#i threw this book across the room in anguish
Text
art for the most heartbreaking book I've ever read.
#the reader trilogy#traci chee#look at me writing about something other than good omens#my art#srsly tho#i threw this book across the room in anguish#traditional art#artists of tumblr
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
man of the month part 7: july & august
Series Masterlist
@mochie85's Masterlist
See my full list of works here!
Summary: Shaun tries to convince you of Loki's feelings; Steve tries to convince you to have feelings for him; Sam tells you what you need to do with your feelings for Loki
Pairing: Loki x Reader (eventually)
Word Count: 5.4k [get some wine ready]
Warnings: red flag MrSatchel; cringe nickname; Steve can't take a hint; language
Things to be aware of: mutual pining; idiots in love
The screams of Thor's adoring fanbase picked up once again when the blond oaf walked out of your studio still without a shirt and showcasing his bulky exaggerative muscles. Outside of the photography studio, the remaining men who hadn't had their appointment with you yet were seated by the various seats strewn about the common area, with Loki still prominently at the front of the entire group, occupying the seat closest to the studio door.
He looked at his brother with significantly less apprehension after their exchange earlier today during his shoot with you. I am on your side. I only wish for you to be happy. Even after all this time it was such a foreign concept for him to be on the same side as Thor after centuries of being framed as each other's opposition.
Still, however, this particular set of circumstances somehow felt as if they were finally taking the steps to heal the scars, both known and unknown, that their strained relationship held. Their mother would have been proud if she were watching over them from Valhalla right now.
Thor threw a look his way. "Well obviously it is not me," he said without a trace of resentment, a gigantic smile stretching across his face. "But I know who it is."
Those words sent a frigid chill down Loki's spine. "She told you who it is?"
The look on his brother's face grew proud, and yet unarrogant. "I figured it out," he stated jovially. The two men from California had jointly muttered something about welcoming him to the club, making him smile and give the two a knowing thumbs up.
Deciding that perhaps he could save himself the anguish of going through this same exercise for a few more days as you finished up the appointments for everyone's photos, Loki approached his brother. "Just tell me who it is, Brother. Spare me the agony of waiting only to find out it isn't me after all."
The blond god gave him a look of mock offense. "Loki I will do no such thing. There are no shortcuts when it comes to matters such as this." His look softened when he saw the visible frustration on his brother's face, however. "I will tell you this, Brother. The super soldiers will most definitely be the most persistent in their efforts. I suggest taking Lady Y/N up on her offer to visit tomorrow. Just in case our dear Captain will be too disbelieving when she inevitably rejects his efforts."
So it isn't Rogers, Loki thought to himself. And if my brother is giving me a forewarning to look after her upon Barnes' appointment as well, then he knows that it's not him, either. She and Wilson are friends and he's never shown any visible interest in her beyond that despite the time they've spent around one another, which excludes him from the possibilities as well. And Banner is borderline fatherly to her, much like Stark.
His heart pounded in his chest as he let out his running hypothesis. "The only ones left are Strange and myself."
Thor clapped a hand down on his brother's shoulder. "Very good, Brother. You're catching on."
The schedule for today had you on edge. Scott's words of 'the serum boys having it bad for you' made you nervous about being in the same room as Steve for potentially more than a few hours, assuming he tried to stretch out the photoshoot for as long as he could. You booked him early on in the day, and gave Sam a heads up to be ready in case you finished early.
Hopefully that had been enough of an indicator that not only did you know about what was going on with the men on the team and their intensions toward their respective appointments with you, but that you did not reciprocate the attraction that Steve supposedly had for you.
Perhaps in the back of your mind yesterday afternoon, you'd thought of your appointment today as well when you extended that invitation to Loki to stop by if ever the spirit moved him. Part of you hoped that he wouldn't just take you up on that offer throughout the duration of the shoots, but that he would do so today.
Funny how you were apprehensive to be in a room alone with the hundred-something year old veteran who could break a log in two with his bare hands, but you were unfazed over being in such close proximity to the thousand-something year old god who could easily snap the soldier in two with just his mind if he so wished.
"Suppose I'm just stupid in love," you muttered to yourself in the empty studio, your eyes widening at your words. In love? Was that really where you were now? Sure, you'd harbored a mad crush on him for the longest time, but for those words to just come naturally to you after the last few days caught you off guard; however, you couldn't exactly say you were surprised at the turn your emotions had taken. It wasn't as if it was so unfathomably difficult for someone to find themself in love with the raven-haired god; in fact it came all too naturally to you. "Fuck."
"That's a whole mood." Your gaze snapped to the door to find Shaun walking in with a plate in his hand. "Bacon and cheese muffin. Figured I should get one into your studio before Thor ends up stealing your piece." You let out a chuckle just as your stomach obnoxiously grumbled as the scent of the bacon and cheese hit you. "Looks like my timing was perfect today," he said with a laugh as he set the plate down on your desk. "You want some company?" He looked over to the near empty coffee mug next to the plate. "Or a top up?"
"I wouldn't say no to both." You smiled at him. "Thanks, Shaun. You've been…really cool about all this and--"
"Hey, don't even mention it. I'm just glad we get to be buds. Honestly I was convinced that after the whole thing with my shoot that Loki was gonna mess with me every time he saw me even go near the door--"
"There you go again with your Loki conspiracy theories," you groaned. "I'm telling you. You're seeing things that aren't there."
"And I'm telling you that you're refusing to see things that are there," he shot back, an amused smile stretching across his face, chuckling as you rolled your eyes at him. "Tell you what. I'll prove it." He picked up your mug and started walking out the studio. "Gimme two minutes."
"What in the actual--" you muttered to the now empty studio, shrugging off Shaun's latest antic and opting instead to start picking at the savory pastry he brought for you. Not two minutes later, a thrill ran up your spine as the next voice you heard was definitively not Shaun's.
"Y/N?" You were helpless against the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth when you looked up and caught sight of Loki walking into your studio, your little Heckers & Salutations coffee mug looking smaller than it actually was in his hand. "Xu had to attend to something with Lang and my brother and it seems he'd forgotten that he was supposed to bring this back to you," he explained as he placed the mug back on your desk next to your plate.
"Thanks," you squeaked, trying to consolidate him being here with what Shaun said about 'proving it'. Before you thought too hard about it, however, you stopped yourself. As beautiful a picture it would be if the god loved you back, it was nothing more than that. A beautiful picture. A tantalizing dream.
"Darling?" Your heart thumped in your chest at the nickname. "Are you alright?" You looked up at him, trying desperately to hide the longing in your eyes before his keen observance caught sight of it, answering him wordlessly with a nod. "You seem…apprehensive," he prodded, concern seeping into his tone as he perched himself on to the stool next to you and gingerly taking your hand in his. "Is it your morning appointment?"
Dammit, how did he know? you hissed inwardly. You nodded slowly again. "It's--stupid, I know. It's just…ever since Scott told me about 'the Serum boys' I haven't exactly known how to…" You struggled to find the words as his thumb started to rub the back of your hand in slow circles. "I don't know how to act around them…with them. Because I don't know if they would misunderstand that for reciprocation. It's not exactly the easiest thing being around someone you know has feelings for you that you don't feel the same way for. Just like how it's agonizing to be around someone you dohave feelings for when you know that they don't see you that way, nor will they ever and--and I'm rambling, uhm…sorry," you mumbled into your coffee.
You felt a lump in your throat as he gently touched his fingers to your chin, tilting your head to look at him. "You aren't stupid for having your reservations. Unreciprocated affections can turn one into something else entirely, and while I dare not assume that it would happen to anyone on this team, I would not rule it out, either." His hand squeezed yours slightly before he spoke again. "If at any point in this morning's appointment, or any of your appointments, you begin to feel a disquiet in you, I will be right outside. Just call for me."
Your heart began to swell at his words. "Really? You'd do that?"
His other hand moved from your chin to tuck your hair behind your ear. "Darling, I've been there this entire time."
"So you believe me yet?"
You looked at Shaun as he gave you a little smug smile as he helped you setting up the plain light-colroed backdrop as well as draping a large black tablecloth over a table for Steve's shoot. "I don't wanna talk about it. Maybe you're on to something and I've been stupidly blind. Maybe you're not and you're just having a bad case of shipper brain. I'm just trying to get through this shoot, Xu."
"Right right," he muttered, his smile fading. "You want me to check up on you? Like maybe half an hour after the shoot starts?"
"Holy shit you'd do that?" Relief began to flood your system knowing that you didn't have to find a way to go outside and call for Loki, making up some excuse to even exit your studio if ever things went south in this shoot.
"Yeah, Scopes, of course! We're buds now. We gotta look out for each other." He threw his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into a playful headlock. "I'll put on a timer after he gets here. When the timer goes off I'll head over here with some lame excuse about lunch or something and if you're in need of help, give me this hand signal…" He pounded the table with his fist once, then snapped his fingers, and did a shaka sign. "Do that, and I'll call in the big guns."
"Wait. Big guns, you mean--"
"God-tier backup. The kind that's been stationed outside your studio day in and day out making sure you're okay." You rolled your eyes at him again. "Just calling it like I see it."
You jumped at the sound of a knock on your studio, bringing you back to the present moment. "Right then. Looks like it's time," you told Shaun with the most cheerful tone you could muster. "Start that timer, please," you muttered as softly as you could, your tension easing when you saw him do exactly that on his phone.
"Relax, Y/N," he told you softly, patting your head. "We're right outside. Everything's gonna be fine." With that, he let you go and walked out your studio as you were walking back to your desk to finish your coffee.
"Hey, Scopes," you heard Steve greet you as you were drinking your coffee. "Or should I say…heckers and salutations," he finished with a chuckle as he motioned toward your mug.
"Mmmph, no--" you protested. "That just sounds weird when someone actually says the words. Too old-timey. Even for you."
Your words made him break out in a hearty laugh, but something in the sound felt too strained to you. He sounded something akin to a schoolgirl flirting with the quarterback trying to laugh at his joke in order to stroke his ego. So that maybe later she could stroke something else after the game.
It didn't sit right with you. But regardless, you made an effort to seem like you paid his attempts at stroking your ego no mind. Making it obvious that you were unfazed by his reactions, his presence.
"That was a good one, Y/N," he sighed as you put the strap of your camera over your neck, giving you one of his well-practiced Captain America smiles that always had his fangirls swooning where they stood. "So it's as naked as I'm comfortable with, right?"
You swallowed hard, willing the lump in your throat to ebb. "Yup. I'll--turn around. Lemme know when you're ready."
He took a step toward you as he untucked his button down shirt from his slacks. "I'm comfortable with whatever you're comfortable with," he told you with a seemingly good-natured smile.
The whole sequence had a knot of tension settling in your stomach, slowly moving higher and higher as if you were about to retch and see your breakfast again. You strived to maintain your composure and answered him with a tight-lipped smile. "That's not how this works, Captain. I don't determine the degree of nakedness you're supposed to be comfortable with around me. That's all you. I just take the pictures."
He looked at you with eyes that were teeming with fulsome intent as he undid the buttons of his shirt. "Then I suppose this shouldn't be an issue, since I hope that after today I could be quite comfortable with you."
Those words sent a chill down your spine. "Excuse me?" you trembled, your voice suddenly dwindling down to something that could be likened to a church mouse.
"Y/N, I'm sure that by now you know that I like you." You could have sworn the temperature dropped a good ten degrees as the words escaped him, goosebumps breaking out all over your arms as you were suddenly filled with this urge to run.
If you did, though, would he block your way? And if he did, then what?
The answer came to you awfully fast. I would scream. Loki's right outside. He'll hear me.
You took a deep breath, your hands gripping your camera tighter in an attempt to get them to stop shaking. "Listen, Cap--"
"Please, Cookie, call me Steve." Something in you recoiled at the nickname he'd taken to calling you. There were only a few names you were partial to being called. Tweety by those close to you. Scopes to the rest of the world.
The exception to that rule being Loki, the only one whose head you didn't want to chop off whenever he called you Darling.
This name, however…this one you had to nip at the bud. Nobody deserved to be called that…unless they actually wanted to be.
"Captain," you insisted. "I'm aware of what Tony told you guys…about me having feelings for someone on the team. And, while I am flattered that you found yourself attracted to me…I'm sorry but I just…" You sighed, deciding you had to rip off the bandaid in one go instead of tiptoeing your way around what you eventually had to tell him anyway. "I just don't feel the same," you said in a rush.
Your urge to flee grew stronger as his confident smile faded into a grim line on his face and he assumed an almost combative stance like he used in the training rooms or in the field, straightening his stance and squaring his shoulders. "It's not me?" he asked, his tone coated with incredulity.
"It's not," you pressed on. "Listen, you're attractive and I'm sure the good-natured boy scout thing with the blond hair blue eyes clean shaven look does it for so many women, but…just not me." As his eyes darkened when you uttered those last words, you felt the need to murmur, "Sorry."
"And you're sure?"
"Pretty sure," you shot back, doing your best to bite back the sarcasm you usually would have answered that with. "I'm sure you'll find someone." You tried to take on a more comforting tone, as if you were trying to console a friend, even though at this moment he felt like anything but.
"Why?" The tone he'd taken on had become interrogative, demanding an answer instead of deflection, and it inevitably irritated you that he was acting this way.
"Because you're not my type," you answered with a bit more bite in your tone, the irritation seeping into every word. "I'm in love with someone else. And I'm sure that's hard to understand for someone who's so used to girls just falling all over him ever since you put on the stars and stripes, but you don't have to understand it. You just have to respect it."
"So who is it then?"
"That's none of your business." You were beginning to find your voice again; your body, however, still wanted to shrink. Or flee. Anything other than freeze, but you found that that was all you could do. "Your only business is that it's not you--"
"There's five of them left." You willed your face to remain expressionless other than the visible annoyance upon the assumption that he was about to list them all down trying to get you to tell him who he "lost" to. "Is it Sam?"
You kept quiet.
"Banner?" You fought the urge to roll your eyes at his childishness. "Bucky?! Did I really just lose again to my best friend?"
"Captain, stop this," you tried to plead with him. "Come on, be mature about this. Let's just take your picture, and we can move forward from this."
"Is it Strange? It's the facial hair, isn't it? Or the magic?" You sighed sharply. You willed the time to go faster, for Shaun to check up on you already. "Ohh for heaven's sake!" He circled around in place, hands on his hips, taking a few more steps toward you when he faced your way again. "It's Laufeyson!"
You couldn't stop yourself. Your neck twitched at the sound of his name.
"Jesus Christ, Y/N, really?! The guy hates everyone! He even hates his own brother. He destroyed so much--"
"He brought you all together," you hissed. "He gave you all the chance to be informed. To be prepared. Tell me, Captain. Do you genuinely believe that if he hadn't come here in 2012 and you hadn't all come together that first time, that the world would have stood a chance when Thanos attacked?"
