#they get married in Fall with all the shades of red on the trees cradling them in their embrace

[kieran-granola]

I promised @krizariel that I would transcribe this one next, so here we go for older JayTim schmoop.

Bruce's funeral takes place on a sunny June day. It's early, too early, but living life the way he did and getting exposed to so many harmful substances and radiation has consequences. Everyone in the Batfamily shows up, no matter how strained their relationship with the Wayne name. Some of them come accompanied by their partner and/or children, and some alone.

Tim is on the cusp of forty, settled in his career, and happy with where he is. He doesn't wear capes anymore, instead he helps train younger heroes. He loves knowing that he's doing what he can to protect them and to help them stay alive to help others.

Jason will blow his forty-second candles in a few months. He still runs a criminal empire, but he's gone to university and gotten a degree. He now has a network of charities that are absolutely fronts, but he runs them in legitimate, ethical ways that enact good in the community. He also has two daughters, one in middle school and the other starting high school, and he has kept a good relationship with his now ex-wife with whom he shares custody.

Tim and Jason haven't exactly worked together or kept contact in over a decade. For all intents and purposes, they're now strangers. They have, however, both had the opportunity to work through their issues. Tim, because it was that or dying, Jason because he wanted to do the work for his daughters.

On the day of Bruce's funeral, they sit together and catch breakfast. They're the first ones awake in the Manor after they all spent the night sitting shiva, and their old enmity feels so far away. They actually get up and reintroduce themselves to each other with strong handshakes all around.

They spend the rest of the morning quietly chatting until the rest of the house awakens. Then the day truly starts, and Tim gets to see how soft Jason has turned out to be because… Well. His daughters are here and, as fraught as Jason and Bruce's relationship was, Bruce definitely showed up to be as good a grandpa as he could be for the girls. His passing devastated them, and Jason is doing everything he can to manage his own grief while being as much of a pillar of support for them as he can be.

It's intriguing and bittersweet for Tim because it makes him realize everything he missed when he decided to keep his distance from the family outside of cape work.

Anyway, eventually the girls need a break, and so Jason offers to drive them to their favorite bookshop for a spot of shopping and ice cream. On an impulse, Tim asks if he can tag along, and Jason agrees.

The "new" face helps get the girls' minds off their grief more than the bookshop does. Jason is incredibly relieved when Tim plays into it and lets them ask their questions. Still, everyone definitely has misty eyes when Jason's youngest picks a new edition of her favorite childhood book, because Bruce used to read it to her all the time, and she wants to read it with him one last time.

Having these interactions opens things up between Tim and Jason. When the girls join their other cousins back at the Manor, the two of them abscond to the patio and share their memories of their own fathers. The conversation goes from there to happier memories—childhood foods, shenanigans, broken vases and finger painting—and they find themselves smiling despite their shared grief.

They enjoy each other's company so much that they share phone numbers and make a promise to just... Catch up again. In happier circumstances.

As the weeks go by, their texting history lengthens. They chat every time they have a minute, and it takes a while but they eventually find a shared free spot in their schedules to grab a beer together. It's not a date—not in any of their minds at least, not yet—but they both sense the potential there when they're looking each other in the eye, feeling light and happy.

Eventually, after many months of meetings, they end one of their evenings with a spur-of-the-moment kiss, and they finally put words on the dating they've been doing.

They keep seeing each other for a while after that, now as romantic partners, and they do try out the bedroom when the girls are at their mum's place.

Then, Jason asks Tim if he'd be willing to have dinner with him and his daughters.

(He kept things on the down low at first, and he didn't really advertise his recurring meetings/dates with Tim, but the girls could see the way he smiled at his phone sometimes... and how he actually went shopping for more than his usual boring suits. They're not surprised when he tells them he's seeing someone.)

The girls absolutely hoot when Tim shows up with flowers for them, and wine for Jason and him. They then proceed to grill him over dinner while roasting the absolute hell out of Jason. Jason retaliates with the worst dad jokes and the threat of baby pictures.

Tim has an absolute blast, and that's when he realizes that Oh, it's more than just casual dating. He's falling in love with Jason. And obviously Jason is serious about this too, or he never would have introduced him to his daughters as more than a distant uncle.

The evening keeps going despite Tim's momentous realization. Jason and him start reminiscing about their younger days and the girls give each other a commiserating look of "ugh" at the dinosaurs and abscond to their bedrooms. Tim and Jason end up curled up together on the couch for one last coffee, then Tim heads back home, feeling warm down to his bones.

After that first dinner, the girls keep asking Jason if Tim will be there whenever their dad offers to take them somewhere. They insist on inviting him if Jason doesn't, because he obviously makes their dad happy, and eventually it becomes natural to include Tim in the family activities from the get-go.

The girls know they've won and gotten their dad to stop pussyfooting around his feelings when Jason shows up to his eldest's hockey match hand-in-hand with Tim and introduces him to their mom.

(She's very amused and tells him she's heard so much about him from the girls she already feels like they're friends.)

But… Jason isn't the only one with kids who care about him. Tim, as The Only Cool and Reliable Adult in most of his superhero protégés' lives, ends up being a surrogate father to quite a few of them. It's not rare for him to get random visits from young vigilantes in need of advice/a hug/someone to tell them they're proud of them and doing good.

Jason: "This isn't fair."

Tim: "What."

Jason: "My girls barely threatened you, meanwhile Wonder Girl 13 dangled me off a building because she thought I'd brainwashed you."

Tim: "Don't tell me you're scared of my students."

Jason: "Well, I can't exactly SHOOT them, can I?"

Tim: "I'd be very cross with you if you did."

Jason: "No shit. At least that explains why you were so good with the girls."

Tim: "Hmm?"

Jason: "You're a father of twelve, Tim."

Tim: "... I guess, I am. Though.... More like fourteen now, I hope?"

Jason: "You'll have to sort it out with the girls, but considering they keep sending me links to jewellers, I think it's safe to assume so."

Tim: "Nic— Wait. What?? They want us to get married?!"

Jason: "No, they think you need a new watch. Of course, they want us to get married."

Tim: "...I've never been married."

Jason: "I have."

Tim: "...Would you be opposed to doing it again?"

Jason, putting down his reading to look into Tim's eyes: "Why, are you interested?"

Tim: "...Maybe."

Jason: "..."

Tim: "..."

Jason: "..."

Tim: "...Nevermind this was s—"

Jason, interrupting him: "What's your band size?"

#jaytim #kieran writes #tim drake #jason todd #rip bruce wayne #they get married in Fall with all the shades of red on the trees cradling them in their embrace

[vrishchikawrites]

Hello, this is the prompt I wanted to send you.

WangXian fic set during the sunshot compaign after one of their famous fights. They stumble upon an array that shows the future and It activated when WWX touched it. The array started showing glimpses of married and in love WX going on dates (yunmeng date), night hunting together, kissing, pillowtalks and aftercare, adopting children, teaching at the CR... YLLZ! WWX feeling jealous and bitter and not understanding why. The reveal that LWJ's husband is WWX, his falling out with the Jiang sect and JC's role in his death. Basically a fic where YLLZ! WWX finds out that after all these hardships he is finally going to be happy, have his own family and be with the love of his life where he is loved, cared for, respected and appreciated. And longing to have that future with LWj.

It can be a fix it fic with a happy ending please.

Posted on Ao3 here

Alternating POV - Wei Wuxian - Lan Wangji - Wangxian - A bit angsty with happy ending - Mature. Betaed by Moonyju.

I hear your heart beating in your chest

Wei Wuxian isn't the one to dwell on the past or look towards the future. He lives every day as it comes and faces every challenge without carrying burdens forward.

He has never planned for his future, not really. Some vague dreams here and there, but nothing real. Wei Wuxian learned at the tender age of four that the future is unpredictable. One day you wake up to your mother's warm smile and your father's gentle words. The next day, you have lost those things forever. Life has proven this to him repeatedly.

Future is uncertain, present is the only certainty Wei Wuxian believes in.

So, when he and the illustrious Second Jade of Lan stumble into an array while rescuing a few civilians. An illusion of sorts surrounds him, obscuring the real world outside the array. He doesn’t pay much attention to what it reveals. Instead, he focuses his attention on the array itself, carefully examining its intricacies. A single glance is enough to tell it is some sort of temporal array, a shade of what cultivators use for preservation purposes. But it also seems to have some form of an illusionary element to it. He tilts his head to the side and crouches down to study it.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls, almost in warning but Wei Wuxian is content to ignore him for once. Lan Zhan has always drawn too much of his attention and it rankles now more than ever.

Another quarrel, another needless argument about Wei Wuxian not understanding the depth and implications of his actions. Sometimes he wonders if Lan Zhan intends to sound as dismissive or haughty as he does when he confronts him about Mo Dao. He likes to believe Lan Wangji is above such petty things, but the man’s dogged refusal to accept Wei Wuxian’s path and his relentless quest to fix something that can’t be fixed is getting on his last nerve.

“Wei Ying,” He looks up at the sharp tone, meeting a pair of golden eyes in question only to be arrested by something akin to embarrassment tinting Lan Zhan’s stoic features. He glances towards the illusion and stills, somewhat stunned by the scene before him.

It is Lan Zhan. Or a version of him. He’s broader, with more mature features and a much sharper gaze. But that’s not the most astonishing thing, no.

Lan Zhan is… kissing someone.

It is someone shorter than him, with long hair tied up and away from a fairly pretty face. Wei Wuxian eyes the way Lan Zhan cradles the face and guides it towards his kisses, gentle and full of affection.

It entrances him for a moment. He can’t help but stare at the scene, taking in how Lan Zhan seems to lean in again and again, to press closer like he can’t get enough. His heart races and he doesn’t really understand why it is suddenly so…

“Wei Ying!” He drags his eyes away from the illusion and looks at his Lan Zhan, who seems increasingly flustered despite the relatively calm expression on his face. His ears are bright red and he’s pointedly not looking in the illusion’s direction.

He smiles teasingly, “Aiya, Lan Zhan, it looks like the older version of you is more relaxed.”

“It is a trick.” Lan Zhan protests immediately but Wei Ying dips his eyes down to scan the array again and shakes his head. There are several clues that highlight the array’s purpose clearly. Lan Zhan is no less knowledgeable than he is so he must see it too.

The denial is already fading from the Second Jade’s features and Wei Wuxian stands up, brushing his knees absently. He glances at the illusion and feels something strange pool in his stomach, something like dread, when he sees the pair again. Lan Zhan is pressing the strange person to the tree behind them, pinning her- no-

He peers closer, swallowing when Lan Zhan’s hand disappears into the person’s robes. Lan Zhan’s… companion is clearly not a woman, that much was apparent at first glance. But it is even more apparent when those robes fall open under Lan Zhan’s questing fingers.

Somehow, that feels worse.

He struggles to maintain his composure and fixes a grin on his face, “Well-” The scene shifts abruptly and Wei Wuxian barely withholds a gasp, his eyes immediately drawn to the older Lan Zhan’s peaceful face. He’s sleeping, his arms wrapped loosely around the same companion from before. The room around them seems like it is in Cloud Recesses, perhaps Lan Wangji’s home?

His eyes turn back towards Lan Wangji and he takes a careful breath, heart aching for some reason. He pointedly doesn’t look at the man’s companion and silently turns to look at the array again. The time element is solid, undisturbed and clean. More than a simple illusion, a clear glimpse of the future.

But…

He looks up and the scene has changed again. Lan Wangji is with that man again. They stand side by side and the man is leaning against the Second Jade brazenly but Lan Wangji doesn’t seem to mind. He has his hand low on the man’s back, a gesture that reads distinctly possessive. The scene wouldn’t be out of place in any family. There’s a husband, there’s a wife, there’s a child clinging to the wife’s robes, and there’s a young man standing before them with a smile that speaks of affection.

The array seeks to show people a glimpse of their future. Lan Zhan is seeing his life as a settled man of a good family.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t exist.

He takes a careful breath as that thought settles in his mind. He has always known his path is treacherous but something in him burns to see life move on so peacefully without him.

The world has never had much space for him. When he was a child, no one had space to let him rest. As a youth, his place at the Lotus Pier was small, surrounded by thorns. The space keeps shrinking and shrinking ever since he stepped out of the Burial Mounds. He imagines at some point it will vanish altogether and Wei Wuxian will be forced to vanish with it.

Melancholy doesn’t suit him but the ache of it strikes him powerfully now.

The sight of Lan Zhan moving on – they’re not even friends, what does he need to move on from? – shatters something in him.

He can’t summon a smile.

Wei Wuxian locks his jaw and ignores his racing heart as the scene goes on. The young boy saying something to Lan Wangji’s partner and the partner grinning in response.

Lan Wangji’s expression is soaked in affection, despite how stoic it appears. The corners of his mouth are softer and there’s a fond light in those golden eyes. Wei Wuxian has never seen something so beautiful.

He watches as the young man leans down and plucks the child off the ground and carries him away, both of them waving to Lan Wangji and his partner until they’re out of sight.

Wei Wuxian’s heart shudders when Lan Wangji discreetly pulls his partner closer and buries his nose in his hair, expression content.

Suddenly, it is unbearable.

He brings his thumb to his mouth, ready to tear into his flesh and disrupt the seal with his blood. It would take very little to get them out of here safely. Lan Zhan has seen enough good things about his life, there’s no need to linger.

No need for him to find out that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t exist during this peaceful time. He knows the man cares about him enough to be upset if he is lost.

Just as he’s about to bite into his thumb, fingers wrap around his wrist tightly.

