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twi-liight · 8 months

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Sooo. You just posted Petty Jealousy 20 mins ago and I just wanted to say that I loveeee itttt. Can we please have more? Like Astarion and the other companions subtly do somethings to the person they’re jealous of to turn them away from Tav.

Tav’s companions are just sooo cutee when they’re jealous. Wyll and perhaps, Halsin being the only sensible ones.

Thank you!

Red With Envy ❣

The YA love heptagon of the century: Tavrem. ❥ Astarion/Tav, Gale/Tav, Lae'zel/Tav, Companions/Tav. It's Gale/Astarion if you squint. ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav. ❥ Tav is the nickname for the reader/oc insert. Their real name is up to you! ❥ PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Astarion would never beseech himself to touch a member of the working class, but things change. People change. And here he is draping an arm around Gale’s shoulders to boldly declare his presence upon the rickety, wooden table.

“Oh.” Blink blink. Gale gawks with round eyes, then not-so-discreetly glances away from Astarion’s heavy gaze to the only present company at the table: salted bread with thick slices of white cheese, anchovies, and sop for the bread. This sorry excuse of a presentation must be breakfast, which begs the question- Is Gale’s blood so blue that he cannot skip a meal or is he trying to make a favorable impression?

Astarion would much prefer the former. It means he does not need to scrub his hands raw from the filth of peasants after this interaction.

“Uh, good morning, Astarion.”

“Mm?” He flashes his fangs to grin. “A good morning indeed, my friend. How lovely the dawn breaks over the horizon, but with no one to share the scenery with! I pitied you, and out of the kindness of my heart, opted to join you.”

Alright, enough touching. Astarion draws his arm back to poise a curled hand beneath his chin, glancing over Gale’s face in a vain attempt to study him. “Well-combed hair. Your posture,” he raises his hand to gesture at the wizard, “is much cleaner than yesterday. You’re practically glowing with morning dew, and…”

Here, he leans forward, just enough so that his nose lingers on the curve of Gale’s neck, just so his hot breath hits his skin as he murmurs, “You smell like Tav.”

This greedy bastard slept in their tent last night because he caught some sickness from meandering about gaseous spores, and Tav cannot ignore the needy. Would that Gale be some beggar on the road and not an accomplished wizard with a higher emotional maturity than he.

Astarion would be more comforted if he was a one night stand, a quick romp for the leader of their party to take the edge off. But anything beyond that is sabotage for his best-laid plans.

Astarion’s smirk curls as deep, roiling darkness tug at his mind. He leans back slowly, never breaking eye contact. “They let you sleep in their tent. What a darling.” While they slept by the fire, ash and dirt swirling in their hair, Gale was embraced in Tav’s blankets and scarves. The lingering scent of something floral sticks on his skin, and Astarion recognizes it as the oleander Shadowheart presented Tav a fortnight ago.

Gale smells something else: rusty and metallic, like the smell of a storm brewing. Has Astarion’s eyes deepened in color, like wine? His tongue feels heavy in his mouth all of a sudden. “Yes,” he agrees, thinking of Tav for some semblance of comfort. “I was sick, and they offered their tent for the night. More blankets, they said. Easier to be warm in - look, Astarion, do you have a problem with my friendship with Tav?”

The laugh that pushes its way forcibly out of his sneering lips is sharp and mocking. Something burns in his chest, and it feels like seething anger. “My, that’s a strong word. I would say acquaintance is more befitting of your,” Astarion gestures to Gale once more, fighting back a scowl, “station. You’ve known Tav for barely a few months - they’re not quick to brand just anyone as a friend.”

“Is that right?” Gale’s brown eyes spark with challenge. What a doll. Finally got his spine. “I ought to wonder how you befriended them, then. Anyone with half a mind knows your shenanigans are acts of desperation; you want them to like you so you can manipulate them. I know your type, Astarion.”

“And you… You, what, you are not? You’re using Tav just as much as I am, darling. Otherwise, what are you here for? Companionship? Ha!” Astarion does not know why, but his entire being is alight. As if the sun’s rays are scorching him. He can barely contain his temper, barking out between sharp teeth, “Get a grip.”

Gale is hardly fazed. “You’re delusional. Whatever threat you think I present to you?” He lifts his chin, eyes alight with power and rage. “Confront it. Dig your grave. Lie in it. While you’re busy lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to dance them around your little games, guess where I will be?”

Silent, seething anger. It burns. Astarion’s eyes are blown wide with rage as he gazes into Gale’s eyes, digging his nails into his palm as his fingers wrap around the hilt of his dagger.

“There to catch them when they realize everything you’ve done is just an act.” Gale leans forward this time, a warning blazing in his brown eyes. “Think whatever you wish of me, Astarion, but never in your life think I would never fight for those I cherish.”

Cherish. Astarion almost sinks his teeth in his throat to shut him up. “Good,” he purrs, fighting every urge not to massacre Gale where he sits with his dingy little breakfast. “I would be sorely disappointed if you succumbed too easily to me.”

This would be so much easier if Astarion didn’t care about losing Gale, either. If he must concede, Astarion can admit to himself and the Devil alone that Gale is beyond useful in battle. Herald of the Weave, Mystra’s little boytoy? He would be endeared to watch Gale’s story end. Whether it be in smithereens or in the bosom of his former goddess, it will be fun to watch.

Something in the back of his mind gnaws at his anxiety that Gale will be the one to turn Tav against him. This pretty little fool never wanted him in the party, wary of him, which is the smart thing to do. Tav was not. Tav was too easy to trust him. To easy to ply around his fingers until he had them even offer up their blood.

He resents Gale for making space in their heart. It could have been his.

“The dawn rises as I do: strong, and watching over two bread boys exchanging heated words like knives.” Lae’zel’s voice, sleek and smooth, startles them. Gale visibly jolts away from his proximity to Astarion’s face, brown eyes widening as Lae’zel approaches the table. She takes one gander at the spread, grabs a fistful of anchovies, and shoves it down her mouth without care.

“You,” Gale stammers. “That was for–”

“Silence. Githyanki must feed well to prepare for the new day. I will not hear your incoherent mumbling, wizard.” Lae’zel at least has the decency to chew with her mouth closed. She gulps the food, grips her fingers around Gale’s mug of watered down wine, and downs it with a tilt of her head.

Astarion pouts. “We were having a moment, dearest Lae’zel. Now, I love to tease Gale as much as you, but it is my turn to press on Gale’s pretty little nerves until he explodes. He does not need to be,” he flares a hand out to Lae’zel, who is still downing the disgusting concoction with impressive concentration, “hounded.”

Gale looks confused. Astarion thinks that is not a state he often experiences. “Thank you?”

And now he’s grateful? Astarion regrets his string of words in the last five seconds. They should go back to fighting.

Lae’zel slams the mug down on the table, perishing the rest of Astarion’s train of thought. She wipes the drink from her lips with her arm, thinks for a second, then nods, resilience plain in her expression. “I must warn you: distractions outside of our goal will be our end. I will not fail to cut either of you down if you produce disappointing results. However.”

There’s a ‘however’? Gale and Astarion exchange a glance, the animosity between them gone, replaced with more confusion. “I think you may be misunderstanding,” Gale begins. “Astarion and I-”

“You two are lovers,” Lae’zel says with the confidence of a thousand burning suns. Astarion has never wished for that to be more true. He wants to be eviscerated where he sits right now because he cannot pick up his jaw from the ground.

Gale looks like he just swallowed a rat. Like he is seconds away from throwing up. He needs a moment, experiencing vicious whiplash from wanting to kill Astarion to now, wanting to kill Lae’zel. “You— huh.”

“I support this companionship,” nods the githyanki sagely.

“You are a bloody fool.”

“No. I am efficient. Two of my enemies have been wiped off the playing field, which means there is less competition.” Hands on her hips, Lae’zel looks at the campgrounds proudly. “Make love to each other loudly.” She jerks her head over her shoulder, a sneer twisting her sharp features as she looks at them. “Try to drown out my name from Tav’s lips tonight, for I will be taking their hand and heart.”

No fucking way. An oversight on his part. How could he have been so blind? Of course Tav is desired, not just by him or Gale, but by everyone else in the damn camp! This is much more troublesome than he realized. Fine, then. He should prioritize the rational thinkers like Wyll, Gale, Shadowheart and– oh, Karlach. Not darling Karlach. She would never turn Tav against him, would he?

Fine. Halsin and Lae’zel can go first.

“Momentary truce?” Gale offers.

“You read my mind, handsome. Lae’zel, darling! Come back over here - we just want to talk.”

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x you #gale x reader #gale x you #lae'zel x reader #lae'zel x you #shadowheart #halsin #wyll #karlach #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #badlur's gate 3 x reader #baldur's gate 3 x you

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punktactical · 2 months

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INSANITY , dracule mihawk

★

summary ; mihawk would do anything to get his lover back.

warnings ; gender neutral reader , angst , character death , implied depression , slight necrophilia ? ( kissing a dead person )

a/n ; this was gonna be smut but like . . . i wasnt ready to write it yet. i wanted the sadness to sink in first. maybe i'll do a part two if im convinced x3 ( im working on requests at the moment, maybe drop one if u want !! )

★

death is devastating.

to know someone will never come back and that you'll never see them in person again, it's agonizing. especially when you have unfinished business with them.

it's like mold, growing the more you refuse to clean it. to clean it would mean to rid of the thought, how could you ever rid of that person you love?

how could mihawk ever get rid of you?

the only person who ever stood by him, who kept pushing towards him, who understood him.

the day you died, you took a piece of him with you. the day they lowered your casket into the ground, they lowered him as well.

it's been hurting, rotting. he needs that piece of him back.

he needs you back.

which is what leads him to the graveyard, with a shovel and an empty bottle of wine. his forehead was slick with sweat, mixing in the drops of rain pouring from the night sky. the thoughts had been plaguing his mind, spotting his vision with images of you, distorted and distraught. he needed to get rid of them, to bring you back for good.

the shovel plummeted into the ground, mud plastering itself onto his wet boots. the rain continued to pour, small puddles now surrounding him. the lightning cracked, shooting through the sky. on rainy days like these, you'd often beg mihawk to watch the rain pour. he'd always decline, but now he only wishes he could go back and sit with you all those times.

there's a pile of wet dirt growing and growing, the longer he scoops its up, growing closer to where they put your body. the shovel wasn't enough, it couldn't pull enough dirt. so, he tosses it to side, gets on his knees, and begins scratching and shoveling through the dirt with his bare hands.

dirt finds itself under his usually clean nails, but he could care less. he couldn't wait any longer. his sweetheart was only a casket away.

the rain soaked his white button up, sticking to his toned body. his hair was damp, loose strands falling over his face. nobody would believe it, that the world's greatest swordsman was on his knees, digging up his deceased lover. it was pathetic, sad, how someone as simple as you had him throwing his pride away.

his fingers felt the touch of a hard surface, his stomach dipping. there it was, the box that held the only thing he wanted. for a moment, a grin stretches across his face. it's maniacal. his eyes were blown, the once hazel orbs now full-on gold, glowing in the rainy night.

his hands grip the sides of the casket, nails digging into the wood. with all his might, he pulls over the lid, finally revealing it. you.

there you laid, eyes closed. mihawk chuckled sadly. you were as beautiful as you were the day you died. your skin was drained of color, sickly looking. he only stared at you for a moment, taking in your image. he couldn't believe it. you were finally back, in front of him. with him, right where you belonged.

a droplet of rain falls onto your face, breaking mihawk out his trance. he scrambles to grab your limp body, holding you close to his wet body. he kissed your face, lacking the warmth you once carried with your presence. mihawk spoke softly, voice slightly cracking.

"shh . . . i know it's cold, my love. we'll be back home soon, in warmth, together."

the world's greatest swordsman had lost his mind.

★

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #light angst #one piece angst #angst #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #mihawk smut #mihawk angst #one piece smut #hes lost his mind #dark content #punkz postz

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eksvaized · 3 months

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[ Previous ┃ Next ] [ All In One ] part 10, MDNI

The hot, stinging tears have dried on your cheeks, leaving behind a salty residue that serves as a painful reminder of your anguish. Your chest aches, a deep, nagging pain that seems all-consuming. It feels as if someone is squeezing your heart, their nails digging into its soft flesh like a relentless vulture, determined to rip it out of your ribcage. Your mind is in turmoil. It's a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts and emotions that seems to swirl and collide with one another, creating a torturous cacophony that only intensifies the throbbing in your head. You want - no, need - to cry more, to let the sobbing distract you from the torturous pain that seems to consume every fibre of your being. Yet, you can't shed a single tear. There's no left. The well of your sorrow has run dry, leaving you with nothing but the hollow echo of your pain.

Slowly, you raise your head. As you pull away from his embrace, your damp cheeks detach from the soaked fabric of his shirt. You straighten your back. Your hand skims over your face, brushing aside the stray strands of hair that are sticking to your flushed skin. Simon stays silent when his brown eyes meet yours. His hand, which had been moving in comforting circles on your back, halts. He lets it rest on your lower back. You can feel the warmth of his fingers as they curl around your side, offering silent reassurance. Ever since the moment he pulled you out of the basement, a heavy, almost palpable silence filled the air between you two. But now, some words are begging to be spoken, thoughts that you need to voice out loud.

"I have to find my brother."

Simon's lips press together into a thin, tight line. You notice a barely perceptible shudder in his throat as he swallows. The muscles in his jaw clench and unclench, betraying the tension that he's trying to hide. His face is an unreadable canvas. It's devoid of any telling expression that might give away his thoughts. Despite the lack of any discernible response from him, you find the courage to continue speaking; you push away the overwhelming anxiety that has settled inside you.

"If he's there… at-at that base, I can't leave him there," your voice wavers, breaking mid-sentence. It gets caught in your parched throat, which has been turned arid from the endless tears you've shed. "I know I can't do anything about my mother — I wish I could lay her to rest, beside my father — but I don't even know where her body is." Your gaze falls to your lap. You have to pause and take a deep breath because tears well up in your eyes. "I can't help her, but… I can help my brother. I-I refuse to hide in this house, to sit and suffocate behind these four walls. I won't be able to live with myself if I d-don't…"

Your voice trails off, fading into silence. There's so much more you want to say, but the words just won't come out. They get stuck in your throat, choking you. You stand up, feeling a desperate need for some fresh air. As you stride towards the window and slowly pull the curtains back, you catch sight of several biters wandering around. The sun is rising. It casts a soft glow that illuminates the backyard well enough for you to know you could take the dead out. But exhaustion weighs upon you. Your limbs feel like lead, and you know that the moment you pick up a knife, it will slip out of your hand because of fatigue. So instead, you decide to crack open the window just a sliver, just enough to let the light breeze flow in. The faint noise alerts the dead. But they are far enough away that even though they hear something, they continue to wander around, not paying attention to the house.

Simon watches as you curl on the floor, pressing your side against the icy wall. You close your eyes and fold your arms over your shoulders, burying your face in the crook of your elbow. The mere thought of you going to the base, where the men who killed his team are, fills Simon with dread. He knows it's too dangerous, too risky, and akin to signing your own death wish. But despite the looming threats, Simon isn't naïve. In his heart, he knows that if the circumstances were to be reversed, if he were to discover that his team was still alive and trapped in the enemy's clutches, he would stop at nothing to rescue them. He would exhaust every ounce of his strength, tap into every resource at his disposal, and risk his life and every limb to bring them back. And so, he understands your burning desire to save your brother. He is the only family you have left.

"We can't just leave, march to a heavily guarded military base, and demand that they release your brother," Simon says in a grave tone. You stare into his eyes, aware that he will try to change your mind, convince you to stay at home, and demand that you don't do anything reckless. Your bottom lip quivers and you bite it, trying to cage the quiet whimpers threatening to escape. But before you can utter a single word, before you can tell him that you will go there either way, with or without him because you refuse to forget about your brother, he says something that leaves you stunned and causes your heart to skip a beat. "We need a plan, and a damn good one."

