. Now get on.

Raihn moved so he was laying next to me as close as he could without squishing me. All I had to do was hold onto the scruff of his neck and roll over to get on his back. I took in a deep breath and let it out once I was on his back. Cursing as he stood up, the movement jostling my sore body.

Don't be rude, he says, looking over his shoulder at me, before he huffs. You're bleeding. Stop it.”

It’s my turn to huff, “Don’t be rude,” I sit up a bit, wiping the blood coming from my nose. “Let’s just go back to the manor.”

****

The ride back to the Spring Court Manor was quiet but not uncomfortable. The both of us content with just being in each other’s presence.

None of the sentries stationed around the Manor said anything to me about the dry blood now stained underneath my nose. Or the massive wolf who was carrying my limp body inside. They only moved out of the way, letting us both pass.

As Raihn stalked into the alabaster manor and up the stairs to your room the servants let out shocked gasps. Some stood frozen in shock and when they didn’t move he growled, baring his teeth in warning.

I swatted his foreleg lightly, “Hey, be nice.”

They're the ones that need to be nice. It's not polite to stare.” He reasoned as he growled at another servant.

Once we finally got to my room he layed back down so I could get off and I slowly trudged to the en-suite bathroom. Quickly washing up and putting on a fresh night gown to sleep in. I didn’t bother looking in the mirror, I already knew my face was puffy from crying.

Walking back into the bedroom, going straight to the closet to pull out pillows and comforters. I laid them on the floor before the foot of the bed for Raihn to sleep on.

Making my way back to my bed and crawling under the covers, the wolf took that as his cue to lay down too. I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. The last thing I heard was Raihn’s voice, I missed you too.

No nightmares plagued you that night as you got the best sleep you had in over 10 years.

****

You awoke a little before noon to the sound of Raihn’s growl and Lucien’s voice.

“Mother’s tits!” Lucien whisper-yelled, his hands held up like he was trying to show Raihn he meant no harm.

Raihn only lowered his head and growled even louder, baring his teeth at the red haired male. Lucien’s throating bobbing as he remained still. “Relax, fox boy.”

Lucien didn’t look at you as he asked, “Does he bite?”

“Not me.” He didn’t have to look at me to know I was smirking.

“Y/n, please!”

I huffed, “Fine. Raihn stop scaring him.”

The large wolf turn his head slowly to face me, Is he a friend?

“Uh, no, not really.” I answered his question.

Lucien's eyes flickered between Raihn and I, “No, what?”

“He asked if you were a friend.”

“And you said no!”

I shrugged, “You never asked me.”

Raihn stalked closer and Lucien began apologizing, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

Getting up from the bed to stand between, hissing when I moved too fast, Raihn snapped his head at me, Get back in bed, he ordered.

I patted his side, “Stop fussing, I’m fine,” pushing him further back into the room to give Lucien some space. “What are you doing in here anyway, Lucien?”

“Tamlin wants to take Feyre on a ride, to show her something.”

“And,” I arched a brow at him, even though he was still looking at the wolf behind me.

He finally looked at me, his mouth opening and then closing, before opening again, “And… I want to take you.”

“All right.”

“All right?”

“Yeah, just let me change.” I didn’t give him a chance to say anything else as I pushed him out the door and got ready. Raihn huffing behind me.

****

By the time Raihn and I got to the front doors, Tamlin, Lucien and Feyre were already saddled on their horses.

Again no one said anything, Tamlin and Feyre were just gaping in shock and Lucien was just staring as Raihn lowered himself so I could get on his back. Once I was seated he began walking, Lucien’s horse keeping pace beside us.

Then Tamlin came up on our other side, “Is that a wolf?”

“Are we in the Spring Court?”

“Yes.” He answered.

“Then yes, Tamlin. This is a wolf.” Lucien snorted beside me as I patted Raihn’s neck. Tamlin glared at him and he pretended to cough.

“Is he your pet ?” Raihn’s responding growl made the High Lord stiffen.

“No,” I laughed. “No, he’s not. Raihn and I are Ceangailte."

Tamlin’s face paled as he looked at Lucien but Lucien was looking at me. Then he whispered, “You’re bonded to each other.”

“Yes, Lucien, we are.”

Raihn let out a pleased noise and you smiled softly.

“What’d he say?” Lucien asked.

“I am his and he is mine, from now until the darkness claims us.”

****

When we finally arrived at the place Tamlin wanted to show Feyre, it was an hour or two past noon. The light still thick and golden. It was a glen, a beautiful glen.

Lucien had already sat down on the blanket they brought and Tamlin had gone to where Feyre was a couple feet ahead.

“Y/n,” he patted the space on the blanket next him, “sit.”

You looked at him and then back at the trail beyond, “Uh, I think I’m gonna go for a walk… Thank you though.”

“I’ll go with you.” The male was on his feet and next to you before you could say it wasn’t necessary. “Lead the way.”

“Raihn, Stay.” He huffed in annoyance at your order but stayed put.

You and Lucien walked the trail for a bit before veering off in the opposite direction of the pool of starlight. You couldn’t look at it without being homesick for a home you’d never been to. The walk was quiet, the both of you content in just listening to the birds around you singing along with the trees and the sounds of their leaves rustling. But, Lucien broke the silence.

“Are you alright after last night?”

I looked at him, brows furrowed before shaking my head no. “Are you?”

He sighed, “No.”

I know I shouldn’t ask but curiosity killed the cat and I was the cat. “Did she—did Amaratha do that to you?” I asked softly, gesturing to his scarred eye.

He visibly tensed, jaw clenched as he gave me a tight nod.

“I’m sorry.” And I meant it too. Making a silent promise to scar her face just like she’d scarred his.

He stopped walking and I turned to look at him. Lucien searched my face for any insincerity and when he found none he merely thanked me. Then continued to walk.

We walked until we came across a beautiful bluish green colored lake with a dock. Lucien bent down to roll up his pants and take off his boots. “What are you doing?”

“We are going to dip our toes in the water, sweetheart,” his lips settling into a playful smirk.

Lucien sat beside you on doc, his hands splayed behind him as the both of you kicked your feet gently through the water. You were lost in your own thoughts while staring at the rippling water that you didn’t hear him calling to you.

“Y/n!” He whispered.

“What?”

His eyes were wide and the corners of his mouth were upturned as he gestured in front of you, across the narrow lake. Where dozens upon dozens of different animals were staring at you but, standing proud front and center was the Ruler of the Forest.

But you knew the huge white stag with great antlers as the Lord of the North.

He stretched out one of his forelegs and bent the other, before bowing his head. His dark eyes never left mine as I bowed my head to him in return. Then he and the other animals left and it was as if they were never there.

Lucien cleared his throat, getting your attention, “Listen, I don’t know who or what you are but, I know you’re different.” If he saw you tense he didn’t mention it. “You don’t have to tell me. Yet, because you’re different I’m gonna tell you something.” I finally looked at him and nodded for him to continue.

He let out a deep sigh before he began to speak again, “I’ve endured things that make times like last night. . . difficult. Not just the scar and the eye—though last night brought back memories of that, too.” I turned so I could face him better and he met my gaze. “I am the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court." I straightened. "The youngest of seven brothers. The Autumn Court is. . . cutthroat. Beautiful, but my brothers see each other only as competition, since the strongest of them will inherit the title, not the eldest. It is the same throughout Prythian, at every court.”

Which was the reason my mother used a blood spell on me because I was already showing the physical markers of a High Lord's heir. And I was female so that made it even more rare.

“I never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so I spent my youth doing everything a High Lord's son probably shouldn't: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court." He paused for a moment, and I could almost feel the sorrow before he said, "I fell in love with a faerie whom my father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline. I told him I didn't care that she wasn't one of the High Fae, that I was certain the mating bond would snap into place soon and that I was going to marry her and leave his court to my scheming brothers." He paused again. His jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to will away the tears pooling in his eyes, to no avail. "My father had her put down. Executed, in front of me, as two of my eldest brothers held me and made me watch."