Wei Wuxian looks up to see Lan Zhan gazing at him with wide, stunned eyes.

```

Wangji accepts what is happening almost immediately after Wei Ying shakes his head. He has always had a more intuitive understanding of spells and talismans. It is rare for Wei Ying to be mistaken in such matters.

So, this is his future. A glimpse of things that will happen a few decades down the line. Wangji is uncertain what to make of it. His ears feel warm as he witnesses the intimacy between partners. There’s enough affection written on his older self’s face to know the relationship is real.

He looks at his… companion. He doesn’t lack beauty. A delicate countenance, inky black hair, and a pleasing form. He looks almost alarmingly similar to Wei Ying, with only small differences. There’s an echo of Wei Ying in his smile and even the way he tosses his head back and laughs reminds Wangji strongly of the man beside him.

Only Wei Ying has never looked at him like that. This man’s face is flushed with passion, lips bitten red by his partner’s kisses. There’s a teasing sparkle in his eyes that makes his breath still in his chest for a moment. It reminds him of the expression Wei Ying wore all those years ago when they ran across the rooftops in Cloud Recesses.

How… is it possible for this man to be so similar?

He glances down at the array, trying to decipher what it seeks to accomplish. Wangji has never seen anything like it but there are enough familiar elements in it to deduce its purpose. It is clearly designed to show them their future, to create a sort of mirror that reflects images of their future life into the past.

Wangji tears his eyes away and turns to Wei Ying, a few questions already forming in his mind.

Wei Ying’s expression arrests him.

Wangji stills, unable to move his gaze away from Wei Ying’s face. There’s something bitter about his grimace and flinty in his eyes. He watches the scene with an almost animal expression, lips pursed in displeasure – furious – Wangji realizes with an indrawn breath.

For a short, heartbreaking moment, he fears it is disapproval, disgust for a cutsleeve relationship.

That impression doesn’t last.

Wei Ying’s hand goes briefly to his chest and something very much like open, raw pain crosses his face, wiping away the anger. The expression… is nothing close to disgust.

It is a short, unguarded moment and it ensnares Wangji completely. His heart races in his chest as several realizations happen in an instant.

Wei Ying is an ever-smiling sprite, mischievous as they come. He rarely shows any true sorrow and Wangji has only seen him show true anger three times over their acquaintance. It is easy to become convinced that nothing can touch the formidable Wei Wuxian. But standing there, looking at Wangji’s future with a bitter expression, Wei Ying seems shattered.

The expression is devastatingly open. In that instant, Wangji has no problem understanding Wei Ying better than he has ever before.

Wei Ying’s expression twists before every inch of vulnerability is gone from his face. It is wiped clean and almost cold, colder than he has ever seen Wei Ying be. He locks his jaw and brings his hand to his mouth, his movements stiff and sharp.

Wangji shoots forward, wrapping his fingers around Wei Ying’s wrist. He feels the pulse hammering under his fingers and his own heart races in an echo of it. Wei Ying’s eyes are sharp and defensive, hiding the pain that Wangji had glimpsed clearly before.

In contrast, Wangji feels almost breathless with elation, “Don’t,” he says, pulling Wei Ying’s hand away from his mouth. His hand doesn’t shake but he feels shaken. Wei Ying scowls at him, which is also something he has never done, “Don’t.”

“Lan Wangji,” Wei Ying says curtly, “This isn’t for me to see and we have seen enough. Let go.”

Wangji tightens his fingers, unwilling to let go. He studies Wei Ying’s face carefully, finding it unreadable once again. In fact, Wei Ying is uncharacteristically quiet, not teasing him about his future partner, not commenting on the cutsleeve relationship, not even mentioning his older self’s appearance.

The silence speaks loudly.

'Don't nurture foolish hope,' Wangji thinks to himself but it grows in him anyways. It is strange that a single glimpse of an unguarded emotion is enough to alter Wangji’s perspective so much, but it does and now he isn’t inclined to let the matter go.

“Don’t destroy the array,” He requests, “Something isn’t right.” Wei Ying should be present. The array shouldn’t focus on Wangji’s future only. He doesn’t know who the strange man is but he can’t imagine being with anyone but Wei Ying.

Is his heart so fickle? Can it stray from Wei Ying that easily?

It is unsettling to consider it.

“We can figure it out once we’re away from this illusion,” Wei Ying says, making a visible effort to muster his usual nonchallance but Wangji sees they way his eyes flicker away, looking at the couple in the illusion briefly before glancing down at the array like he can’t stand the sight of it.

“Wei Ying-”

“Aiya, er-gege, what are you doing to your poor Wei Ying?”

Wangji glances sharply at the illusion as Wei Ying stills, his arm going tense in his grasp.

The pair in the illusion are now closer and somehow their conversation is audible. The voice is strange but the cadence and rhythm is entirely Wei Ying, teasing, playful, pleasant.

Wangji’s grip tightens as he sees his future self pull his companion onto his lap, a spare Lan forehead ribbon in his grasp. It has the clan markings, it belongs to a clan member but Wangji’s ribbon is already on his forehead.

He swallows and feels the pulse beating against his fingers speed up as his future self wraps the ribbon around his partner’s forehead.

“Wei Ying must wear it for today’s ceremony,” His older self says and his Wei Ying sucks in a sharp breath, his hand going lax in surprise, “Xiongzhang has requested it.”

“Well, if Xichen-ge has requested it, this one must obey,” Wei Ying sounds… happy. And it is Wei Ying. The face is different but the smile, full of mischief and life, is the same.

“What… is this?” His Wei Ying asks, baffled. He looks down to study the array more keenly, trying to determine why the illusion looks different.

Wangji is hearted to see the stiffness of his features melt into curiosity, “Lan Zhan, why would the array alter my appearance and not yours?” He asks, no longer attempting to pull away from Wangji.

The illusion is still playing in the background, showing what will happen several years down the line. But Wangji isn’t curious now. The present is so much more interesting.

Wei Ying is looking at the array, the conversation in the background is cheerful, full of intimacy and affection, the pulse against his fingers is still beating rapidly.

There’s a flush crawling up Wei Ying’s neck.

Wangji observes. He sees the blush crawl further and settle on Wei Ying’s cheeks. He sees teeth digging into soft lips, anxious. He sees eyes flicker towards him, towards the illusion, before moving away.

‘How can I bear it,’ He asks himself and gives in. He pulls the hand in his grasp to his mouth, pressing his lips against the center of Wei Ying’s palm and closing his eyes.

---

Wei Ying fears his heart will fail if this continues. The lively chatter of a couple in love surrounds them and his Lan Zhan is pressing his precious face against Wei Ying’s hand, cool but utterly content. The feel of his petal-soft lips against the rough skin of his palm is enough to drive him to distraction.

He doesn’t know how to react or what to say. He doesn’t want to pull his hand away but there’s a strange, almost unsettling sensation low in his stomach, not unpleasant, but very unfamiliar. Wei Ying has flirted with people before but he has never felt any true attraction towards them.

But the longer he remains inside this array, the more he learns about himself.

Lan Zhan moves, taking a step closer, dipping his lips lower to brush against Wei Ying’s exposed wrist.

His breath trembles as he gasps. The sensation is almost sharp, knife-like. He feels his entire body change and respond to it. He feels his fingers curl, his hair stand on end, and his body lean forward.

There’s a flash of teeth.

“Lan Zhan,” His voice is shamefully raw, everything he feels is written in the tone of it. Lan Zhan reacts immediately and Wei Ying goes, helpless against him. Lips slide over his and a warm, strong body presses close. The kiss is harsh, full of tongue and teeth. Desperate like Lan Zhan has been holding himself back and has finally been granted permission.

Wei Ying sways in place, lightheaded as a tongue slides over his and licks the roof of his mouth. ‘What is this,’ he wonders dazedly. There are strong fingers around his wrist and neck, showing no indication of every letting go. There’s a slight popping sound in his ears and he absently notes that the illusion has dispersed but Lan Zhan doesn’t give him time to think.

He yelps when Lan Zhan moves a hand down his back and grabs him under his thighs, lifting him up in a smooth movement. Next thing he knows, he’s pressed against a rough surface and his lips are captive again. His skin burns wherever Lan Zhan has touched it. His mouth feels raw and hot when they pull apart.

He stares when bright golden eyes look at him, edged with heat that he didn’t think Lan Zhan was capable of feeling.

It takes a moment for him to collect his thoughts under that direct gaze but he manages, his bruised lips curling into a teasing smile, “Er-gege, how shocking!” He leans forward, confident that Lan Zhan won’t drop him, “Look at what you’ve done to your poor Wei Ying!” He lifts the hand Lan Zhan had kept captive, showing off the redness he can feel around his wrist.

Lan Zhan glances at it but there’s no remorse in his expression, not even a hint of apology.

Wei Ying feels a delighted laughter bubble in his chest at this new revelation. The reserved and taciturn Hangjuang-jun is capable of such passion! “My, my, who would have thought you’d take advantage of me like this?” He drapes his hands around Lan Zhan’s neck, bringing his lips close to a flushed red ear, “You didn’t even ask, just held me tight and took what you wanted. How bold! How shameless!”

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan’s voice is lined with warning but Wei Ying doesn’t care. He feels utterly safe, utterly content, for the first time in years. What can touch him when he is in Lan Wangji’s arms?

“Is it always going to be like this?” He teases, “Now that you know I am to be yours, probably your husband or will it be wife? Will you kiss me… maybe even fuck me, whenever you wish?”

“Be silent.”

“Aiya, Lan Zhan, how can I be silent now? You have awakened my curio-” Another fierce, biting kiss interrupts him and Wei Ying laughs, delighting in Lan Zhan’s eagerness. Everything fades, all serious and practical considerations hold no meaning. Later, when he is alone in his tent, he will think about how unreachable this dream is, but now he is happy to submit to Lan Zhan.

---

War progresses as it must. Wei Ying continues to remain on his cultivation path but his touch is a bit gentler now. He isn’t as ruthless as he used to be.

It takes effort and patience. It takes many bitten back reprimands and angry words. It takes months and months of careful questioning before Lan Wangji understands the incredible, breathtaking sacrifices his beloved has made. Not even Wei Ying can stop him from seeking out Wen Qing and asking for her assistance. Not even his brother can stop him from offering shelter to her family in exchange. Not even Jiang Wanyin’s bitterness can stop Wangji from protecting Wei Ying.

He does what he must because he understands. That Wei Wuxian, the one from the array, had endured terrible strife. More strife than Wangji can ever allow his Wei Ying to suffer.

Wei Ying will survive and thrive.

Wangji will make sure of it.

#short prompts #wangxian #wei wuxian #lan wangji #canon divergance #fix-it

[yejiroh]

Siren Scales & Village Tales

•••

For @chaoticyuna 's Summerween event!

Siren Gojo with a female reader.

Word count: 2.3k

TW: large bodies of water, bullying, blood.

•••

“The water was always murky by the bog trees, billows of dirt and sod and other bits always falling into the water by the pounds. Further down the dirt road that passes through the swamp, and you’d find a well, then a town.

“A merchant’s town, children waddled through the puddles that filled the pit holes- it wasn’t a rich area, despite all the good business. In the center of the town, a big fountain captured the sun’s rays during the golden hour- usually around 5 in the afternoon.

“Now, back to the well- it’s kind of important.

“The well, around 3 feet wide, was built of what was now crumbling bricks- terribly small, but just big enough to fall down; should you be unlucky enough.

“But there was also a rumor- as there is in every town and village. And, like other rumors that resided in other towns and villages, it was that of the supernatural. But in this case…

“Sirens.

“Sirens were fish tailed peoples with webbed hands and glowing eyes. It was said that if you ever heard one singing, you’d be inclined to bring yourself forward, to take their hand and fall.”

“Fall?”

“Yes, fall. Fall down the well, they would tell you. However, once in a blue moon, there’s a survivor, one who crawls their way up from hell and back to the siren as if they were addicted to their voice; coming back every day while the sun is still up, just to leave crying their eyes out as the sun comes down.”

“Why only during the day?”

“Well, no one knows. It’s just something that happens. Like a law of nature.”

***

“Don’t you think it’d be better to just relax once in a while? It wouldn’t hurt you, I promise.”

Despite all the reassurances of saying a story was a story until proven otherwise, better safe than sorry. And the only well in a 15 mile radius was this one. 

Curse them for being so cheap. 

Your hands burned from the rope as you dragged the bucket up, clear water sloshing around spilling out some. 

“Nanami, with all due respect, you are the last one I want to hear the word ‘relax’ from.”

Gravel bits dug into the souls of your shoes, some chunky enough to feel even through the rubber. It kind of stung. 

“Y/n, I’m going to be frank with you; mermen? They don’t exist. Neither do griffins, or hydras, or any of that fairy tail nonsense you’re always babbling about. It’s just us two, and old Mr. Gakuganji down the road.”

Sighing, Nanami adjusted his glasses, not bothering to wait for you as he loaded the last gallon onto the wagon, getting ready to go. 

***

People surged forward, coins and paper money grasped in hands before thrown at you two, grabbing at the jars of the well water. It was always like this, the town coming up to the well water like it was their life sustainer, and maybe for some, it was. 

“Y/n! Welcome back! Did you see anything unnatural today?”

A mocking laugh, a tall man tore his shirt off- Aoi Todo. Behind him, the Zen’in twins chuckled.

“Actually Todo, I haven’t. BUT, I do have something else to note. That well water you’re drinking? It hasn’t been boiled yet.”

Watching his face contort, a smile is set on your face as Aoi began to hurl, tiny worms and water with last night's feast falling onto his feet.

“Y/n! What the hell! Did your siren buddy put you up to this?”

“What happened to them not being real?”

It was the same conversation everyday. And, like everyday, you was met with a horrible answer.

Todo scoffed before spitting onto the ground, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“No man is every gonna want you, you stupid woman.”

“And if I don’t want to marry?”

***

As the hours passed, dusk came, bringing the stormy clouds with it- but it wasn’t yet raining. A ripple in the lake waters caught your eye- maybe a fish, but the fish weren’t in season, so it was unlikely. 

You shouldn’t have been out after curfew- there were rules for a reason, yeah, but what was the harm? Especially after dinner, where you’d only had time for stale bread; chewing down the more than stale pieces was troubling. 

The sands of the lake were dry, like all the water had been taken from the ground, pooling into the lake. Odd.

“A  law of nature? But that's so…”

“Boring? Stupid? Illogical? Aye, it is.”

Kneeling down, you dipped your fingers into the water. There was something missing from the story the elders told you, you're sure of it; no matter how many times you waved your hand in the shallows, not a single ripple- only from that tail you saw earlier. 

Something rumbled, whether or not it was the stormy clouds or your stomach, you didn’t bother to check. 

Dipping your feet into the water, a sigh of relief escapes your lips- a breath let go you didn’t know you were holding. 

Another roll of thunder- but something caught your eye; the tail again. 

It was only for a moment, but you could make out the colors and fin shape. Various shades of blue and silver and yellows, shifting in the light, and the fin, large and (almost) pillowy. 

It hit the water, disappearing once again. 

“Stran-THE HELL?

Digits quickly grabbed your foot, webbed and slimy, pulling you under before you could scream. 

Something pressed into your mouth- maybe seaweed? Bitter and salty, whatever it was was quickly shoved down your throat, forcing you to swallow. 

As clear as the water was on the top, it was far too dark and dirty underneath. The vice grip that had pulled you down was now dragging you deeper, the breath you were saving long gone with the swallow, your eyes began to close. 

‘Count the digits!’

A tiny raise of suspicion, you felt around for a limb, feeling up before coming to your wrist. 

Forcing your eyes to open, the tears that pricked at your eyes were quickly swept away with the current.  

Head feeling light, panic was soon replaced with adrenaline, and you raised your legs, knees to your chest, before kicking out hard. Your feet hit the thing holding you, and it let go quickly, allowing you a chance to escape. 

Already out of breath, you swam up as fast as you could, finally breaking through the water’s surface. You sucked in a deep breath, coughing violently as you wiped the water and dirt out of your eyes, hurrying to the land. 

Behind you, waves crashed, and the water of the lake that seemed crystal clear was now red and thickened. The air became heavy with the scent of iron, and soon the entire lake shifted up, sands and all, dragging you up with it.

“Now, now, it's not strange, is it? I think it’s quite the opposite. Normal even.”

You found yourself in the palm of a hand- or, in the webbing between fingers that curled in, as if to cradle you.

Finally getting a good look at the thing in question, it didn’t take long to put two and two together; the fish from the beginning, the thing that pulled you under...and now…

“I’m Y/n, what the fuck are you, and what’s your name? Also, you’re hot.”

And it was true. Big glossy blue eyes that seemed to be lashed by the purest white doves feathered around,the hair, just as white as the lashes, seemed to trail deep down, and looking down, you leaned over it’s thumb, holding it tight as you peered down. Purple scales glimmered all the way down. 

Two fingers grabbed your collar, picking you up, bringing you to face an eye. 

“You’re a funny little thing- I could just eat you up”-it opened its mouth, biting the air before laughing”- “I am Gojo. You’ve heard of me, yes? I’m a Siren...but I guess the more accurate description would be to say that I am this lake. And thank you, Y/n. You’re much too kind, considering I was about to drown you. Here, let me brush you off.”

As Gojo patted you down, your insides churned; it was much too fast, and to be frank, it was more like you were getting spanked. It didn’t help that dust clouds rolled off you. 

“Y-you-ow-’re a -OW-guy?- STOP THAT HURTS!”

Gojo laughed, smiling as you coughed and waved your arms.

“A guy hmm...I suppose I am. You’re quite big for a fairy. And what the hell are you doing near a lake with no wings?”

“Fairy? I’m a human. There’s a whole ass village down the road through the forest.”

“Human? Oh...Ohh, yeah that makes a lot of sense.”

“Are mermaids- sorry, sirens- -lake dudes?”

“Lake dude, siren, doesn’t matter.”

“Right. Are y’all supposed to be this huge?”

 Gojo gasped, a webbed hand on his chest and mouth hanging open before promptly putting you down, laying down himself as his lower half dissolved into water, the pit that was the lake somewhat there again.

“Big? You think I’m big? I’m just a small lake! You flatter me Y/n!”

Propping himself on his elbows, he rested his face in his palms, looking at you with a smile. 

“Eh, it wasn’t for flattery- just curiosity.”

“Still...well, now I feel bad. I was gonna eat you.”

“Eat me?”

“Yeah.” Gojo scoffed before looking down, glaring at the ground. “There’s this human who calls himself Todo- a real-

“Pain in the ass? Insufferable? Obnoxious? Egotistic? A liar?”

“YES EXACTLY- you know him?” Gojo put his head down, and you watched in interest as some of him crumbled to sand before promptly climbing up onto his nose.Tapping it lightly, you let out a out a small “oomph” as he rose up, eyes on you. 

“Yeah, I know him. He’s actually why I’m here now- kinda. The fucking jerk kept messing with me, talkin’ about how, ‘Oh, Y/n, did you see anything weird? A siren perhaps?’ and yeah, the fucking town laughed at me, but it’s okay, cause the well water he drank hadn’t been purified ye-”

Gojo interrupted you, waving his hands around in the water before bursting into laughter.

“The WELL? Not the one by this place I hope? Oh god, thank Yaga y’all purify that!”

Joining in the laughter nervously, you asked why, which sent the siren bawling into more laughter,forcing him to place you on his head so you wouldn’t fall off.

“Oh, oh my gosh- stop tugging my hair Y/n- that well water is connected to this lake- me! Y’all would have been drinking my piss and body had you not purified it! And I can’t have a pretty thing like you melting from the inside out and drowning in your own blood because of scales or something!”

“So...what I’m getting at here is...Todo is going to die if he hasn’t already? I mean, he spit it out, but he still drank a bit-”

A sudden burst of wind, you tugged Gojo’s hair again, holding on so tight your knuckles turned white. 

Gojo hummed, deep in thought before exhaling slowly.

“Well- no pun intended-, I believe he’d turn into a fish. At least, that's what happened to the last guy who did that. Man, he was a crazy one. Called himself Get, going on and on about how everything he consumed he could turn into. Weird shit, Y/n.”

“Turned into a fish but could shapeshift?”

“Ah yeah- you guys know magic and stuff is real right? Anyways, my body, as you can see, is basically this entire lake- not like a lake god or something. Once I die, this place will have never existed. Back to what I was saying, I have a strict ‘no-no’ policy. A little spell just so I could get more dinner. And, I don’t think anyone would want to just be a lake their whole damn life.”

“Huh...that makes sense.”

“Yeah. “

“So…”

The two of you paused for a moment, and you couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly; to think that sirens were only bloodthirsty monsters- well, he did try to kill you, and it was true that they were beautiful, but the fact that you were literally sitting on the head of one now- one who claimed to be small- it was entirely laughable. 

Clearing your throat, you crawled over, leaning down to come facing his eyes once again, poking his forehead.

“Say...Gojo, you wouldn’t mind eating Todo if he turned into a fish right?”

“Hmmm...not really. Why?”

“Just asking. I’ll drop by here tomorrow, yeah? It’s getting late, and I gotta make sure no one took my dumplings.”

And with that, you said your goodbyes, promising to meet again, you with your vial of well water and siren scales, and Gojo with a gold coin.

“Payment, my dear. Nothing is free in this life, you know. Hopefully now you’ll have some better village tales to tell now.”

#fanfiction #meena #x reader #jujutsu kaisen #fem reader #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x female reader #female reader #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu kaisen Summerween #Summerween #reader #self insert #jujutsu kaisen x you #x you #mr. yaga #todo aoi #y/n l/n

[chudleycanonficfest]

The Greenhouse

Day 2, Story #2 is by @zurisenchantedquill

Title: The Greenhouse

Author/Artist: zurimadison

Pairing: Neville/ Hannah

Prompt: Wedding & Proposal

Rating: Teen

Trigger Warning(s) (if any): n/a

______

The sun was setting in brilliant shades of pink and orange, reflecting off the grey cotton ball clouds that were scattered across the sky. From where she stood in the kitchen, gazing out of the window as she washed up after dinner, Hannah watched the burning sphere sink behind the hills in the distance, leaving in its wake concentrated rays of soft yellow light.

The gentle clinking of ceramic and the movement of water in the sink were the only sounds in the house aside from Hannah’s quiet humming as she finished her task, basking in the view. The cobblestone path leading to the front door was flanked by tall grasses and flowers that grew wild on the country hillside, meeting the edge of a small duck pond beside which the faded white cottage was perched. The trees, green and heavy in the height of summer, swayed in the delicate breeze that also caused the surface of the pond to be perpetually disturbed, the ripples distorting the water’s reflection of the multicolor evening sky.

She left the dishes drying on a terry cloth towel, preparing two mugs of steaming tea that she carried out the back French doors of the cottage. She followed a well-packed dirt path that curved around a large oak tree and traveled parallel to the ruins of an old stone wall, overrun by weeds, until it reached the foot of a modest greenhouse. The structure was the newest addition to the property, it’s base made of solid red bricks and the top still boasting a pristinely painted white frame with polished, intact glass panes. She could just make out the silhouette of a person moving inside, and unconsciously sped her pace. 

The door opened in her presence, closing silently behind her as she sidled through the gap. She placed the mugs of tea on the center table, pulling up a stool as she watched Neville putter around the space. She could hear the muffled music from his headphones, the iPod that her cousin had helped her set up clipped to the waist of his jeans. He was repotting a plant with large, flat leaves, though the patterns of the holes that’d naturally developed across its foliage reminded her strongly of swiss cheese.

He worked diligently, sweat dripping down the side of the temple and hanging on the edge of his jaw. His features were contorted with concentration, but even then, Hannah thought he looked more relaxed when he was in his greenhouse than in most other circumstances. She’d had the idea to get him an iPod after he’d mentioned that he sometimes struggled to relax in the quiet, like he was waiting for something to disturb the silence. 

She loved spending time with Neville in their new greenhouse, though occasionally she could hardly believe the string of events that’d brought them to this point. Despite knowing of each other since their early days at Hogwarts, Hannah never noticed Neville like that until the year of the Carrows. 

She willed herself to breathe deeply, moving her thoughts away from the terrors of that time and focusing instead on what’d attracted her to the man she shared a home with now. He’d been the most noble student at the school that year. He had an unerring moral compass, but was still patient and understanding with people who weren’t ready to be as brave as he. He was kind, he was adorably shy, and (she gulped as she watched another bead of sweat trickle along a vein in his neck and disappear into the V of his shirt) he was good-looking as hell. 

Still, she hadn’t been able to work up the nerve in time to do anything about her schoolgirl crush, and they’d gone their separate ways after the war. She was lucky that fate had other ideas, and within a couple of years she found herself the new proprietor of one of the most visited pubs in wizarding Britain. When he’d first walked through her doors, bringing with him all the old feelings she didn’t know she still had, she couldn’t let him leave without trying. 

She’d blurted it at him loudly when he was halfway out the door.

“Willyougooutwithme?”

The entire pub had gone silent, and she knew her cheeks were flushed pink. She’d waited on bated breath while he’d turned around, staring at her as though amazed. Her stomach fluttered at the memory of the brilliant smile that’d overtaken his face before he’d said the one word that’d forever changed the trajectories of their lives. 