When reality sinks in that he intends to go with you instead of trying to keep you at home, a tidal wave of relief and gratitude drenches you. It's as if a heavy burden has been lifted off your shoulders, replaced by a lightness that has you almost floating. You can hardly contain the rush of a whirlpool of emotions that course through you. You leap to your feet. Overcome with emotion, you stumble into his arms. Your heart tells you to do what your lips have been yearning to - you lean in and kiss him.

"The base is guarded. They have a team of dedicated people who patrol the confines of the perimeter, ensuring that no one sneaks in. Each and every one of them is armed," he sighs, and his hands fall into his lap in a gesture of defeat. He sinks further into the couch, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. His fingers run through his hair before he rubs his face. "I need to prepare you, to teach you how to fight, how to handle a gun, how… how to kill a man — because killing people is a lot different from sticking your knife into the biters' skulls."

You nod your head, ready to do whatever it takes, to learn whatever you need to in order to survive. The thought of going alone terrified you. You were sure that if you had to venture into the unknown by yourself, you wouldn't return alive. But you had to try, for the sake of your brother. Now, however, knowing that Simon will go with you, you feel safe. With him by your side, there's no way that your little rescue mission could fail. After all, he's a skilled soldier, familiar with the layout of the base and so, you will be able to slip in and out undetected, without anyone even realising you were there.

Simon lowers his chin. His intense gaze, simmering with a plenitude of emotions, fixates upon you. His eyes wander over your face, graze the contours of your lips, and travel along the soft line of your cheeks. He cups your cheeks with his warm palms; the heat soaking through your skin and seeping into your bones. His fingers weave their way into your hair, getting entangled in the soft strands as his thumb grazes over the shell of your ear. His every touch sends waves of warmth cascading through you, causing you to melt like ice under the summer sun.

His lips part, quivering on the verge of voicing the turmoil churning inside his mind, yet only a sigh eludes him. Sensing his inner struggle, you wrap your fingers around his wrist. Turning your head to the side and squishing your cheek against his palm, you press your lips against his hand. The soft, lingering kiss serves as a comforting gesture, urging him to say whatever he is trying to hold back.

"What's wrong?" You ask. Your voice, laced with worry, is barely above a whisper. There's a part of you that fears his answer, uncertain of what he might say. You know Simon well enough to realise that if he's holding something back, if there's something he's hesitant to tell you, it's only because he thinks it could hurt you.

"I don't want to lose you…. I don't want anything bad to happen to you," he murmurs. The sincerity in his words hits you like a tidal wave as he pulls you into his arms in a protective embrace.

"Everything will be fine. I will be safe with you," you assure him, striving to keep your voice steady, to infuse confidence into your words, even if you aren't fully convinced of their truth.

"Of course, but—but I still need to teach you a lot of things before we go," he says, and you nod. "We need to have a plan, to figure out a way to sneak in — and I know a couple of ways — because we can't risk being seen. If something happens, if we get caught… as soon as they see us — you and me — I'm doomed. They will kill me. But not before making me suffer, and you… I don't want to even think about you and what would happen because—…”

The words he says become distant echoes, muffling and fading into the background as if you're trying to discern a voice through a thick, disorienting fog. Your heart drops, plummeting to the very pit of your stomach. It feels as though the air has been sucked right out of your lungs, rendering you immobile, paralyzed by a sudden onslaught of terror.

You were so ensnared in your own worries, so consumed by your brother's predicament, that you have completely forgotten that this entire situation isn't just about you. It's a horrifying, gut-wrenching realisation that seizes you, shaking your world to its core. To save your brother, you may have to make the unthinkable sacrifice—Simon.

The mere thought sends chills down your spine. The dreadful possibility of being forced to choose between the two people you cherish the most in this world is heart-wrenching. Your stomach twists into painful knots, and your chest tightens with overwhelming anxiety that threatens to consume you. How are you supposed to pick who to sacrifice when Simon and your brother are the only two people you truly care about?

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#simon riley x reader #cod #simon riley x you #writing #call of duty #ghost x y/n #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost x you #ghost #ghost call of duty #cod ghost #cod fanfic #cod x reader #fem!reader #ap2 #zombie apocalypse #apocalypse

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acourtofmenandthirst · 1 year

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Show Them

Tamlin x Reader. If you don’t like it, don’t read it :) I feel like after all of the events of books 2-5, he’s learned how and why he was wrong, and he’s been kicked a lot while he was down. It’s about time for him to redeem himself and find love too ok?? So here is my rendition of the start of his redemption arc.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, trauma

Word Count: 8.7K

You huffed a sigh, wiping your hands at the hem of your thin dress, ridding yourself of the flecks of mud and dry blood. With a squint, you picked at your palm, trying to pull the thick wooden splinter from your skin. Fourth one in an hour, you rolled your eyes to yourself, glaring at the pile of wood and debris - what previously held the roof over your head.

You eyed the deep scratches embossed in the wood, the ones that no doubt belonged to the Naga that roamed the nearby forest. They’d looted and torn your house to the ground, much like your neighbor’s home and the shops in the town. After the High Lord had disappeared years ago, the hierarchy had fallen - there were no more sentries to guard the village, to threaten the Bogge and keep the wraiths at bay.

Not that you had many belongings, but you needed to find as much food as you could. You dug around for scraps of food, money, jewelry - anything of value that you could trade for shelter. But fuck, you came up with nothing. Your house was nothing but a pile of dust, all your belongings gone with it. And it was getting dark, the sun almost completely disappearing behind mountains in the distance.

You’d have to beg your neighbors for sanctuary, even if just for the evening. They were no doubt already locking up their homes and arming themselves with all the blades and spears they could find. Deciding you would return in the morning to continue, you turned away from the pile of remains - only for your eye to catch on a glimmer in the woods.

The shadows had already long fallen over the forest, the black of night seeping in from the treeline before you. You were met with a pair of eyes, glowing and bright green, the golden sunset mirrored in the glossy shine.

Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart stilling in your veins. There were many creatures that roamed the Spring woodlands, many more creeping in on the territory now that it lacked a High Lord. The water wraiths from the Summer Court encroached in the waters; after hearing that their neighboring sisters no longer paid the Tithe, they swam over in droves. Some were shifters, moving onto the unprotected lands to mark for themselves, others were sirens, with shimmering eyes that promised the brightest future, so beautiful that they lured the young Spring males to the coast, robbing and drowning them for pleasure.

But these eyes were different, a deep emerald, slanted inwards and narrowed - canine, feral. Studying its prey, waiting for attack. You’d heard rumors of the Autumn Court hounds, the ones Beron and his sons roamed around with. How they could track Fae down between courts, tear their throats out without even revealing themselves - some were rumored to have two heads. But you watched those shining green eyes until the beast turned away, tucking itself back between the trees and disappearing into the darkness.

___________________________

You were back on the street at the break of dawn, graciously thanking the family that housed you for the night, offering to bring them anything valuable you could find from home’s wreckage. You kicked at the dry sticks and stones on the dirt road leading to your little plot of land, cursing at the fallen trees and dying brush.

It seemed the Spring Court curse wouldn’t be lifted any time soon. You’d worn a godsdamned mask for years - a doe: the most innocent animal of Spring, silent and small in a court full of sly foxes and brash wolves. The supposed cursebreaker returned to your court only to tear it apart from the inside out, playing spy for the Night Court the whole time. The Autumn Court emissary had left and your High Lord had disappeared - no heir or kin left behind. He abandoned you all and took his power with him.

Some said he left and sought refuge in the Summer Court - that only Tarquin would be kind enough - naive enough - to offer him solace. Others thought he died, that Feyre killed him and there was nobody else to take the powers of the High Lord. You weren’t sure you believed either of those rumors. Nobody was brave enough to tread to Tamlin’s manor and find out for themselves; only the Mother knew what creatures resided there, Fae or otherwise.

The pile of wood and stone remained untouched overnight, you had to drag yourself over to your old land. It wasn’t worth anything, nothing was anymore. It felt barbaric, almost: digging through the mud and destroyed earth for something to barter with. It seemed that your court had been through nothing but devastation since you’d been alive. You were only just a hundred years old when the land was cursed by Amarantha - spent years in a mask followed by a stint under the mountain. When the curse was lifted, the Spring Court lasted about as long as the celebrations. As soon as life turned back to normal - whatever that truly was - the Night Court infiltration was exposed, Pyrthian was brought to war, and your home was destroyed.

You groaned, both of your hands wrapped around a heavy log of wood, surely it was the heaviest in the pile. You groaned, gritting your teeth as you tried (and failed) to move it. Your hands slipped, dry bark breaking off the wood beam, causing you to slip and fall backwards right on your ass. You cursed, denouncing the Mother. Perfect start to the fucking day, you’d thought. A whole day of failure awaits.

“Do you need a hand?”

Your head snapped up, nearly giving you whiplash as you turned to the side. You narrowed your eyes, the tall male standing just in front of where the sun was rising, shadow cast over his front. But you made out his light hair, glowing in the bright light, a halo cast around his head. His shoulders were so broad, his white shirt tight around his arms but loose around his waist, the fabric shifting as the wind blew past. He held a hand out to you, palm raised.

Your gaze dropped to his waiting hand, which you gladly took. His skin was rough, calluses around his palms and over his fingers. He pulled you to your feet, almost too easily, and had you balancing over the pile of bricks and shingles. “Thanks,” you mumbled, releasing his hand and brushing the dirt off the bottom of your dress. No use - there were days old mud stains all over it already.

“Is this your home?” His eyes surveyed the debris you both stood over, face still shadowed from the sun.

You rolled your eyes. “It was,” you’d scoffed, propping your hands on your hips. The male frowned, his shoulders hunched a bit. You cocked a brow at him, at the rainy evergreen smell that cascaded off of him. His blond hair was unkempt, sun-frayed and tangled at the ends. You took a step closer, onto the large wooden beam that had just bested you.

“Sorry,” he murmured, cheeks tinged pink, chin tilted downwards. Ashamed.

You nodded, standing taller, walking across the wood so you were positioned on the other side of him. The male turned with you, not allowing his back to face you. He mirrored you, perhaps in self defense, as you looked like you were the one scouting your prey. His features became sharper as he faced the sunrise, shadows looming over his face now washed away.

Those emerald green eyes watched you carefully, narrowed, just like those from the forest. His sharp brows furrowed as he watched you assess him, as you put together the pieces rather quickly.

“What would you be sorry for?” You questioned the High Lord. “Did you knock down my house?”

Tamlin didn’t respond, just stood in front of you, those light eyelashes caressing the tops of his high cheekbones as he blinked at you. His jaw clenched, tongue ran over the back of his sharp teeth as he mulled over something to say, only to come up short.

You took his lack of response as an answer in the negative. “Then you have nothing to apologize for.”

“I didn’t stop them,” he replied, voice hoarse. It was as though he hadn’t spoken in years, as if he’d spent far too long roaming the forest in his wolf form. His body was wracked with shame, remorse, and anguish. He didn’t feel the pain when he was outside his Fae form - he didn’t have to bear the anguish of witnessing what happened to his court while he disappeared into the brush.

You nodded in agreement. And while you spent these past hundred years angry, just so frustrated at what had become of your life, you couldn’t find yourself to be upset with him.

Your home had been destroyed, your family gone, everything from the life you once had stripped away entirely. But what could you do? The past had already come and gone, there was nothing you could do to change it.

The male before you felt the opposite, though. His mind was reeling with the resurgence of the memories from the past century. The masks, his friend and former lover gone - ran away to the Night Court, to the male that had murdered his family - under the mountain, the war, the Cauldron.

Gods, all of it was his fault.

His court was destroyed, but it wasn’t the war, it wasn’t the other High Lords infringing on his territory. No, it was all him. It was the lack of his presence in his court that destroyed it from the inside out. And looking at your face, the dirt smudged over your brow, your cheeks splotched from spending days in the sun without shelter, he’d wanted nothing more than to tuck his tail between his legs and disappear back into the woods.

But you were too captivating, your gaze leveled him completely. You didn’t tear into him, didn’t yell at him, didn’t hit him, not the way he knew so many others wanted to. He didn’t know how to help you, how to apologize for abandoning his court. He didn’t have any money to give you, no doubt he assumed the Spring Court estate had been robbed and looted. He wasn’t sure what valuables were even left anyway, after passing on money and jewels to the Archeron family.

“I’d like to help you…” Tamlin trailed off, the words lost. His eyes roamed over the fallen house the two of you stood on. “Rebuild.” His green eyes flitted back up to you, to the doubt and surprise laced over your features. You swallowed, shoulders shrugged in indifference. Gods, you probably hated him. Wanted nothing to do with him. “If you’ll let me.”

“I’m not sure what there is to rebuild,” you replied, kicking at some stone with your dirty boot. “I’m just looking for...” What were you looking for? “Anything.”

Tamlin nodded in understanding. He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting to come back to, didn’t know what he would stumble upon after he’d returned to his home court. While he was no stranger to being alone, to feeling like an outcast, utterly unworthy of his position in life, he’d never been able to relate to his old friend Lucien so much. While the Vanserra had been banished from his home court, Tamlin felt like the Spring subjects would band together and exile him from his own court, too.

But the male stood still, nothing but the wind blowing his tousled hair around his sharp jaw. He was surely waiting for you, for your permission to return to his life in Spring - a new life, perhaps: a chance to rebuild your home and his life. He needed to earn his place as the High Lord, hell - he needed to learn what it meant to be a leader, to earn the trust of the Spring citizens.

“Well, help me move this, then,” you said simply, gesturing to the dark wood.

You’d quickly come to realize the male just had pent up anger, stress that may have been best relieved by throwing stone and brick around. He was quiet, not speaking unless you’d ask him a question or give him direction to move some debris. Tamlin watched you carefully, just as he had the other night, eyes glossy and pointed, observing how carefully you tended to anything that may have once had value to you. But you hadn’t made much progress, finding just scraps of clothing, a broken necklace, or some rotten food.

“I was in love once, too,” you stated out of nowhere. You kept digging through the pile of broken furniture and wood, head tilted downwards, eyes focused on the task at hand.

Tamlin’s ears perked up and he straightened, wiping his hands on his trousers to remove some of the mud that had caked his palms. He wiped at his brow, the sweat that had built up over the past few hours. He wasn’t sure what to say, you gave him nothing to work off of, offering nothing but confusion for the poor male.

You looked up at him only for a moment, plopping down on your ass with a sigh, resting your aching legs. “It can make you do some fucked up things.”

He almost laughed, would have, if it didn’t burn his throat on the way up. “Even more fucked up things once you’re out of it.”

The sound that pushed past your lips sounded like absolute heaven. It was the only salvation the male needed after years spent growling at beasts in the woods. The giggle that erupted from you - the pure surprise at the High Lord’s comment - it made his heart stop.

But he couldn’t help the deep stabbing feeling through his gut. Guilt. He shouldn’t be enjoying the sweet sound of your laughter, the shine of the sun in your hair, your pretty smile. He shouldn’t enjoy life anymore, not after what he did to yours - to everyones. It was why he shut himself out, far in the thick Spring forest, away from all salvation, any shred of comfort he might have been able to find. After Feyre had left, after Rhysand returned to twist the knife in his once stone chest, there had been no point, no return at High Lord once everything had crumbled.

“Well, Tamlin,” you sighed - the first time hearing his name on your lips. He quite liked the sound of it, but promised not to get used to it. “I think it’s about time we fix some of those fuck ups.”

He rolled his eyes, kicking a heavy log from the top of the pile. “And how do you suppose I do that?”