My own eyes had started to fill with tears and Lucien gave me a sad smile when the first one fell down my cheek.

“So… I left. Cursed my father, abandoned my title and the Autumn Court, and walked out. And without my title protecting me, my brothers thought to eliminate one more contender to the High Lord's crown. Three of them came out to kill me; one came back."

"You… killed them?"

"I killed one," He said. "Tamlin killed the other, as they had crossed into his territory, he was High Lord and could do what he wanted with trespassers threatening the peace of his lands." A cold, brutal, honest statement. "He claimed me as his own—named me emissary, since I'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people, while he... can find it difficult. I’ve been here ever since."

"As emissary," I began, "have you ever had dealings with your father? Or your brothers?"

"Yes. My father has never apologized, and my brothers are too frightened of Tamlin to risk harming me. But I have never forgotten what they did to her, or what my brothers tried to do to me."

It didn't quite excuse everything Lucien had said and done to us, but... I understand now. I could understand the walls and barriers he had no doubt constructed around himself. My chest was too tight, to say anything to him. I knew it wouldn’t comfort him, so I did the only thing I could think of and hugged him. A couple seconds went by and I realized he might not hug me back but when I made to pull away, he gripped my tunic so tightly before he began sobbing into me.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. I wasn’t going to pull away until he did, he needed this. Needed to go through every emotion he’s kept bottled up. And I just rubbed his back and smoothed his long red hair back as he did.

The sun was near setting when Lucien finally pulled away from me and wiped his tear stained cheeks with the sleeve of his tunic. He gave me a sad smile, voice still tight from crying, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” my voice a gentle murmur.

“Gods, I haven’t cried like that in ages.” He said, letting out a chuckle.

“You have too every now and again, it’s good for the soul.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Raihn’s deep, gruff voice sounded in my head, Come back, we're leaving.

All right.

I stood up, putting my boots back on, “Let’s go, Raihn we’re heading back.”

“Alright.” Lucien sniffled before getting to his feet and putting his own boots back on.

****

Feyre seemed tired but surprisingly content from the few hours of swimming and eating and lounging in the glen, she eyed Lucien as we rode back to the manor that afternoon. We were crossing a broad meadow of new spring grass when he caught her glancing at him for the tenth time, and I braced myself as he fell back from Tamlin’s side.

The metal eye narrowed on her while the other remained wary, unimpressed. “Yes?”

That was enough to persuade me not to say anything about his past. I would hate pity, too. And he didn’t know me—not well enough to warrant anything but resentment if I brought it up, even if it weighed on me to know it, to grieve for him.

She waited until Tamlin was far enough ahead that even his High Fae hearing might not pick up on her words but I did. “I never got to thank you for your advice with the Suriel.”

Lucien tensed. “Oh?”

I looked at Tamlin beside me, the horse utterly unbothered by his mighty rider. “If you still want me dead,” she said, “you might have to try a bit harder.”

Lucien loosed a breath. “That’s not what I intended, I wouldn’t shed any tears,” he amended. I knew it was true and she probably did too. “But what happened to you—”

“I was joking,” Feyre chuckled.

“You can’t possibly forgive me that easily for sending you into danger.”

“No. And part of me would like nothing more than to wallop you for your lack of warning about the Suriel. But I understand: I’m a human who killed your friend, who now lives in your house, and you have to deal with me. I understand,” She repeated.

He was quiet for long enough that I thought he wouldn’t reply. Just as I was about to drop back, he spoke. “Tam told me that your first shot was to save the Suriel’s life. Not your own.”

“It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“I know far too many High Fae and lesser faeries who wouldn’t have seen it that way—or bothered.” I heard him reach for something at his side and tossed it to her. She had to fight to stay in the saddle as she fumbled for it—a jeweled hunting knife.

“I heard you scream, and I hesitated. Not long, but I hesitated before I came running. Even though Tam got there in time, I still broke my word in those seconds I waited.” He jerked his chin at the knife. “It’s yours. Don’t bury it in my back, please.”

I turned this time to look at him and he gave me a genuine smile and a nod of his head.

My gaze flickered between the both of them, Feyre now inspecting the knife and him giving me a friendly smile—a silent question. So I smiled back and nodded my head in return, friends then.

****

I gave Raihn a reassuring smile, “I’ll be careful, I promise,” while I finished securing my ash daggers to my body.

I will accompany you.

“No.”

You will be safer with me by your side, he argued.

I sighed, “I’m not saying you’re wrong but, I can’t exactly sneak out with a huge wolf next to me, can I?” His annoyed huff was answer enough as he laid down on the comforters and pillows you had set on the floor for him. Petting the soft fur atop his head, “Sleep, I’ll be back before you know it.”

You know I won’t sleep until you return.

****

You made your way through the quiet empty halls of the manor, down the staircase and to the door leading towards the garden doors. The sentries were changing shifts and you knew Lucien was on patrol tonight so you took the opportunity, running towards the north-eastern part of the woods. The new cloak you promised the Suriel in hand as you made your way to meet them near the yew tree.

Their fingers clicked twice, “You came,” as they spoke .

“When have I not?” I asked, while offering them the cloak. Looking around as the leaves on the surrounding trees and bushes rustled. Ears straining to hear if something—someone was there.

The Suriel grabbed the cloak and cradled it to their chest, “Thank you, princess—“

“—You don’t have to thank me and I’m not a princess. Not anymore.”

They bent down on a knee, “For the kindness you have always shown me,” bowing his head, “you will always be a princess to me.”

Placing a hand on their bony shoulder, “Thank you, old friend.” You heard leaves rustling again, nostrils flaring scenting the air, “Go, someone’s here.”

“Be safe. I do not know when I will see you again but, I have to tell you. You have to know.”

“Know what?” My brows furrowed as I glanced around trying to see if someone was hiding the shadow covered trees.

“Your mate,” Those two words made me snap my gaze back to the Suriel. “Like you, has fire in their blood. You will find each other on Calanmai. You have always been meant to burn together.”

I felt paralyzed, “What,” felt my heart pounding, “Who… I have a mate?” I said those last four words so quietly I didn’t think the Suriel heard me until they spoke again.

They chuckled, “Yes, darkling, you have a mate. The both of you bound in flames. Bound to each other. He is heir to Autumn and you are heir to Spring. Be safe, Princess, you are of age now and will be affected by Fire Night’s magic.” The Suriel bowed again, “Till we meet again, Princess,” and walked into the dark woods.

I don’t know how long I stood there in shock that I had a mate and in fear that Amarantha would find out and kill him.

I stuck to the shadows as always, making my way back to the manor, my mind reeling with possibilities from the information the Suriel gave me before they left. I was practically in a trance when Lucien stopped me, still sitting atop his beautiful mare, “Why are you out here so late?”

“I couldn’t sleep. So I came out for a walk.”

He smirked knowingly, “Want to try that again, Princess?”

“Is there a curfew I don’t know about? Am I not allowed to come and go when I want.” Fuck. He heard the Suriel address me as Princess. He was who I heard and scented. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Did he know his brother is my mate?

Lucien chuckled as he swung a powerful leg over his horse, dismounting the beautiful mare and stalking towards me, leaning down so we were face to face, “Who—what are you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I shrugged, keeping my face an unreadable mask.

He let out a laugh, which sounded more bitter than amused, “So I open up to you, essentially baring my heart and soul to you and you won’t even tell me your real name!”

I didn’t try to cover the hurt that flashed across my face, as he yelled, “I did tell you my name. Y/n is my name, I haven’t lied about that!”

“But you are lying!”

“No! I just… I just haven’t told you everything.”

“Why?” His narrowed eyes—one russet and one metal—searched my face.

Before I could give him an answer, Raihn’s powerful body was in between us, he gave Lucien a warning. A low growl to back off.