“Yes.”

What followed was three years of dating, of dealing with post war trauma, of learning how to communicate, of reassuring Neville of her feelings, of being very surprised at how much he was willing to take charge when he felt reassured, of deciding to move in together, of choosing to live in simplicity in the country, of learning of Neville’s passions, of knowing when to stay silent to let him speak, of understanding when he needed her to push him, and of the realization of a singular, resolute truth she felt in her bones. 

“Hey, you.” While she’d been lost in thought, Neville had noticed her presence. He pulled his headphones down on his neck and smiled, wiping the soil from his hands with a towel. He crossed the space between them, touching her cheek gently. “What’re you thinking about?” 

She met his eyes, today a warm brown in the center that faded to a grey green on the outside, and she couldn’t stop the words. “Marry me?”

His eyebrows moved towards each other, creasing his forehead as he blinked several times. “What?”

She placed her hand on top of his, still cupping her face, and beamed at him. “Marry me, Neville.” She gestured around the greenhouse. “Let’s you and I make each other happy like this for the rest of our lives.”

His grin rivaled that of the day she’d first asked him out. He bounded across the greenhouse, leaving her alone, confused at the large table as he rifled around in the aprons hanging on the back wall, muttering to himself. 

“There it is,” he exclaimed, running back to her with his fist clenched tight. He sat on the stool in front of her, the look on his face reminding her of a child on Christmas. “Ready?”

He still hadn’t answered her question, but his excitement and her curiosity got the better of her, so she nodded anyway. “Sure.”

He held his hand out, uncurling his fingers so she could see what sat so proudly in his palm. The band of the ring was pale green, shaped like tiny, delicately linked ivy leaves that’d grown in a perfect circle. From the top of the ring a small flower seemed to bloom, yellow and icy, so realistic she could have sworn the petals might fall if she touched them. 

It was her turn to be surprised, and she paused for several moments as she stared at the ring. He waited, watching her with eager eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, and when she met his gaze this time, she felt a lump growing in her throat. “How long have you had it?”

“Since we moved in together,” he admitted, smiling at her bashfully. 

“Why wait so long?”

“I didn’t know if you wanted to get married.” He was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, though the other hand still held the ring out to her. “We’re so happy, and I don’t want you to feel pressured. I just want to be with you.” He shrugged, picking up the ring and holding it between two fingers. “With or without this. All I want is you.”

“Neville.” A few tears fell down her cheeks as her heart melted, and, unable to say anything else, she pressed her lips against his and pulled him in for a hug, burying her face into his shirt. Her voice was muffled when she finally managed words. “Let’s do it with, then.”

There was a pleasant vibration in his chest as he pulled her to arm’s distance and searched her face. “Yeah?”

She nodded, half laughing, half crying. “Yeah.”

“So we’re getting married?”

She held out her hand and he pushed the ring with slow, deliberate purpose onto her finger. Her heart was hammering, and she admired how it looked against her skin and how small her fingers were in his palm. Everything was perfect. 

She looked up, returning his grin with enthusiasm. “Does this mean you say yes?”

He laughed and swept her off the stool, cradling her close to his body as he murmured against her lips. 

“Yes.”

#chudley canon fest #chudleycanonficfest #hp canon pairings #hp canon romantic pairings #neville x hannah

[lordtraco-fanfics]

Aromantic Inosuke and Bisexual Disaster Zenitsu AND They/Them Demi Tanjiro Drabble PART TWO HERE YOU GO

Also on AO3

"Monitsu."

"Boar."

The two stared intensely at one another, both knowing this to be true despite the boar mask hiding Inosuke's gaze from sight. Neither one backed down or moved from their spot in the Butterfly Manor's backyard.

"You said you'd talk to them."

"I said I would. I never promised when." Zenitsu said, keeping his voice even. He blinked, slow and deliberate, keeping himself still as if any movement would imply wrongdoing.

"You've been avoiding them. Don't pretend you haven't."

Zenitsu let his gaze fall to the side, hearing that triumphant noise thrum in tune with his boyfriend's heartbeat. It was quickly smothered by rising anger, though. Dammit.

"Gonpachiro opened up about liking you and suddenly you're too busy for meals? Do you think they're an idiot?"

"Of course not!" Zenitsu grumbled low.

"Then talk to them!"

"I can't!" Zenitsu made fists at his sides, staring daggers at the ground beside him. He closed his eyes and let the tears building in them stream down his face. "I'm going to mess it up!"

"Mess what up?" came another voice that made Zenitsu freeze in place.

"I'll be over there." Inosuke said, patting Tanjiro on the back as he passed to go continue some training. Zenitsu didn't look his way, hurt from Inosuke's mild betrayal that led to him having to talk this out now.

"Zenitsu, if this is about what I asked Inosuke… I really didn't mean to impose." Tanjiro said, gently. Their voice was full of that beautiful sound that made Zenitsu's heart soar. Their presence made him feel safe and welcome even now.

The sheer amount that he loved Tanjiro scared Zenitsu. 

"You're not, I just…" Zenitsu let his arms sway lightly, relishing the sound of his haori brushing against his shirt for comfort. He hoped it wasn't perceptible, but knowing Tanjiro, he was probably already an open book. "I just… I'm scared."

"You're not alone there, Zenitsu. It's scary to be vulnerable with your emotions in this way. I'm kind of in awe of how often you used to do it!"

Zenitsu slowly moved his left arm to grip his right sleeve, pinching at the fabric to make more of that familiar sound. With his arm crossed over his body almost like a hug and acting as the tiniest of barriers, he braved a glance at Tanjiro through his tears.

The sun brought out the redder shades cascading through their hair so beautifully. Their face, so soft and kind, looked at him with nothing but patience and care. Those eyes were trained on him but didn't linger. Unlike Inosuke, who would lock gazes with him with an unrelenting intensity, Tanjiro let their gaze softly wander from forehead to shoulder, sometimes to his arms.

It was nice to have the reprieve. Zenitsu felt a bit less self-conscious about wiping away his tears with the knowledge he wasn't breaking some sudden staring contest. Yet another way Tanjiro made him feel safe.

Gripping his sleeve tight, he tried to speak. "I. I love Inosuke. I also love you. He said he wouldn't be jealous, but I'm still scared. I've…"

He cut himself off, looking to Tanjiro. They smiled encouragingly, a small blush blessing their face with more beautiful reds.

"I've begged girls to date or marry me before, but that was just begging to not be left alone. Like, fully alone." Zenitsu sighed, letting his gaze slide off of Tanjiro's face. Guilt creeping into his soul. Was it greedy to want more of Tanjiro? "You and Inosuke and Nezuko are my home. I don't, well, shouldn't feel like I'm going to be left behind anymore. And that should be enough, but my heart wants more and-"

Zenitsu felt a hand softly cover his that had been gripping yellow fabric tight to the point of trembling. Another calloused hand found its way to his cheek and wiped away the many tears he hadn't noticed forming and blurring his whole vision. 

"Zenitsu. It's alright to want something that's offered."

"I don't know what's offered. I assumed and got told my kisses were slimy. I don't want to assume anything anymore." Zenitsu said, feeling bad for his choice of wording. He held no grudge against Inosuke, but it still stung.

Tanjiro just laughed, earning a yelp and glare from Zenitsu. "Sorry, sorry, I'm just pretty sure deep kisses are supposed to be slimy? That's how mouths work."

"Well. Yeah." Zenitsu pouted a little, but it was hard to while his cheek was cradled so carefully and so (dare he say?) lovingly. 

"May I kiss you and find out?"

Fear shot through Zenitsu like ice to his spine and he instinctively listened for another sound not too far away. His gaze shot to Inosuke, who somehow felt it and returned the look.

"Yes you can kiss them, Idiot!" Inosuke yelled, letting go of the ropes holding the huge boulders that were hung over the tree so he could put his hands on his hips. 

Zenitsu flinched even before hearing the loud rumble to come from those rocks hitting the ground. He tried to cover his ears, but got beaten to it.

Warm, strong hands cupped his ears as the ground shook. Zenitsu could still hear it, but a familiar heartbeat kept his knees from giving out in his panic. 

Safe-ty. Pro-tect. Cared-for. Tha-Thump. The double beats of Tanjiro's pulse hummed like a soothing mantra straight into his ears. He could listen to the sound forever.

"Kiss, please?" He asked softly, opening his eyes and being blessed with the sight of Tanjiro's sweet smile.

Sliding their hands down from his ears, Tanjiro slowly came to cup Zenitsu's cheeks. They seemed to scan him for any sign of hesitation before pulling him forward. 

The kiss was tender, even if it was a bit short. They pressed their foreheads together afterwards and Zenitsu made a point to peck Tanjiro's nose with a tiny laugh at how red it made them.

"So you're alright with kisses?" Zenitsu asked.

"More than alright." Tanjiro rubbed both thumbs along Zenitsu's cheekbones slowly. The touch was almost scratchy with the lack of smoothness in their skin, but the sensation mixed with the almost imperceptible sound had Zenitsu melting.

Inosuke's familiar sound came closer and in the bliss of the touch, Zenitsu couldn't muster his usual insecurities. A familiar arm snuck under his arms and a hand went to card through his hair.

Predictably, Zenitsu slumped forward, his body supported by Inosuke, and his head supported by Tanjiro.

"So this is his off button. Use it wisely or he'll yell real loud." Inosuke said, massaging Zenitsu's scalp as he smiled proudly at Tanjiro. 

"Oh, I'll definitely keep that in mind." Tanjiro said playfully, laughing affectionately as Zenitsu seemed to drift off to sleep in pure bliss right before their eyes. 

"He's also most ticklish around the neck." Inosuke continued, "And sometimes when he's overthinking, nothing will help. You can always tag me in if you need."

Tanjiro smiled in gratitude. Inosuke wasn't one to share most anything, but with Zenitsu he seemed eager to! His smell was one of genuine joy, and had been since the moment he'd approached. 

"Are there any rules you'd like to set, Inosuke?"

"Yes! I get first dibs at cuddles if I feel bad, but you're always welcome to join. Also if anything is bothering you, say it."

"Got it." Tanjiro suddenly had an armful of sleeping Zenitsu as Inosuke pulled his arm away. They had to readjust to properly support him, but smelling that rare scent of calm contentment from Zenitsu made their heart warm. Holding him this close was wonderful.

"Just be you, you make everyone happy, Kentaro." Inosuke ruffled their hair affectionately. 

Whatever that made Inosuke and Tanjiro to each other, who knew. But they both cherished Zenitsu in their own ways and were more than content to combine their efforts. The three of them were happy together, that's all that mattered.

...

"WHO SAID YOU COULD TELL TANJIRO I'M TICKLISH YOU DAMN BOAR!?"

Being happy together and winning at tickle fights. That's all that mattered.

#aromantic Inosuke #bisexual zenitsu #they/them tanjiro #kny fanfic #demon slayer fanfic #can be read alone but is better with context #I'm doing it. I'm tagging it. #qpr inotanzen

[the-ineffable-demon-crowley]

A Bargain Struck

Mesopotamia!AU. Trapped in an arranged marriage, you beseech the demon Crowley to find a way to release you from it. He offers you a simple bargain, one that is far too tempting to resist. 

↝Pairing: Anthony J. Crowley (ft. luscious long curls) x f reader

↝Length: 6.6k

↝Warnings: Oral (f receiving), virgin!reader, sex, dirty talk, praise kink, sacrilege lol - this is not meant to be set in any particular historical place or peoples 

Cross-posted to AO3 here

There was once a man with yellow eyes and curling red hair. He had a sharp smile, and a smooth voice. He was tall, lithe, and lean, and mostly kept to himself. He had a small home just beyond the border of the town, where it seemed only the darkest of clouds would hover above. Rumours flooded the town: sometimes people would talk to him, and then they would disappear. Others would look him in the eye, then days later fall dead quite suddenly. Otherwise devoted husbands and wives would catch a glimpse of him, fall besotted, and renounce their vows.

Livestock would die. Crops turned turned to ash. Water turned to dust. Any unlucky turn of the wind, no matter how explicable, they blamed on him. They said he was a demon, a man borne of hellfire with brimstone in his soul, and the village would see no blessing from the lord until they cast off his wicked presence. Trouble was, there was no evidence of any of it. Apart from always wearing his hood up and hardly being seen in public, thus becoming the inspiration for many a children’s tale, the man was never caught doing any sort of witchcraft. People had long been burned for less, but everybody was afraid of him.

Truth is, so were you. But God had ignored your prayers for too long now, and you had to take things into your own hands. If He could not help you, then you would seek out someone who could. Even if you ended up in a great stew for the demon to gobble up, it would be a better fate than the one awaiting you now. There was someone else you feared more than any demon, and it was for this reason that you chose to follow the stories.  He was said to be called Crowley, and it was in his alleged claws you put your hopes.

So once the day darkened to dusk and the village prepared for bedtime, you slipped out, quiet as a mouse, and made the journey to his home. Having never been there yourself, your path consisted solely of the details you’d heard in stories. You travelled through the trees, thickets, and even crossed a small stream you remembered one person mentioning, once they’d stopped screaming about having seen a demon in the woods. You could only imagine it was Crowley, and though fear gripped your heart, your feet kept moving until - finally - you spotted it. 

Amongst the trees, a squatting little hut built of stone and wood came into view, with sagging front steps, and windows that looked blackened as though from a fire. You didn’t know if he could already hear your racing heartbeat as you tentatively walked towards the door, or if you were going to be a surprise snack that showed up to your door, but either or... it was worth it. 

You raised your hand and gingerly knocked. Is that what one does when visiting a demon’s house? Do demons have a sense of social etiquette? You took a step back and regarded the threshold, all rotten wood and gnarled vines. The cottage looked one wistful sigh away from tumbling. You waited another moment, then another. Nothing.

“Hello?” You called, tilting your head to try and see inside the windows. “D-demon?” The windows reflected nothing but your face, the blackness of the inside making the image as clear as a mirror.

You felt mad. If the man were just a regular old bloke, you’d be the one awaiting the match. Still, if you were right, it was too late to turn around now. Perhaps he was a more formal demon, you thought. You straightened your back and lifted your chin, and spoke as commandingly as you could, as though you were speaking to the house itself. 

“I am here to beseech the demon Crowley.”

A pause. Then a soft creak. The door then swung open quite suddenly, revealing a hooded figure as it banged against the limits of the hinges. The person stepped forward. A few long curls of red hair betrayed the personage underneath. You stepped back with a quiet gasp.

“Go on then. Beseech me.” The tone was almost playful in nature, but there was an undercurrent of power in his words. You thought it best to not anger him.

You swiped your foot back and began to lower yourself onto your knees. Before your legs could touch the ground, his voice halted you.

“No, love. A woman as beautiful as you should never be on her knees. Not like this.”

You straightened your posture, confused and flushed from his words. His demonic charm seemed to already be taking its hold on you, despite having only shared a handful of words and no knowledge of what lay under the cloak.

“I... am here to beseech the lord Crowley to release me from the bonds of my fate.”

The hooded figure was so still, you thought he’d magicked himself into a statue. Then you heard the smile in his words.

“And what fate would that be?”

You let out a soft breath, eyes falling to his feet. “An arranged marriage.”

“Brilliant! Do come in.” The man drifted to the side to let you pass. You tried to peer inside before entering, careful not to allow your foot to cross the threshold for him to pull you in before you’d properly decided. But you could see nothing. Just darkness.

A hand appeared from underneath the cloak, skin smooth and soft, and offered itself to you. Seemingly harmless. You took it tentatively, stepped over the threshold and let the darkness consume you.

The dimness was warm, but not stifling. Then, a few feet away from you, a spark. And another. Then a flame burst to life within a stone pit, and the room was bathed in light. You twisted and turned to try and get an idea of your surroundings, but it looked nothing like what you’d supposed. It was... grand.

The home was lavish; handsomely carved furniture bedecked in thick furs, low tables covered in spreads of foods you’d never even seen before on shining plates. Books and and small statues and curious instruments dotted a few stone shelves jutting out from the walls, with plants and herbs claiming every spare surface you could spot. 

You blinked and he was there, standing over the fire, heating something in a pot. The stew, you thought shrewdly, you were the last ingredient.

“Now then,” he murmured, placing the pot onto a stone ledge nearby. He tipped it slowly and allowed the hot liquid to pour into two matching goblets. The smell was warm and spicy, the smoke of the fire bathing the room in a haze. He stood, goblets in hand, at which point his hood slowly fell back.

The man in front of you was devilish and beautiful. The rest of his curls tumbled forward, a fiery red shade with undercurrents of gold. The yellowness of his eyes was even more striking in the firelight, but they didn’t frighten you like the stories said they would. He was tall and lithe; you could tell from the way the cloaked draped over him.

“Here. A wine of my own creation.” He handed you one of the goblets, warm to the touch, and you cradled it between your fingers as the heat traveled up your arms. Though you hadn’t intended on eating or drinking anything the demon gave you, the smell was so divine it was nearly impossible to resist. You tipped the cup towards your mouth slowly, the sweetness of the berries and the richness of the cloves and ginger flooding your senses instantly. You lowered the cup from your mouth, careful to not overdo it, and found him looking at you intently. Placing the cup on a table nearby, you sighed, ready to make your plea.  

“Please, I need your help to release me from this betrothal.”

“You do not want this union?”

“No.”

“And why is that, love?”

You sat down on the furs with a huff. All of the arguments with your family went swirling through your head. It was hard to pick just one reason.

“I’ve been putting it off for years. Now they want me to marry a man who’s... cruel. I’ve seen it, he’s an evil man. I cannot belong to a man like that. I simply want to live freely without the bonds of marriage, to love freely... I’ve prayed to God asking why I must do this, and he has ignored me. They tell me it is his will, but what of my will?” Your eyes widened and you placed your hand against your mouth. “I- that was sacrilege.”

“And beautifully said, might I add. But what do you suppose I can do?”

“Well, you are a demon, aren’t you? Can’t you... kill him?”

He laughed then, a warm sound showing off two rows of beautiful teeth. You thought you’d seen two shaped like fangs, but when you blinked, his smile had already faded.

“I s’ppose I could, yes, but I made a promise to a... colleague of mine- er, not the point. What’s to stop them from finding another bloke if this one dies? And I certainly can’t kill off every eligible man in your village. You lot would have my head.”

“Then I’m trapped?” Despair filled your voice at the thought. The demon shook his head.

“No, love. We will simply have to think of a more eternal solution.”

You blinked. “And that would be?”

“Give yourself to me.”

You stuttered, the words dying in your throat. A red flush climbed up your throat to your cheeks like the tongue of a flame. “Wh-what?”

“Give yourself over to a higher temptation, and no man, no covenant will be able to pull you from it.” His voice adopted a low, velvety timbre, and your thoughts swam as the warmth and haziness of the room settled upon you like a thick blanket. However,  you still felt clear-headed, so it hadn’t the wine affecting you so; it was the weight of his words that rushed over you like a tidal wave. “With your soul in my possession, you could not offer it to be bound in the sanctity of matrimony. Along with your mind, your body... Of course, your reputation might suffer. Not to mention your status regarding more... eternal fates.” 

“My soul in the hands of a demon! I’d be ruined for eternity... but I’d be free.” You whispered, fingers aimlessly playing with the tassel of a cushion. You fixed him with a hard look, your human gaze unable to penetrate the attractive mask that his face presented. His words were tempting, his face desirable, but he was a demon after all, and you’d be an idiot to take his offer at face value.

“What’s in it for you?”

Crowley smiled then, his snakelike eyes glinting in the firelight; he looked as though he’d eat you whole right there and then. You shifted a bit on the bundle of furs, uncomfortable with so blatantly desirable a stare. You’d certainly never been on the receiving end of one before. He still did not reach out to touch you, but with one word, his wants were clear. 

“You.”

“So you wish to possess me- how is that any different than a marriage?”

“Anybody ever tell you that you ask too many questions, angel? You’ll simply have to see for yourself.” He grunted quietly, raising a hand with long and delicate fingers. He touched your wrist gingerly, turned it over, and traced his fingertips along the exposed skin. You felt goosebumps pebble your skin. and you let out a shaky breath.  His touch was light, delicate, but you felt his power thrumming inside of you. It almost felt as though the blood inside your veins was drawn towards him and his heat. 

If you gave yourself to him, he would possess you, own you, mind, body, and soul. He’d turn out all hope for glory in the eternal kingdom, ravish your lust and tarnish your soul irreversibly. It was not that you simply assumed these things; you saw them. Images flashed in front of your eyes of heat, darkness, pleasure, depravity, want, satiation, and... protection. Freedom. A bond that would keep you and yet set you free. An unstoppable force. 

The images slowly faded from your eyes, but his fingers did not release your wrist. His touch was feather-light as the firelight threw shadows over your skin. Your heart was racing, and it felt as though your skin was lit aflame from the moment he touched you. You felt the edges of your soul singe from the hellfire he imposed upon you. 

“Make your choice.”

You felt like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf. Heart hammering, you closed your eyes and breathed in through your nose and out of your mouth to steady yourself. Your soul was rejecting this devilish influence, but your heart, your mind, wanted nothing more than to give in. Even your body had less than pure intentions, as you felt yourself grow hot between your thighs. Nothing else could make you feel like this again. Not for all of eternity, and it wasn’t worth letting slip away. 

“Yes.” You said, and the haze slowly began to clear. You found strength in that one word. 

“Yes, what? I need to hear you say it, love.”

“Yes, I give myself, body, mind, and soul, to the demon Crowley. I surrender myself to you.” 

The smile on his face was wicked, and his eyes fell to the smooth skin of your upturned wrist as his fingers made quick work of it. He traced a pattern along the visible veins, just for a few seconds, and you felt your blood answer the call, singing at his touch. Moments later, something began to appear. Rising from within your flesh came a mark on your skin; pink at first, then red, then you watched with bewilderment as the colour darkened to the deepest black. It was then that you recognized the shape - a coiling black snake. He released your wrist gently and you clutched it, cradling it in your other hand and staring as though it was someone else’s. You rubbed your thumb over the mark, but no ink stained it. No pain throbbed through your arm. No burning. It was just... there. As if it had always been.

You looked up at Crowley, understandably shocked, and his eyes gazed upon you, pleased. His features were so beautiful, yet chiseled with the intent to tempt unsuspecting prey. Like you. Even his hair acted as a temptation, soft curls tumbling forward from his hood. You fought the urge to reach out and touch them, run your fingers through them - maybe pull them, and instead watched as he raised a hand, finger tapping against his temple. The same black insignia marking his skin. 

“It’s... beautiful.” You surprised yourself, but honestly, it was. The detailing on the snake was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, and as you rolled your wrist between your fingers, you could’ve sworn the scales gleamed like a real snake. Suddenly, the tail twitched, and a slippery tongue lashed out, and you gaped at your own hand. 

“How-”

“Little bit of an illusion.” 

“Will other people see this? Will they know what I have done?” 

“No. The mark can disappear if you wish. But they will know, regardless if they see the mark or not.” 

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“It’s a mark of protection, angel. Those who would otherwise have ill intentions will be forewarned.”

“So they can’t force me to marry?”

“Not unless they’re ready to take on hell itself.” 

A feeling of relief suddenly flooded through you. You were beginning to understand what this bond meant; you’d given yourself to him, and yet you were still free to pursue your own will. If you had to be bonded with someone, you’d always choose the one where you’d given yourself willingly. 

You looked down at the mark emblazoned upon your wrist, a smudge of ink staining your skin. Like he used the ashes of hell itself to imprint his mark on you. You’d never felt safer in your life. Your eyes flickered up to Crowley’s, drunk with the feeling. 

“If my choices will now be wholly mine, I choose to take everything in my hands-” You straightened your back, fingers beginning to unlace the front corseted portion of your dress. It began to fall slack as you shifted your shoulders, revealing a white shift dress beneath it. “-including you.”  

Crowley’s eyes flickered darkly. He had never seen a human give themselves so willingly to the hands of hell, but you were something different. You were temptation incarnate, and it was time that you tapped into those strengths. With his help, of course.

“Not wasting any time, are you?”

The outer layer of your dress was now pooled around your waist, and Crowley wanted nothing more than to rip it off to avenge your hips for being so tragically hidden from him. He watched your trembling hands reach forward for him, as each deft finger unknotted the bindings that held his cloak together. You pushed it off his shoulders slowly, revealing a lean, lithe figure clad in only a tunic. 