You huffed another breathy laugh, raising your head and squinting up at him, the sun risen nearly fully in the sky. “You do nothing,” you replied simply, propping your elbows on your knees. “We are going into town.” You opened your palm, that broken gold necklace

And Tamlin felt like folding himself in half and kneeling over that damn pile of rocks. The necklace you’d worked for hours to find ready to trade at the town center. He was absolutely sick. His mind flashed back to the days of the Tithe - how he sat atop his throne, gold jeweled crown atop his head, waiting rather impatiently for the Spring Court subjects to pay their dues. In a court where he did next to nothing to save them - after fifty years of looking for a way out of Amarantha’s plan - they still owed him.

Tamlin had a lot of regrets.

He didn’t know how to act, how to rule a court. Didn’t know how to save his people, how to make up for the lost years.

There was a lot to make up for - he knew it better than anyone.

He just didn’t know how.

You watched his mind reel, how his sharp green eyes fell to the pile of wooden scraps beneath his boots. His dark blond brows knitted together, lips pressed in a firm line, jaw clenched. His chest moved up and down with every breath he took, each one he forced in his lungs. The golden strands of his hair moved around his pointed ears, dancing over his shoulders in the wind.

“I don’t think I can,” he replied, voice just above a whisper.

You pushed yourself to your feet and reached out for him, for the tanned skin of his forearm. You held your fingers around his wrist, the touch shocking the male out of his daze. His breath caught, his mouth and throat suddenly ran dry. “You have to come back. You need to return to us.”

He tried to force himself to swallow, to will his voice to work and reply. To us. He was the only one who could fix what he’d fucked up. He didn’t know exactly how, but you were right. It would start with the return of the High Lord, with the promise of forgiveness from his subjects. He’d have to beg for forgiveness, pray that they would grant him amnesty.

He nodded though, which was all he could muster the strength for. He let you keep hold of his wrist - he didn’t even know how long it had been since another Fae had touched him - and guide him off the pile of debris, not missing how your boots skidded along the loose bricks. He reached out with his other hand to steady you, a firm hand on your hip as you stumbled to a halt, managing to remain upright.

By the Cauldron, you felt good. Warm, delicate, you smelled like the gardens after a fresh rain. He dropped his hand just as quickly, before his mind really fell into the gutter. Perhaps the years of solitude had finally gotten to him, he thought. He had officially gone mad. So he stayed composed, letting you drop his wrist from your hand - not without a backward glance at him.

“We’ll see what we can get,” you continued, beginning to walk towards the center of the town. You lived far enough on the outskirts that not many others passed by, none alerted to the fact their High Lord had returned. “The blacksmiths will probably be the only ones who will trade for it. Nobody really has use for gold anymore.”

He noted the drop in your voice, the bleakness that laced your tone. Tamlin walked only a half step behind you, yet he towered over you, his chest cleared above your head, shadow fully engulfing you. “How is the food supply?”

You knew it felt foreign for him, especially to ask now after years of his disappearance into the woods. But you could tell he was trying, gathering his bearings and reassessing the court - where he needed to start first. “Not great, honestly. There are only a few who have enough weapons to hunt in the woods.”

Tamlin knew all too well what lurked in the woods. They would be lucky if they could catch deer or rabbit, let alone an elk or mare. “I’ll see what I can manage to catch tonight,” he replied grimly, lips pressing into a frown. Under the moon was the best time to hunt, where there were surely no endangered Fae out, when the large beasts went to roam the woods, using the cover of night to avoid the hunters. The only thing that would be able to catch them lurked just behind you: a wolf.

You eyed the clouds that began to roll in overhead, dimming the sun’s bright light. “That would help,” you replied, hoping the words of encouragement would ease his mind, but not sound too desperate that they scared the male.

You walked the rest of the way in silence, peaceful albeit awkward. Tamlin’s fingers twitched at his sides - it was almost as though he barely remembered how to walk as a Fae male. You knew those green eyes that watched you from the forest were his. The second you saw the High Lord that morning, you realized you’d stared into his wolfish eyes - hungry and chilling, sad and remorseful.

His gaze shifted from left to right constantly, walking through the clutter of buildings and broken wood. Half the buildings had been looted, some torn down entirely. Fae gathered around stands and what was left of the remaining shops. He felt their eyes burning into him, heard the murmuring ringing in his ears. Some were confused, others outright scared, but none approached him.

You took Tamlin to the dim stone building, the only light pouring in from the window and cracks in the walls - no faelights or candles in sight. “He and his wife have the baked goods - there aren’t many other iron pans left in the town, he’s got the bulk of them.” Your eyes flitted around the shop, at the pile of iron ingots stacked on one of the tables. “I could never manage enough to get one, to bake my own bread over the fire.” You shot Talmin a sharp look, then eyed the shop owner across the room. “Good morning, Oleander,” you greeted the old male, hunched over a table lined with gleaming metal knives.

The hairs on the High Lord’s neck stood, a chill running down his spine at the sight of the swords hanging on the wall, the bows and arrows piled in the corner. “(Y/N),” he replied gruffly. “What brings you in?”

You turned back to Talmin, getting eyes on the male to ensure he was still in toe. “I was wondering what you might give me for this gold.” You held the necklace out to him, the cracked pendant and broken chain gleaming in your dirty palm.

“Ah,” he breathed, grabbing the necklace with his own filthy hand. “Given the condition, I’m afraid I can only give you…” He squinted at the old pendant, what seemed to be a depiction of the Mother with flowers braided throughout her hair. Tamlin’s mother once had a similar one. “Last week’s bread.”

“Old bread?” Tamlin couldn’t help but scoff, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

The blacksmith’s eyes show up toward him, as if his eyes and ears deceived him. Oleander, clearly half blind, squinted at the High Lord. “Do you have an issue with my pricing?” He questioned Tamlin - who was certainly not used to the bite back from his subjects. “I think I’m being more than fair to the female.” He looked Tamlin up and down.

“Fair?” Tamlin barked a laugh. “You own all of the weapons and food in the town and you’re telling me what’s fair?” He didn’t miss the sight of you backing up, right out of the corner of his eye. You inched towards the door, palms facing outwardly behind you, feeling as soon as your backside touched the door jam. Oleander stood, broad and burly, inching forward toward the both of you. By then, the shop had dimmed, dark clouds rolling over outside. The Fae had gathered around to watch, to see the High Lord for the first time in nearly decades.

“Oh,” he laughed, standing, grabbing one of the polished knives. He raised his voice and stepped closer to Tamlin, cornering him out the door in the same direction you were fleeing. “The High Lord has returned to preach on decorum.” Tamlin dropped his hands to his sides, unclenched fists, not looking to start the physical fight, but prepared to defend himself. He could surely take the old male on easily, even if he had been armed with half the swords in his collection. “After years of abandonment, of leaving his people to suffer at the hands of the beasts, he’s come to exhort fairness and righteousness.”

The Fae outside watched as you and Tamlin joined them outside the shop, many of their interests piqued at the sight of the golden haired male.

“He’s back?”

“I thought he had died…” “He would be better off that way.”

“Never thought I’d live the day I would rather see Beron than him.”

“Shut up, he’s returned to help.” “No way - he’s just going to start the Tithe again.”

There were giggles amongst the murmuring crowd, laughing surely at the old Fae male that had the High Lord backing out of his shop. There were no words he could say to ease the crowd, to change their minds, to earn their trust. He wanted nothing more than to shift back into a wolf and hide away in the forest alone.

“We didn’t come to make trouble, Oleander,” you spoke up calmly, empty hands raised in surrender. “He’s come to make peace.”

He rolled his eyes, amongst another burst of whispering from the gathered crowd. “Peace,” he spat. “That’s what we all used to know before he abandoned us and left us for dead.”

Tamlin’s jaw set, anger flashed through his eyes. There were some agreements exchanged by the other Fae. There were very few who sought to give their High Lord a second chance.

Fuck, second or third? Or fourth chance? Tamlin couldn’t count.

“We’re leaving, okay?” You inched closer to him, right until your shoulder pressed up against his bicep. “But please - ” you turned to face the crowd, what Tamlin could only assume were your friends, others you could consider almost family. “Please, just keep an open mind. If you’d been shunned, abandoned in the woods, you’d want us to accept you back.” There were a few nods, but many blank stares as you began walking away from the town, back towards the forest clearing. “No more hatred. We’ve had decades of spite, of shame.” Before you turned on your heel, before you grabbed Tamlin’s forearm to pull him away with you, you added: “Let us find peace again. Together: united as one court.”

Fuck, Tamlin thought. You’d spoken all of the things he should have said. He wondered if you’d practiced that little speech, if one day you secretly hoped he’d come back so you could preach that very surmon.

Tamlin pushed that thought far down in the depth of his mind.

But perhaps Oleander had a point. Perhaps they would all be better off taking care of themselves without the rule of an artificial High Lord. They surely managed to come this far. It wasn’t like Tamlin would be able to protect the town himself - he’d have to rebuild armies before infrastructure, to guard the town from the forest before they could sift through the remains of the down.

You’d dragged him along nonetheless, guiding him anywhere but the town. It was back toward your home - what remained of it, anyway. But the sky was grey by then, dark clouds shielding you both from the once bright sun. The soft crackle of thunder reverberated from the Summer Coast. “I’m - ” you cut yourself off with a sigh, dropping his arm, but continuing on your trek. “I’m not sure where we can get shelter for the evening. I don’t think anyone will let us stay for the storm.”

You were surely not on your way to make any amends, though. You just kept walking back towards your little plot of land, not that there was anywhere for you two to take cover until the rain washed away.

Tamlin kept his eyes trained in front of him, not daring to spare a look at your shining eyes as he spoke. “Follow me.”

So you did. You almost didn’t recognize it, afterall, it had been almost a century since you’d walked that path. Nature had reclaimed most of it, the trail completely gone. Tamlin’s long legs stepped over vines and fallen logs, and he held your hand for balance as you followed in his footsteps - he’d even lifted you through particularly muddy patches, simply lifting you up and placing you down before him like you weighed nothing.

The walk to his manor would have taken a mere half hour on horseback, perhaps just over an hour had the path remained. But it would take a few for the two of you to find your way back to the Spring Court Estate in the condition of the forest. Especially as the rain started to fall, the heavy droplets hard against your skin as they fell from the sky.

You walked for what felt like the whole first half in silence. Nothing but the sound of Tamlin slicing thick leaves and branches, clearing what he could from the once barren path. You listened to the rain, to your own ragged breath as you struggled to keep up with the male.

You watched his golden hair darken as it became damp with rain. His white linen shirt clung to his back and arms, you’d noted the ridges carved deep into his body as his muscles flexed, working around the forest that overtook the path. He slowed once the two of you stumbled upon a clearer area, falling into step beside you.

You could feel the tension radiating from him, his fists were clenched at his side, the hairs on his arms stood up. He wasn’t used to wondering the woods as a Fae, hell - he hadn’t been in Fae form in years. Those woods felt all too familiar to him out of his wolf form, reminded him of all the times he’d fucked up in that very spot. He needed to distract himself, clear away the memories of his friend Lucien, his once lover, his newfound family.

“I was in love once,” he said, voice gruff, muffled from the sound of the rain falling against the wide leaves. He repeated your sentiment from earlier - an acknowledgement of his past, perhaps even an apology. “But I’m pretty sure she was fucking my emissary.”

You’d nearly choked.

“That’s - uh - ” Gods, what do you say to that?

He shrugged. “My feelings for her weren’t fake,” he continued, nonchalantly, as though he’d had nothing but time to come to terms with what had transpired. You supposed he did, though, and were sure that was the only thing on his mind. “I just didn’t know how to act.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to keep what little body heat you had, as the cold water sent shivers down your spine.

He shrugged. “Someone ought to hear the truth - ” Tamlin paused, only for a moment, as his green eyes narrowed in on the estate before you both. Trees covered the once stony walls, vines and thick ivy woven up all the windows and over the balconies. “You seem to be the only one who will listen.”

“I don’t not believe you, Tamlin.” You let him lead the rest of the way, pushing past the thick brush that guarded you from the estate as you neared the large castle. “Sometimes people aren’t who you think they are.”

At that, Tamlin dipped his head, turning to the side only slightly, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your solemn expression. The rain had dripped down your face, over the curve of your nose and over your cheeks. He admired the way they clumped on your eyelashes, how you didn’t have a care in the world all covered in rain - perhaps you had more important concerns. Much too worried about where you’d sleep that night, where you next meal would come from, if you’d have shelter from the beasts, than to worry about his sob story.

But you caught his gaze from the corner of your eye, where you’d found those bright emerald eyes washing over your form. Shadows cascaded down his straight nose, his eyelashes nearly touching his cheekbones. You’d wondered if it was the wolf in him that gave him those long eyelashes and thick hair, his sharp teeth and chiseled jaw. He carried himself like a High Lord, shoulders back and chest puffed out - perhaps the closer he got to his home, the more normal he felt. It was a routine, the same path he’d often walked with his friends: Lucien, Bron, Alis, Hart, those that worked for him yes, but also the only ones he could consider truly his family.

Tamlin used the small knife he had to cut though the thick vines over the stairs. He’d moved each of the fallen logs, twice as heavy because they were waterlogged, and cleared the pathway to the front doors. He wanted to create a wide opening, should you decide in the middle of the night that you’d want to escape - run away from him, from the court. He didn’t want you to feel like a prisoner - he scoffed to himself, he apparently had a knack for that.

He’d opened the door for you, watching as you gathered the hem of your soaked skirts and your muddy boots squished against the stone steps. You nodded in thanks, unable to move your eyes away from the entryway. The ceiling was fully glass, and despite the rain and clouds, cast a looming light onto the marble walls and floors. The rain echoed in the walls, the fat droplets hitting the roof hard. The heavy curtains and canvases on the walls had been ripped to shreds, rock and stone cracked and scattered along the hallways. The grand staircase was broken, missing a few steps, the railing half gone.

You wondered what war went on here, while Tamlin tried to forget exactly that.

He hadn’t been to his home in years. But he knew what would be left to salvage, the rooms he’d lost the energy to tear completely apart. So Tamlin followed you in, guiding you down one of the corridors. “We should be able to find some blankets and clothes this way,” he said, voice just above a whisper. It was so deep that it vibrated in your bones, sending shivers down your freezing spine.

He’d stirred you through the wide halls, pulling you away with a firm hand on your hip when you’d tried to move toward the great dining room. His hand was hot on your waist, right at the curve of your back as he pulled you one step closer to him. “Not that way.” His eyes were fixed on the mahogany doors, hiding whatever may lie beyond. While he was almost certain he’d left you with the idea there may be Naga or wolves or some other beasts beyond those walls, he didn’t want to correct you with the truth. The gross truth that that’s where he left the elk Rhysand brought him so long ago, no doubt rotted away and disintegrated into the table - that, or it would have been swept away by some creature, perhaps for food or simply to play with its carcass. Either way, he didn’t want to find out.

There were holes in the roof, in the floors above, that leaked through the halls. You stepped around the puddles, dodging the stream of rain that fell from the ceiling. Tamlin pushed open one of the many doors in the long hallway, a dark bedroom on the other side. “It’s not my room, don’t worry.”

You turned up to face him. He looked weary, uneasy being back in this estate. “I wasn’t worried, Tamlin.”

He released a breath, his chest visibly falling at your words. He followed you in, closing the door to shut out the cold that the rain had brought to Spring. He’d brought you to one of the guest rooms, never had been occupied by a member of his court. It went untouched during Tamlin’s rage, there had been no evidence of life to destroy. He’d managed to rummage around and quickly find some candles, digging through drawers and closets to find a dry book of matches.

While Tamlin lit the room, you were drawn to the soft couch in the corner, pulling every blanket and piece of cloth you could find. Gods, it had been so long since you had a good night’s rest, since you sat on a plush sofa and had the softest blankets around you. But you had to wait. Your dress was soaked, you’d been dragging water and mud behind you that whole time. “Do you have any…” you trailed off with a sigh, assuming the male didn’t have any spare dresses lying around.