"Every member of this team was on this world long before Loki landed on Earth," he argued petulantly.
"Yes. But you wouldn't have been a team," you bit back. "Nobody in this team would be here right now. I wouldn't be here right now because there wouldn't even have been a team to work with. So don't you go around parading your high morals telling me that his destructions outweigh his contributions. He has made amends for his indiscretions time and time again, so nobody is in any right to hold the events from ten years ago over his head."
"So it really is him, huh? You wouldn't defend him like this if it wasn't."
"Yes I would." You tilted your chin up defiantly at him. "I don't like bullies."
With the look on his face, you may as well have slapped him with those words. "I'm not--"
"Hey, Y/N…" You looked toward the door to see Shaun with a poorly veiled concerned look on his face. "Just checking to see if the shoot's gonna be done soon and ask if you wanna check out that new Mexican place that opened a few blocks from here. I've got a craving for some chimichangas."
You plastered the most casual smile you could muster on your face as you answered him. "Uhh…yeah, we should be done in a bit." You gave him the hand signal, making his eyes widen the slightest with clear alarm. "I'll see you when we're done."
"Sure thing, Scopes…" he trailed off, the tremor in his voice so evident to you as he backed away from the door. "Captain."
"Xu," Steve answered him with a practiced smile, giving a salute his way. Then he turned back to you, his stance rife with defensiveness after your last words towards him. "I'm not a bully, Y/N. I just can't understand for the life of me why you would choose him--"
"What? Over you?" you fumed. "And for the record, I am not choosing anyone. I'm in love with someone. Okay? They're on the team. And other than that, it's nobody's business. Your only business is that it's not you. So can we please just take your picture and we can move on from this?"
"So you won't even consider anyone--"
"I believe the lady already turned you down, Rogers." Relief flooded your system at the sound of Loki's voice floating into the studio, the sound of the cadence of his steps nearly feeling like a warm blanket fighting away the chills that had broken out throughout the course of this exchange.
"Stay out of this, Laufeyson. This is between me and Y/N."
"Based on what I heard from this exchange, there is no 'you and Y/N'," the god shot back, placing a hand on your shoulder, choosing to maintain a considerable distance from you. "And as far as I know, this is her studio. Her space. She's told me that I am welcome to stop by throughout the duration of this project. The only one with the authority to send me out of here is her." He turned his gaze away from the veteran and towards you. "Do you wish for me to leave?" he asked you in a comparatively softer tone.
Your immediate answer was of course you didn't, but you knew that he didn't particularly like spending his time around other people; hell, he barely tolerated spending time with his own brother. Why would he want to pass his time with you? "I don't wanna trouble you," you muttered in response.
"Sweetheart," he sighed, your heart jolting at the new nickname. "You could never trouble me."
"Then I'd like you to stay," you said quietly, the lump remaining in your throat but now for an entirely different reason. Was he really so willing to stay with you through another shoot after he'd just done so yesterday? Was that actually a sliver of affection in his tone earlier as he called you Sweetheart?
Holy fuck. Was Shaun right?
His brows furrowed as he moved his hand from your shoulder to your upper arm, surely feeling the goosebumps that erupted from your exchange with the persistent Captain. "You're cold," he whispered, moving quickly to shrug off his cardigan and place it on your shoulders before rubbing his hands up and down your upper arms over the thick fabric. It was all you could do not to sigh and lean in to his touch.
The sound of an impatient huff brought you back to reality. "So can we please just return to the matter at hand, Captain?" you addressed Steve again, noting the visible irritation radiating from him as he kept his gaze fixed on you and Loki. "If you could just go over to that table in the black set, and we can get started."
"Y/N, I just don't get it," he said with a raised voice, spinning in his spot again. "I'm a good guy—"
"Everyone on this team is a good guy," you pressed on. You raised an eyebrow at him as you emphasized, "Everyone."
He glared at you, then at Loki. "I'm a gentleman!"
"Not today, you're not, you little punk." Your gaze turned to the door to find Bucky sending a severely disappointed look Steve's way. "If you really were you wouldn't have to shout it at the top of your lungs, people would just know." He turned to look at you. "Scopes, I'm really sorry if I knew he was going to behave like this I would have stationed myself as his parole officer."
"It's alright," you answered him. "Like you said, Bucky, you didn't know."
"Steve, do what she says," the metal-armed assassin instructed the now sulking Captain. "You've wasted enough of her time with your entitlement." When the Captain finally followed, you could feel the remainder of the tension leaving your body, feeling infinitely more relieved by the moment knowing that this particular shoot would soon be over.
The shoot itself didn't last fifteen minutes, the awkward atmosphere creating an environment that was so tense you could almost feel that the two super soldiers just wanted to exit the studio as soon as possible. You faintly heard remnants of Bucky conversing with Loki, thanking the god for calling him as soon as he'd heard about Steve acting out.
The information took you aback. He'd approached Bucky? Voluntarily? You were always under the impression that he found the two soldiers intolerable, that he would rather sit through one of Tony's self-aggrandizing two and a half hour long speeches than be in a five minute conversation with either of them.
"Alright, I think I have what I need," you said loudly for the benefit of everyone in the room, standing up and walking away from the set you'd prepped with Shaun not even two hours earlier so that you wouldn't have to look at Steve a moment longer than necessary. With those goddamn puppy eyes that were putting you through an unwarranted guilt trip even though he was most definitely the one who should feel guilty for making you feel like you needed the backup of his best friend and your--
And Loki. Not 'your' anything. Just Loki, you thought bitterly.
In the end, Bucky ended up choosing the shot that would go on for the July layout, reasoning that the Captain shouldn't be anywhere near you until he's had a chance to cool down and realize that he most definitely owed you an apology for cornering & interrogating you the way he did. And that he owed Loki an apology for shit talking him behind his back, too.
"I'm really sorry again for Steve's behavior, Scopes." Bucky's tone had been rife with remorse and secondhand embarrassment as he lightly nudged at your shoulder with his hand.
"Your bestie needs to learn how to handle rejection," you remarked, giving him a small smile to show him that you didn't hold anything against him for how the other super soldier had chosen to act around you. "I'll uhh…see you in a few days for your shoot?"
"You can count on it." He pointed a finger at Steve. "You. Training Room. We're gonna spar. Give me a reason to beat some sense into your idiotic head."
After grabbing lunch with Shaun, Nat, and Wanda, it was time for Sam's shoot. That had gone exceptionally better than your previous appointment. No checkups and no backup needed, just two friends laughing away the entire shoot and the entire premise of Tony's proposition toward the other models.
"Can you imagine their disappointment if I go out and tell them 'I win y'all!'?" he pondered, chuckling as he posed for another picture in the same set that Steve had been in this morning. "Nah…Horns would probably rip my head off and mount it on his wall if I did."
"Come on," you grumbled from behind your camera, giving him a hand signal to turn slightly to his right. "Loki wouldn't do that." Although from the aura he had during the exchange with Steve earlier, you were almost convinced that he would. "What would he care if it was you?"
"Uhh…Tweety, he'd care," he insisted. "Because it would mean that it's not him."
"Alright, Big Bird, what aren't you telling me?"
"Do you honestly not know that ever since this entire thing started, he's been in the front of the group whenever the shoot ended? Looking like he refuses to let oxygen enter his cocky ass lungs until whoever walked out tells us all that it's not them?" You furrowed your eyebrows together in confusion. "Motherfucker you really didn't, huh?"
"Dude you kinda sounded like Fury for a second there. I mean…I never heard him say the word, but it kinda feels like something he'd say when he's alone, you know?"
"Don't avoid the question, Tweety. You really didn't know that that's what's been going on these last few days?" You shook your head at him as you signaled for him to stand by the window instead, letting the wall of the studio be his backdrop instead, which he quickly complied with. "Y/N if I didn't know that you had it bad for him, I'd feel sorry for the guy."
"Wait wait, hold up." You put your camera down on the ground so that you could give him a proper look. "You know?"
"You're obvious," he said simply. "At least to me. And I just want you to know this. If his shoot comes up and he doesn't take the opportunity to shoot his shot? That's his mistake. Just don't make the same one."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, little Tweety bird, if he tries to be all proper Asgardian gentleman on his shoot, it's on you to climb him like those trees you always do when we're on a mission, and go for the kill shot." He emphasized his point by bucking his hips and making a slapping motion with his hand, making you break out in a maniacal bout of laughter.
"You fucking dork."
Hearing your laugh bleeding through the closed door simultaneously made Loki's heart swell and ache as he sat outside waiting for Wilson to exit your space despite him already knowing that the outcome of this shoot would be a negative as well, based on his conversation this early morning with his brother.
On the one hand, he was relieved that your mood had taken a turn for the better once your appointment with Rogers had concluded. And hearing evidence that this current appointment was much more lighthearted than the last had him breathing easier for it meant that he need not be concerned for your safety while you were alone with the veteran soldier.
On the other, however, hearing your laugh made him ache and yearn for you, finding himself once again wishing that whenever he found himself alone with you, the atmosphere did not feel as heavy as it always did. As if you felt that if you spoke one word out of line he would cut you down. It made him wonder if that sliver of hope that he was holding on to that he'd be the one you so boldly stated in Rogers' face that you were in love with was truly him holding on to nothing.
He found himself picturing how completely shattered his heart would be once Strange's appointment came up and the vain former Midgardian healer turned sorcerer emerged from your studio, a triumphant smile on his face, as he declared for the entirety of the team that you were his. Would he be able to handle seeing you the next day, on his appointment? How comfortable would he be around the very woman who'd unknowingly destroyed him? Would he even tell you about his affection?
No, he answered himself resolutely. He would keep his emotions a secret if that be the case. He would wish you well, and hope that the sorcerer would treat you with the respect and devotion you deserved.
"I only wish for you to be safe and happy," he muttered into the emptiness of the common area. "Even if you do not find that with me, my love."
A/N: Never thought I'd be writing Steve with them "I'm a nice guy!" vibes and yet here we are…whew. 🥴
Next 2 chapters will be written by Mochie and I can confirm…there's an extra little surprise for the next chapter that'll have us all 🤣 in our seats
Now…I'm off to write for the requests pile again because I'd like to have some good progress done on this before requests open up again in less than 230 followers 😳👀
Everything taglist:
@lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @arch-venus25 @freefrommars @littlemortals @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @huntress-artemiss @lilibet261 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @avoliax @devilsadvocactus @purplegrrl27 @lokiprompts @sititran @imherefortomhiddleston @ladyjames78 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @kats72 @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot @creationsbyme @coldnique
#loki x reader#loki x female reader#loki fanfiction#loki fanfic#marvel fanfiction#marvel fanfic#mcu fanfiction#loki laufeyson fanfic#muddyorbs writes#mochie85
362 notes
·
View notes
Note
magnus portalling over to meet alec cause he knows there no way he can reverse the spell in time he just wanna spend the last minutes with alec
Part I
Part II
“Cat, there has to be a way to reverse this spell,” Magnus pleads.
“Magnus, we’ve gone over this the entire night. There isn’t another way,” Cat says, voice laced with remorse. “I’m sorry, Magnus.”
Magnus blasts red, angry magic across the room, leading to every item in the room falling across.
He doesn’t stop, he keeps on pointing at items one by one and breaking them apart with his magic. It’s not something he ever does, but right now, Magnus needs to release the anger.
Magnus wants to feel anger, because if he stops feeling the burning hot rage, he’s going to start feeling what lies beneath, the endless, everlasting anguish that exists at the idea that he might lose Alec forever.
“Cat, please,” he pleads. “I can’t lose Alec.”
“Magnus,” Cat puts a comforting hand on his shoulder but Magnus shakes it off, not knowing what to do with comfort.
He needs something else.
He needs Alec.
“We need more help,” Cat announces before she portals out of there.
Five minutes later, Catarina is back with Tessa, Ragnor and Lorenzo.
Magnus doesn’t even pass a comment at Lorenzo and the other man doesn’t gloat either about Magnus needing his help.
No one says a single word, everyone just get to work immediately.
Two hours later, Ragnor closes the book in his hand and sighs.
“The curse can’t be reversed. But it can be delayed.”
Magnus frowns, “What does that mean?”
“It means that we can give you one more day.”
“To do what? Find something else?” Magnus asks, desperate for more time, anything that delays this.
There’s a sorrowful expression on Ragnor’s face as he replies.
“You know the rules Magnus. Some curses cannot be reversed. When you wished that Alec and you two never got married, it released dark magic into the world. It’s a warlock’s curse, it cannot be reversed. And a curse unleashed by Magnus Bane can only be reversed by one person.”
“Who?” Magnus swallows before he finds the answer himself.
He lets out an ugly laugh because of course there’s only one person who can reverse this. It figures that Magnus deserves a fate like this.
“Asmodeus,” he breathes.
Ragnor nods in agreement.
“But I threw him in the limbo. He’s gone. The only person who can reverse the curse,” He laughs.
“Ragnor, please. Do something,” Magnus pleads as he falls to his friend’s feet. “There is no world where I exist without Alexander.”
Every single fibre of his being calls for Alec. There’s a desperate need, far worse than anyone he’s felt in his life.
He thinks of Alec. His Alexander. His husband.
The person he loves most in the world.
Magnus knows for a fact that if he loses Alec like this, he will never recover. There will be no going back for him, he will lose the very essence of him because that’s where Alec lives now.
“I won’t lose you, Magnus,” Alec had said when Magnus was about to lose himself to get his powers back. He did not get Alec’s desperation then, but he gets it now.
“Please,” he whispers, brokenly, before he breaks into tears.
Ragnor bends down and pulls him against his chest. “You can have one more day.”
Magnus let’s out an anguished sob, not worried who sees him in this state, not a single care in the world.
“We can delay the inevitable by one day. The four of us can manage that.”
“It’s not enough. It’s not enough time with Alexander,” he sobs.
“I know,” it’s all Ragnor replies.
“He won’t even talk to me. Not after what he saw in that memory,” Magnus says, his voice laced with pain.
“He might not remember. But he does feel it Magnus. Find a way to talk to him. You only have limited time left.”
“What happens after?” Magnus inquires, even though he knows.
“You forget him too. And the world will change and your paths will never cross again,” Cat explains. “We don’t know how, but you won’t find each other this time.”
He wishes there was a word to describe something like this. ‘Pain’ sounds too small, too little to how and what he actually feels.
Even anguish and heartbreak doesn’t cut it because he won’t be heartbroken after all of this, he will be nothing.
He will not exist.
He cleans his face and stands up because if this is it, he’s going to find Alec. He’s going to find his husband and tell him everything, he will apologise for ruining their lives, breaking both of their hearts even if Alec doesn’t remember.
He will beg Alec to forgive him for changing their lives. Alec, his brave Alec who fought against his race, walked out of his wedding for himself. And what did he do in return? In a fit of anger? Pushed both of them to a life of loneliness.