“This will mark your downfall, angel.” He murmured, taking one of your hands by the wrist to stop your movements. The trembling stilled instantly at his touch. “There is still time to change your mind.”

“I said yes, Crowley. I want you. My choice.” 

“Then let it be damnation upon you.” 

His lips pressed against the mark on your wrist, then slowly moved up to your forearm, up to your shoulder. At this point, he had pulled you so close that you were nearly flush with his chest. His fingers were apt and skilled as they pulled off the wadded remnants of the dress, tossing it aside as though it offended him. You were left in a white undergarment, shivering, nipples pebbled from the cool air, though you felt like you were burning up inside. 

Crowley’s large hands cupped your breasts, and you let out a soft moan at the feeling. His thumb ran over one of your nipples. “So sensitive already, angel. I’m going to take my time with you.” 

You felt yourself grow wetter between your thighs, and an accompanying heat you had never felt before flared in your stomach. You felt an arm snake around your waist, and you were pulled to your feet. The outer layer of your dress fell from your hips, which pleased Crowley as he placed a searing kiss against your lips. Every touch made you feel feverish, which did not bode well for you once he’d had his way with you. The thought made you drunk with desire. 

He took you into the bedroom, a handsomely carved bed standing right in the centre. A few books and candles dotted the shelves, all of which came alight with a swing of his arm. You swore you would never get used to that. 

“Lie down for me.” Chills seemed to overtake your body at the sound of his low voice rattling deep inside your ribcage. Not wanting to remove yourself from the heat of his body, and yet wishing to comply, you stepped away from him and sat up onto the edge of the bed. You sank in the softness of the sheets, falling back with a soft sigh. 

“Enjoying yourself?” He asked with that same tone of playfulness. You smirked to yourself, allowing your eyes to close for a moment. 

“Isn’t that the point?”

The sudden feeling of his mouth on your inner thigh made you gasp. You moved to buck your hips at the sudden sensation, at which point he pressed his hand down against your lower stomach, holding you down. He kissed either thigh softly. “I realize this can be overwhelming for you humans, so if you tell me to stop, we stop. Yes?” You felt his teeth scrape against your sensitive skin, and your hips fought against his hand, seeking the heat of his mouth once more.

“Yes, Crowley.” You swore, eyes closing again. 

“There’s a love.” 

You didn’t know when he had bunched your underdress around your hips, but you had been far too distracted to even realize it was still adorning your body. Your thoughts were cloudy beyond the most instinctual drives: Crowley, touch, heat, pleasure. Luckily, he was eager to oblige. 

“Please, please, Crowley..” You whimpered, feeling his hot mouth draw closer and closer to your centre. You had no previous knowledge of carnal relations, but you’d heard so many stories of how stiff, pleasureless and lifeless it could be. So far, this was by far exceeding your expectations.

His large hands gripped your thighs and spread them further apart. You flushed, the heat from your traveling all the way up to your cheeks to colour them pink. He held them firmly, leaving all hope of preserving your dignity in the dust.

“Hm. Gave yourself over so easily, didn’t you, little one?” His voice was hot and smooth as velvet, just like the way his tongue licked a trail over your pussy. You couldn’t help the small yelp that escaped you, and you clapped your hand over your mouth. How embarrassing. Crowley chuckled wickedly, his tongue prodding against your folds, and lips coming to encircle your clit. Pleasure and heat spiked up within your blood, hips squirming from the overload of sensations. He held you fast, dipping his tongue in and out of you with practiced efficiency. You were beginning to quiver beneath him, fingers slipping into his flaming red hair. 

“Crowley, I-I-” A coil tightened inside of you, and tried as you might, you pushed your hips against him to chase the feeling. His grip prevented most movement, but he was determined to let you feel the extent of his prowess. His tongue encircled your clit, and it was then that you felt one of his long fingers slipping inside of you. You were soaked, you could feel it; he slipped another finger in without much issue, and he set a brutal pace almost instantly. 

Your back arched, fingers tugging on his hair. “Crowley!”

Your panting was the only sound in the room you could hear for a few seconds. You blinked in the darkness of the room, the candles flickering and throwing shadows over the walls. Crowley stood from his place at the foot of the bed, wiping his mouth with leisure. His smile was wicked. “Came so prettily, angel.”

You quickly sat up on the bed and tugged him closer by the tunic he was wearing, pressing your lips to his in a searing kiss. He matched the force and heat, overpowering you easily as your tongues battled. You could still nearly taste yourself on his tongue, and the depravity of such a thing nearly had you fainting. But his arms wrapped around you, strong and corded with lean muscle, and you remembered that you were safe here. He broke the kiss, his fingers slowly returning to worship your breast, fingers rolling against your pebbled nipple. 

“Do you still want this?” He lowered his mouth and enveloped the tip of your breast in it, and you shuddered at the feeling of his hot, wet mouth.

“Yes.”

He hummed. “You’re a virgin, little one.”

You couldn’t help but smirk a bit. “You know that, don’t you?”

“We-ell, I just can’t help but find it so... irresistible. Your tight little pink pussy, taking all of me in, right to the hilt.” You bit your lip at his dark words. “A virgin defiled mercilessly by a demon. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, love?”

“Yes!” You sighed, hips wiggling, eager to feel his weight on top of you again. He slowly began to crawl up over you, his arms caging you in as he hovered above you. 

“Yes, what? You know my policy. I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you to ruin me, Crowley. Defile me, ravish me until I’m screaming your name, praising you like a god.” 

Desperation began to flow through you, but you were too far gone to care at this point. Crowley seemed ready to give you what you wanted, and you couldn’t have been more eager. He kissed you again, his arms slowly slipping up the sides of your body until he reached your forearms. Gripping both arms, he raised them above your head and held them there. 

“Don’t move, little one. Or you won’t get anything.”

You swallowed, clutching the carvings of the headboard. One of his hands fell from holding your wrists to push your thigh down, and the other guided himself inside you. With one smooth thrust, you were full of him, hard and heavy and thick. Tears pricked your eyes as the sting pinched your most sensitive areas. He didn’t dare move, and his large hand came up to clutch your cheek, his thumb brushing away the crystal tears that hung from your lashes. 

His body covered yours, and he pressed his forehead against yours, absorbing your whimper with his kiss. “D’you feel alright?” 

You took a breath, the sting beginning to dissipate. Instead, tiny sparks of pleasure began to replace them, and your even softly bucked your hips to show your desperation hadn’t lessened in the least. 

“Take me.” 

“So ready to surrender your innocence to the likes of me.” He smiled, pressing another kiss to your lips. His mouth trailed down towards your jawline, towards your throat. You felt his teeth enclose around your skin, and you sighed at the feeling, fingers tightening around the carving headboard. It was then, when your guard had fallen, that he moved. Hips rolling against yours in a positively snakelike manner, you gasped quietly at the newfound pleasure that began to build inside of you. 

Your fingernails dug into the wood as he began to set a faster pace, his cock hitting you in the same delicious places as his fingers had. Crowley’s mouth found your breasts, and he enveloped his hot mouth around a nipple as your body shook from his thrusts. His long hair tickled your skin as he moved. 

“Crowley,” You groaned. “Can I touch you?” 

“Oh, yes. I think I’d much prefer your nails digging into my back anyway.” 

You smirked at his smugness, and your hands fell from the headboard to trail over his shoulder blades, angular bones underneath soft skin. He punctuated his next thrust as if to prove a point, and your fingernails dug into his skin. You heard him groan in pleasure, and his pace quickened still. You tried to roll your hips up to meet him, but it was impossible to keep up. He slowed down slightly to achieve the friction of his pubic bone rubbing against your clit, and you moaned at the feeling of it, still sensitive from his previous ministrations. 

“You’re so pretty like this. You belong with us sinners.” 

Your hands slipped up his back into his hair, the fiery curls feeling warm and soft between your fingers. You tugged experimentally as he pounded inside of you, and you heard him moan at the feeling. You grinned to yourself, finally having found a pleasure point in the grand demon. 

But judging just by the way he looked at you, you were his pleasure now. 

His thrusts were growing hard and uncontrolled, and you felt anticipation building inside of you, threatening to spill over at any moment. But something was missing. Crowley knew exactly what it was, and when his thumb pressed over your swollen clit, you keened into him, back arching to meet his chest. 

“Much better, innit?” He teased you, thumb rubbing slow circles as his hips rolled against yours. You were becoming a mess of sweat and moans between the sheets, hair mussed and cheeks flushed. Of course, you had been warned about your wedding night since the day you were betrothed, and you’d heard stories from the other married women, but nothing could have prepared you for this. Submission and procreation were the only things a woman was capable of, but not you. Not with him.

“Are you going to cum for me, angel?” He lowered his mouth to the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin, and the growling, gravelly timbre of his voice sparking heat in your core. 

“Mm-hmm,” You whimpered, unable to form words at this point. He was pleased at what he’d done to you, a trembling, writhing, blushing mess in his bed. The picture of innocence corrupted. And you were his. “Please-”

“Say you’re mine.” His grip on your hips tightened, and you groaned. His thumb on your clit didn’t stop, and the overstimulation was beginning to sting, but you could feel his hips beginning to stutter against yours. He was close too.

“I-I’m yours. Mind, soul...” You gasped as his thrusts deepened, one of his hands pushing your thighs down. “- and body.”

“Cum.” In desperation, you thrusted your hips up as best you could under his grip, desperate to satisfy the ache that plagued you. Once the word hit your ear, the cord inside of you snapped, pleasure and warmth spreading through your nerves like a fire. Hellfire. Heat sizzled through your blood, burning up any last hope of salvation as you gave yourself over to the demon. You felt the mark on your arm singing - there was no other word for it. A triumphant pleasure that came from within your heart at the feeling of being so whole in his arms. The pact was fulfilled; you had done the unthinkable, the irreversible. And damn if it didn’t feel good.

Crowley pushed his hips against yours once, two, three more times, his thick cock thrusting up inside of you, propelling your release further. Then his rhythm stuttered, and you felt him fill you up with his hot seed. He pressed his hips against yours, allowing you to milk him for every drop, then he collapsed onto the bed beside you. 

Panting heavily, you stared up at the ceiling, and you smiled. 

You felt him shift in the bed, and suddenly felt a cloth wiping at your inner thighs, slightly dampened. You found that you weren’t even surprised at this little trick, and began to close your eyes. His arms encircled you in a band of warmth, and you pressed your cheek against his chest, feeling the gentle patter of his heartbeat underneath. You were a little surprised to find that he even had a heart, being a supernatural being, but of course, he was still flesh and blood. That much was clear. Your breathing was beginning to even out, and your eyes wanted so desperately to close now that you felt safe for the first time in months. But there was something in the back of your mind, a sobering thought that threatened your peace.

“Crowley?”

“Mm.” He grumbled, clearly having nearly fallen asleep. Your fingers traced over his skin, leaning your head back to look up at him, jaw and throat exposed to you.

“Did you mean it? When you said you’d protect me?” Your words were quiet, breath barely escaping to tickle across his skin. You saw his eyes pop open, dark jewels glinting in the night.

“Of course, angel. It’s an unbreakable bond, not to be taken bloody lightly.” You felt his chest shift as he chuckled. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” 

The next morning, Crowley was still slumbering away. You had been awake only for about ten minutes, and spent the entire time staring up at him, admiring his features. His skin was pale and smooth, his jaw and nose angular like they’d been carved from stone, with his flowing hair spread out among the pillows. He looked every bit the demon he was, and yet with his eyes closed, his snakelike gaze no longer visible, he was just a man. A man who’d saved you by damning you. 

You slipped out from his arms and picked up your underdress, then followed the trail of clothing out into the sitting area until you were fully dressed. In the daylight, you were able to see the details of his home a bit better, and the opulence of its treasures were not lost on you. All sorts of trinkets that shined like jewels and books in languages you’d never seen stared back at you, and you, yet another thing he’d collected along the way. You wanted to stay here and take your place among the pleasures that Crowley had amassed forever, and that was exactly what you had to leave. Just for a bit.

The daylight was even more intrusive when you’d stepped outside, the white sunlight shining even stronger on you as though it tried to wash you clean of the nights from the night before. But there was no saving you now. You looked down at the mark on your wrist, and tugging your sleeve over it, headed back towards your village.

As expected, whispers arose the moment you stepped foot in the boundary of your village, the rows of little huts coming alive with whispers of people staring through their windows, even some stopping work in the fields some distance away as they caught sight of you. Crowley said the mark wouldn’t be visible, but it was as though what you’d done was written all over you. You held your head high and continued walking towards your home, ready to face the consequences. The only thing keeping you strong was knowing that you could run back to Crowley’s arms as soon as it was over. 

It was a fool’s errand to think that you could slip in, grab some clothing and essentials, and disappear before anybody had a chance to question you. It was even more foolish of you to think that your betrothed wouldn’t be waiting for you outside your home, calmly whittling a spear. You silently hoped it was for a hunt and not meant for you.

He stood from his seat on a nearby boulder, eyes narrowed either from the sun or from suspicion, you weren’t certain. You tried to maintain your posture even with every step you took towards him, but a small part of you regretted not telling Crowley where you were going. 

“And where have you been?” He spat at you, tossing his handiwork aside. His hands were large, just like Crowley’s, but they were not kind. You lifted your eyes from him, his overpowering body and his cruel sneer that twisted his features. He was still a young man, yet evil had corrupted any innocence of youth within him, making him look more sinister than any demon. “Playing the role of a harlot, have you?”

“I sought the consolation of a friend. You will have no reason to worry about me again.”

“No? And why’s that?” He grunted, fingers flexing. From your peripheral, you saw that most of the townsfolk had returned to their duties, but you also knew they were paying attention, listening intently to every word. 

“Because I’m not staying. I only came for some things.” You made a move to go into your home, only to have him grasp your arm to stop you. His grip did not hurt you yet, but you felt the barely restrained anger thrumming beneath his touch. It would be well within his rights as a man to strike you, but he seemed to be waiting for the opportune moment. He was egotistical enough to want a dramatic performance; the noble husband betrayed by the evil wife. 

“Where the bloody hell do you think you’re going, hm? You’re to be my wife and I’m not about to let my property leave.” His grip then tightened and he pulled you towards him, and it was then that you felt fear. Real, cold fear exploding within your veins. Your eyes closed and your body tensed. 

But his strike never came. Instead, you heard the concerned and frightened shouts of the townsfollk, and the world darkened behind your eyelids. You opened your eyes and looked at your betrothed, entranced. The skies had blackened almost instantly, heavy thunderclouds rolling it with sharp zaps of lightening. Red flashed within the puffs of the clouds, like the heated core of a volcano underneath the earth. 

“What- what is this? Witchcraft!” He bellowed, hand releasing your arm. It was then that you felt another pair of hands seize you, hurriedly but gently. As the thunder and the lightened rolled over the town, the winds tore through the buildings, shaking everything that wasn’t tied down. It looked like the end of the world. You fell back into a cloaked figure, the strong, warm hands a comforting presence. Crowley.

“Hear this now!” A voice boomed from within the shadowy figure, one unlike anything you’d ever heard before. Even as you stood behind him, unable to appreciate the entirety of the terrifying figure he’d become, you trembled at its power. “This woman’s soul is forever bound to me. Any man or force that threatens her being shall come to face the wrath of hellfire!” The thunder clashed to punctuate his sentence. 

Your former betrothed fell to the ground, agape and horrified at the vision in front of him. You smirked a bit at the sight of him, a pitiful worm writing in the dust. Crowley’s power thrummed you, the mark on your wrist coming alight at its presence. 

A wicked laugh tore from the demon, and with another clash of thunder and lightening, a bombardment of drums and flashes, you blinked and all was quiet. A small fire crackled across the room, and something delicious turned on the spit above it. A goblet of wine stood on the carved table below you. You were back in Crowley’s home. 

You turned around to find him, and in doing so, immediately found yourself nestled in his arms. You pressed your cheek against his hard chest, feeling the warmth of that aforementioned hellfire licking against your heart. His arms were strong around you, and his long curls brushed against your cheek as he tucked you underneath his chin.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was going.” You murmured into his robes. You felt him shrug against you. 

“Thought it might be a bit of a laugh.” He chuckled. “And I’d show you what that mark is capable of. What I’m capable of.”

“Well, I know what you’re capable of.” You replied knowingly. You pulled away from his arms and stared up into his green gaze. “Thank you.”

“We-ell, comes with the territory, doesn’t it? Now then, I’m making breakfast. Your things are in the bedroom exactly as you left them.” You nodded and removed yourself from his embrace to go and look through your things. 

“What happened? Did you kill him?”

“What? Me? Perish the thought!” You giggled at his outrage.

“We struck a bargain, you could say. He won’t be bothering you again, you can return to the village whenever you like.”

“Not a bargain like ours, I should hope.” You teased, folding one of your frocks. Crowley was quiet for a moment, but only for the second it took for him to appear behind you, arms wrapped around your waist and lips positioned just behind your ear. 

“Why, no. Ours is a sinner’s paradise. Reserved only for me,” He pressed a kiss to your neck. “And my angel.” 

#good omens fanfic #good omens smut #anthony crowley x reader #anthony j crowley x you #anthony j crowley #Anthony Crowley #crowley x reader #crowley smut #crowley x you #good omens AU #mesopotamia!crowley

[soulfood-fics]

Dearly Beloved Part 1

Happy Spooky Season peeps! I hope everyone's having a great fall. Here’s a little something to keep you occupied while I work on Oreo.

Pairing: Southern!Winston x Black!Reader

Genre: Southern Gothic

Summary: You and Winston are about to get married. His mother, a Voodoo priestess, doesn't approve and will do anything to separate the two of you. Winston loves you too much to let that happen and will go to hell and back (literally) to keep you safe. 

Warning: Angst (i think), mentions of blood.

Please let me know if you like it and if I should continue.

Winston wiped the bead of sweat forming on his brow as he worked in the field. The sun had beaten against his skin and the long day had taken its toll on his body. The only thing keeping him going was thoughts of you. His Cher. 

He couldn't see you standing on the back porch watching him in the distance. You could see his muscles caught the light as he flexed them. 

“I know what you’re thinking, Cher.” Your mother said, standing beside you and staring blankly into the field.

“What mama?” 

She knew about you and Winston. After finding the two of you together in his truck a few years ago, she’s been very supportive about your relationship. 

“A man that perfect is always too good to be true.” She was looking in Winston's direction as she fanned herself. “Lord knows his mother got no business getting him mixed up in her mess.” 

His mother was a notorious priestess, most known for using black magic. Winston wanted nothing to do with her and she blamed you for it. In her eyes, you took her son away from her. 

“Mama, She’s still his mother.”

“But you’re about to be his wife. You and that boy can’t hide forever.” After that, she made her way back inside. 

Standing out on the porch made the heat and humidity leave a dewy sweat on your skin, your yellow linen dress clung into you. Looking back out, you noticed Winston wasn’t in the far corner of the field anymore. You started scanning over the rest of the land looking for him, only finding grass and the trees scattered around the field. Panic set in when you couldn't find him, worried that the heat had gotten to him.  

Coming down from the porch, you began to search over the left stretch of land on your family’s property. That side had a river and a large weeping willow that Winston loved to sit under for shade. Sure enough, he was sitting on the bench he’d built for you under the tree.

There was no breeze, the thick heat made everything seem to stand still. You took the route closest to the river so that your bare feet splashed in the shallow water. With Winston in view, you noticed he was holding something. He played with small object cradled in his hands, then quickly stuffed it in the back pocket of his loose fitted jeans. The disturbed look on his face was replaced with a smile as he watched you, his grin widening as he took you in. Your brown skin welcomed the sun and the reflection of you against the water gave you an angelic glow when you walked closer towards him.

“Hey, lover.” Winston stood, reaching out for your hands, caressing them in his and bringing them up to his lips. Placing gentle kisses on the back of your hands.

“Hi, Winnie.” You were the only person he let call him that. 

“You know I love you, right?” Still holding your hands, the same disturbing look returned to his face making you concerned also. 

“Of course I do. Winston, what's wrong?” 

“It’s nothing for you to worry about, I can handle it. How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine. Winston, what's going on?” As your concern and confusion heightened, you snatched your hand's out of his grasp.

With a heavy sigh, he pulls the object from his back pocket. A small burlap sack wrapped with a red string. He hesitated before opening the bad, pulling the string slowly between his fingers. 

“It’s a hex. I found 3 other bags when I fixed the door of the shed and painted the fence.” The look on his face was apologetic as if this was his doing. “These are my mother's bags, I can tell by the string.”

As if the heat had increased, your blood began to boil. Resisting the urge to take the bag and throw it into the river, you empty the contents of the bag into your hand. Outpour several small figures and a piece of paper with your name on it. There was something else in the bag that seemed to be stuck.

“Are these bones?” Horrified of what you've found, you drop everything onto the ground. 

“You have to burn the bags to remove the hex.” Winston had become callous to his mother's plots against you. His only concern was protecting you.

He bent down and put all of the bags on the ground, when he stood he handed you a black matchbook. When you lit the match, the flame burned a deep blue as it dropped into the pile. The bags ignited and the growing flames burned from blue into a crimson red. And just as quickly as the fire began, it came to an abrupt stop. Leaving no sign that the blaze even started. No smoke, no scorched fabric. Even the grass underneath seemed to be untouched by the flames.

“Get inside the house and lock all the doors and windows,” Winston mumbled under his breath.

The rigid tone of his words let you know something was wrong. He began to pace around the bags with his jaw clenched, furiously rubbing his head, searching for an answer to what just happened. The man you knew to be doubtless and unshakable was practically trembling as you watched him. 

“Winston, what was that?”

“Why are you still standing here?” 

The fear showed on his face and in his voice, something you've never seen from him before and it startled you. The urgency of his words made your feet move. Backing away from where he stood you started towards the house. Less than halfway to the back porch, you felt a tearing pain in your chest. As if your heart was being ripped from your chest. 

Looking down at your body you noticed red welts forming on your breast. The skin breaking slightly just when the pain in your chest burned the most. Opening your mouth to scream for Winston, you were shocked when nothing came out. The more you struggled to cry out for help, the more pain you felt. When you turned back to where Winston stood, he saw the lines of blood running down your chest.

The pain was too intense and your body gave in before he could reach you. Winston watched your body collapse as he ran. Just as your consciousness slipped away, you heard him call you. 

“Cher “. 

#dearly beloved #fanfiction #winston duke x reader #winston duke x black!reader #southern winston

[yukheii]

first loves

× genre and warnings :: husband!yoongi + wife!reader, married au, parents au, fluff, mentions of min holly [gif cr.]

× notes :: refer to this post to read more abt min yeona (my oc mini min); this was a combination of two requests that were originally for reactions/scenarios, but i thought it worked better like this

× précis :: five times min yoongi learns to fall in lover all over again

i. first messes

Yoongi should have known better, but in his defense, he didn’t think anything this catastrophic could have happened in the two minutes he had slipped away to the bathroom.

But as he stands in the doorway leading to the kitchen, he finds at least thirteen things wrong with the picture in front of him; at least ten of which could have been prevented if he could hold his bladder better.

“Baby girl,” he starts slowly, stepping over a puddle of—is that an egg? “What happened?”

The four-year-old sits on the tiled floor, covered head to toe in a mixture of strawberries, bananas, yogurt, flour, and orange juice, with something with an uncomfortable, sticky-looking texture stuck between her fingers. Yeona points to the counter top and Yoongi turns to find the root, or at least one of the roots of the many issues: an uncovered blender and open carton of eggs.