Lucien immediately stepped back, with his hands up showing Raihn he was unarmed. My wolf growled once more, his lip curled back in a snarl, Did he harm you?

“No,” I mumbled.

No, what ? Raihn asked tightly.

“No, he didn’t hurt me.”

Tell him if he does, I will take his remaining eye and eviscerate him where he stands.

I furrowed my brows and couldn’t stop the burst of laughter from leaving my lips as I howled in laughter, “That’s a little dramatic but, no. I’m not telling him that.”

Tell him or I will take his remaining eye.

My mouth opened but Lucien’s voice cut me off, “Tell me what?”

I looked at Lucien, then at Raihn, “I’m not telling him.”

Tell. Him. Now. The massive wolf order.

“Fine,” I huffed, rolling my eyes, “Raihn said that if you hurt me he will take your remaining eye and eviscerate you where you stand.” Turning to look at Raihn again, even though he was still focused on Lucien, “Happy?”

Not even close.

Lucien’s face turned a sickly pale, no doubt imagining the painful painting Raihn, painted for him. Without another word he turned and mounted his horse. Before he could set her into a walk I spoke, “I wish I could tell you but I can’t. I just can’t, I’m sorry.”

He only nodded his head once and then left.

****

Weeks passed, the days melting together.

The first couple weeks everyone was afraid of Raihn, especially Alis, since she’d just come into my room and he snapped at her. At least he’d been sorry but since then she was wary of him. Feyre got used to him, Tamlin and Lucien did too. The other servants just tried to avoid him.

Lucien never talked about the night we had argued and Tamlin never said anything about it either. Instead Lucien just pretended it had never happened, which somehow bothered me more.

Feyre and Tamlin had grown closer over time. Well that’s what she told me at least; gentle, soft kisses, and longing touches. He’d even gifted her art supplies and given her a space to paint. The smile she’d given you when she told you was pure happiness and you wanted her stay like that—happy. All she wanted before was time and tools to paint and now she had them so, paint she did. She never wanted anyone to see them but she would let me and ask for my opinion on certain colors. Sometimes she dared to paint the High Lord, who rode at her side when they wandered his grounds on lazy days — the High Lord, whom she was happy to talk to or spend hours in comfortable silence with. While I spent my days with Lucien or the other sentries; patrolling and training.

Just like today, Lucien and I were getting ready to change shifts and were heading back towards the manor. We cleared the little wood, a spread of hills and knolls laid out ahead. In the distance, there were masked faeries atop many of them, building what seemed to be unlit fires. I halted, they were setting up for Fire Night.

He halted beside me, “They’re setting up bonfires—for Calanmai—Fire Night. It’s in two days,” he explained.

Fire Night. My brows furrowed and I shook my head.

“It’s just a spring ceremony. We light bonfires, and the magic that we create helps regenerate the land for the year ahead.”

I clenched and unclenched my hands, “I know what it is.”

He rubbed his neck, “Oh. It’s just the way you said it, I thought you didn’t know what it was.”

“No, I just didn’t know it was in two days.” I shook my head again and gave Raihn the silent command to start walking again. Lucien did the same with his horse.

“You might see more faeries around than usual—faeries from this court, and from other territories, who are free to wander across the borders that night.”

I nodded my head before letting out a sharp breath, “I thought Amarantha had scared most of them away or trapped them Under the Mountain,” I glanced back at the unlit bonfires hoping that they wouldn’t be there. That maybe I was seeing things but they were still there.

“She has—but there will be a number of them. Just... stay away from them all. You’ll be safe in the house, but if you run into one before we light the fires at sundown in two days, ignore them.”

“I'm not staying in the house.”

It was his turn to halt this time, “Yes. You are.”

“No. I’m not.” I didn’t give him the chance to argue before telling Raihn mind to mind to get me into the house. Then to go wait in my room while I hid behind a massive pot in the garden.

I saw the moment Tamlin went rigid—it was quiet with that horrible stillness that usually meant one of Amarantha’s ilk was around. Tamlin bared his teeth at… Feyre. Fuck. “Stay hidden, and no matter what you overhear, don’t come out,” He ordered her.

Then he was gone.

She looked to either side of the gravel path, like some gawking idiot. I hoped she wouldn’t move because if she did she would fuck everything up. She had just ducked behind a hedge when I heard Tamlin and Lucien approaching. I silently swore and froze. Then Tamlin’s snarl rippled through the air on the other side of the hedge she was hiding behind.

“I know what day it is,” Tamlin said—but not to Lucien. To the Attor. Him and his brothers still plagued my dreams.

“Your continued behavior is garnering a lot of interest at court,” the Attor said, deep and sibilant. I shivered, despite the warmth of the day. “She has begun wondering—wondering why you haven’t given up yet. And why four Naga wound up dead not too long ago.”

“Tamlin’s not like the other fools,” Lucien snapped, his shoulders pushed back to raise himself to his full height, more warrior-like than I’d yet seen him.“If she expected bowed heads, then she’s more of an idiot than I thought.”

The Attor hissed, and my blood went cold at the noise. “Speak you so ill of she who holds your fate in her hands? With one word, she could destroy this pathetic estate. She wasn’t pleased when she heard of you dispatching your warriors.” The Attor now seemed turned toward Tamlin. “But, as nothing has come of it, she has chosen to ignore it.”

There was a deep-throated growl from the High Lord, but his words were calm as he said, “Tell her I’m getting sick of cleaning up the trash she dumps on my borders.”

The Attor chuckled, the sound like sand shifting. “She sets them loose as gifts—for me—and reminders of what will happen if she catches you trying to break the terms of—”

“He’s not,” Lucien snarled. “Now, get out. We have enough of your ilk swarming on the borders we don’t need you defiling our home, too. For that matter, stay the hell out of the cave. It’s not some common road for filth like you to travel through as they please.”

Tamlin loosed a growl of agreement.

The Attor laughed again, such a horrible, vicious sound. “Though you have a heart of stone, Tamlin,” it said, and Tamlin went rigid, “you certainly keep a host of fear inside it.” The Attor’s voice sank into a croon. “Don’t worry, High Lord.” It spat the title like a joke. “All will be right as rain soon enough.”

“Burn in Hell,” Lucien replied for Tamlin, and he laughed again before a flap of leathery wings boomed, a foul wind bit my face, and everything went silent.

They breathed deeply after another moment. I closed my eyes, needing a steadying breath as well but Feyre yelped. I stood without hesitating, my ash daggers in hand.

“It’s gone,” Tamlin said, releasing her. It was all I could do not to sag against the hedges.

“What did you hear?” Lucien demanded—from the both of us, coming around the corner and crossing his arms. I shifted my gaze to Tamlin’s face, but found it to be so white with anger—anger at that thing—that I had to look again at Lucien.

“Nothing—I... well, nothing I understood,” Feyre said, and meant it.

I looked back at Tamlin as I said one word, “Everything.”

“If the Attor saw them—” Lucien said, glancing around.

“It didn’t,” Tamlin said.

“Are you certain it—”

“It didn’t,” Tamlin growled over his shoulder, then looked at Feyre and I, his face still pale with fury, lips tight. “I’ll see you both at dinner.”

Understanding a dismissal, and craving the locked door of my bedroom, I trudged back to the house, contemplating telling Feyre who Amarantha was and why she was able to make Tamlin and Lucien so nervous and to command that thing as her messenger. But I couldn’t and I hated myself for it.

****

After a tense dinner during which Tamlin hardly spoke to Lucien, Feyre or me, I walked out onto the balcony that was attached to my room and climbed onto the roof. I slept under the stars that night.

I went outside the following day but didn’t venture into the woods. Raihn and I were merely sprawled underneath an Oak Tree that was near the house’s private garden. Alis brought breakfast and lunch to me knowing I wouldn’t have eaten otherwise. Too lost in the thought of tomorrow being Fire Night, the thought of meeting my mate and what would or could happen.