His heart aches for his Alec, who is married to a woman—the one thing Alec’s been scared of more than anything in his life since he was a kid.
Magnus Bane ruined Alec Lightwood and this will be his eulogy.
“Okay,” he exhales and opens a portal. He enters the portal and he’s at the institute.
The institute is eerily quiet right now, maybe everyone can feel the storm that’s about to come. Or maybe it’s just him. Maybe, it doesn’t matter that’s he wrecked. The world goes on.
There’s only one place he will find Alec and he’s found right ten seconds later when he finds the shadowhunter on the terrace.
“Alexander.”
Alec stops midway from shooting the arrow and turns, surprise written over his face as their eyes meet. “What are you doing here?”
“I have to talk to you.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you. Please leave.”
Magnus inhales deeply, “You’re my husband.”
Alec’s face turns in confusion. “What?”
“You’re not Alec Lightwood, Co-head of the institute. You’re Alexander Gideon Lightwood-Bane, Inquisitor of the Clave. My husband.”
More confusion and a small amount of anger appears on Alec’s face. “What the hell are you talking about? And what was that in the memory? I know it wasn’t real because I don’t remember and because there is nothing between us.”
“Alexander, please listen to me—“
“No,” Alec raises a hand. “Just, stop. Why are you doing this?”
“Alexan—“
“Stop,” Alec says sharply, but there’s a desperation to his voice. “Stop with the Alexander and these lies. Just stop, Magnus. I thought we were friends. I don’t understand this.”
Magnus steps closer to Alec but the shadowhunter flinches back, and it twistens the knife that’s inside of him.
“Tell me you don’t feel it too,” Magnus asks.
“Are you hearing yourself?” Alec yells this time. “I’m fucking married, Magnus.”
“YES, YOU ARE. BUT NOT TO LYDIA. TO ME,” Magnus’s thunderous voice rages across the terrace.
He knows how insane this must sound to Alec but he doesn’t fucking care—if he’s going to have just one more day left with Alec’s memories, he’s going to spend it with Alec.
Even if they’re fighting.
His mind takes him back to their last sight and Magnus hates himself even more at the reminder. It was just a fight, and even if he was in pain that day, he’d never wish what he said to be true.
He didn’t want this. He never did.
He would never not want to be married to Alec.
He would never want Alec, his Alec, to be a stranger.
“Please. You have to remember me,” Magnus begs this time, and tears rapidly spread across his face.
He falls to the ground and before he knows, he lets out an anguished sob, desperate for the ground to take him in.
Right now, he wishes for the void that was Edom.
“Magnus,” Alec’s voice is low, and worried. “I don’t know how to help you. I don’t know what you want from me.”
He lets out another choked sob, “Please. It’s me, Alexander.”
An eternity might have passed as he stays on the ground but he knows it didn’t because he doesn’t have an eternity of life yet, just 24 hours. So, he knows he might still be there, crying infront of Alec on the terrace.
There’s a comforting, familiar hand on his shoulder. Magnus lifts his face up and Alec’s in front of him, kneeled on the floor, confusion and worry and a hundred other things on his face.
“Tell me.”
He looks into Alec’s eyes and it’s an invitation. He doesn’t know what for. He gathers the courage to speak anyways.
“You make really good crepes. No one believes me when I tell them but you like being the little spoon, and between the two of us, you’re the little spoon 9 out of ten times,” Magnus says brokenly. “You got me an onamari charm on one of our early days and that was the day I knew you were it for me.”
Magnus rubs the tears off of his face. “You call me baby because I annoyed you with weird pet names and you wanted revenge but both of us like it when you call me that. You love watching reality shows but you never shut up during them.”
The confusion on Alec’s face increased tenfold.
“You vowed that you would be my loving husband forever and you always tried your best to. I have never been loved like this before.”
There’s a long silence before a strong, shadowhunter hand is on his cheeks. Alec rubs the tears off of his face.
“Alec,” Magnus breathes hopefully.
“He seems like a lucky guy, Magnus. But it’s not me.,” Alec says sadly, and Magnus’s heart breaks some more. He shakes his head. “No. No. It’s you. There has to be a way.”
“For what?”
Magnus feels like the biggest idiot then because the answer has been infront of him the entire time.
“Do you trust me?”
Alec doesn’t say yes, there’s apprehension on his face and Magnus can’t blame him. If his casual acquaintance comes up to him one day and demands that he feels they’re married, he’d be pretty apprehensive too. But he doesn’t have time right now.
“I know you have no reason to trust me. But please, I can show you.”
“Show what?” Alec asks.
“My memories.”
“Magnus, I…”
“Please, Alexander. I would never do anything to hurt uou,” he says, even though he’s done plenty to ruin Alec’s life.
There’s a moment of hesitation before Alec replies. “Okay.”
Magnus stands up on his feet. He’s done this before once, he knows he has the power. That day, when he was trying to destroy his memories of Alec, ages ago now, he’d find the strength to do it.
Today, he’s motivated to keep his memories so he’ll find the strength again.
Magnus raises his fingers to his head and focuses his magic. He puts all his energy, his power, his magic, his love into it and brings out all the memories to the centre and spreads it across the room.
The entire sky around them is filled with blue magic, encompassing their years of memories between them.
Their first date.
The vows.
Lazy days on couch.
Strolls around the Central Park.
Alicante.
Alec blushing every time Magnus flirted.
Magnus blushing when Alec was being Alec.
Everything that he had, that he remember was outside for everyone to see.
Alec rises up from the floor and looks around, his eyes widening in pure, utter shock.
“Wha—“
“This is our life. This is everything I had with you.”
Alec walks across the web of memories, going through each one of them one by one.
He knows a good few hours of their last day pass before either of them speak a word. Before Alec turns to his, his face red with tears and anguish and everything that he himself feel.
“Magnus, this—“
He doesn’t say anything. He has nothing left to say now.
Then Alec turns, and breaks his heart some more.
“Baby,” Alec says in a broken whisper, “What did you do?”
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
so scarlet (it was maroon) ✧ sokeefe
✧ ship: Sophie x Keefe
✧ what to expect: it all went down went a book went soaring across the classroom but sophie never expects it to end the way it does. acrylic smeared on cheeks, pigment-stained clothes, and a whole keefe sencen later, maybe she never despised him as much as she thought she did.
✧ genre: romance, fluff, humor, sarcasm - enemies to lovers trope, human au, and a love triangle to torment you guys 😈
✧ word count: 935
✧ warnings: swearing
✧ link to masterlist
✧ link to chapter two
✧ A/N: this is the first chapter of my kotlc au, i hope you all like it!!!
***
CHAPTER ONE
Sophie Foster had a book resting on her desk, and frankly, she wanted to use it.
To read? No, in her opinion, books were convenient weapons. Found in almost every classroom, they usually had a hard surface, and when that cover connected with a head? Man, it could cause some serious damage. And based on her partner’s childish behavior, she was sure a head as big as his could take a hit without being seriously injured.
“Can you just help me, please?” Sophie practically begged. She wanted this art project done as fast as possible, especially considering she was working with Foxfire Academy’s most famous prankster—Keefe Sencen. She opened her mouth to let out another frustrated comment but instead instinctively shied away as he stretched his arms out and placed them behind his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
“When do you ever?”
“Only if there’s food involved. Ooh, how about my aid in exchange for marshmallows? I love those.” Sophie felt her face grow hotter as her partner shot her a smug grin and tapped his paintbrush against his lips.
Which was why when the art teacher turned her back on the students in her classroom to drone on about watercolor techniques, Sophie swiftly picked up her notebook and flung it at the boy sitting leisurely in the seat next to her. Heads turned and the two felt all eyes on them as they glared at one another furiously.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“For being an insufferable ass.”
“Miss Foster, I heard that!” Ms. Clarette whirled around, her gaze sweeping the room until it locked onto Sophie’s. “I don’t tolerate such language in my classroom. And books are for reading, not throwing. See me after class.”
Beside her, Sophie’s partner murmured, “‘Insufferable ass’? Really? You could’ve so much better—“
“You too, Mr. Sencen!”
Keefe Sencen threw his hands up in the air dramatically as Sophie scoffed.
“I’m the victim here, Ms. Clarette!” He exclaimed in anguish. But then he shot his partner a devilish grin, momentarily breaking his theatrical facade.
“If anyone, I’m the victim.” Sophie replied, disgusted. Ms. Clarette glanced at the clock and clapped her hands. “Dismissed!”
Everyone simultaneously jumped to their feet with their bags and filed out the door in a big messy clump. Unenthusiastically, Keefe and Sophie made their way to their teacher’s desk.
“Mr. Sencen,” Ms. Clarette started. “You know what our rules are. Give your best and—“
“Aid those who need it, blah, blah, blah. Yes, I know.”
“Still you refused to lend Miss Foster a hand when she was clearly struggling. I could give you a day of detention for your behavior—“
“Great! See ya, bye!”
“—But, I’d hate to see my best student wasting away in a classroom full of unruly delinquents.” Keefe’s chest ever so slightly puffed up in pride; it took all of Sophie’s strength to suppress her disbelieving scoff. Yet what Ms. Clarette said next had both their jaws slack in incredulousness.
“That’s why you’re going to be tutoring Miss Foster until the end of the term.”
A deafening silence entered the room like an elephant. “You’ve…you’ve got to be joking,” Sophie said, laughing. Her smile faded as Ms. Clarette’s shook her head, dead serious.
“If you don’t improve for the upcoming midterm, you’re going to fail the subject. I’m turn, that is going to directly affect your GPA.”
“As much as I hate how this is unfolding,” Keefe butted in. “She does have a point. Your artwork is—“
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
“What? It’s true.”
“I’m assuming we have a deal?” Ms. Clarette confirmed, effectively breaking up the argument. Sophie nodded sullenly while Keefe shot her two finger guns.
“And, Sophie,“ The teacher gave her a pointed look. “You owe someone an apology.”
“Do I have to?”
“Unless you want me to extend those tutoring sessions to two terms…”
“Okay, fine!”
Feeling particularly petty, Sophie slung her backpack onto one shoulder and turned to face Keefe entirely. She was hit with a humorous (yet dangerous) glint dancing in his eyes, barely concealed. His weight one one leg, he leaned against Ms. Clarette’s desk with a cocked one eyebrow, amused and and waiting.
“I am so very sorry that your big head is a little too sensitive.” She said with an evil smile, savoring the pissed expression that slowly took over Keefe’s features. Brows furrowing, his lips twisted into a playful scowl. “My head is not big!”
“It is too.”
“Is not.”
“Is too.”
“Is not!”
“If you both could take this outside, I can head home and leave you two to your bickering.” Keefe and Sophie’s mouths’ snapped shut as Ms. Clarette got to her feet, ushering them both out the door and locking her classroom. And with a quick “goodbye”, she hurried down the hallway, her blood red heels clacking against the tiled floor.
“Sooo…I guess you’re stuck with me now!” Keefe said cheerfully, knowing it would irritate his tutee more than anything.
“Oh, don’t remind me!” She snapped back, just as expected. Keefe let himself grin uncontrollably; for some reason, getting under Sophie’s skin was indescribably delightful; she way her mouth would turn into a pout, how her right eyebrow always slanted just a bit more than the left when her face was twisted in anger and annoyance.
“Ready for the lesson then?”
“Just stop, will you?”
“Just to spite you, no.” Keefe crossed his arms and tilted his head up in a challenge. Sophie’s pale complexion turned pink.
“Keep this up and I'll hit you with a book again!”
“Ooh, feisty.”
“Keefe Sencen!”
#sophie x keefe#team foster keefe#keefe sencen#kotlc keefe#sophie foster#kotlc sophie#kotlc fandom#funny#humor#sarcasm#sarcastic#enemies to lovers#romance#fluff#so scarlet (it was maroon)
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
tw: SMUT, modern!AU, Reader and Levi are both seniors in HS, Oral Sex, m!receiving, Virgin Levi, kind of subby Levi, friends to lovers.
wc: ~ 3.6k
"Don't forget to put my name on it, Levi." You rolled on your back, scrolling down on Instagram, waiting for certain someone to reply to your last message.
"I left you out." Levi bluntly said, pushing down the lid of his laptop, and turned around on his chair.
You sat up, glaring at him. "I did my part!" You narrowed the eyes, blowing out your cheeks.
"The introduction and the references." He rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his chest.
"Well, then give them back!"
"You owe me a big one, Y/N."
You blew a kiss and threw a smile at him. "I knew you wouldn't let me die. I'll add your name to my diploma."
"Now get off my bed. You're messing it up."
"We can mess it up together." You winked, twirling a lock of hair on your finger.
A huff roamed out of his mouth as he turned around again, delving into the drawer of his desk.
Growling, you rolled onto your tummy and reached out for a pillow, crushing it under your chest. Levi's room didn't seem to belong to an eighteen-year-old. It was neat, not a single speck of dust left in sight. The grayish blue walls added a sober touch, all his books were perfectly organized by size and author, and Maria, Rose and Sina, the three succulents you had given him for his birthday, adorned the shelf where the books to be read were lined up. In all the years you had been visiting him, you had never found clothes scattered around, unlike yours, where it was difficult to discern the wooden floor under half-dirty hoodies and pants. That's why you always met in his room; Levi couldn't bear to set foot in yours.
Your phone buzzed in your hand, and a smile tugged on your lips when you read the name in the notifications. But your excitement soon faltered, and you tossed your phone across the bed.
"Zeke is an asshole, a mother fucking asshole." You groaned, sinking your face into the pillow, inhaling deeply that familiar sandalwood scent.
"We finally agree on something," he nonchalantly said, grabbing a book from the drawer and opened it to the page where he had left the mark, before swiveling around to face you again.
You flipped on your back again, your hair sprawled, and your limbs splayed out—arms above your head and feet spread white. "I can't believe he prefers playing baseball with his friends rather that going out with me," you huffed.
"I thought you'd ditched him." Levi pursed his lips. His eyes lingered along your legs and a ticklish sensation seized his cheeks. He cleared his throat and quickly buried himself in the book, but he could not stop stealing glances out of the corner of his eye.
He was sick of your drama. You called him weeping and babbling late at night to vent out all the shit anguish he made you go through, yet you jumped back into his arms when he sent you a cute 'I'm sorry' sticker.
Each time, he swore it'd be the last time he'd answer those calls, though he couldn't help himself, and ended up sweeping the green button on the screen.
A knot tightened in his belly whenever the image of beardy laying his filthy hands on you meandered in his head.
You and Levi had met in kindergarten when you invited him to join your tea party with imaginary drinks and plastic biscuits. You smiled at him and he dragged a chair out, sitting next to your teddy bear, Mr. Butter. "Wear this." Your eyes sparked as you handed him the bowtie. His eyes darted around the table. He reached out for a cup and examined it carefully, then frowned at you. "You have to clean your toys better," he said, wiping it with a handkerchief he drew out from his pocket.