He blinks before turning back to the child on the ground. She looks down at the messy floor—and Yoongi knows that pout like the back of his hand.

He sighs, crouching down to her level and pushing her dirty hair out of her face, “It’s okay, baby, it was an honest mistake.”

But her disappointed resolve doesn’t fade away at her father’s words, “I messed up mama’s breakfast.”

“Hey, no you didn’t,” he says, encouraging her to stand to her feet, “Do you know how many times your Uncle Jimin and Taehyung have done this before?”

That gets her laugh, the image of her uncles fumbling around a kitchen amusing. “Uncle Chim is really clumsy, dad.”

“He sure is,” Yoongi agrees, “It’s my fault, too, baby. I should have been there to help you.”

“No! You didn’t do anything wrong, daddy!” She exclaims, dark eyes going wide at Yoongi’s self-accusation.

“How about this then: I won’t blame myself if you won’t,” Yoongi extends a pinky finger, “Deal?”

Missing teeth and gums beam at him as a small pinky is linked with his. Yoongi nods, “Come on, let’s get you and the kitchen cleaned up before mom gets home, yeah?”

ii. first kisses

Yoongi would never admit it, but Yeona definitely got her possessive side from him. She was a carbon copy of her father when tired; shamelessly clingy and in need of your undivided care. Yoongi usually relished in the unabashed attention from his daughter, except when she used her pre-napping phase to stake her claim over you. 

He comes home from work to find you and a six-month-old Yeona laying on the couch, and her new favorite Disney movie on the month on the television. Yoongi leans downwards to give you a kiss, but is instead met with a small, chubby hand to his lips.

He blinks his eyes open, stunned to see that his kiss was intercepted by none other than his own daughter. And that you had the audacity to find it funny.

“Oh?” He raises a dark eyebrow before tugging his lips into a smirk. He leans past her barrier, kissing your cheek with a sorry-not-sorry look in his eyes.

And Yeona goes ballistic. Her nose scrunches in an all too familiar manner, bottom lip protruding noticeably and muffled growls leaving her mouth.

She shimmies her way up your chest, grabs your face between tiny fingers, and presses a wet kiss just below your bottom lip.

Yoongi laughs wholeheartedly, but he has to hand it to her when she mimics his glare: all’s fair in love and war.

iii. first unscheduled checkup

“Okay, hyung, don’t freak out, but me and Namjoon are at the hospital with Yeona right now—don’t freak out—because there was a little incident—don’t freak out—but she’s gonna be okay, so don’t freak—”

“Tell me not to freak out one more fucking time and I’ll castrate you with my own two hands, Hoseok.”

“So you’re mad. Understandable,” Hoseok says, wincing away from the phone when Yoongi growls in response.

“You have five seconds to tell me what you two idiots did to my daughter and then you better fucking hope she’s okay, or I’ll have your heads.”

Hoseok eyes Namjoon with his bottom lip between his teeth. They were so screwed. “Funny story, actually, so, we think Yeona might be allergic to nuts.”

“Might be?”

“Yeah, so—um, actually, I’m going to let Namjoon, explain,” Hoseok hurries, handing the phone to Namjoon.

He tries to reject, but sighs when the device is shoved into his hands. Reluctantly, he brings it to his ear, taking a deep breath, but Yoongi speaks before he can, “Save it. Just text me the name of the hospital and pray I don’t murder you when I get there.” 

Twenty minutes and a few run red lights later, Yoongi is bursting through the doors to the pediatric floor. He doesn’t care about the old woman at reception yelling about no running in the halls, or the other parents eyeing him for marching past the waiting room like he owned the place. His baby was in there somewhere and he was going to get to her. 

“Yeo—oh, my baby,” Yoongi coos, frantic as he comes to the side of the hospital bed, stroking the girl’s face. Angry red bumps litter her neck, her cheeks are puffier than usual, and her mouth looks irritated, but Yoongi is relieved. She’s okay, his baby girl is okay. 

“I’m fine, daddy,” she smiles with swollen lips, “Uncle Hoseokie ran with me all the way here when I started itchin’.”

“I know baby, daddy was just worried about you,” Yoongi nods, cradling her head with tears threatening to fall, “How do feel? Does anything hurt? Is your throat okay, love?”

She nods, cubby cheeks lifted as she beams and tells him she’s okay, “They gave me a shot though, but I was a big girl and I didn’t cry at all! Uncle Namjoonie was there, he saw!”

Yoongi smiles back and kisses her head, “My brave little girl.” 

He’d forgotten that Hoseok and Namjoon were there until he hears an awkward cough from the corner of the room. “We’re sorry, we didn’t know,” Hoseok apologies, “And when she started coughing and said she couldn’t breathe we didn’t know what was wrong, and I swear I ran here as fast as I could to—”

Yoongi sighs, “It’s fine, Hoseok, I didn’t know either. We’ve had peanuts around the house forever and she’s never reacted to it.”

“The doctor said she’s allergic to tree nuts,” Namjoon speaks, “We gave her pistachio ice cream, that’s why she had a reaction to it.”

Yoongi nods, making a mental note to get rid of anything pistachio flavored within a mile radius of his house. Tree nuts were stupid anyway.

“They gave me this pretty bracelet, daddy, look!” Yeona interjects, flashing the sliver bracelet to signal her allergies. Yoongi smiles, “It’s beautiful, baby. I’ll get you one in every color to match all your outfits, okay?”

“Uh, hyung?” Hoseok calls, pulling Yoongi’s attention away from her, “You should probably call ____.”

Too caught up in his rush to the hospital, Yoongi hadn’t been thinking of anyone or anything besides his potentially dying daughter. His face pales three shades when he realizes he hasn’t so much as texted you to tell you that your child was currently hospitalized with a newfound allergy to tree nuts; something a mother should probably (definitely) know about. 

“Oh no,” Yoongi shakes his head, “That’s your death sentence, not mine.”

“Is mama gonna be mad?” Yeona asks, looking up at her father.

“Not at you baby,” Yoongi shakes his head, “But say a prayer for your uncles.”

iv. first time away from home

Comeback season sucks. Performing is fun, but the awards don’t make up for the constant traveling, endless recording, and repetitive interviews; and to top off the shitshow, they’re promoting in Japan for the first time in three years, which means Yoongi doesn’t get to see you or his precious daughter for almost a month.

He’s frustrated with everyone and doesn’t have it in him to be around too many people, so the second they’re finished recording for the day, he makes a beeline for his hotel room, locks the door, chucks his phone on the desk, kicks off his shoes, and plops the fuck down on the bed.

Comeback season really fucking sucks.

Everywhere he goes, he thinks of you two. From the food to the buildings, he finds something he’d think you and Yeona would like. And he thinks of how much more he’d enjoy being here if he had you two by his side.

When he’s finally started to doze off to rid himself of missing you two too much, his phone starts vibrating, multiple text messages coming to his attention. He groans, rolling over to grab the phone. It was probably the maknaes, they’d said something about wanting to go out to dinner to celebrate their latest win, but Yoongi just wanted to sleep.

He picks up his phone, thumb already hovering over the power button to turn it off, when the notifications catch his eye. It’s in fact, not the maknaes blowing up his phone, but you, instead.

His resolve washing away, he presses his thumb to the home button to unlock it and reveal the messages. When he opens them, an immediate smile tugs at his lips.

A video of you, Holly, and his baby girl, all wearing matching outfits and smiles.

“Okay, are you ready to film the video for daddy?” you say, readjusting the angle so that Yeona can be seen. She nods excitedly, petting Holly before speaking, “We hope you’re having fun, daddy! We miss you!”

Holly barks as if to say he agrees. Yoongi’s on the brink of tears.

“Good luck with promotions!” you chime in, “We love you!”

“Daddy’s in Japan, right?” Yeona asks, looking up at you. You nod and her face lights up and she takes the phone from you, holding the camera close to her face, “Oh, bring back mochi for me and Holly, daddy!”

“What’s the magic word?” you scold lightly from off-screen.

“Please bring back strawberry mochi,” she repeats, then whispers, “It’s not really for Holly, it’s secretly all for me, but don’t tell mommy. Bye!”

Yoongi chuckles as the video comes to an end, and saves it to his camera roll. He sends you back hearts before falling back on the bed with his head to a pillow, and slips into sleep with a genuine smile on his lips.

Comeback seasons sucks, but coming home to you guys is going to feel really great.

v. first steps

Yoongi is alone with her when she takes her first steps (and you’re a little pissed that you’ve missed such an occasion due to work, but are nonetheless happy and proud of your baby girl).

A soft thud grabs Yoongi’s attention, pulling him away from his morning newspaper and drawing his attention to the baby sat on the carpet a few feet in from of him. She giggles after stumbling to the ground again, all gum. Yoongi laughs with her.

She’s been determined to learn to how to walk these past few days, and while Yoongi was in full support of her efforts, he was beginning to wonder if her bottom would bruise.

The eleven month old stares at the base of her father’s leg, eyeing the brown plush Shooky next to it. She makes grabby hands and leans forward. Yoongi glances between the babe and the pillow, smiles with a raised eyebrow, and picks it up.

He waves it in his hand, and Yeona looks up at him, eyes full, dark, and determined—challenged accepted.

She shifts to all fours, pushing her body up with her stands and steadies herself on both feet. She wobbles, nearly toppling over, but manages to lift one leg in front of the other to take a small step. She wavers, left foot in front of right; she looks to her chubby feet, then the doll in her dad’s hand.

Yoongi shakes the plush again, egging her on, and with a focused nose scrunch, Yeona takes another step, and another, and another. And a few more before she becomes wobbly at his feet, and he swoops her in his arms before she hits the carpet again.

He sits her on his lap and gives her the pillow as a reward. Yoongi kisses her cheek and she seems to clap at her own accomplishment, “That’s my baby girl.”

#bangtannet #bts scenarios #bts reactions #bts fake texts #bts dad au #bts smut #yoongi scenarios #suga scenarios #m:yoongi #au:dad #c:p&p

[des-does-art]

A Demigod’s Scars

Title: A Demigod’s Scars (IchiRuki Month Fanfic)

Written by: Des-Does-Art (a.k.a. Turtleninjaof-theday)

Summary: The goddess of the forest, Rukia, finds Ichigo, a demigod, sitting under her tree, and she feels the need to stay close to him and protect him.

    Rukia Kuchiki straddled the branch she sat on and leaned over it to protect her image from the mortal walking toward her forest covered mountain. Her chest rubbed uncomfortably at the wood’s wiry, tough texture, making her floral dressed breasts pinch. A flower fell from her floral onesie, and the golden silk worms that followed her around spun a silk cloth to wrap around her. The silk worms were a gift from the goddess of love, and the floral crown was a gift from the god of virtue. Such lavish gifts helped her blend in with the colorful leaves surrounding her being; it was the season of fall, after all.

    She admired the way he walked with such confidence, all wrapped in his tanned skin and orange hair. The purple of his clothes was a bit worn, but the cloth still shined in places where the world hadn’t touched it yet. His shoes were peculiar; they were browned with bits of silver shining in the cracks and bends of his toes. Narrowing her eyes, Rukia realized that his skin emanated a bright color, brighter than her own. Wherever his skin peeked, it seemed as if his skin was aglow with precious gold, all the radiance culminating at his orange hair.

    “Hello, goddess of the forest,” came a sudden but familiar voice.

    Not jumping nor looking at Renji, the god of the hunt, Rukia ignored the red headed deity in favor of continuing to watch the strange mortal below. Renji wore only a lavish red cloth around his hips and a bow around his chest. He folded his arms as he walked forward with ease, his footsteps silent upon the branches. Like his silver glowing skin, his tattoos burned a bright rose color, putting the fall leaves to shame.

    The mortal was sitting at the base of the biggest tree, Rukia’s favorite. His clothes were crunched up and appearing to fall off of his figure, further revealing the golden aura. A tingle went up Rukia’s spine, so she looked over her shoulder to see the other god staring at her backside from a very close distance. She grimaced. “You’re being annoying, Renji. Leave.”

    “We’re betrothed,” defended Renji. He stepped on the next branch over and plopped down on it to sit against the trunk. His left leg swung idly, while his arm rested on his other knee. Rukia was glaring at him now. “At some point, goddess, you’ll have to come back to Silver Peak and marry me with your father as witness. Then, you’ll have no reason to complain about my presence. You’d come to love it, I’m sure, especially when we’re alone.”

    “You and my father are very funny,” bit Rukia as her face heated. She sat up and swung her leg over the edge. “Besides, a man whose heart I see with dark intentions has no place between my loins nor a place at my side.” With that, she slipped off the branch and landed on the balls of her feet. The cool breeze came through the trees, rustling the leaves and carrying a few petals toward the stranger sitting at her tree.

    “There are no dark intentions!” came Renji’s reply as he landed only a few feet beside her.

    “My father is Lord of the Gods,” Rukia explained as she still gazed over at the mortal. “Your purpose is clear as day. If we wed, you’d become the next Lord with free reign to do as you pleased.” From the corner of her eye, she could see Renji gaping at her with incredulous surprise. “Not to mention I’ve seen your wandering eye at the parties and your inability to keep your hands off of me. Your playing the suitor role only fooled the foolish, not me.”

    “You think you can defy our bond?” challenged Renji. He eyed Rukia’s focused eyes and observed the object of her fascination. He grunted loudly upon seeing the other man, who he quickly assessed was fair in the face and strong in the body. He quickly questioned if she’d be so foolish to take a mortal, to leave him for a mortal. The thought pulled at his chest. “I see the way you’re looking at this man. I could mount this mortal’s head on my wall, and you could gaze at him all you wished.”

    Rukia ignored him and walked onward to follow her petals, which had caught the man’s attention. “I can see his heart,” she whispered upon feeling the other’s energy radiating like a heated fire. For a moment, she wanted to weep as the golden aura reached out more toward her. The shade of the forest appeared darker around him as he brightened the ground and bark of the tree with just his curious eyes alone. Her violet eyes glowed in response to his. “He’s so pure.” A discomforting sense entered her; it had to be Renji. She shrugged her arm away in time to avoid the oncoming heat and grip of Renji’s hand.

    Looking at Renji with narrowed eyes, she hissed, “Leave.” Then, she stepped away toward her tree. With just one look, her gaze locked with the mortal’s, making her relax with a curling feeling inside. More than before did she want to shed tears. None of it made sense to her as she held back from falling to her knees and crying a new river.

    The flowers surrounding her body continued to flow, and the golden silk worms continued to spin their magical thread to cover what the flowers couldn’t. Renji’s presence was suddenly gone, but Rukia didn’t care that he’d complain to her father about her actions. The only one in her sight was all that mattered.

    “Who are you?” he asked as he cradled the petals, which were reset in complete living flowers, in his hands with care. He had a bag sitting beside him; its nearly empty state mirrored the man’s waist.

     She questioned if the petals fell the way they appeared in Ichigo’s hand. Something was off about him, but Rukia thought nothing of it. Sucking at her bottom lip, Rukia brushed aside a lock of her hair and replied, “I am goddess of the forest, Rukia Kuchiki.” She stepped closer and knelt before him to offer an apple that manifested in her hand. “Take it.”

    Ignoring the apple, the human scrambled to his knees and bowed to her, making Rukia take a sudden step back to stand tall before him. She held the apple with both hands as she watched him stay in his position before sitting on his calves. “I am humbled that you’d offer me food,” he said. “My name…” He looked up at Rukia, his brown eyes wide as they gazed deep into Rukia’s. “My name is Ichigo.”

    Smiling as gently as she could, Rukia took Ichigo’s hands, which were rough and scarred, and placed the apple there. Looking him over, she realized that his skin was covered in what were considered imperfections. Scars and tears that were healed over in heaps of new skin could be seen from just under the purple cloth. She frowned.

    “What happened to you?” asked Rukia as she settled to her knees in front of him.

    A sudden look of bewilderment overtook Ichigo’s features. He traced Rukia’s former gaze to his arms and pulled back the sleeves. Fresh healing skin shined a bitter red under Ichigo’s scrutiny. Touching at it, Ichigo shook his head. “I don’t—” he started before he heard his stomach grumble. With a blush, he glanced at Rukia and apologized.

    “Please, eat,” requested Rukia as she pushed the apple closer to his face.

    Ichigo looked the apple over and marveled the pure red color, no bruise or discoloration in sight. Taking a bite, he hummed; the sweet juice flooded his mouth as he chewed the crunchy fruit. His stomach growled again and lurched as if it were trying to grab the apple itself. As he ate, he took in the serenity of Rukia’s vibrant skin and dark hair. She smelled like the forest’s flowers and sweet syrup. Unlike his own skin, hers appeared smooth and well cared for as it was wrapped in gold, much like the skin of his shiny apple. For a moment, he took notice of the peace that surrounded them both, and he wondered when he felt like this before. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

    Putting her hands together, Rukia focused her energy on the palms, hoping to create the power to heal, something she hadn’t done since the god of wisdom had decided that he’d jump from one tall hill to another in one leap. Pulling her hands apart, she was satisfied to see that they were emitting a green light that leaked from the creases in her palms and fingers. She reached out and hovered her hands over Ichigo’s arm; however, the meeting of her power and the scars resulted in a lightning strike coming down from the heavens.

    Taking her hand back, Rukia frowned at the singed flesh on the back of her hand. The sky rumbled, and Rukia wondered if coincidence or consequence had struck her. In the midst of her thought, her hand was taken by Ichigo’s larger ones. Her heart leapt as she watched Ichigo look over her hand and surround it with his own. A golden light seeped from beneath his fingers, and she felt the burn and throb of her hand recede into nothing.

    After the release of her hand, Rukia took it back and gawked at the clean canvas of her skin. “You,” she started. “You healed my hand.”

    “I did,” replied Ichigo. He looked at his own hands for a moment. “Yes, I did.”

    Coming closer, Rukia peered in to Ichigo’s eyes. Very few humans could heal in such a way, but Ichigo’s eyes didn’t give away the spark. “Where did you come from, Ichigo?” she asked. She felt the need to tie up the loose threads of Ichigo’s identity. “How did you learn to heal that way?”

    With a tilt of his head, Ichigo appeared, once again, flummoxed by her words. “I didn’t,” he replied. He glanced at his hands and at his skin again. “I don’t know.” He touched at his clothes and rustled through his pockets, revealing nothing in them. “I don’t remember anything. I-I don’t even know how I came to wear these.” He touched at his face and panicked at the realization that he was lost.

    “Ichigo?”

    Suddenly getting up, Ichigo began to walk. Although his mind was unsure of where he was going, his legs were sure that he was ambling in the right direction. The clarity of his muscles versus the fogginess of his mind confused him, but he knew that he shouldn’t stop. His chest felt jumpy at the thought of getting to where his gut said he should be. There’s a goddess, he remembered. He turned around and waved as he said, “I’m sorry! I have to go somewhere!”

    “Ichigo!” came Rukia’s call. “Wait!” She followed behind him and caught up. She hesitated at trying to get his attention again, for his gaze was cemented on the path in front of him. “Ichigo?”

    Glancing at Rukia, Ichigo again remembered that there was a beautiful goddess in the forest and that she’d given him food. He also recalled that she’d given him peace of mind, a rare luxury for him. “Rukia,” he said, “why are you following me? I just have to go somewhere; I can visit again.”

    Stepping in front of him, Rukia put her hands on her hips. “Ichigo,” she concluded, “you’re not well.”

    “I can’t be,” replied Ichigo. “I can’t get sick.” He touched at his head as a pulsing housed itself there, increasing in speed and force. “It hurts...”

    Gently taking his arm, Rukia guided him to a nearby patch of grass and sat him down. She questioned how someone could know so little about themselves and forget so easily, especially someone with magical qualities. Considering accidents and magical failures, Rukia couldn’t pinpoint what could have Ichigo cradling his head like he did. Only when Ichigo scratched at a specific part of his head, the recognizable entrance of the spirit, did she consider an interference of divinity.

    After pulling his hand away, Rukia noticed a scar marring the spirit entrance. “This is it,” she whispered under her breath. “That lightning was no accident.”

    “What do you mean?” asked Ichigo, surprising Rukia with his proficient hearing. “Nature didn’t strike you? I-I don’t understand. It just hurts.” He was still cradling his head. All of his thoughts were meshing themselves together in his mind, and flashes of images he didn’t recognize, some of himself with moon white skin, crossed the darkness of his tightly shut eyes.

    “I’m a part of nature,” Rukia illustrated as she sat in front of him. “Nature doesn’t strike unless I say it does.” She quickly looked at Ichigo’s hands and at his arms, following the many paths of his scars. I’ll help him, she thought, since this poor man has been attacked. Touching palms together again, she anticipated the amount of magic and endurance she’d need. Her hand felt little from the first bolt, but a barrage of it may sting a little more than a lot.

    “I have to go,” Ichigo announced.

    Shaking her head, Rukia replied, “Don’t move. I’m going to try and reduce your pain.”

    “I’ve tried healing myself,” rebutted Ichigo. “My hands keep getting struck down.” He brought his hands forward, revealing his scars again.

    “Then let a goddess help you,” Rukia insisted. She came closer and put her hands up. With a deep breath, she placed her hands over the scarred tissue on Ichigo’s head. Immediately, lightning came down and began to fry her hands. A grunt spilled from her lips as she held her hands in place; whines followed soon after as she poured her power into her hands.

    “Rukia!” gasped Ichigo as the heat of the lightning surrounded him and mixed with the tickling feeling of the goddess’ healing. He tried to put his hands up to stop her, but the lightning struck his hands, as well. “Please, stop!” He touched at her arms, but they wouldn’t budge. His heart was sinking as he watched Rukia shed tears as she bit her lip to keep from screaming. “Rukia!”

    Her arms were becoming numb as the tissue beneath her palms came together. At the same time, she was pouring some of that power into her skin to combat the lightning; however, the pain still came in waves of her renewed flesh burning off over and over again. She clenched her jaw as she finished up her work, took her hands back, and fell over as she cradled her arms. How could I not feel my own body’s fatigue, she thought as her body remained still and her hands throbbed. Just as the pain would put her to sleep, Ichigo’s hands came over her and covered her in a golden glow. Her hands were restored, and her body wasn’t as tired as before.

    “I’m sorry you sacrificed your hands for me,” Ichigo apologized. He looked her in the eyes and sighed at the sight of her relaxing. “You could’ve died.”

    A smile came to Rukia’s lips. “No, you fool,” she said. She sat up slowly, taking Ichigo’s hand when he offered it. “I can’t die… Do you feel pain anymore?” Upon Ichigo’s confirmation, Rukia gave a sigh of her own. A quiet air hung over them as they stood still and stared at each other. Rukia’s chest felt as if it could burst at that moment, and little did she know that Ichigo felt the same way in looking at her.

    A frown enveloped Ichigo’s features as he looked away, causing Rukia to blink and follow his gaze. “I must go,” he said. “Although my head doesn’t ache anymore, I still don’t remember much of who I am or what I’m doing here. However, my feet seem to know where they’re going, so I shall follow them.”

    Before he could rise, Rukia took hold of his hands and said, “Your current state isn’t an accident.”

    Remaining still, Ichigo stared at Rukia once again. “What do you mean? I didn’t fall or get cursed by the sky god himself?”

    Shaking her head, Rukia turned Ichigo’s hands. “The scars here are that of lightning’s many strikes. The webbing is a giveaway. However, the scars on your arms are that from a whip-like weapon. May I?” She gestured to his jacket, which, upon given permission, she pulled back. “The scarring here is very specific and angry. You didn’t fall and stumble upon a curse, Ichigo. You were attacked and purposely set to wander in your own confusion.”

    “You read all of that from my skin?”

    “The wound to your head was the biggest clue,” explained Rukia. She pointed to a spot on the top of her head. “When one is born, the spirit enters here and is housed in one’s chest.” She placed her hand over her heart. “To injure a specific location like either is too sloppy for an offender to commit; however, they probably didn’t count on anyone knowing the difference between injuries from lightning and a whip. Moreover, the strikes of lightning aren’t far from a curse; whoever did this to you wanted to make sure you remained injured in every way possible. It looks like a repair to your head is the step in the right direction.”

    “Well,” said Ichigo as he stood up. “Looks like I’m going to have to fix this.” Suddenly, a large blade appeared on his back; the strap of the sheathe was a ruby covered strip of leather, matching the red sheathe itself. “What is that!” He turned and looked over his shoulder, then he touched at the rubies across his chest with quick taps. He asked himself if the sword had been there the whole time, and a feeling in his gut cemented the idea that his thought was correct.

    “Here,” Rukia said as she placed her hands on the sheathe, intending to lift the blade off his back. Her brow narrowed as her arms struggled to pick up the blade. Being a goddess, strength was not a strange feature of her power. “This-This is so heavy! Even for me!”

    “Is it?” asked Ichigo as he put his hand to the blade and unsheathed it in one swift movement. The blade sung loudly and crisp, and its edge shined brightly as a black stripe. “This is mine, I think…” He held it away from himself, giving himself and Rukia room to admire it. Aside from its black edge, the sword was a golden silver color with tiny gems and markings on its face. He ran his finger over the golden letters near the end of his blade, the dazzling dips of each letter glinting upon renewed revelation to the sunlight.

    Taking a closer look at the golden letters, Rukia read aloud, “Zangetsu… Zangetsu!” The name of the blade rang around in her brain, bringing forth all that she heard in the heavens. From what she knew, the blade was not just a random tool of war; it was much more than that.