She had tried asking me what was wrong but I couldn’t tell her. How could I when my mates life was at risk just because he was mated to me. I knew Alis wouldn’t tell anyone if I asked her not too yet, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The instinct to protect my mate at all costs was overriding everything.

****

The day of Fire Night—Calanmai dawned, and I didn’t see Tamlin or Lucien all day. As the afternoon shifted into dusk, I found myself sliding my blue cloak so dark it was nearly black over my shoulders as I headed towards the doors of my balcony, Raihn following close behind, “Stay here. No one can see you.”

He growled.

I sighed, making my way towards him.

Once I was face to face with him, I cradled his head in my hands, pressing my forehead to his, “Please. You have to stay here. They’re not only hunting me and… and if something were to happen to you. I—I wouldn’t survive it. And it wouldn’t be because of the bond. I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt.”

And if you get hurt… He let out a distressed whine at the thought.

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

I heard him inhale, scenting me as if I wouldn’t be coming back. Without another word I walked out onto the balcony, giving Raihh a smile reserved only for him, then jumped off.

The sound of drums issued.

The drumbeats came from far away—beyond the garden, past the game park, into the forest that lay beyond. They were deep, probing. A single beat, echoed by two responding calls. Summoning.

I stood, staring out over the property as the sky became awash in hues of orange and red. Noting that my senses already felt… different.

In the distance, upon the sloping hills that led into the woods, a few fires flickered, plumes of dark smoke marring the ruby sky—the unlit bonfires I’d spotted two days ago. I needed to find my mate, I reminded myself.

The drums turned faster—louder. Though I’d grown accustomed to the smell of magic after not being around it since I was a child, my nose pricked with the rising tang of metal, stronger than I’d yet sensed it. I took a step forward, behind me, my long shadow seemed to pulse to the beat of the drums.

Even the garden, usually buzzing with the orchestra of its denizens, had quieted to hear the drums. There was a string—a string tied to my gut that pulled me toward those hills, commanding me to go, to hear—to feel the drums...

Smoke and magic hung thick in the air. There were hundreds of High Fae milling about, I could identify which court they came from but some I couldn’t. I hadn’t seen fae look this… well fae ever. I could feel the land and their magic pulsing around. It was beautiful, intoxicating to say the least.

I stuck to the shadows as best I could as I made my way through the crowd, my human features caused by the blood spell my mother put on me, hidden in the shadows of my hood. I prayed that the smoke and countless scents of various High Fae and faeries were enough to cover my human smell, but I checked to ensure that my ash daggers were still at my sides anyway as I moved deeper into the celebration.

Though a cluster of drummers played on one side of the fire, the faeries flocked to a trench between two nearby hills. I followed them, savoring the pulsing beat of the drums as it resonated through the earth and into the soles of my feet. No one looked twice in my direction.

I almost slid down the steep bank as I entered the hollow. At one end, a cave mouth opened into a soft hillside. Its exterior had been adorned with flowers and branches and leaves, and I could make out the beginnings of a pelt-covered floor just past the cave mouth. What lay inside was hidden from view as the chamber veered away from the entrance, but firelight danced upon the walls.

Whatever was occurring inside the cave—or whatever was about to happen—was the focus of the shadowy faeries as they lined either side of a long path leading to it. The path wended between the trenches among the hills, and the High Fae swayed in place, moving to the rhythm of the drumming, whose beats sounded in my stomach.

I watched them sway, then shifted on my feet. The string—the string I had felt tugged once. Twice. I scanned the fire-lit area, trying to peer through the veil of night and smoke. I know he’s here. My mate. But I hadn’t found him… Not yet.

None of the masked faeries paid me any heed. They remained along the path, more and more of them coming each minute. The Great Rite was going to begin soon then.

I made my way back up the hillside and stood along the edge of a bonfire near the trees, watching the faeries. I was about to make my way towards the shadow covered woods, my senses were beginning to feel more fae—more animalistic than fae, when someone grasped my arm and whirled me around.

Lucien.

He snarled in my face, “What are you doing out here?”

I twisted out of his hold, and he huffed, “I told you to stay in the house.”

“And I told you no.”

He sighed deeply, “Y/n, you can’t just do whatever--" he turned to look at what I was staring at and when he didn’t see it, he looked back at me. “—What the fuck are you looking at?”

I grabbed his face, turning his head, “Feyre.” There she was, my sister with a high fae whose black hair gleamed like a raven’s feathers. He had blue eyes that were so deep they were violet. You’d know those eyes anywhere. He was the High Lord of Night.

Rhysand.

Lucien cursed violently, then went to Feyre. I was stuck in my spot looking where Rhysand once stood. He was alive… He was here. I had to find him. I needed to talk to him.

I scanned the crowd frantically trying to find him, the darkness beyond the crowd beckoned me, called to me and I felt eyes watching me. But, everytime I tried to follow it, the string that had been tugging all night pulled me away, farther and farther.

Without realizing it I’d rejoined the crowd and Lucien appeared next to me. The drum beats picked up, making the flames of the bonfires flicker with each pulse. He was standing so close to me I could feel the radiating heat of his body and scent his arousal but, not just his, the other faeries too.

His eyes settled on my lips and tracked the way my tongue swept over them as I licked them. He took a step forward, reaching to cup my face when suddenly a tall high fae male had a dagger pressed against my tanned throat.

“Thank you for finding her for me, brother.” The male with the same red hair as Lucien said, but instead of russet eyes his were amber

Standing before me was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen and the string in my chest seemed to glow and warm in response to his presence.

Brother. His brother. My mate, he found me.

Lucien snarled at him, “Eris, if you hurt her—“ The tip of his dagger pushing into the soft pale skin of his brother’s throat.

“He won’t,” I cut him off. “He won’t hurt me. Will you, Eris?”

His lips were set in a feral grin that would make anyone else run but, you weren’t just anyone. “Never, little flame,” he promised.

For other parts: Bound In Flames Series Masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11

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[themotherofblood]

chapter 5 | RIVER OF FIRE | blood runs thick | d.t x reader x r.t

masterlist | series masterlist | previous chapter

synopsis: the aftermath of Alicent being wed to Viserys.

~ “Did you think it all true, all these things will catch up to you now.” ~

It truly wasn’t much of a bother, was it. Here you were, threading together a bouquet with gold silk threads and next to you paced Rhaenyra, cursing practically anyone that would dare interrupt her maniacal pacing. Five steps she would walk forward, mutter curses under her breath and then she would turn, walk five more. The antechamber almost grew hot, burning along with Nyra’s ire, the dragon flames within her burnt so bright, you feared for the Queen’s life.

She was just next door, being readied for her wedding by her Hightower cousins, you could hear the rambling and muffled giggling and jangles of gold bangles and necklaces. Her wedding to Viserys - by the gods - even now brought bile to the back of your mouth coating it with bitter thickness. It wasn't unheard of but perhaps when the bride bleeds from so close to home, one might truly weep for her virtue. Even if she were to be the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, a girl and a grieving King. What bore far more pain was that she hid it, for months she hid her ongoing relationship with the King, from you, from Rhaenyra. Being unable to aid Rhaenyra through her grief to which Alicent sewed parts of Rhaenyra back together with such ease. She is wise, truly wise, yet she hid this. Rhaenyra believes her a traitor now, for weeks she voiced the fear of Aemma’s memory fading if Viserys were to remarry, Alicent listened and yet said nothing.

You were pulled from your thoughts as the doors to Alicent’s bed chambers opened, ladies poured out one by one, bowing to you and Rhaenyra before heading for the Grand Sept, the bells had begun to ring, marking the King’s arrival to the Sept.

A girl of six and ten turned into a woman, Alicent stood at the door with a stunning ivory gown, her cape sleeves curving around her figure and intricate gold metal work placed on her shoulders to mimic dragon wings, her beautiful brown hair pulled up. She was radiant as always, you couldn't help but smile at her, it was her wedding day after all.