You actually would be more concerned if he did.

“There may be something,” he replied, picking up on your predicament. He sifted through the armoire again, the flickering candles aiding his search. He’d come up with some clothes, a few linen pants and loose shirts. He held everything out to you, a pile of clean fabric.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d worn clean clothes. Tamlin noted how your eyes widened, like you’d hit the jackpot, like you’d never seen pajamas before - clean clothes. He cursed himself once again for cursing his people, for abandoning them and forcing them to live in destroyed homes and a looted town.

You pulled a handful of clothes from his offering, your wet skin crying out for warmth. “There’s a bathing chamber that way.” He nodded to the door far off in the corner. “Doubt there’s any water but…” he trailed off with a shrug.

“Thank you,” you replied, legs practically begging to take you to the bathroom and change into the pajamas. So you’d scurried away, grabbing a candle to light your way into the bath chamber. The mirror was cracked, covered in dust. But you quickly shucked off your wet dress, grabbing the shirt from the pile and wiped yourself dry, wringing out your hair in the fabric. You pulled on the next shirt, the huge cotton long-sleeve that fell halfway down your thighs. No doubt it had been designed for the High Lord, perhaps even his emissary. But you’d take what you could get, throwing on another shirt for warmth, then the linen pants. You fisted the waist, pulling one of the strings from your dress bodice to tie the pants snugly around your waist.

Through the dirty mirror, you made out the dark circles under your eyes, your tired eyes and wild hair. You suppressed a sigh, too tired to care one bit. So you returned to the drawing room, finding the High Lord in a fresh set of clothes as well.

He was trying to busy himself, sifting through the pile of blankets you’d managed to create, even adding a few more to your pile. He didn’t want to be rude, to fall onto the soft couch or bed without first making sure you were taken care of.

His heart stopped when he turned, seeing you swimming in the Spring Court clothing, even just those too-large pajamas. You looked so relieved, so comfortable and, honestly, ready to pass out for the evening. So he cleared his throat: “You can have the bed.” It was all he said, added a head nod towards the other end of the room, where the mattress was, nothing but some sheets atop it. “I was going to give you these.” He gestured to his pile of blankets. All the soft looking ones in one pile, the thin scratchy material separated behind him.

“We can share the bed, no?” You made your way toward him and grabbed an armful of the blankets he’d folded. “We could both use the nice bed, I’m sure. I imagine it’s been longer for you than me.”

Tamlin cocked a brow, watched as you trudged over to the bed, dumping everything atop it. “I’ve managed just fine.”

You glanced over your shoulder at the male. “Bring those other ones,” you called out, ignoring her words. “We’ll probably need them if this rain doesn’t let up.”

Tamlin shook his head to himself but did as told, not in the mood to argue with the female, especially not the beautiful one wearing his clothes. So he brought over the rest of the blankets, even the scratchy ones, and helped you make the bed. It was haphazard, sure, some of them not big enough to cover the whole bed, a patchwork of covers, some yours, some his, then the ones stitching you together down the middle.

You climbed in immediately.

The sigh you let loose from your lips almost had Tamlin on his knees before you. Your back cracked when you laid down, plush mattress cushioning your spine in a way you hadn’t felt in a long while. You slept on the hard wooden planks of your neighbor’s floor since your house had been torn down, freezing and stiff. You hadn’t remembered the last time you’d had a full nights rest.

The same went for the male beside you. He’d been holed up in some cave on the Spring-Autumn border, where the wind whistled past and the cold seeped through the rock into his bone. His thick golden fur only did so much to protect him from the chill. He was surprised he hadn’t gotten himself killed out there, and he didn’t even want to think about everything he himself had killed in those past years.

“What made you come back?” Your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts, he blinked a few times before pulling the covers back and joining you on the opposite end. He was careful to leave space, to not encroach. His palms caught on the scratchy fabric of the blanket he’d laid on his half, calluses hard and broken, left from his many years of tearing apart flesh with his paws.

“I was tired of being a coward,” he replied humbly. “I ran away from everything that happened. Pretended like it never happened and shut myself away.” He ran a hair through his half-dried hair, fingers getting tangled at the ends.

“You were alone?” It was a cross between a question and a statement, he wasn’t sure which you were going for - probably the former.

“I’ve been alone my whole life. Everyone I come across either leaves or tries to kill me.”

He felt you turn, shift on your side to gaze at him with what little light remained of the candle. Tamlin kept his eyes trained on the covers above him, unable to face the pity that probably laced your features. “Did they try to kill you?” Your voice shook, afraid to even ask the question, terrified of the response.

He offered you a half shrug. “They left…willingly,” he’d added, mulling over the words in his head. “Though I suppose I not-so-willingly let them. I don’t know how to keep friends, it seems.”

“I suppose that’s better than the other option.”

Them killing him. “Better when it’s not your own family, too.” It was no secret the previous High Lord had a knack for starting wars, for sending his sons to fight his battles for him. Tamlin had a reputation far before his powers even matured - his brothers’ even more so. But what you didn’t know was that they were ready to kill him the instant he matured into a stronger male. He wasn’t glad they were dead, but he was glad he was safe - even if only for a little while. He had found few friends before the curse, a lover afterwards, even. But just like his father and brothers, he could not show love, no matter how hard he willed it, he kept fucking up.

That’s what it felt like, at least. He supposed he was the jester of the Spring Court in the end. The friends he’d had and the lies they told him: you never made me feel like a prisoner - her voice rang in his head. Soon they were gone, twisting the opposite tale to the male that murdered his family. Nothing could be forgiven in Prythian, no reconciliation to be made between courts. There was no coping, no help from his friends, no one to confide in. So he did the only thing he knew how: shut himself out. Just like he had his former lover, keeping her safe in that very estate.

He kept every Fae who remained in Spring safe from himself, even if that meant casting himself into the woods.

You shifted only a bit, but close enough that you reached over and tucked your soft blanket around his shoulders, over his chest that had nearly gone cold from the rain and chill outside. You were close enough that Tamlin could pick up on your flowery scent, that he noted the small hint of honey and cherry blossom lingering along your skin.

It had been so long since he’d touched another Fae, since he felt someone care for him. He couldn’t help it - his head fell onto your shoulder, right where the crook of your neck met your collarbone, a perfect fit for the crownless male. “And how have you fared, Tamlin? Now that you are a free male?”

Free.

Free from what? From his duties as a High Lord, surely he’d abandoned them years ago, letting the Naga and the beasts of the Spring Court take over the sacred land. Free from Amarantha’s glamor, the shackles she’d chained him with under the mountain? Free from the binds she kept on his mind, the nightmares - memories - he relived each evening?

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be free from it.

He didn’t know how to cope. Not when the only people he’s ever cared about left. Not when his best friend left him when he clearly needed the most help, not when his lover left to wed his mortal enemy, then bare his child. But he apologized to her, for all the trauma he must have caused, locking her away, fearful of who else from Prythian would come to spite him by taking away the female he loved, by he saving her mate.

He cursed himself. Surely, someone ought to have a happy ending. Might as well have been her.

He was upset, in fact. When it all came down to it, everything was traced back to his anger. He was blind to his own emotion, it’s what caused him to act without thinking - a strategy he’d never seemed to master, not like the other High Lords. It ended up causing him his newfound family, his Court, it got the Archeron sisters caught and thrown into the Cauldron, it spurred the war. He was a failure, he’d lost the Spring Court and his pride alongside it. He’d been played like that godsdamned fiddle.

And Tamlin let himself lie in that dark cave night after night, rotting in a lifetime of regret.

He could only shake his head, nose rubbing against your skin that poked out from the loose collar of your - his - shirt. “I swear I will rebuild the Court, (Y/N),” he whispered, breath warm on your skin. His lips just barely touched your skin as he spoke. “I promise it, I’ll run the beasts out and fix the mess I’ve made. Even if nobody believes me, if they’ve lost all faith in me.”

Your hand fell downwards over the blanket you’d placed over him, fell down the soft fabric over his chest. “Actions, not words.” He tilted his head up, and those deep green eyes met yours instantly. His gaze washed over your face, over the sheer determination and strength, but in utter admiration as you spoke. “Show them.”

You lifted your hand, fingers twitching in hesitancy, but your mind worked too fast. You brushed your hand over his cheekbone, over the strong jaw and tanned skin. He nearly shivered, nearly broke out in a godsdamned sob.

Tamlin was fighting to keep his emotions intact, to stop himself from absolutely crumbling apart in the safety of your arms. He slowly shifted upright, sitting beside you, back against the headboard just as you sat. You never moved your hand, save for your thumb running over his cheek, tracing where the light stubble had grown in over his jaw and cheek.

His own hand fell to your hip, safely above the covers. But the added weight of him caused the shift, the simple weight of his large hand on you sparked something inside of you.

So you leaned in.

You didn’t know what it was. If it was the fact you’d hadn’t been held in years, the fact you laid in bed together, cold from the rain and nearly out of candles. If it was the fact that he’d opened up for what probably was the first time ever, the male with the worst reputation - his ill temper, his tendency to fight, how godsdamned beastly was - laid out and vulnerable in your arms.

Your lips met his softly, a firm enough kiss where you felt equally matched, as if he, too, was waiting for you to do it; but soft enough that he would pull back if you did, that he would restrain himself from going further, should you realize you’ve made a mistake.

You did the opposite, though, barely breaking away for breath, parting your lips just enough to gasp for air before pushing against him once more. Your hand raked through his long hair, so Tamlin had no choice but to do the same. His fingertips wove through your own hair as his hand rose from your hip to cradle your jaw, tilting your head to the side.

He tasted sweet, not what you were expecting from the male whose scent lingered with the sultry forest and fresh morning dew. He was gentile, too. His tongue moving only to trace your bottom lip, nothing more. Your lips moved over each other in sync, breathing in tandem and letting those soft sighs escape between the two of you.

You pulled him closer, winding your other arm around his neck as you laid back, sliding further onto the bed where he had to drop a hand beside you to hold himself up. But he kissed you anyway, like you were the last breath of life for that dying male.

Perhaps you were giving him life, that spark he needed to reignite the male inside of him who he once was.

Your hand trailed down his chest as he continued deepening the kiss, lips moving quickly over yours, growing hungrier, more desperate. You fisted at his loose shirt, not even bothering to untie it, just slipped your hand underneath from the bottom where it hung so loosely from his body. His abdomen shivered under your touch, your fingertips tracing the hard rigid muscle. Tamlin sighed against your mouth, trying (and failing) to suppress the groan that built up in the back of his throat.

So he’d pulled away, the sound of your lips parting from his loud and wet, a sound he’d practically forgotten about over the past decades spent alone. His forehead dropped against yours and you felt the tickle of his hair against your cheek. “I can’t - I’ve already caused too much destruction. I’ll hurt you.”

It didn’t feel real - he had to stop himself, break free of the dream he was surely living in. Another female, not only giving him the time of day, but who cared for him without even knowing him. He huffed a loose laugh, and muttered to himself: “I’m going mad.”

His lips were still far too close to yours. They barely touched as you spoke. “Take it out on me.” You tilted your jaw up, just barely high enough to capture his lips with yours. “I can take it, Tamlin.”

He shivered, I’ve heard that before. “I don’t want you to have to.”

You peered up at him where he gazed down adoringly at you, from underneath those long light eyelashes of his. He’d bent down for one more kiss, all his passion put behind that one last time of your lips pressed together.

He only pulled away when he ran out of air.

He slotted down beside you, his arm curled under your shoulders, the other crossed above the blankets, the piles of soft and scratchy ones, and fell over your bodies to rest on your hip. You fell asleep with your face buried in his chest and your arm flung around him, dreaming of the promise tomorrow held.

#tamlin #tamlin acotar #tamlin x reader #tamlin x you #tamlin/reader #tamlin/you #tamlin fanfic #tamlin oneshot #tamlin one shot #tamlin imagine

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seresinhangmanjake · 2 years

Text

Split

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Summary: You break up with Jake because his actions make you question everything you’ve had between you, but he wants you to take him back.

Notes/Warnings: angst and fluff, those cursing words. Mentions of sex, but not the real deal. You know what, I cannot for my life stick to my word count plans. I always end up with a thousand more words than I intended. See, this was something I was playing around with while I worked on the rest of my requests, and then the fic gods turned on me and made me flesh this out because they have no respect. Also, it’s not proofread.

Words: 2639

“Jake, you’ve got to stop doing this,” you sighed, crossing your arms and leaning your body against the door frame.

You would have sooner smacked yourself than have the thought that Jake Seresin could look anything even remotely close to pitiful, and yet there he was before you, no stronger than a weak, shivering puppy. Shoulders rolled forward, head not high as normally would be, lips unable to hold anything other than a frown.

The cast of the moon sharpened the angles of his face and gave his hair a silvery glow. Ethereal-like. God-like, you hated to admit. Regardless of circumstance, you would forever curse your inability to find a flaw in his features or form. But his perfection to the eye was always overshadowed by the words that came from his mouth.

“I can’t,” he said.

Jake shifted uncomfortably on his feet, standing awkwardly just outside of your house—his house too, technically—and occasionally sneaking little glances past your head into the small, darkened foyer. Not inviting him in spiked his anxiety, but you couldn’t deal with it again tonight. You couldn’t keep having the same conversation, the same fight.

You had let him in the night before, and a couple of other nights since the day you told him to leave, only to have useless discussions that spun you both in endless circles. It was exhausting, but still, it took everything in you to keep from crumbling at his feet and begging him to stay.

He must’ve sensed it—your desire to have him close despite the harshness of the words you threw at him. ‘Are you sure you want me to go,’ he had asked you nearly ten times, a prayer in that question you knew he wanted to have answered in the form of you grabbing him by the collar and kissing him, dragging him to your bed and reaffirming your love for one another. But you couldn’t bring yourself to allow it, to surrender, each time responding with a hard nod and a solid ‘I’m sure.’

Breaking his heart every day wasn’t easy, but he had cracked yours rather effectively, whether intentionally done or not. And you knew it was soon to be that that crack might turn into a crevice, and from that crevice would a valley form, dark and deep, halving the organ in pieces unable to rejoin on their own.

But having your own heart broken, you were not afraid of. Miserable at the thought, but not afraid. It was the work in healing it that terrified you, knowing fully well that a heart broken by Jake Seresin would be a heart harder healed than any other previous healing you were forced to put yourself through before he entered into your life.

So you figured the easiest way to avoid it would be to cut the string that bound you together. And though he made it more and more difficult to want to keep that plan intact, you had your justified reasons for not straying from trying to do so.

He’d humiliated you—accidentally, he’d swear—with that mouth of his one too many times. He’d flirted—unintentionally, he promised—with other women one too many times. And you weren’t willing to put up with it anymore. To other women, maybe his behavior wouldn’t have been enough to make them want to end their relationship, but for you, it was plenty.

He always managed to say and do the perfect things to make you feel small when you were outside of your home, and his profuse apologies the next morning once he realized he’d hurt you meant less and less with each following failure. To you, he wasn’t trying to right his wrongs. It was more as if he was hoping the day may come where you learned to cope with how he is so he wouldn’t have to change.

“What do you mean, you can’t,” you asked, a sharp tick to your tone. “You haven’t even tried. You still show up here every day. And you’re still wearing that.” You pointed to his hand.

He glanced down.

His thumb continuously rotated the silver band around his ring finger, your engraved name on the inner side of the metal sliding along his skin with each twist.

When your own ring was on, the spot of your skin where his name touched always tingled the slightest. Right before you had asked him to leave, you made a show of taking it off and chucking it into the bedside drawer; though you instantly regretted the dramatics when you saw the devastated look on his face.