Why kind of five-year-old does that? Levi was an outcast. Other kids feared him and he didn't even try to get along with them. He spent his breaks and lunchtime on his own, reading one of those books with huge letters and colorful drawings.
Suddenly, everything changed when the girl with uneven pigtails asked him to play at the tea table, and ended up spending the break with her and her plush friends.
About a month later, a bully stuck chewing gum in your hair and Levi stood by you, breaking the boy's nose. He didn't mind getting suspended. Levi was your hero, and ever since then, you'd become best friends.
"When is your uncle coming over?"
Levi eyed you and shrugged.
"He's a really cool guy. I enjoy listening to the stories of when you were a kid."
His brows twitched in slight annoyance.
"He showed me a picture of you wearing a bunny costume. Next time, I'll ask if I can keep it."
Levi would make sure to find it and burn it before you laid a hand on it.
You got off the bed and grabbed a cookie from a tray on Levi's nightstand. "Your mom makes the best chocolate chip cookies in the world." You sniffed it and munched on it, wiping your hands with the hem of your skirt before getting back into the bed. Leaving crumbs in his sheets would be a death sentence.
"Why are you so quiet today, Levi?"
"I'm just trying to read."
"You're no fun. With that attitude and that cranky face, I'm sure you'll die a virgin." You taunted.
He glared at you; his jaw clenched tight.
"No way! Don't tell me you're still a virgin." You sat up, looking at him with wide eyes, gaping, then you flumped back onto the sheets.
Levi was ill-mannered and unapproachable, yet he was popular among girls in school. He even dated Petra Ral for a while. Miss. Perfect Grades was no saint of your devotion, and you were relief when they broke up. Levi was reserved on certain topics, thus you never asked; you just assumed.
The skein of jealousy vines untangled.
"Aren't you?"
You bit the inside of your cheek and shook your head, averting the eyes. Levi felt a pang in his chest, as if someone was twisting and squeezing his heart. He hadn't made up his mind yet, but given that obnoxious reaction, he knew that his feelings for you transcended those of friendship.
"Was it…" He gulped.
"No!" The truth wasn't any better, though. "It was some random guy I met at a party." You fiddled with your bracelet. "To be honest, I regret it. He came in seconds and fell asleep. I felt nothing but pain." You made a paused and opened your mouth to continue, but clamped it shut, leaving out the part when you got home and cried all night. Even though you took two showers, the stench of alcohol from his breath didn't wash off. It was a scene you didn't want to reenact in your head.
Levi glanced to the window, nibbling on his lower lip. He didn't want to see you, nor hear anymore.
"I've never slept with him."
An air of relief swaddled him.
"Aren't you curious?" You turned your head to the side towards where he was sitting.
"Curious of what?" He didn't look back at you.
"Sex."
Only with you. "No."
"Don't you want to try?"
Levi slouched in his chair, the book resting open on his lap, and threw an arm over his face, trying to think of something else but you naked on his bed. He felt his cheeks burning, and blood rushing down, his growing erection straining against the zipper of his jeans.
"I'd like to do it with you." You pursed your lips, tapping your fingers on your sternum, staring at the ceiling as you waited for an answer, too embarrassed to look at him.
"Fuck, Y/N." Levi let out an exasperated sigh. "You'd the only girl I'd do it with," he mumbled.
You sat up, glancing with eyes round like plates. Your jaw dropped and your cheeks tingled. Was it some kind of confession? You had a hard crush on him all middle school, but he was too dense. He didn't catch the hints, or pretended not to, and you eventually grew tired of trying and gave up, settling on just being friends. Cupid failed you, thus you wanted to thwart any possibility. That's why you ended up in someone else's bed, thinking of Levi, wishing it was him; at least he would've tried to make you feel good.
"Look at me and say that again," you demanded.
He didn't say a word, and ran his fingers through his silky hair. His lips were quivering, his cheeks flustered.
You leaped out of bed and rushed in front of him, clasping the armrest of his chair so tight your knuckles blanched. Levi startled; a bead of cold sweat trickled down his back. He was stronger, yet he did nothing to push you off.
"Say it!" Your brows knitted, and your jaw tightened, but he clamped his mouth shut. Your eyes darted from his eyes to his lips, to his eyes again.
Levi didn't see it coming. You leaned forward, planted a peck on his lips, and withdrew right away. Levi blinked twice, completely abashed. His cheeks blushed, his heart beating fast.
"You really are an idiot." You pulled him towards you by the collar of his shirt, smacking your lips on his. Levi's eyes went wide, then closed as he gave in to the kiss, and didn't notice the book slipping off his lap, plummeting to the floor.
His fumbling arms draped around your waist. Levi tasted like mint, and you never expected his lips to be so tender. He gasped at your bite, and you shoved your tongue in his mouth, swirling and fighting with his in an insatiable battle.
You pulled back deliberately, and Levi blindly leaned forward, asking for more. He glanced at you through the haze, like a fool addicted to you.
He looked beautiful, all flustered, his flushed cheeks and rosy, dewy lips stood out against his pallor.
With just a kiss, Levi surrendered to your game and allowed the assail. You took his shirt off and your lascivious eyes wandered over his chest and abs, nibbling on your lips as you relished in the bewitching sight. "Holy fuck!"
"You're objectifying me," he huffed, but his grimaced was soon replaced by a smirk. Your mouth crashed on his again and his body's will lost to you.
His mind clouded as your wet kisses scorched his skin, leaving a trail of your sweet saliva on his jawline, neck, and collarbones. He gripped the armchair, air brushing past his parted lips as you continued your way down his chest and abdomen, his taut muscles squirming under your caresses.
You kneeled down between his legs, pulling away, and unzipped his pants, sneaking a hand under his boxers.
"Fuck!" Levi yelped when he felt your fingers wrapped around his hardened length.
"Let me suck your dick." You lifted your chin, staring at his half-lidded eyes. Who said you weren't romantic?
Levi nodded, rising his hips, and you pulled down his pants along with his underwear, slipping them off his legs.
A thin line of dark hair, marched down, down, down from under his belly button to where his pretty dick stood thick and proud. Your pussy was dripping, aching to have him inside, stuffing you to the brim.
You raked your fingers down his hard thighs, keeping his legs spread, and without breaking eye contact, you leaned closer, pressing your lips to the base of his length. Levi flinched.
Shit.
Levi thought he'd come by just looking at you. You grinned and pampered his inner thighs, tracing a ticklish path of kisses and soft nibbles over his soft skin.
You dragged your mouth back to his cock, flicking out your tongue, and a gasp dragged out all the air from his lungs, as you swept it along the throbbing vein underneath his shaft, from the base all the way to the top and planted a suckling kiss on the head. Levi's legs tensed, his toes curled, and the skin stretched across his lower abs as you swirled your tongue on the glistening tip.
"Shit!" He grunted.
You curled your fingers, gripping his length, stroking up and down, and took him into your mouth. Levi hissed and sank into his chair. Color drained from his knuckles. His head tilted backwards, and his eyes squeezed shut.
You sucked furiously, hollowing your cheeks, bobbing your head up and down, slurping his length as far as you could. Levi was mesmerized by how skillful you were in this art. His dick slipped deep in your mouth, and you remained still, gagging as the tip tickled your throat. Grunts and moans past Levi's parted lips, filling the room with his sweet sounds.
His cock slid off your lips with a popping sound. "You feel good?"
"Mm-hmm."
You pumped his shaft in your hand few times before wrapping your lips around the tip, taking all of him again and swirling your tongue all over. You hummed, sending ripples of pleasure through his belly, down to his legs. Levi was about to explode.
"Holy... Fuck!" He dug his fingers in your hair, slamming your head down, until your chin met his balls, and eased your head back to the tip, repeating it all over and over again, until his cock twitched in your mouth. His muscles clenched, and his teeth gritted and with a lewd, loud grunt, he spilled all his load deep into your throat.
You stood up, and kissed him, then pulled away, dragging your lips to his ear. "Get on the bed," you whispered, and walked towards the hanger, rummaging through your bag and fetched a foil sachet. Crawling into the bed, you sat next to him and tore the condom wrapper with your teeth.
His sweaty chest was heaving up and down as he struggled to catch his breath, rubbing his palms down his face. He lowered his head and spotted the bead of cum dripping from the corner of your mouth.
He wanted to carved that image in his head.
"Are you always ready?" asked, his sultry voice gushed down from your ears to your belly. Something in his husky voice made you drip hard for him.
"I always take precautions."
"Good."
You held his engorged length in one hand and placed the condom on the pinkish tip, then lowered your mouth, using your lips to roll the condom down over his shaft. His fingers sank into the quilt as a soft moan escaped from him.
"I want to see you naked."
You tossed your shirt away. The chilly air nipped your perky nipples that were soon warmed with Levi's strokes. He took one bud in his mouth, then seized the other.
"Last I recall, you were as flat as a wood plank."
"Fucking asshole, I still can leave you hanging." You punched him on the shoulder. "Last time I saw you fully naked, when we played in the rain, your balls hadn't descended yet, and..." you curled your pinky finger repeatedly at the level of his eyes.
"Shut up." He hurled your hand and kissed you.
"Levi." You rubbed your nose on his cheek. "Today is all about you. I want to make you feel good."
You jumped off the bed and got rid of your skirt, then your panties, throwing them at his face. Levi grabbed them, bringing the piece of clothing to his nose and took a deep breath, without taking his eyes off of you. The sweet smell of your arousal made him ravenous and had him longing for your pussy. "I want to taste you"
"Next time,"
"Next time?" his brows shot up.
“I mean…” You averted the eyes, scratching the side of your head, cursing inwardly at your yourself.
Levi shook his head, a small smiled flashing across his lips as he offered a hand. You took it. Levi pulled, and you scrambled forwards onto the bed.
You swung a leg over his lap and straddled him. His latex-clad dick glided back and forth along your slick cleft, both relishing in the delightful friction. Your arms draped behind his neck as his hands braced the soft flesh on your hips.
You felt one hand striding down your back. Levi gripped your ass and urged you up. You held his gaze and nodded before lifting your hips, and sank down on him leisurely. In one heavenly slide, Levi's manhood began to disappear within you.
"fu—"
"Sh—"
You groaned in unison; his body trembled as he reveled in the warmth grip that swaddled him. A gasp fell from you at the blissful sensation pulsing through you as your walls stretched to take him all. You went still, swathing in the moment.
You were so tight; Levi wasn't sure if he would last long.
“Fucking hell, you feel so good, Y/N.” His voice was raspy, scraping your ears like sandpaper. He grazed your lips, his hands roaming all over your back. Levi fit perfectly inside you, as if your bodies had been molded for each other. You moved your hips up and down slow, your fluttering walls stroking him tightly, inducing a delightful and intense friction. The tip of his cock nudged the right place, setting your core ablaze with every movement.
Your moans and gasps entangled in a mellifluous melody, and Oh God! You sounded lovely together.
"You… filling me s… good.” Your voice came out so squeaky you couldn't recognize it. You nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck, picking up the pace.
You rode him hard that your hips slammed against him, moans and the nasty meshing sound filled his room. Levi was becoming addicted to the new sensations your body evoked on his: your skin searing his, your beautiful sounds melting his ears, the taste of your juicy lips and your scent consuming his lungs.
"Look at me… I want to see your face when—"
You seized his lips in a hungry sloppy kiss, as if your purpose was to rip his lips apart. Your teeth knocked, but neither of you minded. His hands on your hips squeezed and helped you keep that intense pace that was catapulting you to the pinnacle of pleasure. Your head lolled backwards, your mouth parted, your hair stuck on the glistening skin of your forehead, shoulders and back. In Levi's eyes, you looked divine, painfully sexy.
“What the—” A gasp choked him as he tilted his head backwards, your walls clenching around him desperately, forecasting your imminent peak, sucking him tighter. All his muscles flexed, his collarbones peeping out as if his bones were to break his skin. He was breathing hard, air seeping out his bruised lips.
Levi was close, too. His cock twitched inside you, and he felt his lower limbs strained, the hard-muscle lines peeking on his thighs. He hissed, gritting his teeth, as the fireball within him was about to detonate.
You dug your nails on his shoulders, air being dragged out of your lungs. You were so full of him; your entire body was throbbing in ecstasy. “Levi!” you cried as the waves of pleasure rippled from your core to the rest of your trembling body. Levi thrust his hips upwards, the base of his cock rubbed against your engorged, sensitive clit, stealing a gasp from you, and let out a growl that seemed to be torn somewhere deep in his chest.
You collapsed on him, your forehead pressed on his as your both struggled to regain your breaths. Levi eyed your through the fogginess that clouded his gaze, and the corners of his lips quirked up, before planting a soft kiss on the side of your mouth.
You stared at each other, giggling idiotically as you raked your fingers through his hair, sweeping the messy locks off his face, and Levi twirled a lock of your hair around his finger.
You both startled, turning your heads towards your desperate buzzing phone on his bed. Levi looked down, pursing his lips into a thin line. You pulled out, reaching out for it, but you didn't reply. As soon as you read his name you rolled the eyes and set your phone in Do Not Disturb mode, before putting it on the nightstand.
"There's a new episode of Vanitas no Carte" You turned around, meeting a baffled Levi. Your shrugged, and your mouth curved into a smile. "Screw Zeke, I have something better to do now." Levi shook his head and let out a snort, then cast a smile at you.
"Let's get a shower first," he said, getting off the bed, and took the condom off, tying the open rim into a knot before throwing it to the bin.
"What will your mom think if she sees us with wet hair?" You followed him to the bathroom.
"I'll make sure is completely dry before dinner."
Neither of you dared to talk about what just had happened.
You were afraid to know if any of it had changed your relationship, if you were still friends or if he was willing to become something else. Even though you've known Levi for a lifetime, it was hard to read him, to delve into his head. You feared his answer might break your heart; thus, you remained silent. You thought you had gotten over him, but those buried feelings were scraping back to the surface.
No. You dug the hole in the ground but you could never lift the shovel to cover it up.
#levixreader#levi ackerman#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#aot#snk#levi attack on titan#snk levi#levi aot#levi x you#levi x reader#Levi ackerman x reader#Levi ackerman x you#levi thirst#Levi smut#modern au
685 notes
·
View notes
Text
Help | R.B
Paring: Regulus Black X Daughter!Reader
Summary: At first it was for him, now everything he does is for her.
Warnings: Rape, cursing, death, etc
Being wise comes with living. Dumbledore had lived a lot of years. Everyone knows that. The man worked his way up the hierarchy from being a Transfiguration teacher to the headmaster at Hogwarts. He was even offered a place as the Minister of Magic. What people didn’t comprehend or, rather, didn’t think about was, when living that long you realize every button to push, every nook and cranny to get your way.