Alicent’s eyes flicker to Rhaeyra, expecting to find some warmth within the purple of her eyes, Nyra gives Alicent a once over, taking in what had seemed like a nightmare come true.

“You look lovely, your grace” the hint of sarcasm coated thick in Rhaenyra’s voice as she bowed to Alicent before taking her leave.

You pitied her, the smile you gave her after screamed so, the Queen loved by all but the one closest to her. You walked her, reaching out to fix an untucked ribbon and then handing her the bouquet.

“Is there no way that I might mend this?” she sighed, sorrowful and guilty.

“Not today.”

She looked defeated as you fussed with pinnings of her wedding dress.

“Not today, because today is about you, our petty problems will be with us tomorrow too, my lady.” you give her a once over before once more smiling at her “today you become Queen.”

This time she matches your smile, a long breath shaking away the sorrow weighing upon her shoulders. You walked behind her, lifting her long train with both arms as she proceeded to walk.

There was this joy, your friend was being wed, a momentous event but you couldn’t breathe past how terrified Alicent looked, and torn over how perturbed Nyra appeared to mask her strong need to sob. Your lover and your companion, both bleeding from the wounds of court and you could help but one, a side that you had to choose. She had ripped through two dolls, sobbing over the one gown she managed to steal from her mother’s chests. She didn’t want a stepmother but most of all she didn't want to have to lose a friend so cruelly. No matter how tightly you held Nyra through the nights and gave her comforting touches, the dark shadow of doom that seemed to follow never left her, it loved her more than you could. More than the sunshine could cast a shadow, it persisted. At supper and at tea, it pained you to watch her so.

So much so, she wrote to Daemon, begging him to return, to stop this madness, speak some sense into his brother but what was done couldn’t be undone by a banished prince, now could it?

You reached for Nyra’s hand as you stood amongst the people, watching the Targaryen cloak draped over Alicent taunt her. All would be well, all must be well, you prayed. A marriage for the stability of the Realm, even with an heir, the lords never truly seemed satiated.

As Alicent and Viserys turned with their heads held high, the crowds cheered, roared in an out pour of joy. A new Queen had blessed the Realm, soon she would bless the Realm with a son.

A son, you looked to Rhaenyra. The whites of her eyes had gone red, moist.

“She is no Queen of mine.” she angrily whispered to you.

In the vast toll of things, one thing you had expected less. Rhaenyra had charged her ladies to be so frigid to the Queen. You sat with her and her ladies, leisurely pushing your needle through the fabric and then back out, every now and then glancing at Alicent and the growing mound of her belly hidden behind the plush blanket she sat under.

A rabid dog with a mustard collar, that’s what you were to her. Shielding her from the bitch-like behaviour many of these courtly ladies had directed towards her. Loud mouthed wenches, snickering behind her back, most of them had expected to be Queen– now they lick their wounds, playing those half cooked political games to gain Alicent’s favour. Most of all, you shielded her from Rhaenyra’s wrath, raging just as hot as Syrax’s fire, burning all those who might to diminish it, though you– immune to the brunt of it all, both figuratively and literally. The Targaryen in you kept you Valyrian-clad, and Rhaenyra’s lover in you kept you protected.

You looked out the window this time, you were sure she was up there– somewhere so high where if she was to let out rageful screams, she would be the only one to hear. Well– her, Syrax and perhaps a vulture or two. You and her had talked about it at length, while Viserys saw the possibility of a spare, all Rhaenyra saw was an heir, to overshadow her, to depose her before her father sold her hand in marriage to the highest bidder. A castle? Gold? Armies or perhaps a foreign political connection, casting her away. Just as Jaehaerys’s daughters suffered, so would she.

Your mother Daenereys was probably the most fortunate of the lot, along with her sister Alyssa. Both women married the men their hearts desired, Alyssa and Baelon producing the purest of Targaryen children and your mother bringing Dorne into the fold by marrying your father Allyrion Martell. You however bleed Martell through and through, unlike your brother that possessed purple eyes, the ravenous features of a true Dornish woman embraced you as you grew, full lips, sun kissed glow, a distinct head of loose curls, leaving but a few streaks of white, just like Princess Rhaenys.

That was besides the point that even with the macabre tradition of the Dornish and the contumacy of Targaryen traditions, you couldn’t fathom admitting that you indeed wanted Alicent’s child to be a boy, for that little child to be heir so you and Rhaenyra could fly east, just like you always dreamed of, marry and live in a quaint little hold with servants purchased from sold jewellery and a farm of your own. Yet once a prey tastes blood, it can only want for more, Rhaenyra’s purpose was this, to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she found power within the title bestowed upon her and just as demanded flaunted his oddities with immunity so would she, you could do naught but follow her, obey her commands and prepare for the day that she would sit the Iron Throne– with a husband on her back instead of you.

You couldn’t give her heirs of her blood, no blood magic nor prayer could change that you too were born a girl, and the unnatural pairing of the two of you would lead to carnage.

“Princess?” the voice of Enorah standing by the doorway tore your attention, you looked at her, momentarily stunned– returning to the world of the living “The Princess Rhaenyra has demanded your presence in the Godswood.”

Demanded

Rhaenyra knew at the cusp at which she played at, your afternoons were Alicent’s by the King’s “suit,” you turn to Alicent apologetically.

“My Queen if I may…”

“Go on, I have my other ladies to keep me company, perhaps I might return to my chambers for some respite.”

You looked around the ladies scattered across the chamber floors before neatly putting away your embroidery ring, you stood, back straight and shrouded in formality. You bowed to your friend before taking your leave.

You knew how you find Rhaenyra in the Godswood, hair mussed— stinking of dragon on the rage of the fourteen flames in her eyes.

“Why must you be with her?”

Something so sacred but irreparable, such a bind of sisterhood never found again. Squandered yet again by what you knew to be the ugly politics of lords in their ivory towers. What irked you the most was the price paid was you— your companions barely old enough to bleed let alone be pawns to whatever bargains were being struck in the Great Halls of the Red Keep.

You remembered the fight they had so vividly, almost envisioning it as you entered the Godswood.

“Rhaenyra, slow down!” You huffed, hiking your skirts to chase behind her.

Viserys had just announced his proclaimation, you stood there. Among the choices he had, along with Laena. Alicent too was— oddly among the lot. It wasn’t a surety until he said her name.

You were sure Rhaenyra felt it harder than you did, right in your gut. A dagger wound, you should have seen this coming. She looked torn, regrettably so, but why? She would be Queen.

Thus you chased out Rhaenyra, down the stairs and to the Godswood where she wiped at her angry tears.

Dear gods

When the realization set it, your closest friend had lied to you, through her teeth. Under the disguise of consolement and wise words of religion and perhaps comfort. She hid her “affairs” with Viserys.

For her sake you wished that she would steer clear of Rhaenyra but such fate was beyond her for she too followed.

“You!” She whipped her head furiously towards Alicent.

“Why? I wept to you, afraid for my mother’s memory and you betrayed me!”

“Rhaenyra truly—“

“You do not speak! You do not breathe near me.”

“Ever again…”

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader x rhaenyra targaryen #daemon targaryen x rhaenyra targaryen #desiblr #daemon targaryen #got x reader #house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen x reader

[minicoffee00]

I don’t ask for much - Cassian x Rhysand Sister Reader.

POV: After Rhys asks to stay with Reader all the time when she is up in the Illyrian mountains, when she doesn’t want to come to the camps with him after the first day made her uncomfortable. He comes back to a site he never wants to see again.

Warnings: Blood

You felt uncomfortable with the amount of stares you got when Cassian made you come to the training camps with him.

All the men had stared at you as if you were this log of meat on a stick.

It was well known among all of Night Court, even through Illyria that you, as Rhysand little sister, had never taken a man to bed after your first bleed. By the time it had occurred Rhysand was High Lord and he forbade anyone from clipping his little sisters wings.