“We’re…we’re married,” he said softly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, as if anything else would be unnatural. “You’re my wife. I—”

“That’s the thing, Jake, I’m not.”

He stared at the ring, brow pinched, and his voice contained a hint of a quiver when he said, “Technically, you still are.”

“Well, soon I—I don’t know that I will be.”

His eyes darted to yours—a clash of green and Y/E/C—and you saw something in them shatter; something that shattered a piece of you as well, like the jagged splintering of ice after stepping foot onto a frozen lake too weak to bear your weight. You felt fragile, and wary of your next steps, knowing you were perhaps too far gone to take one back.

You rubbed your hands up and down your face, then groaned and said, “Jake, we got married too fast.” As plenty of family had warned you. You had dated for six months when he proposed, and you’ve only been married for six more.

“Don’t say that.”

“We just—half of the time I can’t even tell if you respect me, let alone truly love me.”

“Of course, I respect you,” he said, taking a step closer. “Of course, I love you.”

Those words stole whatever you had thought to say next right from your throat. Hearing them now made it all the more known to you how rarely he said it, but he spoke with such surety, such honesty, that were you not propped up against the door, your trembling knees would have taken you to the ground.

“Y/N, I know I’m not perfect,” he began, moving closer still, “I know I say stupid shit, I know I do stupid shit, but baby…” His mouth opened and closed. He took in a breath and released it. “You’re everything to me.”

A warm prickling made its way up your spine and you struggled to keep your body from shuddering under its effect. For a man so easily able to say the wrong thing, he was somehow saying everything you hadn’t even really known you needed to hear.

“I can be a fucking idiot. I swear I try not to be, and I fail. But I know I wasn’t being an idiot when I asked you to marry me,” he said.

His body was inches from yours.

At your silence, he took your hands in his, lightly squeezing before carefully sliding them up your arms, over your shoulders, along your neck, until he was cupping your cheeks.

And you let him.

You let him touch you, and you didn’t stop him when drew your face close and pressed his lips to yours. His fingertips cooled the flush his kiss brought to your face when his tongue touched yours; and you grabbed his wrists, almost as if to yank them away from your face. Instead, you just held on to him, savoring the feel of his skin, his pulse thumping against your fingertips. In that moment of mouths melding, you forgot why all else mattered.

You forgot to care for anything other than him and his scent and the way he touched you. The ways he always touched you: with a sweetness, a lovingness that could never be matched. Part of why you fell in love with him as fast as you had. Part of why it was so confusing when he did and said all of that ‘stupid shit.’

“Don’t divorce me,” he whispered when the kiss broke.

You bit a half of your bottom lip. “Jake—”

“Please.”

With his thumb he gently pulled down on that lip until it released from under your teeth, slightly more swollen than from his kiss. He pecked your lips and rested his forehead against yours.

“Call me out when I fuck up,” he said, “shout at me for being an ass, torture me by keeping that sweet pussy of yours off-limits for a week if I really, really deserve it, but don’t divorce me, baby.”

His voice was as unsteady as the last leg of your determination.

“I won’t be able to handle it,” he whispered.

Your tears were already falling; his just barely remained pooled in the corners of his eyes.

“Do you love me?” he asked.

To him, you seemed to hesitate, but in your own mind, your own heart, you knew your truth.

You would have liked to believe that no one can choose who they fall in love with; that everyone is at the mercy of their heart’s will and not their brain’s, but deep down you knew reality was far from such a belief.

You chose Jake. You chose to love him, to give yourself to him, because you wanted him more than you had wanted anything in your entire life. And even when the idea of your separation bounced around in your head, you never once considered that you would stop loving him. You figured your heart would be better protected if at a safe distance from his, but not loving him…never a possibility. Together or not, he had you, and everything you were made of. Every single available piece of your heart and mind and body and soul belonged to him.

You simply nodded, and a wave of relief crashed over him as a wide smile opened a cavern across his face.

“Then please put your ring back on.”

You hadn’t looked at it since that day two weeks ago when you tossed it into the table drawer. You knew it would make you cave and call him and tell him to come home well before you were ready to consider if that was for the best.

“Do you really think it’s that simple?” you asked.

You weren’t trying to be sarcastic or snarky, and thankfully, knowing you, Jake could tell you didn’t have ill intentions in the question. So, he answered honestly.

“It is if you want it to be,” he said. “I’d do anything, be anything, for you. And there are things I have to change, things I have to be more aware of. I know that now.”

Hope radiated off him, and you could practically feel it as if it were its own physical thing, floating over and wrapping itself around you. In his eyes held a matching look. The same look he’d given you the first time he kissed you in a dark corner at the Hard Deck. And the first time you had sex, in his car, a mess of fumbling limbs and desperation to have him inside you.

Neither of you lasted more than five minutes that night, panting and chuckling in the summer Californian heat after you came down from your highs while his fingers unstuck your hair from your sweaty skin to tuck behind your ears.

It was the same look he had the first time he told you he loved you, waiting with air locked tight in his lungs that he didn’t release until you told him you loved him too.

Sighing, you nudged your head in the direction of the bedroom door. He grinned and kissed your forehead, and ran into the other room.

You faintly heard the opening and closing of the small drawer, then he was back in front of you, ring caught between his thumb and index finger.

“Yea?” His eyebrows rose.

You giggled at his eagerness. “Yea.”

You extended your hand and he took it, carefully sliding the ring back in its place on your finger. He kissed the spot where the diamond sat, then his eyes met yours and he said, “Can it please stay there?”

“Don’t give me a reason to want to take it off.”

“Believe me, sweetheart. Never again.”

You smiled before inching up on your toes to kiss his cheek. “Ok,” you said. Then you turned on your heel, but he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and pulled you back. “What’s wrong?”

“Do I, um…” he swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing harshly. Green eyes avoided the concerned stare in yours and it shocked you.

Jake had never avoided looking at you. In fact, looking at you had been the thing about him that pissed you off the most when you met. Your first night working at the Hard Deck just so happened to be his first night at Top Gun, and every spare moment he’d had from base he spent dragging his coworkers to the bar to make it mildly less awkward when he stared at you from his place at the pool table.

By the fifth consecutive day he’d come in and made you nervous from his laser-focus trailing all over your face and body, you decided his presence was annoying. So you let him have it, told him what’s what, and that if he didn’t stop being a creep, you’d have him thrown out of the bar. He had only smirked in a way that made your stomach flip and heart annoyingly flutter in your chest, and promised that if you gave him a chance to explain himself you’d feel a little better about him since he had no intention of stopping his constant visits to the bar.

He'd waited until everyone else had cleared out so you could start cleaning up the place before he approached you.

“Look,” he had said as he helped you wipe down tables, “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I’m here for a mission that isn’t going to be very simple. I’m a great pilot, but anything can happen, and I just figured that if I don’t end up making it back, then I’d spend the time I have before I leave looking at the most beautiful girl I’ve seen in my entire life.”

He'd, of course, made it back, and was immediately sent to where he was originally stationed. But, months later, when the opportunity arose to allow him the choice to stay put or come to California to teach with his old teammates, he chose to return, his very first steps on state soil taking him directly to the bar to find you.

“Um,” He cleared his throat, fingers tightening on your wrist. “Do I get to stay?”

Your head tilted. “What do you mean?”

“With you,” he said. “You let me put the ring back on, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you want me back in the house, so I—”

You stopped him with your lips on his and you wrapped your arms around his neck. But when you tried to take a step back, his hands on your face kept you from ending the kiss.

It was a full minute before he released you.

“I want you back in the house.”

His head fell against your chest with a whimper you only ever heard when his cock was buried to the hilt in your pussy. You ran your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck as he kissed the tops of each breast and made soft pecks up your body until lips could meet again.

“I’ll be better,” he whispered.

And you whispered back, “I believe you.”

tags: (let me know if you want on or off it. I get confused) @marvel-ousnesss @thespeeder @nobody7102 @marrianena @moonknightscape @fangirlingoverfangirls @blue-aconite @my-soulmate-is-mycroft

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medic-simp · 3 months

Text

Perspective - Smut

Rating: Explicit || Word Count: 1065 Content Warnings: bondage, dom/sub, submissive!silco, p in v sex, dirty talk

Masterlist || AO3 Link

no beta, we die like knights 🥲

“Sil,” you hum, working to sit atop your furious partner’s lap and calm him down, “this is for your own good.”

He squirms against you, writhing on the bed and snarling at you. His hands are useless, tied behind his back with a rope he couldn’t break if he tried.

“You know this is for the better,” you urge, finally managing to slide one thigh over his hips to keep him down. Silco jerks, trying to buck you off your straddle, not at all willing to comply with anything you’re doing, but you’re sure he’ll get the point soon enough. You’ll make him get it.

You press your hands into Silco’s chest, weighing him down against the mattress enough to secure your seat on his lap.

“You won’t get away with this,” he snarls, “I’ll tear this thing off and when I get my hands on–”

One hand shoots out to grab the sharpline of his jaw and your fingers lock into the flesh there. You grip and do not let go, leaving Silco’s mouth open around the rest of his sentence. He stares at you blankly, seeming to completely forget what he was saying as you lean in close to him.

“If you speak to me like that again, you’ll be stuck tied like this for a long fucking time,” you hiss. Silco’s eyes are wide and his mouth almost snaps shut from the shock but the force of your fingers doesn't let him.

“Do you understand me?”

His chin dips minutely.

You hum, letting go of his jaw, “Good boy.”

To your surprise, a small whine trickles from the back of Silco's throat, his eyes flicking away from you as it does. You can’t help but smirk, watching how Silco’s chipped teeth peek out behind parted lips and the way his usually pale cheeks begin to glow with embarrassment.

“Now you can’t do anything,” you coo, trailing hands to the buttons of Silco’s shirt and undoing them one by one. “Poor thing.”

Silco shivers, skin prickling beneath your fingers as you peel his shirt open and continue your adventurous touches. Brushing against a nipple, gliding over his navel, hooking into his trousers.

With smooth, practiced movements you have Silco’s cock standing hard and proud from the fly of his pants, veins sticking out and begging for your tongue.

“Please, your mouth,” Silco whispers.

Despite the tempting offer, you find yourself much too impatient for that, and the ache in your core will only be appeased by one thing.

“Not this time,” you hum, taking immense pride in the desperate shake of Silco’s head and the pointed pout of his lips.

In one swift movement you’re hovering over Silco, naked as sin and lining him up at your dripping entrance. Your clothes were abandoned on the floor ages ago.

You ease into the stretch of him, relishing each gasp and sigh that escapes Silco as you sink lower and lower until he’s bottomed out inside of you. And, oh gods, he is buried inside. The simple force of your own body weight pushes him deeper from the way you sit, the blunt head of him twitching against places you could only dream of reaching on your own.

Silco’s cock is nestled snugly in the warm, eager confines of your walls, but he’s squirming beneath you, trying desperately to rut up into you despite the sting of your nails in his hips.

“Stop that,” you hiss, clenching around him to get his attention, “right now you and your pleasure belong to me.”

Silco whimpers breathlessly at your words, teeth coming over his lip in a hard bite as you start to ride him.

You grind more than anything, letting your clit rub into the viable surface of Silco’s pelvis, and he is not one to complain. He groans and gasps beneath you, moaning past the seal of his lips until you start to draw circles with your hips.

Gods, the friction on your clit is beautiful, but Silco’s moans are arguably better. A delicious alto cry that pitches up at the end, tapering in a miniscule whimper as you go around and around and around.

His chest swells with each high, breathy moan that escapes him, a bead of sweat running down his temple visible as he tosses his head back.

“Look at you,” you murmur between bounces, eyes cast eternally down on Silco. He’s panting, breathless, watching you work yourself on him. “Exploring this new side–this new perspective. You’re surprised you love it this much, aren’t you?”

Silco doesn’t say anything, he can’t, only nodding and whimpering at every bit of friction you grant him.

“You would be so lost without me.”

Your partner begins babbling skyward praises at you, hints of words thrown together in a lustful frenzy, audible proof of the way you have him melting at every twitch of your hips, every throb of your cunt.

“I’m– oh gods,” Silco whines, and the telltale sign of his twitching cock gives away everything he struggles to verbalize.

“I know, Sil,” you hum, feeling the knot in your belly tighten with every rise and fall of your hips. You lean into him, bracing hands on his jaw as you whisper in his ear.

“Come for me, Silco.”

At your permission, Silco shudders beneath you, and the power of his release sends you over the edge. Your orgasms melt together, the push and pull of his cock working perfectly with each throb of your walls.

You gasp at the hot rush of his seed spilling inside of you, feeling it drip out when you slide off of Silco to lay by his side.

You’re both panting, catching your breaths in a tranquil, tender silence that you fill with an idle finger running along his pale chest.

“That was…” Silco starts hesitantly, “...new.”

“Bad new, good new, in between new?”

Silco shakes his head, “Good new.”

“Good,” you hum, smiling.

Silco’s head turns to look at you, and you take it upon yourself to untie his hands.

Laid out, still catching his breath, Silco’s hair is tousled and the rope has left red lines on his wrists that get redder as blood rushes to them. He grins, and you can only imagine what smart thing he has to say. He quickly dismisses your guesswork.

“Just you wait until I get my hands on that rope.”

#silco #arcane silco #arcane #silco x reader #silco arcane #silco x you #mdni #smut #medic-simp #lilith writes

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peachycrisis · 2 months

Text

Human Again

Chapter 4

—————

Alastor felt the needle repeatedly pierce into his skin, he winced at the pain initially- but then allowed himself to relax and allow Charlie to do her work. Charlie seemed to know what she was doing, and from what he was seeing- she looked fairly experienced in the field.

“Alright Al, I’m done.” Charlie said, as she finished stitching up the last piece of skin. “I will warn you though, this injury was caused by angelic steel- so it may take a while to heal.” Alastor sighed at this, lifting an arm to run it through his hair as comfort.

“I don’t know if it holds true for humans though- which begs me to ask…”

“You’re gonna ask why I’m human again.” Alastor sighed, removing his hand from his hair and resting it in his lap.

“Uh… yeah.” Charlie said as she began to gather the supplies in order to put them back in the first aid kit.

“Honestly dear, I have no idea- one thing led to another, leading Adam to send a beam of light towards me, breaking my microphone. The rest is history sweetheart.” Alastor looked away for a moment, then back at Charlie. “Don’t worry about me, darling.”

“So… he struck you with angelic light, broke your microphone, and then by then you were already human?”

“Yes.” He replied. Charlie looked shocked, this was unheard of in both heaven and hell. It was unheard of for a winner, or sinner to transform back into their human state after their death.

“Charlie, sweetheart- you don’t need to-“

“What? Worry about you?” Charlie yelled, Alastor leaned back in shock, the smile awkwardly creeping its way back onto his face as a sign of discomfort at the sudden outburst, Charlie’s eyes turned a shade of red, with red horns sticking out of her temples behind her bangs.

“You go off to face Adam- one of the greatest forces in heaven alone, you go missing for days without any word, and you come back as a fucking human with a huge gash on your chest- and you expect us not to be worried about you?” Charlie yelled, her eyes welling up with tears- tears of anger.

“So sorry if we seem a little worried, what the FUCK were you thinking Al?” She screamed in his face. “Now you’re a human here in hell…”

The look in her eyes made the radio hosts skin crawl. the venom. the pain.

He didn’t want to admit it, but it made him feel bad. It made him feel bad for making her feel like that, the girl that she saw as his own daughter. He felt bad for making her think she had lost him.

“I’m sorry Charlie…” Alastor looked down into his lap. He felt Charlie use her hand to raise his head again, to make him look at her. He watched as Charlie’s eyes went back to normal, and her horns shrink- still visible, but less prominent.

“It’s fine.”

“I really am- I’m sorry I hid away for so long.”