Manipulation at its finest. Now, truth be told, manipulation isn’t always evil. It can be good, per se, manipulating someone to stop doing something that’s particularly harmful - alcohol, smoking. But when used negatively, it could make everything worse.
The Order of the Phoenix was manipulated. From beginning to end. Dumbledore convinced the young kids - naive kids - that they were safe and that’s what they needed. These kids needed reassurance that everything would be okay, and Dumbledore assured them that they were safe.
But were they safe when the McKinnon family died? Were they safe when Fabian and Gidian Prewett died? Could James and Lily truly depend on Dumbledore to keep them safe with a newborn?
When Sirius Black joined the order, he had one request. Just one. A linear, singular request. It was saving Regulus Black. That’s all Sirius wanted, was for his little brother to be safe. Sirius knew about Regulus being a death eater, and he needed saving. Regulus didn’t want this life, and he especially didn’t want this with a baby girl.
He was seventeen, and he was forced. Sirius knew it. James knew it. Remus knew it. Regulus had come to the Gryffindor portrait crying on his knees, begging - no - pleading for his older brother. The Fat Lady was cursing him out for not having the password and being a Slytherin. Luckily, James heard the ruckus and ran to his aid. He was yelling for Sirius.
“Sirius! Sirius, I need you!” James had never sounded so frantic, so panicky, “Sirius, now!”
Sirius threw the textbook on the floor. James’ voice reminded him of an alarm - crazed, loud, repetitive. The black-haired boy ran down the dorm steps, almost falling over his feet to see the portrait wide open. Everything went in a vignette, zoomed in and black around the edges. Immediately Sirius was pushing James off his little brother and embracing him tightly.
“S- Sirius.”
Godric, he sounded so broken, “‘S okay, Reggie. ‘S okay. I got you. It’s me, Sirius. You’re safe here, Frère.”
“It- It hurts.” Regulus muttered, his voice shaky and helpless, “Need you.”
“You’re okay.”
Sirius looked up into James’ worried hazel eyes, “C’mon. We’re bringing him up.”
“Are you mental?!”
“James, he’s my brother!”
James scowled, “He’s also a Slytherin!”
“He needs me. I’m not letting him go.” It was the first time Sirius’ voice had gone stern with James, “Either I’m sleeping out here with my brother, or you’re helping me bring him up to the dorm.”
“Fine, fine.”
Sirius looked down at his brother, who was tucked under his chin, silver streams trailing down his flushed cheeks. His cheeks glistened with anguish and pain. His fists were balling the back of Sirius’ white button-up, tightly, stressed.
“Reggie.” For the first time, Regulus didn’t cringe, and instead, he melted into Sirius’ warmth, “James and I are going to bring you into our dorm, okay?”
“Mhm.”
Gently Sirius helped him up, placing an arm around his shoulder. James put his other arm around his shoulder. Both boys helped the sixth year into the Gryffindor common room, getting multiple stares and glares. Regulus managed to up the stairs onto Sirius’ bed, a sniffling and trembling mess.
James smiled gently at them, and Sirius sat beside Regulus on the edge of his bed, “What happened?”
“She- She forced me. I didn’t want to. Please, Sirius, I didn’t want this.”
“Want what?”
“She touched me.” Regulus whispered, and Sirius rubbed his back, “I- I didn’t want it….”
Sirius hesitated, “Did- Did mum have anything to do with this?”
Regulus nodded, and silent tears fell down his cheeks, “She- Mum, is the reason. I was supposed to be arranged to this woman but- but she did this and- and-“
“It’s too much.” Regulus wailed.
Sirius held his brother close until he fell asleep. The trails of tears dried on his cheeks, and Sirius laid his head on the feathery pillow. The fleece comforter was placed over his wrinkled button-up, black pants, and socks. Regulus’ black curls contrasted the pillow, and his cheeks were a pale pink. Sirius had never felt so upset.
Releasing a breath of air, he left the dorm room to go to the common room where the boys were sitting. James perked up, and Remus’ head was pulled into a book, a cup of tea on the table beside him. Peter was playing chess with a fellow Gryffindor across the room, not paying attention to anything but the checkered table before him.
“Is he okay?”
Sirius plopped beside James, “He will be.”
The silence was killing Remus to the point of his curiosity tipping over, “What happened exactly?”
“Some girl, my mum, arranged him with did something that he didn’t consent to.”
The teacup that was in Remus’ hand dropped to the carpeted floor, staining, “You’re shitting me?”
Regulus was in pain, physically and emotionally. Although the boys didn’t understand completely, they understood that Sirius’s time would be dedicated to his little brother. No matter what was going on in the wizarding world at present, Sirius’ time was needed with Regulus.
It was nine months later. Thirty-nine weeks later. Two hundred and seventy-three days later. Left on the doorstep of the Noble House of Black’s residence was a baby girl. Orion and Walburga had left the house previously, leaving Regulus alone with Kreacher, their house elf. The baby girl was crying and helpless.
His lifeless grey eyes met the young girl's e/c ones, and everything clicked. This was the product of his emotional pain in his sixth year. Regulus couldn’t deny the warmth in his heart looking at the young girl. Gently he leaned down to take her in his arms. A pink silk blanket wrapped around her to keep her warm despite the summer months.
Once in his arms, the girls stopped crying. The warmth of his body and the softness in his eyes calmed her down. There was an envelope inside the baby blanket, which Regulus opened after placing the sleeping child on his lap. Essentially the letter was telling him to name the baby girl and her birthday. Along with now that the marriage was called off, she wanted nothing to do with him.
Regulus threw the parchment to the side furiously. Despite his frustration, he picked up his daughter and smiled at her, “I dunno what to name you precious.”
The girl wrapped her hand around his thumb that had been caressing her cheek, “Y/n? I like that name.”
She smiled, and so did he, “You like that too, don’t you, précieux.”
Regulus placed a kiss on Y/n’s forehead, rocking her back and forth, “I love you so much.”
During the school year, Y/n stayed with Sirius, who was overjoyed to stay with his niece. Regulus only saw his daughter one more time before he decided it was his end. Regulus knocked on Sirius’ flat, looking utterly exhausted. Sirius answered with a big smile on his face.
“Heya Reggie!”
Regulus struggled to smile, “Hey, Siri.”
“Come on.” Sirius beckoned, “Y/n is sleeping, but you can see her if you’d like.”
He walked in to see a door open to a small room. Inside it was painted in a pale lavender color with white furniture. Regulus walked inside to find a crib with his one-year-old girl sleeping inside. She made this so much harder. Regulus didn’t want to do this, but he needed to do it if he wished Y/n to have a safe life.
Regulus’ arms cradled his daughter to his chest, “I love you, précieux. I love you too much to express. I know that you’ll never remember me. I’m praying that Sirius will tell you about me.”
“You’re my baby girl. You’ll always be my baby girl.” Regulus’ eyes welled with tears, “And- And I’ll be with you no matter what.”
Y/n’s eyes opened, and she smiled, being cradled in her father's arms, “Dada?”
Regulus had tears streaming down his face, and Sirius watched from the doorway, “Yes, hi petite fille.”
She giggled, and Regulus had the brightest smile on his face; he nuzzled his nose with hers, “Dada’s here, little girl.”
He spent an hour with her. The last sixty minutes of his freedom was spent cooing and coddling. Regulus wanted to engrave her beautiful e/c eyes in his head, her soft smile, smooth skin, and fuzzy hair. Regulus placed his daughter back in the crib and kissed her forehead one more time.
Walking back out into the living room of the flat, he saw Sirius waiting for him. Regulus didn’t make any appoint to try and sit down. That’s how Sirius knew was something wrong. He released an air of breath and dried his tears.
“Sirius, you may have to keep Y/n with you a little longer until it’s safe, okay?”
“‘Course Reggie.”
“If- If I don’t come back-“
“Don't say that, please.”
Regulus looked at his brother solemnly, “But it’s realistic.”
“Okay, just- try to make it back.” Sirius replied.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll try.” He lied, “I- I want you to tell her about me, yeah?”
Sirius chuckled, “You’re her father, Regulus. I wouldn’t not tell her.”
“Don’t let her mum take her. I don’t care what she says Y/n will be in your care.”
Sirius nodded, “One- One more thing. This may sound stupid but, teach her French?”
“Teach her French? Why?”
“It’s how I used to talk to her before seventh year started. I want her to know how to speak it. French was something I enjoyed learning, something that kept me sane at our horror house.” Regulus confessed, “I want her to learn it.”
“If it means that much to you, Reggie.” Sirius replied, and Regulus nodded, “It does.”
“Then Y/n will learn French, after English.”
“Good.”
Regulus began walking out the door when he felt arms around him from behind and a head in the crook of his neck, “Come back alive, okay?”
“I’m gonna try, Siri.”
He never came back alive. Regulus walked toward the entrance of that cave, knowing that today he was going to die. In the start, this was for Regulus to right his wrongs. Now it’s for his daughter. If anything, Y/n deserved a happy, exciting life. Not one of pain and suffering like Regulus had.
The Daily Prophet the next day said everything it needed to, “REGULUS BLACK DECLARED DEAD.” This was it. Regulus had inevitably left his daughter and got himself killed. Sirius cried - sobbed - for his little brother who had a child. He wept for his niece, who would grow up not knowing her father.
Ten years later, Y/n was getting ready for her first year at Hogwarts. Sirius had introduced baby Harry with one-year-old Y/n at the time where they became best friends. Harry was gravely disappointed at his best friend leaving but excited that he’d see her the following year.
In the bathroom, Y/n was sitting in front of the mirror with Sirius behind her. Sirius was brushing her hair, not because she couldn’t do it but because Sirius didn’t really want to let her go. After setting the brush on the counter, he placed his hands on her shoulders, looking at her in the mirror. She looked so much like him. His hands twirled through her h/c hair.
“You look like your father.”
Y/n’s eyes widened, “I- I do?”
“You do.”
“I don’t remember much from him.” Y/n stated, “I remember him calling me précieux, vaguely, which I know now is precious.”
Sirius chuckled, “He also made me teach you, French. It was one of his wishes before he- you know.”
“Why?”
“Learning French is a pure-blood thing. Regulus said it kept him sane.” Sirius answered, “I honored that even if I hated that language.”
It was silent for a while, “You know, sometimes when you’re angry, you just start ranting in French?”
“I don’t!”
Sirius laughed, “You do. You definitely do, amour.”
Y/n giggled, and Sirius began tickling her sides. Her laughter and smile were contagious, just like how Regulus’ was. Regulus had such an infectious laugh and beautiful smile. Sirius was almost glad Y/n inherited it. After tickling her, she melted into Sirius’ embrace, hugging him tightly.
“Je t'aime, oncle Sirius.”
“Je t'aime aussi, amour.”
It was a system Sirius had created with her instead of saying, “Toujours Pur,” like his mother had made him and Regulus say. Y/n is what made him love French again. The way she swore in the language unintentionally. How she’d say the language like a native, just like her father. It meant everything to him.
Years later. Y/n was in fifth year, and the Triwizard tournament members had just been called. Viktor Krum was called first. Then Fleur Delacour. Then Cedric Diggory. That was meant to be the finality, but nonetheless, Harry Potter’s name got called. As all the members walked into a room away from the Great Hall, Dumbledore began speaking to the worried children.
One sentence stood out to Y/n particularly, “Help will always be given at Hogwarts for those who deserve it.”
It brought so much rage in her that she couldn’t help but speak, “That’s bullshit!”
Everyone stared with jaws slack, “My father deserved help! Hell, he needed to be saved, and here because of your bullshit, he died! My father is gone because of you and your shitty manipulative ways!”
“He may have been a death eater, but it wasn’t what he wanted. Godric, he needed saving! His own brother turned on him. So fuck you and fuck your stupid sayings. Because you aren’t a saint, and I don’t have to fall to your knees like a worthless soldier.”
Dumbledore was astonished by her attitude as she began leaving the Great Hall, “That's one hundred points from Gryffindor, Ms.Black!” McGonagall yelled.
“Pardonnez mon français, mais je m'en fous.” Y/n yelled as she flicked off everyone in the room.
Before she left, she turned around and faced everyone, “If anyone- and I mean anyone, touches, talks badly, or even remotely glares at Harry Potter, so help me, I won’t hesitate to hex you.”
#regulus arcturus black#regulus black x reader imagine#regulus imagine#regulus black#regulus black x y/n#regulus black x you#regulus black x reader smut#regulus black x reader#marauders era#marauders x reader#marauders smut#marauders imagine#marauders fluff#marauders#harry potter#harry potter imagine#harry potter fanfiction#remus lupin x reader smut#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin smut#remus x y/n#remus x you#remus x reader#remus lupin fluff#remus fluff#remus lupin#sirius orion black#sirius black x reader smut#sirius black x reader#sirius black x you
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Fool’s Rush In
Chapter 17
This is my @wackydrabbles post for week 87. The prompt is bolded. "No offense, but I'm not interested."
Book: TRR
Pairing: Liam x Riley
Warnings: Drake and some language.
*I was in a silly mood and this turned into a dumpster fire lol and it feels very rushed but I was trying to meet the word count. There may be a little bit of plot in this.
Word count: 1999
------------------------
Liam sat on the floor with his back pressed against the mattress; one leg bent upright with the other extended crookedly out in front of him. Half of a bottle of Don Julio dangled loosely from a hand settled on his knee while two shiny gold rings encircled the pinky tip of his other.
In a fit of anger late last night, he searched for and consumed the first bottle of alcohol he came across in the liquor cabinet. He had no intentions of getting hammered or even a little drunk; Liam just needed something to take the edge off the hurt. Not that he for one second believed a word Riley told him before she walked out and boarded a red-eye commercial flight back to the States.
As Liam pondered her abrupt departure in the early hours of the morning, one thing was for sure: He'd never been in love before, but what he felt for Riley was real -- and reciprocated -- that, "no," she spewed from her mouth when asked if she loved him was a lie.
But why? That was the question he just couldn't figure out.
Having racked his brain for hours and with the sun finally coloring in the darkness of his chambers, Liam set aside his drink and lifted himself off the ground. Every thought that consumed him for the last several hours was riddled with putting the pieces together of why she actually left and why she felt she couldn't tell him the truth. Nothing made sense, yet ruminating alone in his room until he figured it out wasn't going to solve anything; the only way to get to the bottom of this was to retrace Riley's steps from the time she left the ball to when he made his way up to join her a little later.
Stumbling to the bathroom -- mostly from exhaustion and perhaps a little drunker than he realized -- Liam stripped off the tuxedo he wore the prior evening and took a quick shower before heading down to the security office.
-----------
Riley's heavily drooping eyelids popped wide open when the plane shook from another vigorous tremor of turbulence. Gripping the armrests on both sides of her seat, she hesitated to peek out the window but was relieved when she saw the billowy waters of the Pacific had transformed into small, mosaic blocks of land covered by a shadow of the nearly setting sun.