She was waiting for her mate that would be the only person she would ever give herself too.

You were of course a force to be reckoned with, rivalling your brother in his powers in every way. You grew up with Rhysand teaching, politics and how to be a true Princess of the Night Court, while Azriel would teach you how to fly, and from Cassian you learnt how to fight like a true Illyrian. You’d received Siphons over the years, being only 100 years younger than Rhysand you’d caught up to his maturity quickly.

So Rhysand having to deal with Feyre being stuck in the Spring Court and Azriel and his spies tracking through the Autumn and Winter courts meant you had to go to where your route led.

Illyria.

As a female, who had drive to be a warrior you were shunned daily, even with the trio to protect you, you were still called names and taunted by their piers.

So going back didn’t have the same energy. Rhysand had strict instructions for Cassian to follow.

1. Do not let her leave your site

2. Please make sure she is eating and drinking enough, the mountains are cold this time of year and she needs the energy.

3. Do not allow any danger to come to her

The first day in the mountains was awful. Even though you weren’t that scared little girl anymore who followed her brothers every move, the bullies were no longer gangly twiggy boys that looked like the wind would blow them off the cliff edge.

No, now they resembled Cassian’s hard training, they were all buff with rippling muscles and six packs that looked more like washboards to her.

They clearly also thought the same for you, you weren’t that scared little girl who was begging for her wings to be clipped whenever she trailed along after her brother who was trying to train. You were a beautiful woman, who resembled only grace and purity.

The men of course couldn’t keep their eyes off you or their mouths closed from saying god awful things about you and your body.

You were tense for the rest of the day watching your back, making sure no one was coming close to you apart from Cassian.

The next day came, and you refused to leave the cabin, asking if Cassian had seen how they’d treasured you.

His answer was short, explaining that Rhys had requested not to let you leave his site.

It was a compromise in the end where he would go speak to them for only 10 minutes to get them set up and motivated for the day before he would take you home and get Mor to come back from the Hwen City for a few days.

“Not to watch over you, just as a friend” Cassian had tried to assure you but it hadn’t really worked.

He left you in the cabin, you saw a canvas and some paint, and you started to use the brush and colours to make out the Starfall of Valeris and what you remembered the last one to look like as you had pined for your brother to come back safe and sound.

10 minutes turned in 20 and 20 turned in 30 minutes and soon you were getting anxious if something had happened to Cass on his flight over.

What you hadn’t expected was three guys to barge in holding you down, a knife to your throat digging in enough to wield blood.

“Hello Princess, how’s it been all these years knowing you escaped us” the seemingly oldest one based on looks asked you. They had gagged you so you couldn’t say anything back, the one to his left laughing a little.

And that was the last moments your wings would have their little flutter you lover so much. The last time you would fly was a week ago with Rhysand over Valeris. For now they had just shredded your wings, completely off.

You thought to yourself that it would be less pain if they had cut them clean off, and kept them as a trophy.

Blood poured down your back and from the small cut on your throat.

“Now, your going to paint in your own fucking shade or red bitch, or tomorrow we come back for more fun” he spits, before him and his group of thugs join him at his side exciting the cabin.

You obeyed, being in too much pain to do anything else other than take that order on the chin, you were ashamed that as the Princess they had gotten the upper hand and had the audacity to command you.

Cassian was currently haven’t a what he didn’t realise was a pre-emptied brawl. They had said could things about you again, little did he know it was a distraction so some of them could get to you in the cabin.

The only tell tale sign was the smell of your blood on the hair of one of the now slightly wet returning males.

“Where have you been” he growls out. Knowing exactly where.

“To pay that little bitch a visit” the Illyrian warrior smirks. Cassian grunts pushing forward and sliding the sword across his arm.

“I’m not gonna kill you, because Rhysand would kill me for letting the guy who hurt Y/N not be at HIS mercy” Cassian grins a devilish grin that makes most of the men shudder.

He flies of straight for the cabin. Finding you painting in a pool of your own blood, your wings in shreds as silent tears rolled down your face. The thing that crushed him the most what that you’d painted your own shredded wings in the pigment of blood, your blood.

“We need to get you to Majda, Cauldron im so sorry” he speaks picking you up and holding you into him.

“Ow it hurts” you cry, into his chest hoping that you pass out so you can’t feel it anymore or that it just goes away. The second was an unlikely situation though.

“ I know I know I’m so so sorry cupcake. Rhys is gonna kill me” he mumbles exiting the house and flying her straight to Madja’s healing house.

“Madja” he bellows and she comes running out gasping at the sight of the crowned Princess. Immediately he can tell that she has reached out to Rhysand who seems to already be back home. As the next thing he hears, sends shivers down his spine.

“I don’t ask for much Cassian” he growls into his mind.

Taglist:

@cat-or-kitten @sstrohma @horneybeach1 @its-sam-allgood @starryhiraeth @xcastawayherosx @glitterypirateduck @azriels-mate123

Hope you guys enjoy some Cassian. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll have another Azriel part up for Fast Changes! Let me know if you want or if this needs a part 2

#cassian #acotar #acomaf #acotar fanfiction #cassian x you #cassian x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acowar #rhysand sister #rhysand #Cassian’s biceps

[forsythia4]

水的序幕 ; a water's dream.

THE RED CROWNED CRANE & THE PHOENIX: A PROLOGUE.

read description & click for chapters.

Sotomichi.

IN THE MONTH OF KEICHITSU, WHEN THE PEACH BLOSSOMS BEGIN TO BLOOM, with his spirit lamp lit and bamboo pipe elevated, Father is a worn man, lined with wrinkles, strained by time. The scent of opium burns ripe and hauntingly sweet, Father’s lids flutter in euphoria, a kind of blissful apathy. The sun bleeds, and the breath of a thousand buds dance for death. His lips pucker like poppies in full bloom under the first glimpse of the rising sun of the East. Other than opioids and his arrogance, he has only tendered the lips of his art. His hands birth his pride, his art he wears like a tanchōzuru (red-crowned crane) perched like a crown of his ego. Brushstrokes weave intricate dynamics on porcelain, sometimes between a red-crowned crane and a bird of paradise, but if you’re lucky, a perfect lotus moon and the ornate peacock. 

“The art flows like water. The porcelain is like a woman. You paint and you draw, you bend and you curve her just as you like. The color she bears winds at your will. The brush is yours, they bleed and you come alive.”  Father’s words echo through your solitary midnight loiters outside the kiln, but a crackle of fire spits and you remember convincing yourself you’re tired before your head begins to ache, like it always does when you think of punishment for eavesdropping.

A strike of Father's hand, and you know his art is not yours, his legacy is not yours to carry. Why would a woman need to carry a legacy, except only ones of her children? “Not your burden, my dove. A bud like you needs to grow! A beautiful young lady you reckon she will be, don’t you, Suzume?” Mother nods, just like she always does. Agreeable. Compliant. Docile. Performative. Sometimes, she even dishes out a smile if Mr. Hasegawa comes to visit for tea. Braced posture and bad breath often crouches down, lingering around for a chance to catch a lucky glimpse of a spark, a spurt of swelling beauty within you, for perfection, gifted by the kami in return for Mother’s good graces to the shrines, for in her most perversely wondrous dreams, you are a moon-faced girl with a crescent for lips and porcelain-white skin; you are Benzaiten’s pearl, patron goddess of the fabled geishas residing in the Imperial Capital.

Now, when will you be branded with a price? A tag? Hasegawa’s ninth visit, and you are still a bud unripe. A disgraceful daughter granted by the gods! Sons assume trades and thrones, but daughters will swallow the sun and still assume brooms, buckets, and the ballooning belly of a baby at the end of the day. Father swears he must have been cursed his last life for you to have such ill-fitting features belonging to a woman. A daughter’s betrayal is your skin bruised plum purple, your cheeks stained wet with tears and thrice kissed for daring to be the dishonor and shame of the family. 