    “What does it mean?” inquired Ichigo as he, too, took a closer look at the letters.

    “This blade used to belong to the Shiba family, a section of gods out far in the West!” Rukia enlightened with enthusiasm. “However, it was gifted to their greatest member, Isshin, the god of the underworld. No one knows where he is, but he used to command demons and monsters with this sword. It was he who helped maintain peace between the non-humans and humans.” She looked up at Ichigo, seeing the bewilderment sunken in to his eyes. “If this blade used to belong to Isshin, then you must be his rumored son, the demigod, born from a human woman.”

    “If I’m a demigod,” said Ichigo as he looked over his blade again, “then who would do this to me? Why?” None of it made sense to him as he thought it over, only meeting the dark blanks of his own memory. I thought I was all alone, thought Ichigo. I thought that I just came to be.

    With a half-smile, Rukia replied, “We’ll find out. Together.” That last word brought a bright blush to her cheeks, but the warmth spread everywhere, swirling heavily in her chest.

    “But you only just met me,” protested Ichigo. “I couldn’t burden the most beautiful goddess in all of the country to help me.” He broke away from Rukia’s presence, resulting in a heavy feeling weighing down on him. Ichigo hesitated in stepping closer again, and when he glanced at Rukia, he could see his own emotion reflected in the slight drop of her brow and the parting of her floral lips.

    “Ichigo,” insisted Rukia, “I’m coming with you because in my heart, in my soul, I can’t part from you, especially with what has been done to you. This feeling. It begs me to be near you, for if I were to deny it, I would surely create another river in this forest. And as a goddess, I cannot allow this injustice to be carried out, not from another god whose head grew too big.” As she took a step closer, Rukia felt as if a flower had bloomed within the cage of her chest.

    “You can feel that?” asked Ichigo. “In your heart?” He sheathed his sword and touched at his own chest. He could feel the jumpiness there and the twisting of his abdomen. “Is that what this feeling is? The need to be near you?”

    “I believe it is.”

    “Then, let’s go together,” concluded Ichigo with a smile. He took Rukia’s hand and ran his thumb over the soft skin there, appreciating the aid they had brought him only minutes earlier. Rukia had been hurt for him. “I’ll protect you. I’ll make sure that your hands won’t be soiled for me ever again.”

    “No,” corrected Rukia as she held his hand even firmer, “we’ll protect each other.”

*This may or may not become a full story.

*This is the second part to the detailed piece I did a few days ago for Day 1.

*Hope this was enjoyable. Thanks!

#IchiRuki #ichirukimonth #fanfiction #Bleach #bleach fanfiction #Rukia Kuchiki #ichigo kurosaki #this took a lot longer than i thought it would #this is about 6 pages of work #I legit think I'll write more of it #I'll do that later

[bubmyg]

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

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

word count: 1,758

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You reached for his wrist, tugging him to a stop. You rutted the balls of your feet into the earth below, leaving a gentle hand against his shoulder as you softly pecked his cheek. “I’m kidding, Yoongi,” You pecked at the blotching flush that splayed upward from his tensed jaw, “Thank you for planning this.”

His voice was small, tentative as he mumbled out a you’re welcome. 

“So, how much farther-”

Yoongi’s lips found your cheek this time, nose feathering softly under the curved apple of your cheek. He carelessly tossed the basket in front of your statures, instead mumbling, “We’re here.”

“Oh, good,” You danced the crook of your fingers from his wrist to grapple at his open palm. You squeezed when the lace of his digits tangled over your own, “I thought my demise was going to happen on the side of this mountain-” 

“Stop being dramatic and help me with this blanket.”

You flexed your feet, pointing your ankles toward the descending slope of the landscaping over the curl of your toes. The bright colors of the playground looked desolate without cheering children hanging from the barred metal. Maze like sidewalks were free of waddling dogs on retractable leashes, over sized strollers decked in toys with high probabilities of being forgotten under the rusted metal shelter house just beyond your smallest toe. 

The higher your gaze raced, the more fluorescent the colors of the vegetation below the press of your palm to the patterned fabric. Soft yellows in weeds mirrored the goodbye of the sun as it shied away from the crescent of forest green trees lining the horizon. Sprinkled in were deep purples, the flowers much smaller, entirely more symmetrical, some missing petals, so robbed of their pea sized leaves. One rested over the stitched edge of the blanket, one you ducked at the waist for to secure between the knuckles of your middle and index finger. 

Yoongi glanced at your actions with a gentle, knowing smile, adjusting the luxurious lean of his stature onto his palms as you curved over him. Tender fingers brushed wind stained bangs away from his ear, tucking and pleating the strands until you’d secured the colored flower against the stark black.

“They weren’t soggy, by the way,” You mused, eyes trained to your actions.

He chuckled softly, nose scrunching, “What are you saying?”

“Your sandwiches,” You frowned, softening your lips to his temple, “they weren’t soggy. They were really good.”

Yoongi bit the inside of his cheek as a sliver of his teeth appeared, “Would you be mad if I told you I got Hoseok to help me?”

“No,” You curled your stature to settle against his side, leaning your cheek against the cool strip of the zipper on his jacket, “I’ll tell him thank you when we get back home.”

He slid an arm to settle over your hips, fingers toying with the sheer material of your top. “Are you cold?” His lips flushed into the top of your head, assessing the sprinkle of goosebumps to the skin of your waist as he toyed the hem higher.

“No,” You lied, shifting closer to him to enjoy the radiating warmth of his embrace. 

Soft leather was spread over your shoulders before you could protest, Yoongi’s lips melding to your temple as he again tucked you to the curve of his stature. “Just take it,” He hushed, lips curling against you, “add to the cliche’.”

You gratefully wrapped the bend of your wrist to tuck the jacket tighter around your bare arms, humming quietly as you curled into a ball at his side. “I like cliche’,” You mumbled tiredly, digging your nose into his shirt, “I like you.” 

“You know, I have this strange thing that happens to me, too,” Yoongi’s thumb passed over your hip, “My heart feels like it’s going to jump out of my chest every time you kiss me. You’d think I was seeing you for the first time every time with how sweaty my palms get. I have this strange urge to hold your hand all the time, which is really inconvenient with the clamminess and all ...”

Your chin hooked into his chest, peering at him with curiously knitted eyebrows. His grin was playful as he pecked your nose, “...is that love? I think I love you.”

“I know I love you,” You huffed, chasing after his lips when his neck straightened, “You know that’s what I meant.”

The impish curve of Yoongi’s teeth died when he swallowed, eyes shifting to the dimming rolls of the landscape beyond your figures. Your curving mouth to inquire what’s wrong? was overlapped by his tentative inquiry.

“Can I ask you something?”

Your lips pouted, cheek squishing into the planes of his stature, “Anything, babe.”

The curve of his irises caramelized into a soft amber as the casting shards of light thrown over the shade of the treeline as the sky canvased into thirteen shades of oiled pinks, purples, oranges. Soft cheeks puffed out as pretty pink lips suctioned into a pout. 

“Where do you see yourself in a few years?” He blinked, once, twice, before amending softly, “Us. Where do you see us in a few years?”

“Hopefully eating something other than stale bags of chips-”

Yoongi’s scrunched features cut to you as he chuckled softly, “No. You know what I mean.”

You studied the hesitant, hopeful, appearance of his steady features. “Happy?” You rolled the word on your tongue as if tasting the chewy crunch of the potato chip, “Yeah. I hope we’re happy.”

A positive slope caught his thinly pressed mouth. “That’s all?”

“What-”

“Could we be happy and, I don’t know,” He shifted, catching a hand to rub against his skin, “Married?” 

The only ounce of oxygen not stolen from your lungs in that moment allowed you to utter the word back at him. 

Yoongi laughed, a breathy, shaky sound. The hand around his neck slid to the jacket wrapped in your shoulders, fist digging around in the pocket for a second before he was placing a weighed velvet box against your curled thigh. His thumb flicked, drawing open the lid to glitter the reflection of a handful of diamonds over the shocked contours of your visage. 

“Would you like that?” He hushed, coaxing your gaze back to his widened eyes, “To be married to me, that is. Fuck, I mean, would you-”

He caught you by the waist when you forced the flush of your lips against his, forgetting the plop of his jacket off your shoulders and the roll of the ring box. The scrunch of his features contrasted to the harsh release of pent up anxieties that melded into the purse of his mouth against yours. 

“Yeah?” Yoongi inferred quietly, an affirmation that stuttered on the end of his tongue when his forehead against yours separated your lips. “Is that-”

The second kiss was softer, a tender ministration that had him smiling to dislodge the affection. He adverted the overwhelmed adoring shine of his eyes to fumble for the hinged black box. The ring was plucked between shaking fingers, gaze trailing up the slope of your cheek, “Are you sure-”

“Don’t make me kiss you again.”

His teeth caught the corner of his unabashed lips, gently pushing the jewelry over the swell of your knuckles. You gasped, not because of the newfound weight and all that it mirrored in your heart but instead the violent twitch of his appendage against the crook of your fingers. You desperately grappled for his massive palm, cradling it in both of your hands as your shocked gaze flew to his. 

“Yoongi, you’re shaking,” You dropped his hand to throw your arms around his neck, burying your face to the crook of his shoulder. Your mumble was muffled against him, “Did you think I was going to say no?”

He shrugged around the loop of his arms to your stature, shyly admitting, “I don’t know. I’m not good at things like this. I thought maybe you’d-”

You pulled away, squishing his cheeks in your fingers. “You’re an idiot, Min Yoongi,” You hushed, glowering at the innocent expansive dilation of his pupils, “This couldn’t be more perfect. You couldn’t be more perfect.”

The geometric shade of his teeth was a faux confidence as he mumbled under the duck of his chin, “Your idiot though?”

You rolled your eyes, the third kiss chaste, short, audible. “Yeah,” Another kiss was showered to the soft dot to the corner of his mouth, “Forever-” another to the mole on his cheek, nose nuzzling there as you met his adoring gaze. 

“-and always.”

#min yoongi #bts #bts reactions #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi scenarios #bts imagine #yoongi imagine #evidently im in the most cheesy and soft and gross mood today wow im so sorry #two overly cheesy fics in one day? on a roll #hannah says as if that's not everything she writes ever #sugacraving

[army-author]

yoongi scenario | felix culpa

« felix culpa: a fortunate fall; an apparent error or disaster with happy consequences »

➸ prompt: We’re both descended from feuding supernatural families, and to stop the centuries of fighting you and I are arranged to be married.

➸ pairing: incubus yoongi x fairie reader

➸ requested by anon | 4.2k words | fluff, angst

Stay on your side of the wall. That’s the most important rule, drilled into you since you were babbling in your cradle. Before you learnt what magic was, learnt about the power coursing through your body, you knew what the wall was. It’s a constant presence, even when its golden bricks are out of sight, you can still feel its impressive and impassive force. All that’s beyond it is an unending darkness, and darker creatures – some call them incubi, some call them devils. You call them a mystery.

They’re the reason the fairie government put up the wall, and the magic barrier that reinforces it. Faeries can get out, but nothing can get in. Below your artificial lights, your kind are free to live without fear of being snatched into the blackness of the wastelands next door.

But there’s something about the wall that pulls you to it, curious about what lies outside. Maybe it’s your heart pulling you towards love, somewhere on the shadowy other side, in the shape of someone you were taught to fear.

You meet him in your eleventh year.

Playing on the outskirts of the city, next to the towering wall that glitters unnaturally next to the smaller cottages that make up the suburbs, your friend, Nyx, is trying to show you her new doll, asking you to hold her, and pointing out the detailed needlework on its dress, when you feel a pair of eyes on you.

Magic crackles at your ears, alerting you to danger, and you hush Nyx before throwing a wary look behind you. There, on the other side of the golden gate leading to the wastelands, a young boy stands. He looks about the same age as you, but he’s not like any of the fairie boys you know. His hair is a few shades too black, his eyes a few shades too dark, unnaturally so – darker than midnight. You’ve never seen such a rich blackness inside the city where the streetlights keep the daylight even when the sun goes down.

Curious, you step closer. His dark eyes are like black holes that suck you in.

Behind you, Nyx calls your name, a warning in her tone, but you can’t turn away now. You reach the gate, one step away from the boy, with the rungs of the gate between you.

A smile, or maybe it’s more of a smirk, ghosts the boy’s lips, before he reaches past the bars and rips Nyx’s doll from your hand.

“Hey!” You make a grab past the gate, but the boy ducks out of reach, sticking out his tongue. In a few more steps, he bleeds into the fogs of the forest and disappears from view.

Without thinking, you squeeze through the bars of the gate, still small enough to fit, and feel the magic barrier wobble as it admits your fairie blood into the wastelands.

From the other side, Nyx’s voice sound muffled. “Come back! It’s not safe!”

You smile to assure her you’re safe, then dart towards the trees. The darkness swallows you up – it’s the first time you’ve been without light, and suddenly the gravity of what you’ve done sinks in. You’re in the wastelands. In the dark. And a hundred devils could be crawling towards you, lurking just beyond where your eyes can reach. A chill clings to your skin, and you turn your eyes back to the city lights, still glittering through the gloom. Just a few steps back and you’d be safe on the other side again, back where the trees bloom bright, bursting with fruit and magic, a far cry from the dead trees on this side, raising bare branches to the hazy sky in penance.

“Are you scared? Gonna run home?”

You spin around to see the boy, leaning against one of the trees, doll in hand.

The words you want to say build up in your mouth, ready to spill over, until he interrupts your thoughts with, “You know you’re going to be in big trouble if the incubus king learns there was a fairie on his land.”

You swallow and reply, “Well if he doesn’t want me here, you’ll have to tell him it was your fault, since you led me here.”

The boy bites down on his lips, red welling where his teeth clamp down. “He won’t know… and even if he did, he wouldn’t mind because it’s me…” But he doesn’t seem sure, so he quickly throws the doll back at you. “Take this…” As an after though he mumbles, “Since you were brave enough to cross the barrier, I’ll be nice.”

A smile stretches across your face, as you clasp the doll to your chest. “Thank you. You’re actually okay when you’re being nice… well, okay for someone who lives in the wastelands.”

“And you’re okay for someone who lives in the city.” He echoes back, colour rising to his pale cheeks.

Running back to the gate, you call to him from behind the bars, “What’s your name, by the way?”

His brows furrow. “Why does it matter?”

“Because we’re friends now.”

“Stupid.”

“Your name’s stupid?”

“No. You’re stupid! My name’s Yoongi and you’re stupid.” He escapes into the shadows without another word.

♡♡♡

And so, you make your first fatal error: considering Yoongi a friend.

As the days fly by, eternal summer remains within the walls while it begins to snow in the wastelands.

You often go back to the gate where you first met Yoongi, hoping to catch another glimpse of him in the ashy grey slush outside. But there’s nothing there but a few black ravens, and the groaning of the trees.

You’re getting ready to forget Yoongi, until one day, leaning on the railings of the gate, you notice a piece of paper lodged in a crack in the bricks on the other side. Reaching past the gate, you pull it out, and brush off the dirt before reading: “Hey, stupid, stop standing by the gate during the daytime. Do you know how suspicious that looks? If you want to see me again, come at night. Yoongi.”

Your stomach flips. How long ago was the note left here? Will Yoongi still be waiting tonight, or did you leave it too late?

It’s worth one chance, one night, just to check that he’s not there. The next night, you sneak from your house while your parents sleep, and tread the familiar way to your spot by the gate. Peering out from the well-lit city, all you can see is darkness this late. You don’t notice him, until, “Boo!”

Your heart rockets to your throat and you need to clamp your mouth closed with your hands to hold back a scream.

“You actually came!” In the light of the city, his eyes sparkle bright, and you notice there’s flecks of light within the blackness that had first drawn you to him.

“I was worried you’d get bored of waiting.” You step closer, not actually sure what to do, now that he’s in front of you again.

“It’s not like I have anything better to do during the night,” he laughs, holding his hand out to you through the gate.

You take it in his own, staring at his dull skin contrasted against the glow of yours – one of the symptoms of living in the wastelands where no light can reach. His fingers snake through yours, and you tug at him, saying, “You should come inside to see the city lights.”

He hisses and pulls his hand away. “You really are stupid. The barrier, remember?” Sure enough, at his wrist, just where you had pulled him beyond the barrier, a blue bruise billows out – the payment for any incubus that tries to cross through to the city.

“Sorry…”

He waves off your mistake, and holds out his hand, wary of the barrier sparkling just in front of his eyes, “You’ll have to come across to my side.”

Doubts crowd into your mind, but he promises, “I’ll keep you safe out here,” so you grab onto his fingers and slip through the gate easily.

He leads you into the woods, dodging trees before you can even spot them in the gloom. He seems more at ease in the shadows, his shoulders relaxing, and his grip on your hand softening.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

He offers a helpful, “Somewhere,” in response.

“Yoongi…” you whine, before he shoots you a warning look that tells you not to start, before pushing you through some brambles, into a clearing and into lights that strain your eyes after the darkness. You blink a few times before you can make sense of what you’re seeing – the entrance to a small cave, littered with gemstones that scatter kaleidoscopes of light across your cheeks.

“Beautiful, right?” Yoongi steps to your side, searching your face to gauge your reaction, “We do have light in the wastelands, despite what you fairie folk think.”

“I always thought that no beauty existed outside of our city…” you breathe, “We’re always told that the wastelands are nothing but… well… waste.”

“Well, you can’t believe everything you hear on your side of the wall,” Yoongi says, fingers ghosting over yours again, “Not about the wastelands. And not about incubi.”

You catch his hand in your own. “Show me more.”

♡♡♡

Your second error is keeping in touch with Yoongi.

As the years pass, your make a habit of leaving letters for him in the crack in the wall. Walking by your gate is always exciting, and you look forward to the prospect of getting another letter from him.

Growing up, his writing has evolved from, “Hey, stupid. Come and meet me the next night you can. I’ve got something to show you!” to much something much more romantic – “Every day spent away from you takes its toll on me. Life on this side of the wall is so boring, the wastelands offer nothing new without you around to teach me how to appreciate it all. When can we meet again? I miss you more with each night that passes.”

You keep the letters he’s sent, stored in a locked box under your bed. It reminds you of why you like him so much, why he’s so important in your life, despite all the warnings you’ve received from faeries about the world beyond the wall.

If your friends ever found out about Yoongi, you know they’d tear up his letters and force you to stay inside.

More and more, you’ve been hearing horror stories about the evils of the incubi. You don’t know if it’s just because you’re more aware now the innocence of childhood is sliding off, or if intolerance is mounting towards the creatures that reside in the wastelands.

The conversations with your friends make you uncomfortable now, hearing what’s been said in the news, regurgitated in their own words.

“Incidents of incubi kidnapping fairies is getting so much more common,” one of your friends, Alva, tells you, as you sit in the park with a group of other fairies, “They come to the gates and encourage innocent children to pass the barrier. And once they’re out in the wastelands, do you know what they do?”

You shake your head.

Alva widens her eyes, “They kiss them, and suck up their life force.”

“No, no,” one of the other girls, shakes her head, “They infect you with lust, and keep you as slaves in return for their love.”

The group starts bickering over what incubi do with their victims, until Nyx pipes up, “Well that incubus child lured you across the barrier… do you think he was trying to kidnap you?

The chattering falls off, silence settling in its place.

Under the gaze of your friends, Nyx presses you to support her claim, “Don’t you remember? He stole my doll and you followed after him to get it.”

The group dissolves into chaos.

“You crossed the barrier?”

“Are you mad?”

“You’re lucky you’re not dead!”

You hold up your hands to fend off their shouting. “It’s okay. I’m fine. It was along time ago. Nothing happened to me.” Your friends’ eyes stay pinned to you, worried.

You wish their concerns didn’t affect you as much as they do. No matter how much you remind yourself that Yoongi is trustworthy, that if he wanted to kill you he would have done so ages ago, doubt still resounds in your mind, a small ‘what if’ niggling like an itch you can’t reach.

What if he’s just waiting for the right time to strike? What if one day you go out to the wasteland and never return? What if you’re already affected by him, brainwashed to believe that he’s good.

You decide to test him yourself.

♡♡♡

The next night you go to the gate, watching the fog sigh by, and breathing misty clouds into the air.

At last, Yoongi arrives by your side, giving a rare smile. “Hello, stupid.”

Before he can say or do anything else, you stand up on your tip-toes, and press your lips to his own.

Below your touch, he tenses.

You pull back to see his eyes, as wide as a full moon as he gapes at you. “What was that for?”

“A test.”

He stays silent, waiting for you to explain.

“My friends told me that an incubus’s kiss could steal life force.”

“So you decided give me a chance to kill you?” His eyes darken.

“I trust you,” you mumble, suddenly feeling uncomfortable about the whole thing.

Yoongi digs his toe into the dirt, concentrating on the patterns he draws with his boot, rather than looking your way. “You really shouldn’t,” he says at last, “I’m an incubus after all. I’m different from you, always will be… and I really could take your life if I wanted.”

“But you won’t.”

“Want to bet on it?” Stepping forward, he presses his lips to yours again. Not like the first time. This time he isn’t stiff, but fluid, like smoke that expands to fill your crevices. Without really knowing what you’re doing, you open your mouth to him, let him inside – his tongue is soft, but firm, pressing to all your edges, until you feel weak at the knees and your fingers catch onto his arms to keep you from falling.

When he parts, you feel that something inside you has changed. Are you dead? Is your life force gone?

No, still here, just a little mushy-brained from Yoongi’s touch.

You’re unharmed. Despite his teasing, Yoongi wouldn’t hurt you. You smack his arm. “You’re the worst. Why would you do that?”

“Were you scared.”

You pause. Consider. “Maybe… for a second. But after that I liked it.”

“I liked it too.”

Falling in love was your third error. You should have seen it coming, could have prevented it – yet here you are, completely enamoured. And here’s Yoongi, looking back, like he might be enamoured too. That though alone pushes you up to float in the clouds, high on your own happiness.

♡♡♡

You return to your house, lighter than air, and breeze in through the door. That’s when you come crashing down from your dreams, meeting your mother and father, waiting for you in the kitchen.

“Where were you?” Your father steps forward, and you scramble to search for an excuse.

“Don’t make her answer. We already know,” your mother murmurs, a hand reaching out to your father. He pulls away from her, and goes to the table where a familiar box sits.

“What is the meaning of this? Huh?” He picks it up, and throws it to the tiles where it cracks, letters saturated with Yoongi’s love spilling onto the floor.

“Please don’t…” you can’t remember when you started crying. Your mother goes to your side, wrapping her arms around you. She’s crying too.

“Nyx told us about the incubus that led you into the wastelands,” your father says, “I can’t believe it…” His anger dissipates, and he pinches the bridge of his nose as he laments. “My own daughter, infatuated with an incubus… brainwashed…”

“I’m not!” your try to explain, as your mother’s arms hold on tighter, “He did nothing to me. Incubi aren’t what we think.”

Your father scoffs. “Well there’s your proof. He’s clearly infected your brain with his poison…” He steps towards you, and you see something glinting in his hand. You recognise the bracelet just before he clamps it onto your wrist. It’s gold, infused with incubus blood, fashioned so that you can’t get past the barrier. They’re made for fairies that are brainwashed by incubi, meant for their own safety.

The metal burns as it binds to your skin, and as you scratch at it, it only squeezes tighter.

“Promise us you’ll never try to pass the barrier again,” your father pleads, forcing your chin up to look in his eyes. You want to be angry, but all you see reflected back is sadness and misunderstanding. You hang your head, defeated, while your mother sobs against you.

♡♡♡

That was three years ago.

You still have the bracelet shackling you. Your mother barely lets you out of sight now, fussing and worrying every time you ask to leave the house. She looks a lot older now, and you worry that all the stress you caused her has done this. You wish you could explain away her fears, reassure her that you’re in complete control of your brain. Falling in love with Yoongi may have been a mistake, but it was also a choice. You feel this way because you decided that he was the kind of person you’d want to spend forever and a day with. Not because incubus toxins are clouding your head. You pray you can get her to understand someday. There’s a small hope she might. Recently, fairies have been questioning what really lies outside the wall, why you even need a wall. And your mother has been paying more attention to the news as the fairie president schedules peace talks with the incubus king.