When the aircraft settled again, Riley reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone to check the time, grateful to be landing soon. She planned to go straight home, sink into her bed, and sleep the rest of her life away. Maybe wake up every once in a while to sob again before going back to sleep. Whatever Riley decided to do, she hated Madeleine, she hated Tyler, and she hated telling Liam she didn't love him; the more Riley thought about the stunned look on his face when she said it, the more nauseous her stomach felt.
And the nausea was getting worse.
Riley caught the eye of a nearby stewardess and waved her over; she needed ginger ale, and she needed it fast.
"Can I help you, Miss?"
"I … I need, ginger ale, please." She asked through ragged breaths.
"Let me check and see if we have more." Riley nodded appreciatively.
"Hey. Don't I know you from somewhere?" A relatively large guy in the center seat, whose sweaty arm flab had been lodged in Riley's shoulder since takeoff, asked. Oh shit! Riley cupped a tight hand over her mouth and shook her head vigorously; the last thing she wanted was to be recognized.
Or vomit.
While the stewardess searched the service cart for the requested drink, the gentleman's eyes enlarged. "Wait a minute. Yeah! You're that little gal who married some king, with ..." he snapped his fingers before adding in his thick Texan drawl, "the monkey and hookers and shit. Wow, my fiance wants to have a wedding just like yours." He held his hand out to her. "The names Beaver Calhoun, mayor of Slippery Nip, Texas. I guess you could say we're both royals, huh?"
Riley lowered her hand slightly; she was past the point of ginger ale helping, and this guy was blocking her way out. "Beaver, I need you to move."
He stroked his chin in thought. "Well, I don't know, Queenie. I'm pretty content with my life there in Slippery Nip, Not really lookin' to uproot."
"No!' Riley's strained voice responded forcefully, "move out of the way--" She tried to fight it, but her head flung forward and everything came out with her last word.
Beaver looked down at his shirt and quirked a brow. "That's gonna leave a stain."
=============
On the second floor of a run-down Motel 6, just off the beaten path in Las Vegas, Drake tossed in the last of his clothes and airline tickets in a duffle bag and zipped it. Stepping over to the window, he pulled aside the tattered curtains to check if the airport's shuttle van had arrived yet. Disappointed, he grumbled to himself, "Where the hell are you? I'm ready to get the fuck out of here."
The past week had been intense -- well, frankly, the entire month had been nothing short of shit balls. Five weeks ago, Drake landed in Las Vegas for Liam's bachelor party and won big money at the casino, only to have it all pissed away on some old, decrepit hooker who stole his wallet, cell phone, dick health, and what little joy he had in the world. Liam left with a sexy ass wife, and all Drake got was the false claim of fathering triplets and his scowling face on the front cover of the National Enquirer with Dr. Ethan Ramsey detailing the entire sordid journey from pre-surgical rooster rot to the aftercare.
He made a quick $500 for the story, in which he badly needed the money, considering he couldn't leave Vegas until the paternity test results came back. It was enough for his lodging, a couple cans of Beenie-Weenies and a few boxes of pepperoni Hot Pockets; his stomach felt like oil sludge at this point. But as a joke, Leo had sent a box of Ding-Dongs, so it wasn't all bad.
The rotary phone in his room rang out, and he answered the call from the front desk, which let him know transportation had arrived. Drake grabbed his bag, flicked a cockroach off of it, and exited his room into the enclosed hallway.
After stepping onto the elevator and hitting the down button, another person strolled on in a black leather mini-skirt, white see-through halter top, and a pair of fishnet stockings that he'd recognize anywhere.
"You!" He growled at the chain-smoking hooker, backing her up into the corner. "Do you have any fucking idea what you did to me? And I WANT my wallet and cell phone back, now!" He hovered menacingly over the much smaller woman.
"No offense, but I'm not interested in giving them back to you," Pinquee Kittee sneered before reaching into her bra for mace and spraying him directly in the eyes. The rapid burn gave way to her next act of defense when a screaming, blinded Drake was doubled over by a swift karate kick to his newly transplanted organ. "Hiiiiyah!"
Drake cupped himself in anguish, fell to the floor, and slumped over as the elevator doors opened. Pinquee Kittee grabbed his duffle bag and peeked down the hallway to make sure no one was around before making her getaway.
------------------
Just outside of the palace's security office, Liam knocked on the door several times without an answer. It was rare that the King would personally pay a visit. Usually, he would call Bastien and have the head guard look into any issues. With him gone, this just felt like something Liam needed to do in person.
After several more knocks, Liam reached for the door handle and slowly opened it to let himself inside. The lights were off, with only a few CCTV screens displaying various images of places within and surrounding the palace. Finding the light switch on the wall beside the door, Liam flipped them on, and his mouth fell agape at what he saw.
"What the hell happened in here?" He shouted as his hands shot to his hips, glaring around the room.
On the floor was a maze of beer cans, whiskey bottles, remnants of silly string, a five-gallon bucket of butter next to a slip-n-slide, a voodoo doll with Liam's face on it, and half-a-dozen guards passed out.
A furious Liam made his way through, kicking the feet of guardsmen as he stepped along. "Get up! All of you!"
One-by-one, they slowly roused until they realized it was the King in their presence, then they jumped to their feet at attention.
"Would someone like to explain what the actual fuck happened in here?" Liam wasn't one to swear in front of his staff, but there was no way he could hold back after walking in on this scene. His glowering eyes shifted with expectancy from one man to the next, waiting for an answer, until someone finally called out, "We threw Rogers a going away party for his last night on the job, Your Majesty."
"And you thought having a wild party while you were ON DUTY to protect 400 members of the nobility for a major event was the time to do that?
The guard shook his head. "Not at all, Sir. I admit we weren't as attentive as we should have been last night ..." he pointed behind Liam, "but Prince Leo came by and suggested we kick it up a notch."
Liam turned around and caught Leo slithering along the edge of the wall toward the door. "Leo!"
The Prince stopped dead in his tracks, then flickered his eyes and jolted his body as if he were just waking up. Leo looked at Liam, acting surprised to see him. "Liam? Is that you? H-How did I get in here?"
Liam rolled his eyes. "Knock it off, Leo."
"What?” Leo shrugged innocently. “You know what I think happened. I must have been sleepwalking again. You know how I get when I watch The Duchess before bed." He cocked his head introspectively at his brother. “And you do look like the Duke from that movie, you handsome devil you?” He grinned impishly.
Liam stared blankly at his older brother for a few seconds, then turned around to face the others gathered around. "Who's in charge here?"
When one of the men raised a hand, the King stepped up to him and explained, "Alright, I need you to pull up security footage from last night. I want to review everything from the moment I stepped outside the ballroom to meet the Queen around 9:30, and where she went after I went back into the ballroom."
If this were any other day, Liam would have fired every one of them on the spot and sent Leo to Antarctica, but he only had one concern: Finding out what happened to Riley.
As the guard typed in his computer to pull up footage from last night, Leo stepped up to Liam, who was hovering over the guard's shoulder with anticipation. "What's going on?"
Never taking his eyes off the screen, he responded. "Riley went back to Las Vegas last night."
"Wh-Why? What happened?"
Liam let out a breath. "That's what I'm trying to find out."
Leo remained silent before giving his little brother's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and watching with him.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as different camera footages were switched to follow Riley walking from the main staircase, through several passages, and finally ending with the corridor outside of his quarters.
"Stop!" Liam leaned in closer as the guard paused the video; his entire body tensed up at what he saw.
"Is that ..." Leo scrunched up his face in disgust.
"Madeleine."
___________
Tags: @burnsoslow @dcbbw @ao719 @jessiembruno @texaskitten30 @janezillow @merridithsmiscellany-blog @mskaneko @callmeellabella @queenjilian @sirbeepsalot @drakexwillow @jovialyouthmusic @forthebrokenheartedthingss @bebepac @kingliam2019 @lovablegranny @cordoniaqueensworld @amandablink @liamxs-world @choiceskatie @iaminlovewithtrr @hopelessromanticmonie @charlotteg234 @annekebbphotography @txemrn @thecordoniandiaries @alyssalauren @cordonianroyalty @monsoonbloom12 @mom2000aggie @theroyalheirshadowhunter @princessleac1 @kimmiedoo5 @graceful-leah @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @thegreentwin @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @pink-diamond13 @walker7519 @natureblooms24 @yourmajesty09 @gabesmommie1130 @sweatyrysconnoisour @kat-tia801 @debmcg1106 @lifeaskim @choicesstan650 @emkay512 @royalromancer
Liam x MC: @cordonia-gothqueenn
Anything with Drake:@tinkie1973
FRI Series Tags: @narrytheworld @queenwalton @cordonianprincess @zaffrenotes @zilch3 @drrookie @sfb123 @secretaryunpaid @masterofbluff
#fools rush in#liam x mc#liam x riley#the royal romance#prince liam#king liam#bbrandy2002#wackydrabbles
139 notes
·
View notes
Text
Feelings for you
pairing: levi x fem reader
warnings: angst w/ happy ending, filming without consent, blackmail, unwanted advances, mentions of physical violence
part 1 , part 2 , part 4 , part 5
“I don’t feel anything for Leviathan. He’s just another number in my body count.”
Hearing those words shattered Levi’s poor, brittle heart—especially in when they came from the person he loved most.
It was like (Name) had taken a knife and plunged it into his chest, twisting till he couldn’t breath. The pain Levi felt at that moment was unbearable.
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
Even when the three of them turned to look at him, (Name)’s cold expression never left her face. Levi expected her to laugh and reveal it was a prank.
He would’ve believed her.
Just a few days ago, they’d slept together. Levi even heard (Name) say she loved him. She thought he was asleep, but he heard it. Her precious confession.
“You’re.. joking right ?”
Desperate, Levi offered her another way out but (Name) crushed that too. “No. Why would I want to be with a gross otaku like you?” She couldn’t even look at him when she said that.
Levi shook his head vehemently, denying those hurtful statements. “No no no. No!” He couldn’t accept this. It didn’t make sense. Why would (Name) suddenly say something like this? There had to be a reason for it.
Grabbing her shoulders, he begged. “Stop lying! I know you—”
(Name) pulled away from him harshly, “Leave me alone, freak!”
A whimper escaped him.
The two guys beside her were having a field day. Astaroth and Mephisto snickered, catching the attention of Levi.
His bullies.
What was she doing with them? (Name) had once defended him against them, so why was she with them? Was her relationship with him truly an act?
Doubt seeped into his heart.
Levi’s world was falling apart. He couldn’t think straight—the tears made his vision blurry as he ran away from the scene. Laughter followed him until it eventually faded the further he got.
The bluenette had to leave. He could not stand there any longer, listening how his darling delivered blow after blow with those awful words. Coming from anyone else, Levi would’ve ignored them but this wasn’t just anyone. (Name) was Levi’s most precious person, which made the pain worse.
Levi slid down the nearest wall, knees pressing against his chest as he let out all his anguish in the middle of an empty hall. Part of him wished (Name) would follow after him, explanation in hand but no such thing happened.
—
“Oi Levi you should eat something!”
Mammon banged on his younger brother’s door; the rest of the brothers looked on solemnly when Levi threw a pillow against the door.
“Go away!”
None of them knew exactly what happened. Levi came home, eyes clearly red from crying and when he was questioned by Lucifer, the bluenette ran to his room and shut himself in.
“I suggest we give him some space.”
The next morning, Levi had stopped his isolation but he looked miserable. It was like a cloud of grey surrounded him.
Nearly dragging himself to class, Levi turned when the crowd parted, people whispering as (Name) walked by, sporting a black eye and a busted lip. Students ogled, wondering how she’d gotten those injuries.
(Name) seemed to pay them no mind, that is, until she made eye contact with Levi. He stood near the lockers, clutching his books close to his chest.
Turning away, she walked faster.
Levi’s legs moved on their own, following after her.
Although (Name) had hurt him deeply, he still loved her. Levi honestly thought it was impossible to hate the young woman.
He wasn’t the most athletic but Levi ran all over the academy looking for his beloved (Name). He finally stopped to catch his breath, heaving as sweat dripped from his forehead to the floor.
Straightening from his hunched position, Levi’s gaze settled on two nearby figures. They sat on a bench in one of the gardens, chatting casually.
“Seriously (Name), why would I believe that a cat attacked you? I’m not that stupid.”
The latter’s roommate rubbed some ointment on her wounds while (Name) placed an ice pack on her bruised eye. “If the shoe fits.”
That response earned the injured female a gentle wack to the head. It kinda hurt but she brushed it off, making smooches at her friend to mask the pain. Both laughed, causing (Name)’s swollen lip to split open.
Blood trickled down her chin. Immediately, her roommate stood up, handing (Name) a napkin to hold onto. Red bloomed across the whiteness of the paper. “OH!! I’ll get the nurse! Stay here, I’ll be right back!”
Nodding, (Name) watched her friend go before glancing in Levi’s direction. She’d spotted him earlier. Said male flinched at being caught, as he had been hiding behind a pillar.
While Levi pondered if to approach, (Name) had already directed her gaze elsewhere. She had put the ice pack down awhile ago. There was a certain sadness in the way her lip twitched, brow furrowing slightly.
Slowly, Levi joined her at the bench, fiddling with his fingers. “Are—are you okay?” Hesitation laced his voice. The previous connection they had was severed. Things were awkward now.
“Yeah..”
“That’s good.”
It was silent for a moment. (Name) still refused to look at him. Levi considered leaving, feeling unwanted. Still, he needed to address something that had been bothering him since yesterday.
Both of them spoke at the same time.
“Do you hate me?”
(Name)’s and Levi’s eyes widened. He was the first to answer, “I don’t... hate you..”
It was a small, but (Name)’s face softened. “I’m glad.”
Pursing his lips, Levi blurted “What about you? Do you, hate me?” before he could help himself. He was desperate to know.
The female shook her head lightly.
“Then, why won’t you look at me?”
She went silent.
When she faced him, Levi could see the tears threatening to leave her eyes. “Because—I don’t deserve to look at you..” grabbing his hand, (Name) continued, “Yesterday I said a lot awful things. Although they weren’t true, I still hurt you and I’m sorry for that. I don’t expect you to forgive me.. but I wanted you to know.”
Levi felt something wet hit his hand, it took him a second to realize that it was (Name)’s tears. She brought his hand to her forehead, “You mean so much to me...” she whispered, almost to herself.
The small confession was the straw that broke the camels back. After that, (Name) couldn’t stop crying. The tears kept on coming, it was suffocating. Her head began to throb.
“A-ah.. don’t cry..”
Levi hated seeing her like this. Perhaps he was weak when it came to her. Only (Name) could hurt him as much and still hold his love.