However, you'd rather be kissed by the truth of the girl you choose to be than the role of a woman you're expected to assume. Your art is your vow. Nimble fingers trace delicate enamel glaze, figuring Nonomura Ninsei’s refined style, and dreams of washing up on Hishu’s wide export market overturn an ache in your belly – that was your dream. Porcelain painting, specialized artistry in characterizing wares mark your identity. Every brushstroke, every glaze, every ember to a flame is a bond to the birth of life breathed into your art. The red-crowned crane spreads her wings and sets the sun ablaze. That was your dream come alive.

North Kohama.

IN THE MONTH OF SHUNBUN, WHEN THE SWALLOWS FLUTTER AND BUILD THEIR NESTS, vengeance paints the horizon with her blood, rot of sin. Mizu remembers the fowler's snare, deliverance at hand. Each hammer and each burst of a swordsmith’s flame is for each swell of the tide that is her rage. Heating. Hammering. Folding steel. The work of a bladesmith: that is her honored duty, sacred. 

But as dusk envelopes into midnight, Mizu dances with water. She readies her stance, an obvious, clumsy edge to the flow. “The form of water is sleek, it is agile. It curves and dances with the torrent in one single harmony. Through that bond unified, water snaps and severs the cord, vicious and refined.” Eiji sounds, feeling the rumble of the ground with every swing of the youngster’s movement. “She does not crash. Water begins by swelling within her rage. Unspoken viciousness speaks louder than any inferno stubborn and ill-disciplined. Tame the waters first, let it flow, and then strike.” 

Mizu pants, feeling the dirt gather beneath her feet, concentrating the core of her energy, directing her strength to the blade. “You know that better than anyone. It is in your name, Mizu.” Child of the Sea, Tears of Rain, set it free. The bamboo severs into half, the seed of doubt sinks into an empty shell. The deed is done, but the will is not yet finished. A swell of pride soon sweeps the wind of rage away, burying the youth’s heart in a wild, unrelenting restlessness. The minute stream of a feeling akin to achievement throbs against her bones. Back then, when her heart felt anything at all. The innocent yearning to stubbornly hope, a kind of pigheaded faith to innocently dream, gushes like a tide.

Those who dare to dream are fools, Mizu tells herself, but still, she clings onto that childlike wanderlust she once buried within her breast in the sweet space of her memories. The distance between tunnels of blurred echoes calling for her past, calling her name, calling for the wild-hearted. That was Mother’s voice. When all was good, all was plentiful, when her heart was an abundance of a sort of messiness akin to love. When the spring tasted the sweetest, when the breeze swept against her ankles and shaven head, when all was close to home. What did home feel like again? It's slipping away from her dirt-soiled hands, more than stubby fingers could ever count.

Mama. Mother. When will we fawn at the moon and stars again? Together or never, that is my promise to you. If dreams make me a fool, then I'd be one for you to come alive. 

Now, when the sky falls with her tears scald hot on Mizu’s cheeks, her heart is patterned like a tortoise’s shell, cracked and fractured. Hardened.

Sotomichi.

IT IS A SUBTLE STRIKE. The lash of lightning: the defiance of sweet, spring skies. Mother's back bled and lined by Father's cruelty; blemish of a fading beauty succumbing to bruises ripe rogue. You love her so dearly, you wish you weren't born the way beaten mandarins were thrown away as scum of the earth. In every wooden plaque perfumed with your desire, every token to the shrine grasped with earnest prayer, you cling onto the hope you'd make Mother happy one day.

You'd be a great artisan. The greatest Tokugawa Japan has ever witnessed. The artisan cracked through the barricades of her confinement as a woman, an utter breakthrough into legacy and history as Japan knew it. The world will know your name. Then, Mother would be happy and Mr. Hasegawa would finally go away.

But dreams are only a sweet, mirage of endless ache, never a guarantee of fruitful worth.

© work belongs to @forsythia4 & reblogs are highly appreciated!

#blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu x you #akemi #bes #taigen #bes mizu #mizu #forsythia4's muse

[sleepyspiriit]

Post-cage headcannons for Sam

- He has so much of Lucifer’s grace, nothing supernatural believes him to be human

- He can see angel wings, and can sense when Angels are nearby due to being around Angels for so long

- He cannot be around the cold (Lucifer burns cold remember? The air conditioning accidentally turned on in his room and Sam couldn’t speak english for the rest of the day.)

- Can speak and read fluent enochain (has an actual hard time with english, will sometimes substitute english words with enochian ones because he can’t think in english, Deans ears have bleed because of this, many times. Reverts to pure archangel enochian when triggered

- He can tolerate extreme pain (at one point walked around with a huge gash on his stomach that he did not notice at all because of the pain he’d be forced to endure during the cage, he only noticed bc blood started to soak his shirt)

- He can’t remember a lot from before the cage. (He gets Deans name wrong once and is very confused, when Deans almost breaks down)

- Knows almost everything about Micheal and Lucifer and the entire family (he makes a comment about micheal when gabriel was in the room and gabe just stares at him, bc what he l

#sam winchester #supernatural #spn #sam and lucifer #lucifer spn #sam and trauma #sam and the cage #lucifer supernatural #lucifer’s cage #trauma from lucifer’s cage #post cage sam #sam winchester speaking enochain #castiel supernatural

[starstruckmoony]

lover.

masterlist

pairing - james potter x muggleborn!reader

summary - james gets into a fight and you take care of him (you also scold him).

trope/tags - fluff, established relationship

word count - 1.3k

warnings - mentions of blood/violence but nothing explicit or graphic, mention of bullying but again nothing extreme

hogwarts was considered a calm place for a school, more often than not. and calm in a sense where students weren't taking their shots at trying to bite each other's heads off every other day. it got boring sometimes, without all of the age-typical drama and big fights, or brawls, or whatever one may call them (the ones where at least one person would land themselves a place in the hospital wing).

which is why you found it rather weird when a fifth year hufflepuff told you that a fight had broken out in the corridor outside of the potions classroom. apparently, almost all participants left bleeding, and one's nose wasn’t in a particularly divine condition. that wasn't very likely for wizards your age, their usual forms of battle would be hexing each other till one cried.

you brushed it off, it wasn't significant enough for you to dwell on it, and it didn't seem like it involved any of your friends. that was what you had suspected, at least. the sight of your boyfriend standing in the common room with a bleeding lip and brow was the last thing you wanted see when you stepped through the portrait hole.

"what did you do?!" you were in front him in a matter of seconds, looking at the other three boys in search of an explanation behind this.

"nothing happened." sirius was quick to defend whatever james did this time, and you shot him with a deadly glare. he chuckled awkwardly, ducking behind remus who appeared to be only moments away from shoving him to the floor.

"what do you mean 'nothing happened', look at him!" you snapped, pointing at james and the terrible condition he was in. he kept his eyes on the floor, not daring to spare you a glance.

"i mean, not much happened." peter lied, but it didn't do much to help. you ignored him, your focus still on your disheveled boyfriend in the middle of the room.

"i think we should let james do the explaining." remus suggested, and the irritated tone of his voice indicated that he wasn't exactly proud of his friend either. that, or something else happened.

"well?" you crossed your arms, your expression slowly softening.

"can we talk in private, please?" james finally looked up from the floor, meeting your worried face.

"fine." you sighed, letting him take your hand and lead you up the stairs to the boys dormitories. you made him take a seat on his bed not even a second after you walked through the door, and busied yourself by searching for bandages and other supplies through his trunk and drawer. luckily, he had told you remus had some, which the boys occasionally needed to use after their strange little forest explorations and full moon nights.

you made a swift trip to the bathroom and grabbed a towel which you had previously run under some water, and took a seat on the bed across from james.

"alright, speak." you gave him a nod of encouragement, and reached to clean up the blood around his lip with the cloth in your hand.

"promise you won't be mad at me?" james said with pleading eyes. you furrowed your eyebrows.