Your father, on the other hand, is just as stubborn. Any time he walks in on your mother watching debates on incubus rights, he’ll scoff and roll his eyes and say, “What more do those life suckers want? They’ve already got a whole world outside, and we’re trapped in this city, forced to use all our magic to keep them from our homes and our daughters.”

When he goes off ranting like this, your mother switches off the TV and stares out the window.

With the few chances you get to leave the house, you go to check your gate, where you and Yoongi first met, but Yoongi’s never there, and if he left a letter, it’s since been removed.

Today, again, you follow the all too familiar route, desperate to check, just in case. The streets are strangely busy, but you pay no heed, squeezing past until you reach the suburbs where the gate stands, as expected. What you don’t expect is the tape sectioning off the wall. “What’s going on?” you ask one of the men walking past, and he stares at you. 

“You don’t know? They’re knocking down this part of the wall.”

“What?”

“Our president has finished the peace talks with the incubus king. He agreed to knock down the wall, as part of a new deal sealed with the incubi.”

You shake your head, not able to hope.

“I couldn’t believe it myself,” the man goes on, “From what I gather, the king’s son is the one pushing for these changes. He’s even offered up his hand in marriage to a fairie wife as a symbol of peace.”

His words jumble together in your head. Only one thing sticks for you. The wall is being knocked down. You’ll get to see Yoongi again. Turning on your heel, you sprint back to your house. The streets are filling up as fairies spill out of their houses, the news leaking out. You hear the word ‘wall’ repeated over and over, sometimes murmured and other times shouted.

The street to your own house is the most crowed. Nyx, and a couple of your other friends are outside, and they catch hold of your when you appear. “I’m so sorry,” Nyx smothers you in a hug, “I was wrong about that incubus.”

Confused about what brought on her change of heart, you pull away from her, and force your way to your house, where your mother greets you with a hug and a few tears. Behind her, your father stares on, lip curling up in a scowl.

“What’s going on?” you demand.

“You don’t know?” your mother pulls back to search your eyes, “The incubus prince has picked you out to be his bride. It’s a great honour.” She wipes a stray tear from her eyes. “A marriage to end the fighting and a reminder of why we’re knocking down the wall.”

Your father jumps in, “It’s disgusting. He has no right to demand your hand.”

“It’s a privilege,” your mother says, turning to him, “Our daughter is going to be a part of history… we can’t say no. Not to something so monumentous.”

The world spins around you.

Marriage? To the prince? Your heart turns cold. A man you’ve never met has picked you out from a thousand other fairies he could have, and in doing so has pulled you away from the one man you love.

Your mother’s hand falls to your wrist, detaching your bracelet with a snap of her fingers and a crackling of magic. The tight band of gold slides from you, leaving a red mark where it had stayed for three years. “You won’t be needing this anymore,” she smiles.

You rub at your wrist, and try to smile back, despite the whirl of emotions pulling you down.

Your mother turns to your father. “Don’t you have something to give?”

He scowls, before stepping forwards to hand you a letter stamped with the crest of the incubus royal family. The paper feels heavy in your hand.

“And this as well,” he says, before you go to remove your hands. He adds another letter to your hand, this one is older, crumpled and creased. “It was left by the gate you always sneaked through.”

From Yoongi? You glance down and recognise the handwriting.

“I need a moment.” You push your way out of the house, fighting the crowd down the streets until you find yourself in the quiet of the suburbs, by the gate again. Left in peace, you sit down on the curb, and read the letter:

“Love, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you. I worry that your parents might have found out about us – and that you’re being kept from visiting. It hurts not being able to see you, but I’m not going to give up so easily. I’ll fight to see you again. You have my word for it. It may take a long time, but I’m going to see you again. Someday, we’ll live in a world where there’s no wall, and you can stay by my side without fear.”

Your tears spot the page.

The wall is going, but Yoongi’s dream for you is all but shattered.

“Why are you crying, stupid?”

Looking up, you see Yoongi standing above you, slightly out of breath. It only takes you a second to register he’s there before he sweeps you up into a hug, lifting you off the ground. The tears keep falling, but now for joy.

Setting you down, Yoongi presses a kiss to your forehead. “Where did you go? I’ve been going crazy searching for you.”

“I’m sorry, my parents found out I was sneaking past the wall.”

“I feared so,” Yoongi’s face falls, and his finger traces the mark where your bracelet once was, “That’s why I fought so hard to get my father to speak with your president. I needed to get into the city. I needed to see you again.”

“Your father?” you take a step back, and it’s only then that you take in Yoongi’s clothing, a lot grander than the normal black shirt and ripped trousers he wears while he wanders the forest. He’s wearing a blazer embroidered with diamonds, and earrings stamped with the emblem of the incubus’ royal family. “You’re the prince?”

His smile, so rare, but shown so often for you, brings back all the familiar feelings of love, reassurance, acceptance, belonging. You slot yourself back into his hold, listening to his heart beating as you rest your ear to his chest.

“Yeah, I suppose I never got around to telling you.”

Tears keep trickling their way down your nose, so overcome with all the ups and downs of the day.

“By the way,” his voice thrums steady against you, “I kind of… already told my father I’d marry you so we could bring the kingdoms together. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

You laugh into his chest. “Not at all.”

“Good.” His lips ghost the top of your head, and you thank the heavens for all the mistakes you made that led to this moment.

Author’s note: Well… this is definitely NOT a drabble… Sorry, I got completely carried away with this au, but I don’t think I could have told the story in fewer words. Even this long still feels a little rushed…

a halloween drabble > click here to read more

#sfwbangtan #armiesnet #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #bts imagines #yoongi imagines #bts reactions #bts fluff #bts angst #bts suga #min yoongi #suga #agust d #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #bts halloween #bts supernatural au #bts fantasy #bts fanfics #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfiction #yoongi fic #bts fic #bts chats #bts x reader #bts x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bangtan sonyeondan #beyond the scene

[poemsinthirdperson]

Honey Cream

I. Honey Cream

There was the girl she had felt the most love for in all her life. Hair lilting in the whir of artificial air. Waves crashing against a sheer wall, falling back as murmurating rain. She was tired. Were it not for the combination of treetop cradled fingernails and an indignantly bowed shoulder, her bag would be laid flat on cracking concrete. Still, here it rains. Here grass can grow through, but, of course, not absolve. She would likely never see her again. There was an unfortunate centrality to that charm.

Diana massaged the hair on her forearm. She’d never gotten used to her bare arms; more so the embodiment of them than anything else. A taciturn honey-cream shirt pushed out of her father’s sleeveless cricket jumper, all tucked neatly in a shaded-rose burgundy skirt. She had used that jumper for its intended purpose a number of times. This morning she flinched when she had looked in the mirror. Like, genuinely recoiled. But mirrors were best viewed at 45˚ angle anyway. Truthfully, Diana had a fairly healthy sense of self-loathing, certainly never manifesting in dialogue. In fact, one could easily make the case that it didn’t even exist. That could be reassuring.

Dancing Queen into Hit ‘Em Up. Sometimes she did appreciate the majesty of her own mind. She had cried, alone in the sound, a few weeks ago. The eye of the universe, A crown of heavy light, angels at the gate, horns in hand. But she’d be fucked if she could recall the reason why now. Say what you want about the rapture (there is no inflection point) at least it produced some good, inert poll-tested liberal reformation.

That was the angle she saw the city, back from the harsh glass of the encroaching settlements. Malignant wailing shards occupied more by creative code interpretations and tax breaks than people. Clawing for the sun, they pull back fire. Reflection, refraction, recursion, somewhere in the sum of those words (a proper one with exponents and substitutions) was the right one. The result was a new eternal flame, burning the heart of the city, spitting ash into the pall. Begging Prometheus to take it away.

Diana stood before the doors of the church. Well, stood, really she walked past three or four times, hoping nobody would notice her, stopping, for what were seconds but felt like minutes, skin flaring red, and contemplating stepping in. Of course she didn’t know exactly know what she was looking for, that comes with the territory, but it was three thirty-four on a Tuesday afternoon, quiet contemplation was the immediate option. Still, there was always the chance she wouldn’t even make it across the threshold. She felt pathetic, like an anxious child. Last week she did the same thing. Reading Margot’s address over and over again, waiting for the perfect imperfect figure that would dispel any notion of paralysis at all. The whole time, she wouldn’t accept a glass of water. All you can truly love is the grass.

II. Anointed in Ice

To flats of concrete. Margot’s shoulders were hoisted up to her salt sea blue earrings as she leant back on the windowsill. Her hands hooked the alcove as she lifted her left foot off the ground and brushed the bridge of the other. She was propped between some cool apricot althaea and a stack of half-read books. Amongst them a was botanist’s handbook, ostensibly created for late 80’s housewives, sheathed in a lush illustration of a flowering garden, rendered in a confident gouache. Its measured intricacy meant it shared more blood with Morris than the untamed wilderness which birthed the gods of old. Margot had never known her mother to have a particularly green thumb as long as she’d been alive.

‘Here, I’ll pose for you.’

Diana cocked her camera with an automatic if mistakenly arrogant precision. ‘I shouldn’t have put it away.’

Margot jumped a little at the sight of the flash. ‘I’ll have to get used to that again.’ She saw Diana peering through the viewfinder like a submariner at the periscope. ‘Why did you?’

‘I don’t know, it just got frustrating. I could never tell if I hated the pictures or just myself.’

‘It could be both.’

Diana didn’t let her finish the sentence, a giggle punctuating her own. ‘It’s probably both.’

A glittering tsunami poured out of the radio, laboured wind barking through the tracks. Margot popped up and sprouted a smile that nearly covered her eyes. She clasped Diana’s wrists, drew her down and pulled her up around her.

She threaded her hand across her back and through the crook of her arm, fingers blossoming before her nose.

She submerged, the blades of her shoulders fastened to the roof of her thigh, her curled fingers capitulating to the first, braced delicately on her ankle.

They fell somnolently, one to the floor, one to the clouds, passing cheek to cheek, their arms locked and immaterial in a spectral prsim.

Blushing buds sprouting through aged soil.

Her hair curled around her arms, spiralling in flowing pools, and crawling down her back.

Then Diana remembered she was.

Warm blood blistering into veins of molten rock. She collapsed to the sofa. But Margot was there, three fingers bathed in ice, dragged from forehead, just above the left eyebrow, to cheek, just below the right jaw.

‘Listen,’ Margot said, ‘My sister’s finally doing it.’

‘No shit, really?’

‘Yeah, well she says it’ll just be easier for forms and stuff, but they’re getting married in Portugal, right near his mum and dad.’

‘Wow.’

‘They’re going to make sure it won’t be anything big, so we’ll get a good few days with nothing to do. I just was wandering if you wanted to come.’

‘Yeah?’ Diana scratched at the back corner of her camera.

‘Yeah, It’ll be fun.’ Margot nearly lost her eyes again.

‘I really don’t know if I’ll have time.’

‘I haven’t told you when it is yet.’

‘But it’ll be soonish? Like this year?’

‘Yeah, it’ll be this year.’

‘I just… I really have to do something. I’m so sorry, Margot, it’s really got nothing to with you. But if I don’t do something now, I’m going to be stuck, and I don’t even know if that’s really that bad but—’

‘It’s okay, I’m not cross.’ And she wasn’t angry, she really wasn’t angry, but the words still meant more than their definition. ‘I know who you are.’

III. No Deer

Diana shifted into first gear, released to handbrake, and lifted of the clutch. ‘So you know the way, Khâleh Agatha?’

‘Do you have a A to Z?’ Agatha replied.

‘Uh, I don’t really… Yeah it should be in the glovebox.’

Diana couldn’t work out how her mother had become friends with this lady, probably some innate charm from the motherland, though her father was always good at this sort of thing, and it certainly had passed down to her, but anyway, here she was, going to pick up a used desk.

Agatha took the book and ruffled through the pages like a fan. ‘It’s hot out isn’t it.’

‘Yeah, it’s nice. You can open the window if you want.’ She leant over and turned the winder a little. ‘Like that.’

Agatha was dressed head to toe like she had just stepped out of the 1970s, a rice paper thin shawl and bulbous black sunglasses completed the look. It wasn’t in some vain grab for the halcyon days of her youth, in truth the period would had been outside a liberal parameters for the definition of ‘youth’ let alone ‘halcyon,’ but she had truly adored the clothes and you really stop growing after a while.

‘So you work down at the council?’ said Agatha.

‘Yeah, I work at the civic centre. Assistant in the department of City Enviroment.’

‘Do you enjoy it?’

Diana closed the car door. They were in a little parking area off the road. The tarmac, with no reinforcements in sight, was fighting a losing battle against the allied armies of moss and weed. Whether subterfuge or treachery, the green had made crippling inroads into the highest seats of power. A panting greyhound jumped down from the only other car boot in the vicinity, the owner latching a leash to its collar.

‘It’s alright,’ replied Diana, ‘quite boring really.’

‘Right.’

‘There’s nothing more important to people than when the bins are collected. Which I can’t really decide whether that’s good or bad.’

The sun streamed through the trees. Wooden posts lined the left side of the dirt path they were walking along. One post was on the floor. Some delicate twigs. had just about managed to tangle themselves in it before the fall. The sun caught them before they fell, twirling back up into their own support.

‘Do you know where we’re going?’ Diana tried so hard to avoid hostility and condescension she really didn’t know where she ended up.

‘Yes.’ Agatha moved on before Diana could get a read on that reaction. ‘There’s deer around here you know.’

‘Really? Do you think we’ll see any?’

‘No, I suspect not.’

A crystal clear stream bisected their path. Diana slipped out her shoes and socks and planted herself firmly in the water. It was perfectly cool. She raised her hands and Agatha held on to her forearms as she stepped over.

‘Thank you.’

They were out in the open, in a meadow of sorts. There were flowers all around them, parting at their waists. (Agatha more than Diana) By themselves the miniature jewels of faded colour courted no grace, they were roses by no names, but together, spread out before them like that, there was something beautiful.

‘Khâleh Agatha, when…’

‘Ah, here we are.’

They came to a small house, though it did have its own verandah, with a woman outside the open front door, staring up, with her hands cupped over her eyes.

‘You must be here for the vanity,’ said the woman.

‘Yes,’ replied Agatha.

‘Give us a second, bloody thing’s stuck.’ The woman went inside and came out carrying a broom. ‘Wouldn’t fit through the door you see.’

‘Oh, that’s alright.’

‘You ready?’ A muffled yeah eked past the curtains swaying in the second floor double window. The woman took the end of the broom and prodded up at the vanity, suspended in the branches of a tree. She knocked it loose, a few errant leaves with it, and the rope that shot out the window started moving, lowering it to the ground.

Agatha looked it over for any unexpected blemishes or scratches (it was immaculate) and handed over the money to the woman.

‘Have a nice day.’

‘How are we going to carry this all the way back?’ Asked Diana.

‘The cars right there.’ Agatha gestured to the car park a few metres behind the house.

‘Oh.’

The greyhound was sleeping on the roof of its car, the owner was sat cross legged next to them.

‘That was nice,’ said Agatha

‘Yeah, it’s nice to get out,’ replied Diana.

‘Still, you know what they say,’ (she didn’t) ‘They’ve got coca-cola everywhere.’

#short story

[liv-andletdie]

@ultrafrank23 how does 2 babies sound? 

I LIVE for Fluffy TP Zelink! However this took me WAY longer than I wanted thanks to a complete re-write halfway through, too many ideas I wanted to work in, and a pause to work on my other fic. Also there's not even a plot it's more like a collection of cute shorts. But it’s here now! Sorry for the long wait.

 Ao3 link [x]

The Queen of Hyrule was rudely awoken by the wailing cries of her newborn. The screams echoing around the old stone walls of the royal chambers, the cold night air whistling past the windows. Zelda threw the blankets off at the first piercing sob, the action awakening her husband.

“Love?” he said, his voice thick with sleep. Link rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up “where are you going?”

“It’s Tina” Zelda replied, pushing herself out of bed. The feel of cold stone against her feet causing her to jump slightly. Link seemed to notice his daughter’s cry, pushing the blanket off of himself.

“I’ll go” he said, letting out a loud yawn “you rest. It’s my turn anyway” Zelda rolled her eyes, pushing him back onto the bed.

“You said that last time. It’s my turn now” She threw the blanket over his chest, ignoring the look he gave her. “Besides, if she needs feeding you’ll have to wake me up anyway” Link opened his mouth to reply, before promptly shutting it when he realized she had him beat.

“Fine” he sighed, letting himself settle back against the pillows “but next time it’s my turn” Zelda held back a giggle at his annoyed pout, moving to press a kiss against the tip of his nose. He seemed pacified at that, letting a small smile show on his lips.

Another wailing cry cut through the air, Zelda turned her head at the noise, her heart going out to the new Crown Princess. Link took her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, his eyes telling her silently to go to their child.

The Crown Princess, Augustine Zelda Marie Hyrule, lay in her cot screaming. Cushioned by white linen and pale blue wool. She’s beautiful, Zelda thought, even when her face is red and scrunched up from crying. That crying stopped once Zelda held her in her arms.

“You just wanted a little cuddle didn’t you?” She asked, her voice low and light. Augustine looked up at her, sky blue eyes like her father, taking in shapes and colours but not objects. A pale face, brown hair, and a pink smile all meant Mummy. “It’s okay, I won’t tell. Your secret is safe with me my darling girl”

Zelda presses a soft kiss against where a heavy crown will rest later. But for now, cradled in her arms, the next Zelda to take the throne is simply Tina. Free of all responsibilities and expectations.

She bounces her softly in her arms, humming her ancient lullaby. The sound of rustling sheets behind her draw her attention.

Link was sitting upright in the bed, the blankets smoothed out beside him, a content smile on his face. He didn’t speak but his eyes said it all. Zelda felt her cheeks warm slightly at the look of adoration he gave the two of them.

He’d been so excited when she’d told him she was expecting. She remembered clearly how he had lifted her from the ground, spinning her around in his joy. He’s laid gentle, almost terrified, hands against her stomach. Uttered prayers of thanks and protection for the two most important people in his life.

He patted the pillow next to him, a silent invitation. Zelda smiled, holding Augustine closer to her chest. She made her way along the freezing stone floors, the cold biting at her toes. Everything is so cold now she thought to herself, noting how even the satin sheets stung through her nightgown 

Link pulled her close to him, resting her head on his shoulder as he held her from behind. He kissed the top of her head, glancing down at the precious bundle in his wife’s arms.

“Did she need feeding?” he asked, running a hand up and down her arm, feeling her skin warm under his touch. Zelda shook her head, gaze fixed on Augustine as she settled back to sleep. “What did she need then?”

“I can’t tell” Zelda whispered, careful not to wake her baby. “I promised I wouldn’t” She felt Link smile into her hair, a soft laugh warming her heart.

“Okay don’t tell me” he relented, sleep returning to his voice. He had to be up early, she knew, The Knight initiates needed training and he didn’t trust anyone else to do it. Something about securing a safer kingdom for the children of Hyrule. It was admirable, if tiring, work 

“Get some sleep Link” she said, turning her head to press a light kiss against his cheek, “I’ll make sure Tina settles in her cot. You rest”

“I’m fine” he mumbled “I’ll put Tina down you rest” Zelda rolled her eyes, at this rate he was likely to drop the baby with how exhausted he was.

“Link, I’ll put her to bed. Tell her you love her so I can move” Link pushed himself off of the head board, bringing his head down to where Augustine lay in her mother’s arms.

“I love you” he whispered, pressed a kiss to her little head, “I love you, my little princess”

---

Link wiped the sweat from his brow, the hot summer sun beating down on his skin. Training in the summer was always difficult, when the weather got warmer his weapons seemed to get heavier, his clothes stuck to him more making it hard to move.

He dropped down on the bench next to the training grounds, taking the moment to catch his breath. He looked out over the sea of knights and soldiers, brave men and women working and training tirelessly to keep Hyrule safe. They had improved drastically in the years since the invasion. And since Tina was born he’d been working day and night to make sure that the army didn’t slack in their efforts.

“Daddy Daddy!” a young voice called out, causing the soldiers in the yard to stop what they were doing. An entire army moved in synch to watch the Crown Princess race across the sand of the sparring grounds and into the waiting arms of her father, The Prince Consort.

“Hello my Princess” he said, sweeping her up in his arms, her happy childish cries echoing across the yard. “What are you doing here?” he asked, settling her weight on his hip. Augustine giggled, holding onto his shoulder so she wouldn’t fall.

“Mama said to come get you” She sang “We’re going on a picnic!” Her eyes shone with unconcealed joy! She was practically shaking with excitement and Link found himself unable to hold back his own smile.

“A Picnic?” he said, fake surprise coloured his tone but Augustine was too excited to notice. She only nodded frantically, Link was scared her hat was going to fly off. He reached up, securing it soundly over her hair. She giggled, reaching to mess with his hands.

The sound of a hundred feet echoed across the yard. Men and Women coming to attention all around them. Link looked over his daughter’s head to see what caused the sudden change in his army.

Zelda, Queen of Hyrule, strode through the training grounds. The midmorning sun glinted against her golden brown hair, the white ribbons tied around her braids reflected against her face giving her an ethereal glow. Her long purple dress floated behind her as she walked. Not for the first time, Link was caught by her beauty. I’ve married a goddess

“Look it’s Mama” he said, turning his body so Augustine could see Zelda walking towards them. Augustine reached out, her hands grabbing at air in an attempt to make Zelda walk faster.

“Mama!” she cried as Zelda got closer “Daddy’s gonna come picnic with us” Link relinquished his hold on his daughter as Zelda took her in her arms. Balancing the child on her hip she smiled, her eyes lighting up with Augustine’s infectious excitement.

“Well that’s wonderful. Daddy needs a break don’t you think?” Tina nodded and Zelda turned to look at Link, a winning triumphant smile on her face.

Oh I see He thought, watching as his wife tried to balance his overactive daughter on her hip She’s trying to get me to stop working… well… I suppose I can take a break for one day.

“Give me time to wash up” He said, leaning in to press a kiss to Zelda’s cheek “Then I’ll meet you two in the stables”

Zelda nodded, moving to return the kiss. Augustine swung in her mother’s arms, desperate to get moving. She pulled on Zelda’s sleeves and hair, and yet the Queen remained unaffected by her daughter’s actions.

“Come on” she whined, ignoring the looks Link and Zelda were giving each other, “Daddy smells he has to have a bath”

Link let out a laugh, stepping back and bowing to his Queen. “I’ll see you in the stables” he said picking up his sword and heading towards the bathrooms.

---

True to his word, Link met them in the stables. Their horses already saddled and waiting, their lunch already packed and stored away safely in their saddlebags along with blankets. Zelda was already atop her horse, Augustine waiting for Link to ride with her. She’d start her riding lessons in a few years, at five years old they feared she would be too young.

“Where have you been?” the little Princess demanded, her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest. Link held back a small laugh at his daughter’s act, kneeling down so he was eye level with her.

“You said I smelled, I had to get clean so I wouldn’t be all stinky” Augustine let out a giggle at his words, her fake annoyance fading away. Link lifted her, placing her atop Epona, before moving to sit behind her on the saddle. He pressed his ankles into Epona’s flank and the small family were off, racing towards Hyrule field and their picnic.

They found a spot in the shade of a tree, far enough from the bustling noise of Castle Town to relax, but close enough to be under surveillance from the Royal Guard. Link set the blankets out as Zelda laid out the food. Augustine was lost in her own little world, running through the thick grass and playing with the bugs she found.

“Augustine” Zelda called out once everything was laid out. She watched the grass for any sign of her daughter, stifling a sigh of relief as her head popped up from the long grass, small streaks of dirt marking her cheeks. “Come over here”

The Princess ran over to where they were seated, her hat coming loose, long strands of blonde hair falling across her face. She fell into Zelda’s arms, loud breathless giggles colouring the air. Zelda wiped the dirt from her face, pulling back her hair and replacing her hat.

“There you go my darling girl” she cooed “doesn’t that feel better? Nice and tidy” Augustine relaxed under the attention, smiling as her mother played with her hair. Link pulled a plate out of his pack, selecting different fruits and cheeses from the assortment provided. He left the plate next to Zelda for Augustine to snack on while her mother worked.

The three sat in relaxed silence, just listening to the sounds of the birds in the distance. Link laid down on the blanket, having eaten his full. He could hear Zelda singing softly as Augustine stole grapes and berries from her plate. What did I do to deserve such happiness? He wondered reaching a hand out to brush against Zelda’s ankle.

“Daddy? Are you sleeping?” Augustine asked crawling over the blanket to poke him in the cheek.