“I can’t— hiccup— stop..!” She truly couldn’t, it was like a curse. Levi placed his lips on her, gentle. Still, she winced slightly.
The action was so sudden that (Name)’s eyes resembled saucers; well, as much as they could when one of them was nearly closed and black. It worked. The tear works stopped. “If.. if you really like me then why did you say all those things?”
He couldn’t forget about that. He desperately wanted to know what pushed her to insult him that badly. He couldn’t forgive her till he knew.
Wiping her eye, (Name) opened her mouth to explain. “Remember our first encounter?” Pink tinted Levi’s cheeks as he nodded. How could he not? It was the first time he’d been able to confess his love, to kiss her and have her touch him. It was forever engraved in his mind.
Digging around in her bag, (Name) brought out a device. Making sure that no one was around, she pressed play.
The screen showed Levi in the restroom, dick out as he jerked off, moaning her name. He still had her panties on him.
Embarrassment burned on Levi’s face, grabbing the thing from her and erasing the evidence. He remembered now. After he’d left her room, he became hard at (Name)’s last words to him.
It would’ve been shameful to walk back to his dorm with a hard on, so Levi headed towards the nearest restroom to take care of his problem. He thought it was empty, unable to hold back his whines.
“Why would they—?”
It was obvious. They hated him. “I rejected Astaroth around the time we began to you know. He always took things personally. This was his revenge.”
(Name) didn’t have to elaborate why it was a bad idea if that video circulated throughout RAD.
Not only would Levi would be humiliated, but also expelled for behaving indecently in an educational institution. Him and his brothers were part of the student council, meaning they represented the school.
This would’ve brought shame to his entire family.
“I had to do it. I couldn’t allow them to ruin you.” Her head hung low. “They wanted me to reject you, just like I’d rejected them.”
(Name) immediately got payback, jumping them after school. “They won’t be coming to RAD anytime soon. Although...” she touched her swollen eye, hissing. “They did get in a few hits.”
Levi was silent, processing everything he’d been told.
(Name) sneaked a glance at him. His lip had some of the blood that was on hers, probably due to the kiss. “Do you feel bad for them?”
“Not really... they hurt you..”
“That’s what they get for threatening the person whom I hold dear to my heart.”
Suddenly embarrassed by her words, (Name) sighed and leaned her head on the crook of Levi’s shoulder. “I think I have a concussion.”
“L-let’s take you to the infirmary then!”
“No, i want to stay here for a while.”
Levi held her close; his hand rested on (Name)’s back moving slowly to ease her. They remained in silence for a couple of minutes till he broke it—the ultimate question popping into his mind.
“(Name)... what are we?”
They never got the chance to put a label on it. For all he knew, they were merely friends with benefits.
“I’ll be whatever you want as long as you’re mine.”
His heart skipped a beat. She really had no idea how much her words affected him.
“And you’re mine too right?”
“Always.”
#obey me#levi obey me#obey me levi x mc#obey me leviathan#om leviathan#leviathan x mc#levi x mc#levi x y/n#levi x reader
93 notes
·
View notes
Text
Embers & Light (Chapter 28)
Notes: Happy Sunday every one. Thanks for last week's comments. They were so lovely and I love to hear from you all!This chapter is the one lots of you have been waiting for... not smut, but THE conversation. I hope you enjoy it... And sorry about the typos in this chapter, I can't look at this chapter any more! I'll try and scan over it tomorrow...Lastly, just a head's up that I might not be able to post next Sunday. Work is super busy this coming week and I haven't yet started the chapter. I'll try my best, though :)
Oh, and for those of you who ask every week, I post Sunday evening UK time between 7-10PM. I will rarely change and if it’s late, it’s because I’m still working on it :)
Also, sorry, there should be italics in some places but I am done editing so Tumblr will get what copy and paste has done!
Twenty-Eight
Cassian POV
Lorrian and Cassian walked silently down the hall, following the servant who was scurrying in front of them. The sound of their footsteps rang around the hallway in an echo that was almost haunting, and if it wasn't for the meeting that has just adjourned—the Rite meeting which that was whirring around in his mind—Cassian would be contemplating how quickly he could organise their departure despite the wishes of his High Lord.
As distracted as Cassian was, he had still committed every corridor to memory. Every twist and turn as the house tunnelled into mountain rock. Up the wide staircase, right, second left, first right, next left…
Deeper and deeper they moved into the mountain. No doubt to ensure that the General and Colonel felt as uneasy as possible. No Illyrian liked being unable to escape through a window and step straight into the skies, and from what Cassian could tell, there would be no windows or doors that led them straight out into the heavens. Only endless crystalline rock and shadow.
Lord Marsh’s property always had been unusual in that way. Even though it was positioned on the wide ledge of the mountain pass, suspended high in the sky above the rest of the Ironcrest camp, the house did not stop when it hit the mountain wall. Instead, it tunnelled inside of it, providing a lodgings that was a vast, confusing labyrinth that was too easy to get lost in.
It was why Cassian had been so loathe to stay the night. To stay any longer than necessary.
Cassian could only thank the Cauldron that Rhys and Feyre’s presence had not been required. Neither of them deserved to be trapped inside a mountain again. Cassian supposed he could count his lucky stars that their presence had not been necessary. Would not be able to bear their anguish, even if they did their best to conceal it.
“Your rooms,” the servant announced suddenly, with a bow that was so deep Cassian wouldn’t have been surprised if the male’s nose had scraped the floor.
They had reached the end of the hallway, and in front of them was a heavy wooden door set into an arch.
Even through rock and stone, Cassian could sense Nesta. Knew she was located somewhere to the left with Frawley, thanks to that magnetic pull which never seemed to cease, even just for a moment. That was the one thing Nesta hadn’t been able to stop. She could constrict their bond as much as she liked—could freeze him out so nothing could travel up and down their twisted tether—but it didn’t stop him from being able to sense her. It was as if he was hyper alert to where she was. His body moved when hers did. His heart did its best to beat in tandem with hers. And when they were near, everything in him had a tendency to relax, as if he no longer had to worry.
Cassian didn’t know if Nesta felt the same. Would never know, given that they did not discuss their fate at all.
Lorrian bid goodbye to the servant as Cassian stepped through the door and into a hallway that was equally as dark. Two doors flanked the short, cramped hallway and Cassian took the immediate left, pushing the door that was ajar so it creaked wide open.
Unlike the rest of Marsh’s residence, the room was cast in a light that was almost unforgiving, betraying the dark ominous furniture and the gloomy crystalline rock thanks to bobbing faelights which Frawley had magicked to illuminate the room. To his left, fire raged silently in the grate, and ahead of him, in a huge stone bay straight ahead of him, sat Nesta.
The carved out rock was fashioned as if it were a window—an irony, given how deep underground they were—and Nesta’s back rested against the far left-hand wall. Her knees were bent, and her long legs, which were hidden beneath her skirts, stretched across expanse of the ledge. She was facing Frawley, who was sitting on the huge Illyrian bed which took up most of the floor space.
Cassian just had time to catch Nesta’s unfettered expression—the tight, bracketed mouth and the downward pull of her brows— before it was wiped clean.
“What happened?” she demanded, as Cassian cast a shield which threw the whole suite into an impenetrable sound bubble.
Her eyes bore into his, and across the surface, silver roiled like liquid mercury. Despite her careful expression, he felt her worry and Cassian wondered just how much he had accidentally hurtled down their shared bond whilst he sat in that meeting to have her so concerned.
“They’ve cancelled the Blood Rite,” Lorrian announced grimly, from where he had entered the room behind Cassian.
Nesta’s eyes snapped to Lorrian. Confusion twisted across her features, but she did not say anything.
“That,” Frawley said after a moment’s pause, “is very clever.”
Begrudgingly, Cassian nodded. Because it had been clever. None of them had seen it coming. The Solstice luncheon, which invited all of the nobility across Illyria, had been enough to ward away any suspicion when it came to the lordlings presence. Rite representatives were chosen privately by each camp, so there was no way that Cassian could have known that the lordlings who had recently met with Kallon planned to fill many of the positions. Nor had it crossed Cassian’s mind that the Rite meeting might have been pulled forward only for it to be cancelled, especially given how steadfast and stubborn Illyrians were when it came to tradition.
But, even if Cassian had asked Az to find out what representatives had been chosen for the Rite that year, they never could have predicted that Kallon intended to instate a hiatus on the most important ritual in Illyria’s long history—a political manoeuvre that would make the Night Court look even worse than it already did.
“How did he get the lords to agree to it?” Frawley asked, as she watched her husband sink down into a chair that sat in the right hand corner of the room next to a dark, looming wardrobe that only served to make the room feel even more cramped. “Those princes will usually be damned if they listen to a word the other says.”
“The Rite representatives,” Cassian announced with a heavy sigh, wishing he too would give in to the temptation to sink down and sit somewhere. Next to Nesta, ideally. “All of them were lordlings who met with Kallon all those months ago. And the worst thing about it all is that Lorrian and I swayed the vote in Kallon’s favour. He played us and we walked straight into his damn den. It made us look as if we were agreeing with him for the sake of politics, rather than because we thought it ourselves.”
Which was the irony of the situation, Cassian thought to himself grimly. Cassian had been worried for a long time about the unnecessary loss of further lives due to the Blood Rite. Had been losing sleep over it, just as his nightmares continued to plague him whenever he did succumb to the clutches of the unconscious. There was already so much ash of flesh and bone on Cassian’s hands from when he had deserted his legion for desperate screams. And now… he was existing on stolen time—a time which had been bought by a female who at the end of it all, had not accepted his heart.
“Every word of Kallon’s appeal resonated with the Lords,” Lorrian told Nesta and Frawley as he ran his hands over his face… over his dark, close-cropped hair and the nicked scars on his scalp. “He played upon the sentiment that is already festering inside so many of the Fae in Illyria. That the Night Court uses our warriors for their own gain in war but does not care about them in the interim.”
“And then Kallon presented them with the damn sword,” Cassian growled, clenching his fists at the memory.
Frawley’s eyes gleamed so brightly her irises turned glacial blue and amber. “You saw it up close?” she asked, leaning forward so eagerly from where she was sitting on the mattress that she near folded in half. “And what did you feel?”
“Ancient magic,” Lorrian replied grimly, even as his wife continue to stare at Cassian. “My own magic spiked at the sight of it. It was…” he broke off and shook his head, “It was odd. All of the lords could feel it, I am sure of it. Not one of them disputed that it was Enalius’s.”
Cassian remembered the way his siphons had throbbed and the ruby star over his chest had pulsed so fiercely it felt like a second heart—as if it were answering a silent call that even he couldn't hear. Only Nesta’s power had made Cassian feel like that before. It didn’t matter if it was silver fire or healing light, Nesta’s magic called to him, chanting and moaning until he thought he might combust from it.
But Cassian did not say any of that. Had barely dared to admit it to himself, let alone voice it out loud. So, instead, he flared his siphons and rummaged through the travel bag which appeared on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.
His fingers found the book without having to search for it, his callouses brushing against soft brown leather. He pulled out Heroicis, the gold-lettering on the cover shimmering as he flipped it open to peel back the delicate pages.
It was easy to find the illustration of the sword. Cassian had stared at the drawing so many times the book wanted to be opened to that page.
He placed the book down on the vanity. “It looked exactly like that,” he announced wearily, waving a hand to the illustration. “Except the jewel is missing.”
The rustle of clothing sounded as three Fae moved towards him. Cassian did not turn but he scented all three of them. Lorrian’s gentle rush of heat and sandalwood. Frawley’s damp forest earth after rain and air streaked with fire smoke. And then Nesta. She had drawn up to his left, but he would have known where she was in a room without scent or sight. Yet, he allowed himself the privilege of scenting her all the same, as that rush of her became sharper and more focussed, like a blade narrowing to an essential point: jasmine and vanilla and Nesta.
Rivalling most Fae in height, Nesta’s head barely reached his shoulder. Cassian desperately wanted to wind his arm around her and pull her close, but out of the public eye they were no longer pretending. He didn’t want to push the boundaries that were already so brittle. Would not disrespect Nesta by overstepping the mark. Not unless she indicated she wanted it otherwise.
So, Cassian pushed away the stark vision of him moulding her to his body, or the way he had bowed earlier to press his lips to her knuckles. Tried not to ponder over the temptation of brushing his lips over her cheek by the end of their visit…
“I did not expect a General to carry epic poetry,” Frawley drawled in amusement, but there was an edge to her voice that told Cassian she was holding something back.
Lorrian snickered at his wife and did what Cassian had yearned to do to Nesta—he dropped a kiss to the top of her white head. The Colonel had used his siphons to peel back his armour as soon as the door had closed behind them. With it, his arm had disappeared, and the Colonel looked more like himself.
“Well, witch,” Cassian demanded with forced lightness, “is this an accurate depiction?”
“It is the only illustration I have ever seen that is correct,” Frawley said simply, her head cocked to the side so the white of her hair fell in an impossibly straight stream. The strands shimmered pearlescent in the light. The colour was almost otherworldly.
“Did you find anything out from the females?” Lorrian asked. He was rubbing over the stub of his limp, as if it was causing him phantom pain, his expression drawn tight.
The change of subject wasn’t as abrupt as it seemed. Cassian knew why Lorrian was asking. If they found anything incriminating against Kallon or the Ironcrest clan, it would aid them in stifling the rebellion that at this point seemed inevitable.
A fierce flare of pain wrangled through Cassian’s gut and his head snapped to Nesta, but she was staring fixedly at the book.
Lorrian had also turned sharply to Nesta, his eyes wide. His hand dropped from where he had been trying to ease the pain from his arm and his expression, although surprised, was free of any discomfort.
“Thank you,” Lorrian said quietly.
There was a pause that stretched out too long. All of them were silent, but Nesta dipped her chin without turning her head.
“The females didn’t speak beyond polite conversation,” Frawley began, steering all of their attention from Nesta. “But I did mention the kerit attacks on the widows camps.”
“Did you pick up any emotion?” Cassian asked Nesta.
“Yes,” Nesta replied, but her shrug dismissed the notion that she may have felt anything prominent. “Fear, disgust, anger towards the attacks. Most of it low level.”
Cassian frowned. “I suppose the attacks have not hit Ironcrest. They have not experienced the damage first hand.”
“There was a spike of horror and despair,” Nesta told him. “From someone. But I couldn't place it. It came from behind me and by the time I had turned the emotion had gone.”
Cassian stared down at Nesta. “Did you scent it? The insignia behind the emotion?”
Nesta shook her head. “All of the scents were jumbled. I got a flash of something, but I couldn’t—” Nesta stopped abruptly and her beautiful face twisted into a dissatisfied grimace. “If I sensed it again, I might recognise it, but—”
Already Cassian knew she was punishing herself. He refrained from putting a hand on her shoulder in silent reassurance.