“It’s fine, Alastor.”

“Dear I-“

“Let’s make a deal.” Charlie said plainly. Alastor looked at her with wide eyes as she reached out her hand, a red glow surrounding it.

“You will allow us to help you, and you won’t do any of that stupid shit again. In return, you give me your soul so I can protect you while you are a human here in hell, until we are able to get you to your former state.”

“… Charlie, I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the one that collects souls, remember?” He smiled nervously. Charlie stepped forward again, her horns becoming more prominent as her hand remains outstretched in front of her, omitting a red glow.

“What’s the true reason, alastor?”

“Because I-“ wait, Alastor thought to himself. If he sold his soul to Charlie, would his other contract become nullified due to her being the princess of hell- and being a hellborn? He doubts that the sweet princess Morningstar would do anything to harm him, she wasn’t the type to do that. Maybe she will be his chance to escape the hands of the woman that owns him.

“Deal.” Alastor takes the hand, and shakes it- feeling a pulse of energy pulse through his veins as he watches the walls of the room become incapsulated with red veins, looking like a poisonous plant.

He felt a chain be wrapped around his neck, not too tight- not too loose. He looked down to see a red chain, a red chain that connected his neck to the wrist of Charlie Morningstar.

——————

“Come on man, you have to admit- he is a little bi-“ Angel teased, gesturing at the cat next to him.

“No.” Husk stated firmly. “He’s not hot, he’s not cute, he’s my boss and that’s it.”

“Guys please-“ Vaggie states before she gets interrupted by a burst of red energy blasting its way throughout the room. The residents of the hotel watch as red veins creep their ways up the wall, they all knew what this meant.

“Shit- Charlie!” Vaggie says as she begins to sprint up the stairs leading to the hallway the radio demons room resided in, the rest were soon to follow.

————

The red veins begin to settle down as they begin to hear knocking at the door. Alastor lets go of Charlie’s hand. He is sweating- his whole body is hot.

A contract appears infront of Alastor with a quill, a contract stating that his soul will be under the ownership of Princess Charlie Morningstar until the day comes that he is back to his normal self.

He signs. He signs his full name.

Alastor Anderson.

“Charlie? Charlie! Alastor? Open the fucking door!” They heard a voice call out. It was Vaggie. Charlie’s horns shrank to become non existent as she looked up at alastor in fear. The man in front of her looked beat up and tired, his face tear stained and his curly hair all messy- yet his infamous smile remained.

“Al, go sit down, rest. Please.” The former deer mumbled in protest, before accepting his fate and going to sit on his bed. Charlie went to go open the door. When she opened the door, she was met with 3 familiar faces.

The concerned faces of Vaggie, Husk, and Angel Dust.

“Babe, what the fuck happened? What was with the red veins?” Vaggie questioned her girlfriend.

“Yeah, that was creepy as fuck.” Angel added

“Seemed like someone made a deal.” Husk stated. Charlie sighed, before explaining what happened.

“Alastor and I made a-“

“Babe, you made a deal with him 4 days ago!” Vaggie exclaimed, putting a hand on her girlfriends shoulder.

“I know. But this is different, something that has never happened to me before.” Charlie looked down, putting a hand on vaggies hand that currently resided on her shoulder.

“I own Alastors soul.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” The angel, cat and spider exclaimed at the same time. Charlie looked back at the man sitting on the bed, looking down at his hands- fidgeting.

Alastor was usually very still, he must have been very nervous.

“I promised to protect him- but to do that he needed to give me his soul since he is currently a human. It’s not safe for humans to wonder around hell by themselves…” Charlie sighed.

“I suppose you’re right… but you remember who were talking about right?” Vaggie put her other hand on Charlie’s other shoulder. “This is the radio demon. The most powerful overlord on this side of the pentagram.”

“Vaggie.” Charlie sighed, “something about him has changed… I don’t know what it is, but I see something in him- something, redeemable.”

“something… almost human?” Angel interrupts.

“Yes exactly.”

“Huh, I didn’t know he was capable of that.” Husk chuckles. “Boss has always had a stick up his ass, you know.”

“Well it seems like Alastor’s fight with Adam has pulled it a little further out of his ass.”

This is the radio demon we’re talking about. Vaggie thought to herself as she eyed the curly haired figure sitting on the bed.

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d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n · 1 year

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Bondage

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Wanda's definitely the type to use her powers on her lover. But not in an 'I'm going to mind control you until you're horny beyond belief' kinda way. No, no, no. I imagine her using her telekinesis on you.

See, it starts when you get home. It's been a long day. Wanda's been gone for the last week on some kind of mission for the Avengers and you've been at the office putting out fires since early in the morning.

In your tiredness, you don't realise that you're gently being pushed toward the bedroom. You don't realise that Wanda's sat on her armchair in the corner of the room, her fingers surrounded by a red glow. You don't realise you're hastily being undressed.

You finally catch a glimpse of Wanda as you're being led towards the bed, your face breaking into the largest smile. You try to move towards her but Wanda's magic pushes you into the centre of the room. Her magic lifts your arms towards the ceiling and keeps them locked there, invisible binds keeping them in place. Your ankles are bound in the same way, leaving you bare and spreadeagle in the middle of the room, ready for whatever Wanda has in store.

She circles you like a vulture circles its prey, running a knuckle over each of your nipples, watching them pebble as her touch leaves them.

"I've had a long few days, honey. Will you let me use you however I want? Let me get all of my stress out?" She whispers, reaching around to massage your ass with her hands. You nod vigorously, more than excited for what's in store.

She opens the box at the foot of your bed, pulling out 2 dildos and a ring gag. She fastens the ring gag in your mouth, the stretch slightly painful but welcome. "So you drool over your tits," she justifies, "I love it when you make a mess everywhere." Her fingers find their way to your pussy, dripping in anticipation. "Such a messy baby, already leaking everywhere." She starts toying with your clit and you thrash against your bounds, trying to find more friction. She chuckles at your helplessness, "Don't worry baby, I'll give you exactly what you want soon. I promise."

She slaps your cunt a few times, making you scream and moan wildly. She then introduces the dildo to your cunt, the head slipping easily past your folds. She pushes it into you until you're settled at the base and she uses her powers to keep it in place. You feel so full that your eyes roll back in your head as you try and move around the fullness of the dildo.

Drool starts to hit your tits as your mouth hangs open. You wiggle your ass, begging for any movement or friction. The dildo starts to move out of your cunt at an achingly slow speed. Wanda moves behind you, her fingers coated in lube. As the dildo completely retracts from your pussy, she sticks her fingers in your ass, before replacing them with the dildo. You feel ridiculously full. As the dildo in your pussy moves out the dildo in your ass moves in, and vice versa.

Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you crash into your first orgasm, your legs shaking as you squirt everywhere. Wanda relaxes in her armchair, a vibrator held in her hand. She pleasures herself as she watches cum over and over again. She watches you go dumb, praising you as you drooled down onto your tits, eyes glazed over with pleasure. "Look at you, my pretty baby. Taking everything I give you. I think you can do one more, right? Right, baby?" You nod your head desperate to please her - Wanda being the only thing that existed in your lust-driven mind.

After 10 or 12 orgasms, you and Wanda both lost count. She releases you from your bounds, catching you as your legs collapse beneath you. Cum trickles down your thigh, which Wanda catches with a finger and brings to her mouth, "Oh baby, you taste so good."

She carries you to the bathroom and cleans you up with a wet cloth, as you lean into the crook of her neck. She whispers sweet praises in your ear before placing you on the bed. She grabs a glass of water from the kitchen and coaxes you into drinking a few sips before you fell asleep. You whined, begging her to just let you sleep, but you listened anyway. She brings your head down onto her chest as you slip into sleep.

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jammed-out · 5 months

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Hypnovember Day 22 - Never The Same

(CW: First person, feral transformation, pet brainwashing)

“Beg for me darling…” The witches voice curled around your mind tugging at it like an invisible leash. You whimpered gasping, begging, your unfamiliar legs trembling under you as you fell forward onto all fours. Your fingers cracked, pulling in towards your hand, shortening into something more paw like. You felt your arms bend, cracking under the strain as you fell forward towards the ground.

You looked up at the witch, her lips curled up into a wicked smile. You tried to speak, beg her to stop, even as your mouth pulled outward stretching forward into a snout, new teeth growing and old ones changing. You tried to say a word only for it to sound like a garbled mess of syllables. You whimpered instead, only able to manage that.

“Now that’s much more like it pet. You do know how hard it is to source werewolf spit and fuse it into a potion.” You looked up at her whimpering. You hadn’t asked for this, you just wanted a potion of animal speaking, not to turn into an animal. “Oh don’t be like that. You’ll only transform during the full moon, otherwise, you’ll just be my cute little puppy. And of course you’ll be able to talk to animals, I did promise that.”

You whined feeling your spine shift, bending inward as a tail forced its way out of your back. Your clothes already in shreds on the floor as the fur began to break out spreading over and across your skin. You could feel your ears stretching, pulling out into that of a canine. The full moon taking its effect on you as the changes continued.

“Pet now do me a favor and let me just…” She reached out with her hand, blue tendrils of smoke snaking towards you. You backed up, stumbling and tripping on four legs, unfamiliar to you. The smoke wrapped around your head. You could feel it snaking its way into your nose, your mouth, your ears, your….

Everything grew hazy as the smoke filled your mind. Everything began to blur except for the witch standing there, her legs spread wide. You sniffed the air, you could smell her scent wafting off of her. The arousal pooling between her legs. It smelled really good. Your mouth watered.

“Now pet. Sit.” You felt your hind legs bend as your butt slammed against the ground, your tail wagging back and forth eagerly. You panted, your tongue sticking out of your mouth.

“Lay down.” The words echoed like a command in your head and your dropped down, wiggling your ass back and forth against the floor. The movement added enough friction to only make you more aroused.

“You’ll do anything for me won’t you pet?” You barked quickly, no longer thinking about anything except doing as your owner commanded.

“You’re a good little pet aren’t you?” She walked over and began to scratch behind your ear. “Don’t worry. Before the night is up we’ll completely rewrite that mind of yours into the perfect little obedient pet for me. What good was all that adventuring for anyways.” You barked again in approval. The witch smiled and ran a glowing blue finger up over your snout to boop you on the nose. You sniffed and licked at her finger eagerly.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you enjoyed that. I’ll be following @h_sleepingirl prompt list for the entire month because I really like a couple of the prompts on the list. You should also definitely check out and support them.

You’ll also be able to find all of my writings under the tags on my page. Hope you enjoy and see you tomorrow!

#brainwashing #mind control #mind conditioning #my writings #transformation #hypnovember #jam out hypnovember

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heartf4iry · 8 months

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💘 hihi! :) it's been a long while... but i finally decided 2 write something! ellie plays the guitar 4 u! i wrote this a while ago n just revised, so... ermmm, enjoy! mwaaah 💋

cw: none!! :D my first fluff piece on tumblr tho, like. ever. beware.

ellie’s room is dim, lamp casting a honey glow that warms the poster-filled walls, a comforting air swimming about in the mellow atmosphere. her room has pretty much become your room, too, things like clothes and underwear and tiny trinkets littering themselves around her space.

tonight was just another one of your sleepovers. you’d watched movies, ate bag after bag of stale, yet buttery popcorn, raged over stupid board games, and even went for your nightly can’t-sleep-walks down the block and back.

ellie’s bedside clock reads past midnight, but you’re sure it’s beyond that with how tired and restless you are. luckily, the two of you remain alone in the home, so, curfew was out the window.

…well, there was joel asleep in his room down the hall, along with his thundering snores, but he didn't count.

it's one of those nights where neither of you can sleep and the nuisance by the name of boredom keeps you awake. now in your last resorts, ellie's sat in her desk chair facing you, eyes on her guitar while you admired the scene before you.

her freckles wink in the toasty light. her fingers work skillfully against the strings that sound an unknown, yet delicate tune. she hums lyrics under her breath of a song that lie unfinished in her journal, but, you remember her ticklish whisper against your ear referring to the words being about you one dazed, giggly night.

you’re laid on your stomach on her bed, fiddling with a tiny astronaut figure she's named neil, or space guy, or… whatever. you’d stick to neil for now as you listened to her play.

she then stops, exhaling a deep, dreadful sigh. she rocks side to side in the chair, lifting her eyes to study you. taking in your eyes, your soft, in slight parted lips. you pretend not to feel her gaze that makes you burn all over with a bashful smile, focusing on tiny neil in your hands.

“stop staring,” you mutter, flashing hot all over when her eyes don't shy away. ellie was always the type to gawk at pretty girls wherever, whenever. whether it was a double take (to see some ass) or just a simple and purely, unintentional perverted stare, the action was just an ellie thing to do. it was something that she knew would be deemed as problematic, or just fucking creepy, but—fast forward a few years later, and a few motivational pep talks from trusty wingman dina, here she was with one of the pretty girls she caught herself staring at the most. not even that, but currently in her room, on her bed, and ellie thinks she just might burst.

ellie shakes her head, placing her forearm on the body of the guitar to rest her chin atop her arm.

“can't. you're too pretty not to,” she rasps, voice low and teasing that urges a plethora of tingles to rise in your stomach. “literally shutup.” you groan, masking the complaint with a breathy laugh.

she chuckles, “what? can't look at my girlfriend now?”

“no you.. creep.” you break into a sudden yawn, the woozy sensation of sleep begging to bury you in its blanket of slumber.

“tired?” ellie notices, yawning right after you. so it really is contagious, she thinks. your lazy nodding is simple confirmation of her question.

“well, i could… play a song for you? anything you want.” ellie begins, grinning once your eyes catch hers. “got any suggestions?” you hum in curiosity, not even a second passing before a song appears in your mind.

“oh! the glue song!”

ellie’s eyes narrow, brows dropping when the words slip from your mouth. “the... glue song?”

you roll your eyes in obviousness at her confusion. “yes, the glue song. by that girl? umm... beabadoobee?”

“…beabawho?”

“ellie, the one! that’s like, i’ve never known someone like youuu… huuu...”

silence. the room was so still you could hear the crickets outside chirping in the grass. ellie just stares at you with an anticipating smile when you stop singing the line, and under an instance you feel shy and embarrassed and small under her burning gaze.

“okay, yeah? ...go on.”

“noo..”

“keep going! babe—“

you huff out a sigh, rolling onto your back. your head hangs off the edge of the bed now and everything, even puzzled ellie, is upside down. “c’mon, will you just play it already? m’tired… and… y’know the song right?”

ellie snickers, her feet swinging back and forth under the chair in subtle amusement. “of course i do. but you’re definitely singing it to me someday. no take backs.”

you blow your eyes out in playful annoyance. “yeahyeah. whatever.”

as if she was going to start, she looks down at her guitar before her eyebrows raise, “anddd what do i get in return?”

you smile, a sly one, “hmm... a thousand kisses and, a trip inside my space exhibit.”

ellie freezes. “holy shit! babe? you own a space exhibit? sounds sick, we should go sometime.”

“i meant my—ellie.”

“okay. okay. bossy. anything for my girlfriend, yeah? my favorite girlfriend,” ellie peeks at you through her lashes, green eyes twinkling a blend of silvery emerald in the low lamplight. she grins at the way your expression melts into warmth, though it's hard to tell when you're upside down.

“el, i think... i’m your only girlfriend.”

“yeah, but... you're my favorite. there's a difference, babe.”

“ell-“

“the song. i know.” she exhales a dry chuckle, “justtt messin’ with you.”

ellie adjusts her posture and drums her fingertips against the strings to develop a familiar feel.

you're quick to flip on your side and plop your head against her pillow, shimming around to get comfortable for your own personal late night show—staring the talented and sexy, ellie williams.

ellie shuffles in her seat before grabbing the neck of her guitar, the other going over the body. her brows pinch inward when she tries to recall the tune, nodding in confirmation to herself once the familiar notes appear in mind.

she then halts to look at you, “ready?”