"what?" you accidentally pressed on the wound on his lip a bit too hard, causing him to hiss, "ouch." he muttered, his face scrunching up.

"sorry," you sighed, "i won't be mad, i promise." you muttered, your gaze stopping at a bruise that was beginning to form on his cheek.

"so, you know how i messed with snivellus the other day? made his potion explode in front of everybody?" you nodded. it was rather hilarious, especially since it happened not even five minutes after severus had bragged about his outstanding skills and knowledge about potions, and tried to get into slughorn's good graces (as if he already wasn't his favourite).

"well, i think he wanted to get back at me because he started following me in the hallway, chatting shit as usual," you stopped what you were doing for a moment, afraid that the story was about to go in a direction you had predicted it will, "i wasn't paying attention to him at first, i was trying to catch up with pete cause i stayed behind to talk to minnie, but then he..." james trailed off, much more nervous than before. he pressed a hand to the back of his neck, sighing uncomfortably, his expression sour.

"...started talking about you. rubbish, just pure rubbish, and he called you...you know, that word. the one for muggle borns, said you had dirty blood." you squirmed in your spot, feeling a bit uneasy. it was sad to say you'd gotten used to hearing such words thrown your way, they almost stopped bothering you, but it was different now, since it was affecting james, too.

"and then i punched him. square in jaw, also broke his nose. then mulciber came at me, then avery, snivellus was too busy whinging on the floor," james scoffed, and you didn't miss the way he rolled his eyes at the recalling of the scene, "a bunch of students showed up to watch, it was such a mess. and then moony and padfoot came and managed to fight them off somehow."

you sighed, putting your face into your hands and shaking your head. you stayed like that for a while, and when you looked up, you found that james had been staring at you the entire time. and without a drop of guilt in his eyes.

"did you really have to break his bloody nose for that?" you chastised, ripping the bandages open frustratedly and making the tiny papers they were wrapped in fly everywhere.

"what was i supposed to do?" he pouted. his ultimate weapon in fights, one that he was certain would always make you go easy on him. truth be told, you were beginning to feel a little less annoyed. if anything, you were more scared that something like that would happen again. and what if he's not lucky enough to have remus and sirius come by? what if someone uses a curse on him? slytherins like mulciber were brutal.

"not that! three against one, james. have you completely lost your mind?" you placed one of the smaller bandages onto his eyebrow, and dabbed the towel against the scratch on his lips a few more times. it was a bit ridiculous how you were scolding him and taking care of him all at once, but james was secretly (not very secretly) enjoying it.

"i'm not gonna have anyone talking about you like that." heat rushed to your cheeks. james bit back a grin. trying to come to a peaceful agreement about this was impossible, you both knew that.

"you didn't have to do it, you idiot." you smacked him across the head with the wet cloth, which only made him snicker. as disappointed as you were, you couldn't ignore the giddy feeling that was overtaking you. you tossed the towel staight to the floor and pulled him into a clumsy hug.

"thank you." you buried your face into his neck, your words were a bit muffled.

"you don't have to thank me," he kissed the top of your head, "next time he does that, he's dead."

"dramatic arse." you pulled away, fixing his chair and glasses as you did. good thing those idiots didn't break them.

"you love it." james winked, smiling cheekily.

"true, i do." you grinned back, and he quickly pecked your lips.

"you sure it's smart to do that?" you raised a teasing eyebrow. his lip was split open, so snogging really didn't seem like the most intelligent thing he should be getting up to right now.

"if you think this," he pointed to the small wound,"is stopping me, you are very wrong."

"james–" you gave up on even attempting to shove him away about two seconds into the kiss. it was james bloody potter, your stupid boyfriend who does stupid things because he loves you more than anyone could ever show, and who were you to resist him?

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter drabble #james potter headcanon #james potter imagine #james potter one shot #james potter fluff #james potter smut #james potter fanfiction #sirius black #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #marauders era #the marauders

[thecuriousquest]

The Choice

Yandere Giyu Tomioka x Fem!Reader

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs

Warnings: Yandere themes, injured reader, slight manipulation, threat of kidnapping

Summary: Giyu follows you on a mission. When he sees you come face to face with death, he has had enough.

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You trained so hard for this mission. How could it all go so wrong?! The world didn’t give you an inch of grace, not a single spec. You wanted so badly to move up in the ranks, to show everyone just what you’re capable of. A lot of people made their thoughts about you very apparent, especially Giyu Tomioka. It hurt whenever he told you that you’ll never be able to go far unless he takes you under his wing.

The utter confidence and coldness of the bastard. He said it so bluntly, and you had grit your teeth in return and rejected his proposal with a scream of rage.

However, right now, you kind of wish you had gone with him to train. You probably wouldn’t be so close to death right now if you had.

What you don’t seem to notice is someone standing in the shadow of the trees lining the clearing in the forest.

Giyu had hoped it would never have to come to this. If you had just been able to keep yourself out of danger, he wouldn’t have to step in. To be honest, it’s all your fault that you make him follow you on missions. If you could just fucking protect yourself…

The Water Pillar Hashira watches you quite closely to see if you even attempt to stand up. You merely squirm to grab your sword and sit up but not stand. How could you stand with a broken shin and a stab wound from a talon going straight through your thigh? It’s rather unfortunate to have a demon tower over you like this, shifting its mouth wider and wider as it gets ready to devour you.

Giyu has no other choice but to cut down the demon. His skills as a Hashira beat yours beyond comparison. All it takes is a single second to behead the demon. You watch as its head lands right beside you. Already, the demon’s head begins turning to black ash along with its body.

You look up at your savior, and a mix of emotions flood you.

“I was supposed to work this mission alone, Giyu! What are you doing here?”

Giyu looks at you unsympathetically, but inside, his heart beats even faster as he takes in the gravity of your wounds.

“Saving you. I thought that was quite obvious,” he sighs as he returns his sword to his sheath.

You ball your fists up in rage, but the inability to stand renders your anger quite ineffective.

“The fight wasn’t over. You can’t just follow me on missions and then finish off the demon for me! I’ll never rise in ranks that way!”

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to become anything more than a Mizunoto if you’re dead?”

His calm gaze infuriates you even more than his cold words.

“Stop speaking as if you’re the decider of my fate!”

You find yourself looking down at your wound.

I was still alive. I could sit up. I had my sword in my hand. I could have still fought, you try to convince yourself.

“I think it’s time you stop pretending you’re this great Demon Slayer that can take on the world. Face it,” he kneels down to get close to you, “you’ll never be able to make it as a Hashira at this rate.”

Your drop the sword in your right hand with a clang and reach out to slap him, but all he does is grab your wrist with a bruising strength.

“If I hadn’t stepped in, you would have been eaten. I won’t let that happen. I can’t lose you. If you won’t take my offer and become my Tsuguko, then you will retire as a Demon Slayer.”

Giyu works on steadily tying your thigh to stop the bleeding. “You can think about your decision on the way back to the Butterfly Mansion.”

The dreaded journey all the way back to Shinobu’s house begins as the Hashira picks you up.

“You can’t make me retire, Giyu.”

“It would be easy to announce that you had died. All I would have to do is chalk it up to being eaten by a demon.”

Frustration riles you up, and you grit your teeth at him. “Then what? You’d keep me in your home and force me to play the part of a loving wife?”

“It looks like you’re smart after all. Hush now, you have a big decision to think about.”

However, you do want to keep fighting. You have a need in your soul to prove everyone wrong and prove to yourself that you can fight the good fight. In the end, you know what choice is the right one to make. Knowing Giyu, he wouldn’t struggle with locking you in his house. You know he wouldn’t be above chaining you up or anything of the sort.

After only a few hours of traveling, you huff in the Water Pillar’s arms as you look straight ahead. “Fine, I’ll be your damn Tsuguko.”

He simply nods. “Very well. Your training starts when Shinobu declares you healed.”

You can’t even begin to imagine the hell he’s going to put you through.

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