“I was” he responded, keeping his eyes shut to the bright sunlight. “Mama’s singing made me feel sleepy” He could imagine Zelda’s joking pout, her hand coming to rest against her heart in mock shock.

“Don’t blame me just because you’re being lazy” She said, throwing a grape at his head. It hit his nose causing him to sit up in shock. Zelda let out a laugh at his bewildered expression, his mouth hanging open his eyes wide.

“Very funny” he pouted, moving to lie back down on the blanket, his hands cradling his head.

“It was actually, you pull the most amazing faces my love” he tried to ignore the way her laugh set butterflies loose in his stomach. He moved his hand back to her ankle, giving the skin there a soft pinch which caused her to squeak.

Augustine watched her parents in abstract confusion, while she didn’t understand the joke or what her mother found funny, she had to admit Daddy made some silly faces. But soon she began to grow bored of sitting and listening to them talk, the long grass looked fun to run through, the trees looked like they wanted to be climbed.

“Daddy” she demanded, poking his cheek again “play with me”

“I’m sleepy Princess, let me have a nap first then I’ll play with you” he replied, fighting back a yawn. Augustine’s little pout broke his heart, he couldn’t say no to her when she looked like that I blame Zelda he cursed she does the same thing He was about to will himself into wakefulness when Zelda spoke breaking the spell.

“Daddy’s tired” she said reaching behind her for her saddle pack. Link knew she had packed books in there to read in the sunshine, she was never one to pass up an opportunity for learning. “Let him nap, then he’ll take you on a ride with Epona. Won’t you Daddy?”

Link nodded, locking eyes with his daughter. “I promise” he said crossing his heart. Augustine looked crestfallen, eyes tracing the shapes and patterns woven into the blankets. She’d be bored out of her mind with Daddy napping and Mama reading.

“I wish I had a little brother or sister” she mumbled, causing Zelda to almost drop her book in shock. “Then I wouldn’t have to wait for Daddy to stop napping, I could play all day” Zelda marked the page in her book, setting it to the side.

“Augustine” she cooed, holding her hand out to the little girl “why don’t you go and find those bugs you were looking at before? Miss Agitha lent you that book on bugs remember? I can help you find out which one is which”

The little Princess seemed to perk up at that idea, getting to play in the dirt AND learn with Mama! It seemed to good to be true. “Okay!” she cried getting up and running into the grass before Zelda could change her mind.

Zelda watched her daughter run around, bugs momentarily forgotten as she just enjoyed the freedom of running through the field. Link’s voice broke her from her thoughts, his soft questioning tone causing her to look at him.

“How come you ain't playing in the grass with her? You used to love that. Are are not feeling well?” Zelda felt herself blush at his concern, shaking her head shyly. She shifted so she was closer to him, her hand resting over his heart. The steady thump thump thump was reassuring and comforting under her palm.

“I’m alright” she said “But… what Tina said…. About wanting a little brother or sister… well, she might get her wish sooner than she realizes”

Zelda didn’t hold back her joyful laugh at his expression, eyes wide and smile shining. His heart raced under her fingertips.

---

The Prince of Hyrule was born in the early spring. He was small and quiet, much weaker than his sister had been. Julius Russell Daphnes Hyrule, the second child of Queen Zelda Antoinette Harkinian Hyrule, was rumored to be too weak to last till the summer.

Zelda clung to her son for months, watching over him every second of everyday. Link feared it would drive her mad, that the goddesses would remain deaf to her silent prayers. He kept Augustine away, scared of upsetting her if the worse were to pass.

The Priest from the castle sanctuary came daily. He tried to convince Zelda to let go, to let the baby Prince sleep. But she refused, nursing and caring for her tiny son. Link began to stand guard, to turn the Priest away, to let Zelda and Julius rest together.

Summer came and went, and soon winter was spreading her frozen talons across the land.

The Prince lived, getting stronger everyday. He was as silent as his father and as still as his mother, he lacked the boundless energy of his older sister. And yet he lived.

Augustine adored her brother. She spent every free second with him, shaking his rattles and singing the songs her father taught her. Julius always smiled more in his sister’s company. Link would often say that she shared her strength with him, Zelda didn’t seem to think it was far fetched.

As Julius reached his first birthday, Augustine passed her sixth. Her excitement for her brothers party grew with each passing day.

“I think Julie would like chocolate cake!” she cried wanting to have her say “It’s sweet like him!” Link had laughed at that, knowing full well chocolate was Tina’s favourite. He played along, watching as Zelda playfully rolled her eyes at the two of them.

“I agree” he said, bouncing Augustine on his knee “Chocolate is the perfect dessert” He felt Tina smile at him, pride shining behind her big blue eyes at his support. She’d stopped wearing her hat, letting her long hair fall in braids down her back like her mother. Link enjoyed playing with his daughter’s hair, braiding and unbraiding the fine golden locks. The action always helped to calm her down, to relax the overexcitable Crown Princess.

Zelda held Julius close to her chest, listening to his quick even breaths as he slept. She sat at her desk, the prince held in a sling over her heart so she could work. Listening to Augustine and Link agree on cake flavours and what kind of sweets should be served, she made notes to give to Chef.

“What else do you think Julie would like at his party?” she asked, a hand coming up to rub her son’s back gently. Augustine seemed to think seriously about that, bringing a hand to her chin, her tongue sticking out in concentration. Zelda bit back the urge to tell her to tuck her tongue away, such behaviour was unbecoming of a future monarch.

“I think he would like it if everyone wore green!” Augustine cried, practically leaping out of Link’s lap. “It’s his favouritest colour!” Link chuckled lightly behind her, catching Zelda’s eye.

“Why do you think that?” he asked, unbraiding her hair again. Augustine looked proud of herself, holding her back straight and throwing her chin out in an attempt to look serious and smart.

“Julie always smiles more when I wear green” She said “he waddles faster when he sees me and the gardens make him happy. And Daddy wears green so Julie’s gotsta like it!”

Zelda leaned forward, tickling her daughter’s nose with the tip of her feather quill, causing her to giggle loudly and almost wake the prince from his nap.

“I think he smiles more because he’s happy to see his big sister” Zelda said moving to tickle Augustine’s chin. “But if you think everyone should wear green then we’ll make everyone wear green”

Augustine’s smile lit up the room, her excitement for her brother’s party bringing joy to both Link and Zelda. She bounced up and down lightly on her father’s knee, happy that her ideas were being listened too. She was going to make this the best birthday ever!

Julius shifted in his sling, his sister’s happiness rousing him from his sleep. He let out a cry causing Zelda to pull him from the sling and bounce him on her knee. Augustine shifted off of Link’s lap, desperate to see what her little brother was crying at.

She raced around the desk to stand next to Zelda’s leg as her mother pressed kisses against Julius’s head. His crying quieted down, the nose only serving to show he was awake, as he looked around the room with wide and curious eyes. Augustine reached over Zelda’s lap, trying to tickle her baby brother’s toes. He seemed to notice his big sister, letting out a happy gurgle at the sight of her smiling face.

“Do you want to hold him?” Zelda asked. Augustine looked at her with a mixture of shock and awe 

“I can hold him?” she asked, amazed and scared at the prospect. For almost a year Julius had been held exclusively by Zelda and Link, Augustine had only been able to play with him when he was placed on the floor or after he started crawling.

Zelda nodded, lifting Julius from her lap and kneeling on the floor next to her daughter. She could tell Augustine was nervous about holding him, scared that she would drop him. Link shifted in his chair to get a better look at the three of them.

“Don’t worry” Zelda said, holding out her son, “I’ll tell you exactly how to hold him so you won’t drop him. Okay?” Augustine nodded back, holding her arms out to support her baby brother. With steady hands Zelda lowered Julius into her arms, taking care that his head was well supported in his sister’s elbow.

Augustine looked down at her brother, listening to his happy squeaks and giggles. He knew a few words, mostly “Mama” and “Dada”, Augustine was hopeful that it would be her name he would learn next. She’d tried teaching him before, even though Link had explained to her that “Augustine” was a difficult word for a baby to say. But she had faith that Julius would be as wise as Mama.

“Hello” she cooed, giggling as he reached for her long braids. “Hello Julie, what’s my name?” Julius looked at her, her braids forgotten as he listened to her soft lilting voice. “It’s Augustine, can you say Augustine?” she asked, bouncing him slightly as she’d seen Zelda do before. Link moved from his chair, coming to kneel beside his wife.

“Tina” he said “It’s a long name, he’s not even a year old yet” Link watched as Augustine shook her head, little Julius giggling in her arms delighted with the way her braids swung in front of her.

“No, he can do it I know he can” she said, remaining stubborn and steadfast. She looked down at Julius, smiling and trying again “Aw-gus-teen” she sounded out. Julius giggled at her, his mouth moving to try and learn the strange sounds she was making.

“Tina” Link said again, shifting on his knees so he was closer to the two of them. “Maybe an easier word? Something short might be a better place to start?”

Julius listened to his dad, the small word he’d used to refer to his sister sounded funny to the infant. He began to move his mouth, trying to speak like his father.

“Tee...teenah”

---

Augustine wiped the sweat from her brow, the hot summer sun beat down against her skin. Despite her discomfort the Princess always enjoyed riding in the sun. She’d been given a horse for her seventh birthday, one of Epona’s foals which she’d named Sleipnir. Link had been giving her lessons for three years and in that time she had improved greatly.

Looking down at her handkerchief, a gift from Julius, she lamented her brother’s young age. It would be two more years until he would be taught to ride, two more years of waiting for the young Princess. Julius didn’t seem to mind being stuck indoors however, he actually seemed to prefer it.

The Prince would often spend the long days at his mother’s side just watching her work or practicing his embroidery. Sometimes he would take strolls in the garden with either Link or Zelda, but for the most part he was content to sit and read to himself while his sister studied or went riding.

“You alright Tina?” Link asked realising that his daughter had stopped behind him. He was taking her on a ride around the Castle Walls, “getting some exercise” was his excuse, but Tina saw right through it. He just doesn’t want to be stuck inside like Mama and Julie

“I’m okay Daddy” she said, leaning forward to scratch between her mount’s ears. Sleipnir let out a happy whinny at the touch, his ears flicking back and forth. “I just wish Julie could come with us”

Link led Epona back to where the young Princess had stopped, his shoulders sagging slightly. “He’ll learn to ride soon enough. Anyway I’m sure if you just asked him he’d love to come” “But he can’t ride” She challenged, fingers tracing over the uneven threads of her handkerchief. It had been one of Julius’ first projects, Zelda had led him through it step by step. It wasn’t his best work but Augustine treasured it more than anything. He’d embroidered her initials in blue thread, her favourite colour, The A and the Z were two different sizes and the M looked more like a zigzagging line than a letter. It was perfect.

“So? That didn’t stop me from taking you on rides when you were his age. Remember that picnic when you were five?” Link leaned over in his saddle, a gentle hand coming to rest on his daughter’s wrist.

“But I sit sidesaddle. Julie wouldn’t be comfortable riding with me” She held his hand, playing with the worn leather of his glove. Even as a young child she found comfort in the feel of her father’s riding gloves. She could remember him holding his hands out to her, just so she could play with the stitching and the creases where his knuckled bent.

“He could ride with me, unless you don’t want me hanging around with you two” Link teased, watching his daughter’s face come up in shock “You’d be too embarrassed to have your old man join you I get it”

“No that’s not true!” she defended, noticing too late the mischievous glint in his eye. Link let out a loud laugh, squeezing her hand in his. She let herself pout at his joke, hands reaching for the Sleipnir’s reigns.

“Poo to you Daddy” she said, throwing her chin to the side, turning her face away from him. Link was caught for a second by how similar she had looked to her mother. Augustine took after him more than Zelda, both in looks and in attitude. However there were moments when he swore she was Zelda’s double.

“I’m sorry Princess” he sighed, letting his chuckles die down “do you want to go back to the castle? See if Julie’s been missing you?”

The mention of her brother caused Augustine to smile brightly, her long ears perking up in excitement. She nodded her head, to energised to speak. She pulled on the reigns giving Link a clear message.

Race you

And the two were off

---

Julius sank in his seat, the embroidery hoop in his hands forgotten as he watched the lazy clouds float past. It was such a lovely day, the sun shining down made the gardens too hot for walking in, but it wasn’t like her could go walking anyway. Mama was working and Daddy was out with Tina, so unless he went with one of the nursery maids he was confined to the shade of his mother’s study.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the nursery maids, it was just that they weren’t as fun as Tina, or as quiet as Daddy, or as smart as Mama.

“Are you well my Cherub?” Zelda asked, noticing her son’s slouched position. He had been practicing his embroidery while she studied harvest reports and letters from dignitaries, but the steady sound of needle against thread had stopped a while ago.

“Yes mama” he replied, tired eyes still watching the sky.

"Is there anything I can get for you?” she asked, noticing her son’s almost melancholy mood. “A drink? A snack?”

“No thank you” he sighed, moving the embroidery hoop to sit at the spot next to him. Zelda got up from her spot behind her desk, coming to kneel in front of the sofa he sat at. She held his hands in his, soft silk gloves ghosting over his tiny knuckles.

“Are you bored my dove?” she asked, watching as he nodded his head slightly. “Do you wish to go for a walk? I could call Selena…” she trailed off at her son’s disgruntled expression.

“Selena’s boring” he whined, kicking his legs slightly “She doesn’t like running or playing”

I see Zelda thought, shifting closer towards him. “Do you want to play with Tina? Is that it?” Julius nodded, eyes drifting back towards the calm blue sky. She was out there right now with Daddy, having fun without him.

“She’ll be back soon” Zelda said, trying to pacify her son’s bad mood. “You can play with her then”

Julius rolled his eyes, a very undignified action for a royal such as himself. “I wanted to play with her now. But she and Daddy left before I could go with them” Zelda moved to press a kiss to his hands, his sad expression causing her heart to break. I can’t imagine it’s any fun to watch me work all day she thought, pulling him into a hug. Julius wrapped his little arms around her, his head tucked under her chin. His soft brown hair tickled her nose.

“Do you want me to talk to Daddy?” she asked, a hand rubbing up and down her son's spine. He shook his head, only clinging tighter too her. She rocked them back and forth, humming her soft lullaby as she did.

Suddenly the door was flung open and the Crown Princess of Hyrule came running in. She was flustered and out of breath, her hair coming loose from her braids, her riding gown caked with mud around the hem. And yet she wore the brightest smile the Queen had ever seen.

“Julie!” she cried “I beat Daddy in a race! I won!” Her smile melted from her face when she noticed that he hadn’t moved to look at her. Julius still clung to Zelda refusing to look at his sister. “Julie?” she asked “what’s wrong?”

“He’s been bored to tears watching me work” Zelda said, pressing a kiss against the top of his head. “He wanted to play with you but Daddy got there first… where is Daddy?”

As if on cue, Link appeared around the side of the door, out of breath and in a similar state to his daughter. Zelda raised a brow at his appearance, silently asking what took him so long to get there.

“Her highness locked me in the stable” he answered, shooting a glance at Augustine who seemed very pleased with herself.

Julius shifted in her arms, burying himself closer to her. Zelda squeezed him in response, glancing between Link and Augustine. The two of them were now watching Julius, worry etched on their faces. Augustine stepped forward, coming to kneel next to Zelda.

“Everything alright?” Link asked, removing his riding gloves and throwing them on the desk. Zelda shrugged in response, rubbing her son’s back as he avoided eye contact with everyone in the room.

“He wanted to play with Tina” she said eyes following Link as he sat down on the sofa, pulling Julius’s embroidery into his lap. “But you took her out riding before he could, so now we’re just having a little cuddle”

Augustine laid a hand on Zelda’s shoulder, silently asking for the chance to talk to her brother. Zelda leaned back, pulling Julius from his hiding spot in her arms. He still wouldn’t look at Augustine, his eyes burning holes in the plush velvet cushions he sat on.

“Julie” she tried “do you still want to play? I found some really pretty flowers I wanted to show you” Julius tried to remain impassive, but his ears gave him away. They perked up at the idea of going to see new flowers, especially with Tina.

“That sounds nice” Zelda chimed in, moving to brush his hair away from his face “I think that would be really fun” Link got up from his seat, handing the embroidery hoop back to Julius who took it without looking.

“I agree” He said “why don’t you two go sit outside? You can work on your embroidery in the sunshine” he saw Julius hesitate, his hands running over the delicate stitches he’d done before “I’ll keep Mama company don’t worry” Julius seemed satisfied at that, happy that Mama wouldn’t have to do her work alone. 

“Okay” he mumbled, kicking his legs out, “as long as you don’t distract Mama” Link let out a happy chuckle, helping Zelda to her feet. Augustine took his hand, a happy smile growing on both of their faces.

“Come on” she said, pulling him towards the door “I wanna see what embroidery you did” Link and Zelda stood and watched as their children disappeared down the hall, the sounds of laughter filling the air. Link wrapped his arms around Zelda’s waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. She let herself melt into the hug, taking the time to enjoy the moment. Her husband’s strong hands running up and down her spine, her children’s joyful cries floating around the castle.

“I love you” she murmured, resting her cheek on his shoulder. She felt him smile, his hands holding her close to him.

“I love you too” he whispered

#zelink #tp zelink #zelink fanfic requests #expect to see more of Tina and Julie in the future I love my babies

[asunafairywizardessheart]

New Traditions

SPECIAL CHRISTMAS PROMPT

Luca/Asana

Requested by: Anon.

Summary: Luca and Asana spend their first Christmas in Reitz, but it is Luca’s first time seeing snow.

Climbing into bed, Luca was beside her drawing in his sketchpad. It had been little over a year since Asana failed to enrol in the academy and Luca left the academy to begin a new life with her, and it was the first time they had been home for the winter season since they had travelled across the nation.

“What are you drawing?” she wondered, curling her arm around his upper arm and cuddling up to his side.

“…Um, don’t get mad, but you as a Christmas pinup,” he turned the sketchpad around a little to show her under the bright orange light radiating from their bedside lamps.

She saw her face and figure wearing a revealing elf costume, and the image was so realistic that she began to blush a deep shade of red. Pushing away the pad, she averted her gaze in embarrassment, “Why would you draw something like that?”

He abandoned the pad to his side table and kissed her lips, “Relax, I don’t expect you to do anything you are uncomfortable with,” he smiled and laid himself down on the bed, and opened his arms to invite her into his arms, “Come into these arms, where you belong.”

It certainly was cold, and she wanted to cuddle him too. She gently climbed into his arms and felt his tight embrace around her body. Her hands rested on his chest where she could feel his beating heartbeat, but her head rested on his shoulder buried within his neck. They spent a minute of peaceful silence, cuddling up to each other, and eventually her lips found his, “I love you, Luca,” she confessed.

“I love you too, Asana,” he confessed too.

She slipped down to his side as he shifted their bodies as they kissed passionately and cuddled each other. He broke away first and rested his forehead against hers, with a huge smile on his face and one on hers too.

Looking up into his sparkling emerald eyes, “You know, Christmas is right around the corner,” Asana squeezed him to bring him closer and kissed the tip of his nose, “When the snow begins to fall, we hold a festival in town to celebrate the coming of winter and Christmas.”

Hearing her mention it snows here, his emerald eyes sparkled with excitement, “…I have never seen the snow, or really had anyone to celebrate Christmas with because I was always locked up. And where I stayed, it never snowed. Of course, the academy had perfect weather all year round.”

She brushed his spikey green fringe from his eyes, and cradled his face between her hands. A pink smile spread across her face as his figure completely covered her and filled her vision, with her head buried comfortably on and between the excessive number of pillows and the blankets creating a wall of warmth around their bodies.

“…I understand how it feels to be lonely on Christmas but…we have each other now and we can begin making new memories, start our own traditions, and when we marry and have our own family, we can create a legacy,” she kissed his lips again, “Let’s make new memories together, Luca.”

She rubbed her nose against his, in response he held her close and dipped his head to trail kisses across her cheek, to trace her jawline and descending down her neck, “Sounds like a good plan to me,” he agreed, talking and peppering her body in sweet cuddles and kisses, “What was your Christmas like before your parents passed away?”

Each time he pressed his lips to her body, a satisfying jolt of pleasure rushed through her, and she drowned in this beautiful moment. Somehow, she managed to answer his question, her voice sounding somewhere between her normal tone and sweet humming, fuelled by his touch, “Well, Mom and I would cook a feast, with glazed ham and turkey for lunch. We’d play in the snow… Mom would play the piano and we sang carols…we would play board games or watch movies at night. One Christmas, Dad and I…built a fort using every sheet and pillow in the house… he’d use magic to read me stories until I fell asleep,” at the end of her story, Luca pressed his lips to hers and kissed her passionately.

As they passionately kissed and cuddled, and Luca revisited her neck with his lips and going further down her chest, Asana had opened her eyes. Something white falling outside had caught her attention, then more white specks started falling and she smiled. Stopping Luca from kissing her, she bounded off the bed and fished out there winter clothes from the drawers, throwing him his clothes.

He looked confused, “Telling me to put on clothes while we were beginning to undress is the worst insult you can give a guy,” he joked, wondering why they were getting dressed so late at night.

“Hurry up and put them on, would you,” she laughed, pulling her warm clothes of the top of her cotton pyjamas, “Trust me.”

He pulled the warm clothes over his semi-naked body, Asana helping to tighten his trousers, “These can come off soon, I promise,” she winked at him, and held him by the hand to walk outside.

Snowflakes rained from the sky above them and slowly began to cover the ground. Trees in the forest behind her home bared their skeletons and the stream flowing by her house had frozen over. She twirled in the falling snow with a smile on her face, and Luca tried to catch the falling specks of it in his palm. Seeing it for the first time, is a brand new experience and he was with the one most precious to him.

Asana watched his curious face change into a warm expression of happiness, “What do you think? The first of the snow is falling,” she smiled, and he held out his hand for her to take.

“It’s cold,” he laughed, and she laughed with him, “But, it’s also beautiful,” he said, and she placed her hand in his palm. He grabbed it gently, and began dancing with her in the falling snow, not caring that the frozen freckles of ice were dusting their hair and clothes. “Though, I thought it is supposed to pile?”

Her hands were in his as he lead them in a music-less dance in the falling snow, and she giggled at his adorable innocence, “It will, then the snow war will begin?” she smirked devilishly.

“Snow war?” he tilted his head in confusion.

“Reitz’s all in snowball fight. The town is divided in two, north versus south. Whoever lives in whatever direction will decide the teams, which we are south, and the town becomes a skirmish rink.”

“So, you all just throw snowballs at each other?” Luca smiled, he loved this town and the craziness of their traditions, “I suppose it is small enough to have an all in snowball fight.”

“Yeah, and each hit is worth one point but if you get hit you are deducted a point. Whichever side as the most points, wins, but the individual with the most points wins a prize and the individual loser gets a clump of coal. It’s fun.”

Luca was already looking forward to this Christmas, and looked around the house, “We need to make some decorations for our house. We want to make our first Christmas of many the most memorable. Oh, and we should film it,” he gathered his wand and cast a spell on the video camera inside the house to film them dancing in the falling snow to document this memorable holiday that had only just started.

“What about when we go upstairs?” Asana worried, whispering her question to him, and Luca smiled, she knew that smile, “Not happening, Luca. I swear if you film us making love, I will cast a spell on you.”

“It will be our secret,” he teased.

“No.”

“It will be only us to watch it,” he added.

“You are perverted,” she narrowed a glare at him.

He chuckled, “You didn’t pick that up from the naughty elf pinup of you?”

“You just turned a beautiful moment, into something dirty,” she glared at him, and in the next moment trip over her feet, bowling him over and landing on top of him.

“And here you are on top of me?” he smiled, enjoying the view of her on top of him. He held her so she couldn’t escape him and rolled them over so that he was on top, and hovered over her enough so the snow didn’t fall into her eyes.

She laughed and then his lips pressed on hers again. Her hair sprawled across the ground, and he pinned her hands either side of her face as they kissed passionately though slowly in the falling snow. “Luca, let’s go back to bed,” she whispered, brushing her nose against his.

He picked her up in his arms, kissing her as he carried his love back to their warm bed, and somehow managing to deactivate the flying camera for the time being. Their first Christmas at home had only begun.

#lucaorlem #wizardess heart #christmas #fluff