“yep. song's been stuck in my head all day.” you break into a smile out of pure excitement, and ellie chuckles at the sight.

finger antsy against the strings, she takes a deep breath, as she always does before she plays; especially for you. “whew, okay. uh, okay.” ellie’s played countless times in a setting like this, in her room with you, home alone while she sat on the bed and you watched in the chair or vice versa. yet, she's still found herself jittery, unsure, doubtful, of her own abilities. even in the comfort of your presence. one of ellie’s fears: failing to impress her girlfriend.

as if you had read her mind, your soft line of reassurance sucks her out of her busy, crowded mind. “ellie, hey, s’okay. promise i'll love it.”

ellie looks down at her feet, then up to you. “you sure?”

“so sure. i always do. ever heard of... wasshisname... jimi hendrix? you're like him.” you giggle, and ellie flashes a sheepish grin, looking down to her leg she didn't even realize was bouncing. it stops. “oh shit—uh, jimi? definitely not him babe.”

“mm, well i think so. c’mere.” you lean forward with your hands planted on her bed, lips puckered. “kiss for extra promising.”

ellie breaks into a warm smile at your mumbled words and reciprocates the action. not once, but twice, just because. in all honesty, your lips against hers did help simmer a few bustling nerves. even if she was backstage of an awaiting, roaring crowd, ellie thinks the tiny, feathery kiss would root away every bit of anxiousness.

after a moment of stillness, she begins, and the first few strums make your heart flutter. you grow all warm and fuzzy, similar to the first time she's played guitar for you. the urge to melt into mush right then and there and pool at her feet is strong when she was playing like that.

all you can do is watch her, hearts practically pumping in your eyes. ellie catches your lovesick expression, her lips twitching into a smile as she continues. the tune is cozy, and you didn’t know if it was ellie's playing lulling you or if it was past midnight—the dimly lit room failing to do you any good as your eyes became heavier, and heavier.

when ellie begins singing, oh so gentle and velvety sweet—i've never known someone like youuuuu, her eyes don't dare to leave yours, singularly singing to you like you were the only one in the whole wide world.

a cheesy smile spreads onto your lips, your cheeks rising in romantic warmth before ellie's the first to look away, eyes on her fingers that pluck the strings, carefully going over each note so it could be perfect, just for you, her "favorite" only girlfriend.

you don't remember much, other than ellie... and ellie being cute and the best girlfriend on earth and... oh yeah, ellie, before your eyes closed. when she’s nearing the end, you’re already softly snoring.

with one last strum, ellie sets the guitar down against the desk, and can’t help but smile fondly at the sight. your breathing slow and your expression peaceful, a silky golden glow resting over your features.

ellie doesn't know if she's ever loved a person as much as she's loved you. what she does know, is that this will be a thing she'll forever look forward to. as sappy as that sounds, she believes nights like these with her guitar and favorite person would be cherished in her heart, endlessly.

she’s glad she was able to get you to sleep, knowing you'd say something about her being the perfect lullaby when you wake tomorrow. a silent chuckle leaves her lips at the thought.

ellie leans down to place a shy kiss on your forehead, switching off the lamp and whispering, “night babe, hope you loved it.”

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams drabble

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cannibalizedyke · 2 years

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Brooklyn Baby

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 776

Warnings: Language, a bit of angst

Summary: You really wish Eddie Munson would stop playing with your feelings. (Inspired by the song by Lana Del Rey)

General Taglist: @gg-is-a-loser @yesshewrites1

Moots: @spidervee @iheardarumorthings @thewritingbabe @scandalous-chaos @ddejavvu @winterwisteria @abibliophobiaa @roxetteblack

Hawkins, Indiana is very different from Brooklyn, New York. You’re used to bustling streets, tall, busy buildings, and car horns honking even in the dead of night. Hawkins is small, and quiet. There are only a few stores and fewer restaurants and you’ve been to all of them. You like it, though; you like feeling like you’re the coolest person there, with your obsession with jazz and beat poetry and the novels you spend most of your time writing - you even sing in a band with Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson.

You’re too cool for Eddie Munson, is what you always tell him.

“I know,” he’ll reply, smirking and twirling a strand of your hair in your fingers. “You’re like ice, baby.”

You’ll laugh, tilting your head back before covering your face. “Shit, that was terrible.”

Eddie’ll laugh as well, biting his lip before leaning closer. “I know,” he’ll whisper, and you’ll close your eyes for a kiss before he pulls away. Just like he always does.

You shake off your thoughts. You’re wearing a little white silk dress; your makeup makes you look like a 1940s femme fatale. Eddie’s letting you sing Lou Reed, your favorite artist, even though he usually sticks to current rock bands or original songs.

“You ready?” You feel his breath on your neck as he sidles up beside you.

You shiver. “Mhm.”

Eddie grins, patting you on the shoulder. “You’re gonna do great. You’re my Brooklyn baby, yeah?”

“Yup.” You force a smile, wishing his flirty remarks actually meant something to him. You sucked in a breath and walked onstage, which was really just a slightly elevated structure in the middle of a park.

Eddie began softly strumming his guitar, and after a moment you began to sing.

“Just a perfect day

“Drink Sangria in the park

“And then later, when it gets dark, we go home

“Just a perfect day

“Feed animals in the zoo

“Then later, a movie too, and then home…”

Eddie is mesmerized by your soft, haunting lilt of a voice. The strumming becomes subconscious as he focuses on you, watching the way the music captures your soul and takes you away from the world. You convey emotion like no one he’s ever seen, with your melancholy stares and delicate, ethereal movements. He loves you like no one he’s ever loved before, but he knows better than to get too close.

You’re a Brooklyn baby, cool as ice and hard as stone. His fleeting glances and flirtatious comments mean nothing to you, so he tries his best to make them mean nothing to him.

After the performance you follow him backstage; sweat glistens on your brow but it only makes you look more ethereal, like a goddess glowing and sparkling after placing an enchantment on a helpless man. Eddie knows not to get too close, but his body doesn’t; he feels himself stepping closer and closer against his will, and before he knows it his lips are on yours and he’s kissing you like his life depends on it.

You desperately kiss him back, grabbing his face and devouring him like you’ve fantasized about so many times. Then you break away, tears streaking mascara down your cheeks. You turn away, rubbing your arms shakily. “Please don’t play with me, Eddie,” you beg him quietly.

Eddie’s features twist in confusion. “What?”

“You don’t love me.” Your voice breaks. “Don’t flirt with me and touch my arm and kiss me like you care when I know you don’t.”

“(Y/N)...” Eddie takes a step toward you. “(Y/N), I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you. I’d never play with you.”

You sigh, looking down. “Are you lying to me?”

“No, no…” He steps closer; you can feel his breath on your neck. “I wouldn’t lie to you. I couldn’t. Not when I look at you and feel like I’m going to melt into a puddle on the floor.”

You let out a watery laugh, relaxing when you sense his authenticity. “I’m in love with you too,” you tell him quietly.

Eddie grins, spinning you around and capturing your lips once again. “How would you like a boyfriend who’s in a band?” he mumbles against you. “You could brag about me to all your friends, cool girl. They’d be obsessed with you.”

“I’m obsessed with me,” you reply, kissing down his neck. “I don’t need them to be. I just need you to be obsessed with me too.”

He breaks away and cups your cheek, grin widening. “You don’t need to worry about that, baby. I’ve been obsessed with you for years.” He kissed you again.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson

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mintmatcha · 2 years

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Nanami gets a strange feeling.

it’s in his bones, a simple vibration that he knows isn’t physically there, but it jitters still, slowly growing stronger and stronger. It’s a memory he can’t place, but so strong he can taste; it’s copper and sweat, the undercurrent of panic-

“Kento?”

Nanami blinks away the thought and presses his thumbs into the bridge of his nose to calm the headache that's started. When he looks up, you're pushing the screen door open and joining him on the back porch.

Sunset has just begun, casting a golden glow against your skin. The ocean's foam almost glows with sherbet tones as it laps the shore, so far and yet so close he can taste the salt.

"You okay, dear?"

The feeling hasn't subsided; it rumbles stronger, like a train powering down the tracks.

"Of course, just tired." Nanami places his book on the railing. The worn thin, water stained pages flutter in the breeze.

“Dinner’s ready if you're up for it,” you say, “Yuuji’s setting the table right now.”

He pushes off of the chair with a grunt, his knees protesting the movement. The strange feeling sticks to his bones, begs to be acknowledged-

"All by himself?" Nanami pulls you in by the hip and presses a kiss into your temple as he passes, tugging you back inside. The door creaks closed, tapping his but when he doesn't move fast enough. "When did he get so big?"

"I don't know, but it breaks my heart a little!" you croon, "Our baby isn't a baby anymore."

"Well, don't fret. If everything goes according to plan," Nanami catches your mouth against his this time, "We'll have another baby to whine about soon."

You shine at that, but your smile quickly falters when you meet his eyes.

"Are you sure you're okay?" you ask, "You seem off."

"Yes, just-" Nanami looks outside. The beach is the same as always, forever changing with each wave. Yuuji is singing to himself in the dining room, some jaunty thing he learned in preschool, though he's not quite getting all of the words correct.

"I just had the feeling that I almost didn't have all of this."

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rillils · 3 months

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so um, so maybe i'm addicted to prompt generators. that might be a thing. hm. *screeches into the void*

rating: T wordcount: 1342 tags: fluff, crack, established relationship, bearded Steve because i've got a soft spot for him, general silliness, dorks in love, domestic bliss, aaand that's it i think

If life was fair, and not plotting to give Bucky an inappropriate boner in the middle of a crowded beach, then for once Steve might deign to look like an average guy enjoying a hot summer day with his man, rather than, you know, put to shame the rest of humankind with his luxuriant, marble-carved, sexy lumberjack league, mouth-watering presence.

But nope.

He walks out of the ocean with seafoam lapping longingly at his ankles, looking for all the world like Aphrodite and Magic Mike had hot writhing sex right there on the shore, without ever getting a single grain of sand in any uncomfortable places, and nine months later he happened, with his thick thighs and his tapered waist, and droplets of saltwater gliding down the slick planes of his torso like liquid diamonds. Which Bucky will abstain from licking off Steve’s skin, not because he’s feeling especially strong today, no – just so they don’t end up charged with public indecency. Again.

Steve’s face, though, as he splashes eagerly towards him, is the face of a kid who just spent the better part of an hour frolicking about in the water, flushed and animated, ecstatic, and bearing the promise of one hell of a nap sometime in the near future.

He seizes Bucky by the waist with his big wet paws, and presses a victorious kiss to Bucky’s mouth, nearly causing him to drop his ice cream bar – yes, the one Bucky bought just so he’d have an excuse to step back and enjoy the newly familiar sight of Steve Rogers having the time of his life, in the most joyful, delightfully mundane of ways.

He should get to be this carefree every day. Bucky feels very strongly about that.

“Come back in, honey, come on,” Steve cajoles, wearing the biggest, goofiest grin Bucky’s seen on him since the day he caught this very man hurtling down their driveway on a hoverboard at breakneck speed. It would have taken some pretty heavy divine intervention for him not to go crashing straight into the trashcans – and God must have thought it wasn’t worth the hassle, if the big oaf was just going to pick himself up and try again anyways.

“In a minute,” Bucky promises him. Because, while there might be a universe out there where he’s actually capable of denying this guy something he wants, it’s definitely not this one.

“Come on, the water’s great!” Steve presses on, his meaty hands squeezing gently at Bucky’s waist, deliciously cool against Bucky’s sun-warm skin. He’s like a big puppy begging for another treat, buzzing with energy, glowing with it from the apples of his flushed cheeks to the sparkling blue of his eyes. He is, for lack of a better word, fucking. precious.

Bucky slides his free hand up Steve’s chest, metal fingers stroking appreciatively over the dark whorls of his chest-hair. It’s ridiculous, how quickly he’s ready to give in.

“At least let me finish my ice cream, first,” he says, waving the thing under Steve’s nose. He could swear Steve’s ears perk up, like he’s only just noticed the stick in Bucky’s hand.

“Oh,” he says, and it’s a pleased kind of oh. “Can I have some?”

“’course. Here.”

Rather than passing the ice cream over to him, Bucky just lifts it to Steve’s lips, inviting him to take a bite.

Eyes crinkled with some secret pleasure, Steve leans in. The thin chocolate shell breaks with a crisp, satisfying crunch under his teeth, the creamy vanilla filling kissing his bottom lip and lingering there, helpless, until Steve collects it with a slow sweep of his tongue, never one to leave someone behind. The soft mmh he releases goes straight to Bucky’s gut, warming him from deep within.

He smiles, like he’s been trying to hold back and he just can’t help himself anymore. “Is it good?”

Steve gives him the Look – the one he gets in his eyes sometimes, when the toe-curling intensity of his gaze tells Bucky that he’s thinking about them – them in their bedroom, stumbling their way through the door with groping hands and tangled legs, laugh slipping into moan slipping back around into laugh, or on the kitchen counter, making the cabinets shake and the bag of sugar spill everywhere, or in the broom closet, caught by a mid-morning frenzy like they were last Saturday, quick and frantic and muffling each other’s moans, as if somebody might have walked in on them any second. And they’re in public, so Steve can’t do anything about it; but Bucky can tell he’s filing away all the words he wants to say and saving them for later, when he can lavish them straight onto Bucky’s sweat-slick skin.

“’S nice,” Steve rumbles, gaze dropping to Bucky’s lips for a long, deliberate moment. “But I know something better.”

A sweet shiver rolls down Bucky’s spine. “Do you, now.” He palms the side Steve’s neck, thumb circling over the delicate skin behind his earlobe, and pulls Steve to him, meeting him halfway into the kiss. Steve’s lips part gloriously for him, the hot caress of his tongue slipping the taste of chocolate and vanilla into Bucky’s welcoming mouth, spiked by a thrilling hint of salt.

A few drops of saltwater drip from Steve’s beard to land on Bucky’s bare chest, and from there trickle down his stomach, skirting his navel to soak into the waistband of his swim trunks, following a path Steve himself has traced with the tip of his tongue many a time.

Only too soon, Steve nudges his chin into Bucky’s own, pulling away, and Bucky chases his lips for one last peck before he lets go.

Steve looks back at him, eyelashes fanning darkly, thick with moisture. His eyes come alive with his smile, gleaming with the pure, blinding joy behind it. Openly adoring, they are, in a way Bucky couldn’t perceive any more clearly if Steve were spelling it out for him. He thinks Steve knows (how deeply, desperately) he feels the same way. He thinks he should tell Steve more often, just in case.

“You gonna join me, then?” Steve asks, all sun-kissed freckles and hopeful eyes, hands giving Bucky’s hips a playful little wiggle. Silly man. Bucky would reach up and pluck the sun out of the sky for him, if he only asked.

Bucky grins, and hopes it doesn’t scandalize any onlookers, with how obscenely fond it must be. “What about my ice cream, though?”

The curl of Steve’s mouth turns unexpectedly mischievous.

“Just hold it out of the water,” he says, and with no further ado, he swoops in to hook one arm behind Bucky’s knees and hoists him up, startling an undignified squeal out of him.

“What–! ”

Steve beams down at him, an almost manic glint in his eye. “Let’s go!”

And with the enthusiasm of an excited golden retriever, he goes bounding towards the glittering waves, kicking up wet sand behind them. Bucky grabs onto his broad shoulders, partly just to feel the firm muscle there, and partly out of a last-minute sense of self-preservation.

“Steve!” He calls out, laughter ripped out of his chest, sudden and shocking, as they splash a bunch of shrieking children on their path. “Put me down, you punk-ass manchild–”

“Nope,” says Steve, relenting only once the water’s reaching up to their chests. There, he stops, swaying gently with the tide, and shifts Bucky in his arms until he’s got Bucky’s legs wrapped around his middle, gathering him close. “I’m your ride for the day.”

And how could Bucky ever object to that? The ocean dances sweet and placid around them, warm under the midday sun, and the man he loves wants him here, tucked in the circle of his arms.

“Fine,” he says, pressing the word to Steve’s lips with a slow kiss. Fine, have it your way.

His last coherent thought, before Steve licks expertly into his mouth, is that they might not escape the public indecency allegations today, after all.

#stucky #stevebucky #rillers scribbles #why yes i do think my writing gets progressively dumber xD #can't help it #the braincell loves these boys #the braincell is trying its best #the braincell is probably going to take a break for the next 2837445098 years given my history #just wanted to exploit it a little bit before that happens

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thatblackravenclaw · 1 year

Text

Pen Pals

a/n: you guys know how Andrew Garfield’s parents are British but he was born in L.A. but he still has a British accent that’s not extremely British with a little bit of an American twinge? that’s what the reader sounds like. also, i go by the grades of everyone in the books so Cho and the reader are a year older than the golden trio and a year younger than the twins.

Blog Details | Let’s take a trip

Fred Weasley x Black!fem!reader (Ravenclaw)

warning(s): british slander bc im a raging american (RED WHITE AND BLUE MF THESE COLORS DON’T RUN BITCH lmfao please believe me when i say im joking), cursing, mention of drugs and alcohol use, tooth rotting fluff

word count: 3.3k

“Are you writing to that British boy again?” I hear from over my shoulder.

“Yes, and have you heard of personal space?” We erupt in giggles as I push her away.

I close my notebook and move from my desk to my bed. The foot of my mattress is barricaded with boxes. I look around and see my childhood home become empty and filled with boxes and buckets. The walls that were once painted with polaroids of my friends and family from over the years is now back to its basic color of brown that was painted when I was born. My desk is no longer covered with knick-knacks and clutter. The room is just empty. I’m happy that my mom got promoted so my dad gets to go back to his hometown, but it’s going to be hard leaving a place I’ve spent ¾ of my life in.

My mom is a Magizoologist. She came to the United States 20 years ago for a business trip. My dad is a Dragonologist. Their paths crossed when she came to help take a look at a sick Dragon. He showed him how their sanction work and over time I guess they became close because 3 years later I was born.

We used to go back and forth between Illinois and England for about 4 and ½ years before mom decided to just move here. I guess the distance was just a little too much for them, so she decided to move here and now we’re moving back.

I lay down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. It’s scattered with glow in the dark stars that I begged for when I was 7 and ten years later, here they still stick. I’ve been asking dad for four years to take them down. He always said he’d get around to it.

The air feels dry, and my throat is scratchy. I’m trying my best to hold my tears at bay. I love England. It’s a second home to me. Whenever I’m out for summer break I go to my grandparents’ house in Norwich. This is different though. I’m going to be living there now. The British accent I had when I was younger has faded overtime to an American-British hybrid. I’ll surely be made fun of for it.

Maya lays down next to me. We’ve been best friends since the 3rd grade. Just the two of us against the world. Now I have to go through the rest of university without her.

“Maybe it won’t be bad. The worst part is going to be eating their food.” Her jab pulls a smile to the corner of my lips.

“I’ve heard the food at Hogwarts is actually pretty good.”

“Not possibly better than Ilvermony.”

“Never!” I dramatize the word with a gasp. Really selling it as if saying Hogwarts food is better than Ilvermony is a federal offense.

The dust settles and a silence washes over us. It’s a comfortable silence. Soaking in our last moments together. I know it’s not forever. I get to come back here on holiday, and she can use the floo network to visit me, but it won’t be the same. This is the person who has a key to my house because she’s considered family. The same person who that brings me an extra banana nut muffin every day before school just because she knows it’ll bring a smile to my face. I won’t get that anymore.

“What time are you guys leaving tomorrow?” Her head turns towards me, but I keep my eyes trained on the popcorn ceiling in fear that the tears I’ve been holding back will give me away.

“Early. I think 6. We’re meeting the realtor with the keys at 7, so we need to make sure that all of our stuff gets transported this in one fell swoop since we’re apperating there and apparently mom came up with a spell to have our stuff apperate to the new house.”

“Hm. Have you told British boy that you’re got accepted into Hogwarts?”

“Fred doesn’t even know what I look like. Let alone that I got accepted to the same school as him.”

“HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE?” I slap my hand over her mouth and shush her.

“Bitch, shut the fuck up. My parents are right down the hall and don’t know I have a pen pal. They said it was dangerous because people pretend to be someone they’re not, but what the hell?”

She pushes my hand off of her mouth and sits up. Her back meets my headboard and she straight ahead at the door.

“Do you know what he looks like?”

I nod my head yes before rolling off of the bed. I feel to the last page of my journal and find and find a polaroid of him and his brother George from when they went to something called The Quidditch World Cup. I do a quick look over before making my way back to the bed and offering my hand to Maya. She looks at the picture and you can almost see her eyes bulging out of their sockets.

“He has a twin brother?”

“No it’s just someone he met at school.” I resist the temptation to roll my eyes at her comment, but the attitude goes completely over her head.

“Is he single?”

“Maya!” I exclaim with my jaw dropped. “What? You can have a twin and I can’t?”

“Oh hush. You said yourself that you don’t even date white boys.”

“That was before I saw this one. Besides, he’s a ginger so he’s exempt from that statement.”

“I’m really going to miss you Maya.” We make eye contact for the first time in a while and her eyes soften.

“I’m gonna miss you too Angel.”

She looks down at her watch and tells me that it’s fifteen minutes to ten meaning it’s almost curfew. We share one last tearful goodbye as she walks out of my bedroom door for the last time.

. . .

Sure enough, at 5:45 my dad woke me up and told me it was time to get ready to leave. I had taken one last look around my room and made my way downstairs to meet my mother so we could all leave. Right as the clock struck 6, my parents let me grab the powder and be the first to see our new home.

I stood in the foyer and tried to convince myself that it isn’t the best house I’ve ever seen. It’s got a cottage core vibe going on, on the outside. It’s cozy, but big enough for all of us. I wanted so badly not to like it. We went to the backyard and there’s a small river filled with a family of ducks. To the right there’s something that looks like a shack, but bigger. My parents then explained to me it’s my own apartment. That’s when the smile broke across my face. I was finally getting my own space.

The house tour didn’t last long due to the tight schedule we are on. I ended up just waving my wand and letting the magic unpack my stuff as we were right back in the fireplace. Why? Because tomorrow is the first day of school and I have not done any school shopping. The stuff on the list differs a little bit from the shopping list we had for Ilvermony so dad thought it best to wait until we got here. We had to go to Diagon Alley anyway for everyone to open up a bank account.

Now, I’m standing in Madam Malkin’s getting measured for everything. Once I’ve been basically poked and prodded all over my body with clothes pins, I stare out the window and watch everything and everyone pass by. As if someone had played a slow potion button, I see a whole family of red heads walk down the cobblestone and sure enough one of them is Fred. I snap my head down and try to cover my face with my hair. I don’t know why I did that. Once again, he has no idea what I look like.

“All done. You can step down now.” I look over to Madam Malkin and grab my uniform and robe out of her hands. I thank her and rush out the door. Thankfully my parents are done with their list too so we decide to go home.

. . .

The next 18 hours go by quick. I didn’t get a chance to really enjoy my apartment or decorate it due to packing up my trunk since we once again left early in the morning for transportation.

The train ride was painfully boring. No one told me how long it is from England to Scotland. I sat with some mundane people whose names I don’t remember. They were also half asleep and exchanged pleasantries only out of politeness. We bought some stuff off of the trolley and then went back to our own worlds.

At one point it became a little suffocating and I needed to pee so I got up and started walking through the cars when I heard a “Have you heard from her yet, Fred,”. I had stopped before becoming visible to their compartment. He told them no and that he was a little worried. That’s when I remembered that Maya distracted me so I never got to finish the letter.

At the moment, I’m standing at the front of the line of 1st years because I’m new as well but I’m older so I get to get sorted first. My hood is up and I’m looking at the ground, suddenly interested in my shoes. Professor McGonagall informs everyone that I’m a new student from the American wizarding school and I feel my face heat up, knowing the amount of comments I’m about to get from everyone.

She calls my name and I carefully walk up the stairs. At this point my hood is still up so no one has gotten a clear view of my face. I want to do a big reveal of sorts. I sit down and let the hood slide from off of my head. There’s gasps from all across the hall. Some whistles from a few guys. Whispers from a few girls. A handful of people conveyed nonchalant expressions which I greatly appreciate over being fawned over. My eyes gravitate toward the Gryffindor table and I catch Fred already looking at me. His friends are nudging him with an elbow while also looking at me. I guess that answers the question of if he told his friends about me or not. I can’t decipher how he feels, but the adoration on his face calms my nerves enough.

I break our eye contact to look back down at the floor as not to fall off of the stool. I make haste to the Ravenclaw table. I greet everybody and they instantly start asking questions. I laugh as I can’t understand them all at once, but it’s funny hearing them squabble like seagulls. A hand is placed over mine and I look in the direction of where it came from. A beautiful Asian girl gives me a small smile.

“Hi y/n, my name is Cho.” I return the smile and tell her that it’s nice to meet her. A silence washes over the table. I become befuddled and look around to distinguish if I did or said something wrong.

“I thought you were American?” Someone says from the other side of the table. I don’t catch sight of who said it, but respond, nonetheless.

“I am. Well, I’m half. My mom is American and my dad is British. I was born in Manchester but was raised in America.”

An understanding nod is shared amongst the table in hearing vicinity and the conversation ceases as someone else is sorted into Ravenclaw.

. .

After dinner the prefects give the first years a quick tour of the castle and show them to their houses. Cho snuck me with the other 5th years. I’m thankful as I far from want to be touring the castle with a bunch of children. Besides, I have a map of the school and I’ve created a spell that can bewitch the map to help me find my classes.

We make our way up the many staircases and are faced with a large door with an Eagle head as the knocker.

“The only way to enter the common room is by answering a riddle. If you get it wrong, then you have to stand here until someone else comes and says the correct answer or until someone from the inside opens the door.” She says to me. I nod my head in understanding.

“Wanna try it?” Another Ravenclaw asks me. A male. I believe his name is Talbott. I nod my head again and step closer to the door.

“When young, I am sweet in the sun. When middle-aged, I make you gay. When old, I am valued more than ever. What am I?” The voice bellows as the Eagle moves its beak. It shakes my core a little bit.

I look around at the other Ravenclaws. Some with quizzical brows. Some with a knowing look. Others just looking and awaiting my answer. The answer would have caught me up if it weren’t for the last clue; “When old, I am more valued than ever.”

“Wine.” There’s a click sound as if unlocking a lock, and the door slowly opens. Smalls cheers are shared as we walk in.

I’m stuck at the entrance of the threshold inside by the sight in front of me. It’s probably the most gorgeous room I’ve ever seen. The ceiling is coved and gives the illusion of a clear night sky. Stars litter the ceiling and give off the effect of actual twinkling. A blue velvet couch sits in front of a fire, with matching chairs on either side. What really catches my attention is the enormous statue of Rowena Ravenclaw in front of a bookcase. We never had anything like this at Ilvermony. Our emblem was a serpent and we would just have those displayed in various parts of the common room. I watch as everyone goes to various parts of the room while some go behind the bookcase. Cho grabs my hand and also brings me behind the staircase. She shows me that behind this staircase is where the dorms and bathrooms are. I follow her up the staircase and to a dorm. The rooms inferior to the common room but not any less gorgeous. The beds align with the wall as each dorm is in the shape of a tower.

“I see you got the middle bed. Seems fitting as you’re new.” No malice in her tone, though I can see in some way it might have seemed like it.

I sit on the bed and exhale. Truly exhale. This whole journey has been happening too fast. Now that I’m sorted into a house, everything else seems easy. I went over my schedule with Cho and we have all the same classes except Defense Against The Dark Arts. I guess I’ll survive one class without her.

“Well come on lazy bones.” A different girls says to me. Anastasia I believe.

“What?” I sit back up and ask with pure curiosity.

“It’s time to get ready for the party.”

“What party?”

. .

The beginning of the year party. The party where everybody gets blacked out and regrets it in the morning since we start classes at 8 am.

I believe I heard someone earlier yell about flower. A Hufflepuff I believe. I had put on the sluttiest thing I owned and made my way down to the party with everyone else. None of us wear heels, as not to be caught by the caretaker.

The party is in full swing when we open the door the ballroom. The lights are dimmed, but the strobes of light are pungent. We barely make it to the drink table without bumping into everyone on the way. At the drink table is a tall red head with another tall read head which I can only assume is me about to be dealing with the consequences of my own actions.

“Excuse us,” Cho exclaims at the two while trying to push our way to the punch bowl. They look our way and go to move but freeze when they set their eyes on me.

“Y/n?” Fred asks/yells.

“In the flesh,” I yell back.

His smile reaches his eyes as he pulls me in a hug. My face in brought into an awkward place where it’s not quite his chest but not quite his stomach either. I wrap my arms around his middle and hug him back. He smells like cinnamon. I welcome in the scent as we hug for a few more seconds. I can only imagine what Cho is thinking right now.

We pull back at the same time and he begins to speak again. I can’t really hear him over the noise of the ballroom. I look in the direction of the entrance of the room and point to it. He nods his head and we walk towards it, hand in hand.

The door closes behind us but we still stood with our hands intwined.

“Pen pals for 4 years and you didn’t tell me you were transferring.” He exclaims while keeping his voice down.

“I wanted to surprise you.” I say sheepishly.

“Considered me surprised.” He smiled no longer reaches his cheeks but its more somber.

We hear footsteps coming from the far end of the corridor. He pulls me and we start running. I don’t know where we’re going but I trust him. A giggle threatens to out my mouth as we are going up the maze of stairs.

After what feel like forever, we make it to the floor that the Ravenclaw tower is on. I see that Gryffindor is also on this floor. In the middle of both is a spiral staircase. Great. More stairs. He leads us up to a room that looks like a classroom with multiple astronomy tools and an openness to the outside.

“Welcome to the Astronomy classroom.” I unknowingly let go of his hand as I look around in amazement. There’s a celestial sphere with all the constellations on it. A fancy telescope by the balcony. It’s quite literally the Ravenclaw common room in classroom form.

“Gods, this place is gorgeous.” I walk onto the balcony and stare up at the sky. All the stars twinkle and the moon is full.

“As are you.” I turn my body around and face him. He walks up next to me without breaking eye contact.

“Not a disappointment, am I?”

“Only a little. I expect more of an American accent.” I laugh at this before looking down at my shoes.

“You and everyone else. It’s there a little bit with certain words and phrases.”

. .

I sit on the ledge and we talk for a bit. Not much to tell considering I know almost everything about him and vice versa. We talk about school and the people here which eventually leads to the topic of dating.

“Anyone here you fancy yet?”

“You could say that.” I look into his eyes and see if he’s able to read in between the lines.

He leans in and I hear my breath hitch. My fingers grip the railing. His eyes jump to my lips and back to my eyes.

“Who is it?” We both know.

“He’s in Gryffindor. Tall red head with freckles. His brothers are also in Gryffindor.” We inch closer.

“I might know him. What’s his name?” 3 inches apart.

“Ron.” He rolls his eyes at the answer with a chuckle.

“Shut up,” and then he kissed me.

Fred Masterlist | United Kingdom

#fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x reader #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x ravenclaw!reader #fred weasley x black!reader #ravenclaw!reader #ravenclaw reader #black!reader #black reader #fred weasley fluff #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fic #harry potter fluff

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