“Even a Fae with years of practice would find it difficult to associate the source of an emotion in a crowded room,” Frawley said with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if she too knew that Nesta would not stop the self-blame. That it would rage internally until it consumed her. “You do not have eyes in the back of your head.”
“And from Kallon?” Cassian asked, even though he suspected he already knew the answer, and that he wasn’t going to like it.
They all watched Nesta’s lips tighten into a thin line. Eventually, she said, “He likes my power.”
Cassian knew that expression. Knew from the way everything had gone very quiet that she had frozen him out so he would not know how the promise in those yellow eyes had turned triggered Nesta’s trauma.
But the problem was that Cassian had learnt to notice the slightest change in Nesta’s expression. Had catalogued every movement in the four months they had lived together, even when he didn’t know what it meant.
Frawley’s brown eye flicked to Cassian. Even behind the brisk facade, Cassian could tell she was worried about Nesta. Cassian wondered what they had spoken about whilst he and Lorrian had been gone. “What time is this dreaded dinner?” she asked.
“In an hour,” Cassian grimaced.
“And do you think the princeling will be carrying the sword with him, now he has confirmed the rumours?”
Lorrian grunted a laugh. Cassian wondered if he, too, was thinking of the way Kallon’s eyes had gleamed triumphant. How tempting it had been to smack the princeling around the face. “I think we can count on it.”
***
An hour later, the same servant escorted the four of them down the warren corridors to dinner.
Both Lorrian and Cassian had discarded their full-scaled armour for tunics layered with a stainless steel cuirass over the top. That, coupled with plates and fingerless leather gauntlets on both of their hands, allowed Cassian and Lorrian to showcase their siphons. The light-weight pieces of armour were made of the usual Illyrian scales, and whilst the armour was more ornamental than for the purpose of fighting, Rhys had worked his magic so it was as indestructible as carbon steel, if not more.
Lorrian’s right arm was back and glowing. Cassian understood why his friend wanted to face the vultures with all of his limbs, but he wished he could take Lorrian’s shame away. He supposed there was nothing to be done but to hope that time led to acceptance. Already Lorrian had come a long way. Had even started training with Cassian without his arm, learning to wield a sword with his left-hand should the occasion every call for it.
It was that willingness to adapt that reminded Cassian why Lorrian was an exceptional warrior. Why he would conquer where others would fail. The Colonel would be prepared for every scenario. Would know how to balance his body with and without a limb.
Opponents would not expect it. It would give Lorrian the upper hand in battle, rather than showcasing a weakness that anyone who knew about his limb would expect.
It meant that if Lorrian’s siphons ever became drained, that he could still fight.
Nesta and Frawley had also changed for dinner, even though the witch had grumbled at having to dress up for company she would rather obliterate from Prythian. Unsurprisingly, Nesta had only grown more divine with a change of clothes, but she had barely spared him a glance as she looped her hand through his arm.
Which, Cassian thought, had been just as well, because he had not been able to stop his eyes from darkening and his wings from rustling at the sheer sight of her.
Now, Nesta held onto him as they followed the backs of Lorrian and Frawley from where they walked in front of them. The two of them had fallen slightly behind, most likely because of their hesitancy to fling themselves back in the path of the vultures that were Marsh and Kallon.
And, Cassian admitted, because he had purposefully shortened his stride so he could glance surreptitiously at Nesta—at the dark, deep forest green of her long-sleeved dress, which had actually stopped Cassian’s heart and made his breath catch in his throat. Something which he knew Lorrian had clocked but had decided not to mention— thank the Cauldron.
The top half of the velvet material wrapped around Nesta’s every curve, before it billowed out softly at the hips into an A-line skirt. At her chest—which was bared rather than hidden away—the silver chain of the pyrite necklace fell tauntingly below the v-neckline.
Cassian thanked his lucky stars and the Gods combined that he could not glimpse her cleavage.
“Want to go home yet?” Cassian murmured, breaking their silence.
They had barely spoken since the luncheon and certainly not alone. Nesta had not commented when she had emerged from their bedroom. Had not mentioned the single bed that had taunted him when he had first entered to change.
Cassian had ensured they were not in the room at the same time. Was actually terrified to close himself into such a small and cramped space with her.
The way in which Nesta did not look up at him as he spoke told Cassian that she was very far away. Her huffed breath was practically inaudible, and she had an almost unreachable air about her that told him that for some reason, her trauma had caught up with her.
So, Cassian did what he did best. He decided to rile her.
“You’re going to have to lower your shields,” he warned her.
The slightest of frowns graced Nesta’s expression as they came to the end of a corridor and entered the vast landing that graced the first floor. Here, the flagstone floor was layered with a carpet runner that was dappled in brown and white, like the feathers of a hawk-crested eagle. “I’m aware,” Nesta clipped, that chin of hers raising as her back straightened.
Cassian brought a hand up to cover hers. Anything to get her to look at him. “You can stay in the room if you’d prefer,” he said quietly.
Those tempting lips thinned into a straight line. She turned her head away from him, so he could only see the intricate braid that weaved a halo around her head. “No, I can’t,” Nesta replied shortly.
She was not wrong. Cassian would not leave her deep in the mountain where he could not protect her. Even if that meant taking her to a place where her trauma would intensify.
He hated himself for it.
“I won’t let him harm you. I won’t let them touch you.” The words came out fiercer than he had intended, even if his voice was a low rumble.
There must have been enough urgency in his voice, because finally Nesta twisted her head to look up at him. Those eyes were a little less hollow. “I know,” she replied simply. Her eyes slid to a spot past his head. “I might harm them, though.”
A dark, please laugh issued from his throat, even as he wished that mercury would slide over the frosty blue of her irises. Nesta had issues summoning her magic when she succumbed to the numbness, and Cassian did not want her in this Gods damned awful place without her power at her disposable.
“I look forward to seeing it,” he responded smoothly, but his heart fell as she turned away from him again.
Desperation clawed at his insides—at the bond which was constricted by ice—that the next words left him without contemplating the gravity of them. “Are you wearing that dress to taunt me, Nesta?”
Nesta’s eyes snapped to his so quickly that everything in him jolted. A dim light throbbed in the depth of her gaze. “Excuse me?”
“This dress,” he said in a low confession, “has become my favourite thing.”
An unamused snort, even as a glimmer of embarrassment forced its way down their bond. It was fleeting and barely there, but Cassian felt it. Grasped for it. “Your favourite thing is chocolate.”
“My favourite thing is you,” he corrected, scarcely believing his loose tongue. He made his eyes glint playfully. “Chocolate is a close second.”
“In fact,” he mused after a moment’s pause. “The two together—”
“In your dreams,” Nesta snapped, her words coming out so sharply and with such aggression that both Frawley and Lorrian’s heads whipped round to stare at them.
Cassian grinned wolfishly, watching Lorrian shake his head at the obvious fire in Nesta’s eyes. The fire that Cassian was doing everything to rally.
Both of his friends had noticed Nesta turn silent in the hour before dinner, but neither of them had uttered a word. They understood the peaks and troughs—the challenges of life when things became too hard.
“That comeback again, sweetheart? I’d have thought you’d have something more original by now.”
“You are insufferable,” Nesta clipped. And at her hands… a wisp of that mist.
“Do you not like being complimented” Cassian taunted, stifling the way his blood soared at the faint pink that stained her cheeks—another blessed reaction.
Together they descended the elaborately wide staircase, moving slowly to accommodate for Nesta’s skirts. Usually, Cassian had no time for impractical attire, but he had long learnt that Nesta could wear whatever she liked and he would accommodate it, no matter how ill-thought-out.
Nesta’s grip on his arm tightened into a death grip.
She was not looking at him again. Deliberately avoiding his gaze, even as his eyes did not once stray from her face, his legs carrying him blindly as he furiously scanned her for expression.
Finally, Nesta said with a quiet that did not lack in intensity, “A compliment isn’t true if it’s designed to be a distraction.”
Cassian huffed a breath of laughter. Of course, she had seen right through him. Yet…
He dared to lean towards her, to close the distance between them so he could murmur into her elegantly tipped ear. “It was a distraction,” he confessed honestly as they turned down the corridor that led off to the right-hand side of the foyer, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true, does it?”
Blue, smoky eyes latched onto his, Nesta’s chin tilting upwards to meet his gaze. It was a torturous form of bliss, the movement bringing her face far too close to his. She stared at him and he stared right back, even as his heart thumped hard against his ribcage.
He lowered his head further. Watched Nesta’s eyes widen ever so slightly as he closed the distance between them. She had stilled completely, halting them just outside of the dining room.
This time he allowed his lips to ghost her ear. Let the Illyrian roll of his tongue and savoured her suppressed shiver. The spark of something which wound itself around his ribcage. “After you, amore.”
Cassian made himself wink as he straightened up, as if he were entirely unaffected by her proximity.
And then he steered her into the dining room.
***
Dinner was worse than Cassian had anticipated, and by the time the four of them arrived back at their suite, none of them were bothering to hide their exhaustion. The door had barely shut behind them when Frawley brusquely announced that the sword which had been showcased at the dinner was undoubtedly Enalius’s, before she disappeared into her room with Lorrian following closely behind.
The first thing Cassian had done upon entering he and Nesta’s shared room was to flop onto the bed. Dealing with Lord Marsh was trying at the best of times, but tackling Lord Marsh, Kallon and the other arrogant lords, as well as the drama that came with it… Cassian had been fighting a headache all day and the pressure was now a keen, insistent throb behind his eyes.
That, coupled with a tense dinner that had slowly chipped away at his pain threshold, had Cassian desperately wanting to slide beneath the sheets and succumb to sleep.
To Cassian’s surprise, Marsh had not been present at dinner, and from the way that Kallon sat unfazed at the head of the table, Cassian gathered that it was not an unusual occurrence.
Kallon had held audience with an ease that had rivalled Rhys when he was playing cruel High Lord during a visit to the Hewn City, and apart from the shadows of servants lining the walls, no other lords and ladies had been present at dinner. It had been a surprising move. Cassian had expected Kallon to parade and taunt in front of the watchful eyes of the Illyrian nobility, who would no doubt disappear later to whisper into others ears…
But, instead, it had only been the five of them. That had been enough to tell Cassian that whilst Kallon might have no qualms in wielding words as vicious as Nesta’s, he also did not believe he could control the tongues of those he was dining with. That he knew that despite the sword that lay gleaming on the gilded cushion further down the table, that they his company had the capability of maiming him if they saw fit. Something which Kallon could not afford given his victory earlier that afternoon.
This fear came to a conclusion halfway through their main course, when Kallon deigned to insinuate that females were not designed to wield a sword.
“Are you saying,” Nesta asked with a deathly sort of calm that had Cassian tensing, “that you do not deem females worthy of protecting themselves?”
“I think that the Night Court should protect the entirety of its court so the females don’t have to worry about protecting themselves,” Kallon had responded swiftly, his sharp knife slicing into his bloody steak as if it were nothing but butter.
“What you are saying,” Frawley corrected, her voice brusque and hard, “is that you do not see females as having any other purpose than bearing younglings.”
“Is that not their purpose?” Kallon had challenged. He paused, surveying all of their faces with a grim sort of satisfaction, before he had pressed on, “Is that not what is needed for a race who has lost more males in this war than it has seen in hundreds of years?”
“A female’s worth is not found in their ability to reproduce,” Nesta had responded coolly. Her voice, Cassian had noticed, had dipped into the deathly sort of calm that usually preceded an outburst of flame. “In fact, I have not met one male in Illyria who is more worthy of learning how to wield a weapon than the females in Illyria’s camps.”
“And does that sense of worth extend to the males around this table?” Kallon had replied, his yellow eyes gleaming at a sudden opportunity. Like the rest of the residence, the dining room had been dimly lit, illuminated by faint faelight and the fire that raged in the hearth. It meant that shadows had crept across the walls and table as Kallon leant forward to where Nesta was sitting at his right. “I assume not, given your tendency to fuck anything that moves.”
The sentence was as abrupt as a slap to the face, but Nesta did not move. Did not give any indication that the princeling’s words had hit home, even as Cassian’s gut had wrenched.
“It is funny,” Nesta had mused icily, her voice as cold as the fiercest Illyrian winter, “that you should try to shame me, especially given that if I was a male, I am sure you would be praising me for such a consistent pursuit of pleasure.”
Carefully, Nesta had set down her goblet, her eyes boring into the princeling’s with such intensity that Cassian had been surprised that the male hadn’t burst into flame.
Other than Frawley’s snort of agreement, nobody had dared to move. Time had passed. Time in which Cassian vowed to remain steadfast to his silent promise that he should not interference unless it was absolutely necessary. Even as Kallon did not back down.
Together, they had all watched the princeling settle back into his chair with the relaxed sort of ease that had Cassian wanting to castrate him. “Perhaps then, I should surprise you by showing you my room in case you fancy pursuing some real pleasure later—”
“That is —” Cassian had started to snarled, banging a fist on the table just as Lorrian had growled, the sound a low, deep warning—
And that was when the entire room had glowed silver, the magic snapping around the room with such ferocity that it was like a whip cracking against bare skin.
When Nesta’s magic dropped—when Cassian’s blood had reduced to a simmer rather than boiling—Cassian realised that exercising her magic had been the perfect excuse for Nesta to silence the fire that had been crackling fiercely in the grate behind them. The fire from which Cassian had spent the entirety of the meal trying to shield her from as best as possible, his wing curled protectively around the back of her chair.
Even so, the showcase of Nesta’s power had been startling and undeniably effective. As Nesta’s temper had flared, that silver fire had ignited in the grate, swallowing the orange flames as mist wreathed up her arms, eddying around her at such speed that it began to seep across the table towards Kallon.
And the whole time Kallon’s eyes had gleamed. Not with fear, but with the kind of awe that Cassian felt when he’d first witnessed how magnificent Nesta was.
It had taken everything in Cassian not to leap across the table and rip the princeling’s head from his body. From the way Frawley was gripping Lorrian, it had seemed as if his friend felt the exact same way.
But to Cassian’s surprise, Nesta had only let out a low, cruel laugh which had sliced through any of Cassian’s intention to intervene.
Instead, he had watched, riveted as those eyes of pure mercury raked up and down Kallon’s body with a look of unbridled disgust. And when Nesta had spoken, her voice was as terrifying as the promise of death, “I would never deign to lower myself by sharing a bed with you,” she told Kallon, “and I certainly hope that no other female has been forced to endure it.”
Infuriatingly, Kallon had only let out a musical laugh rather than a snarled retort. “And I suppose you would rather pair yourself with a male who has nothing to give you—not a title or a name, only the promise of a cheap necklace. Perhaps that is why you seem to have no true inclination to secure your future with him.”
Then, Kallon had slowly dragged his eyes to Cassian. “I would have thought your role in leading the Night Court’s armies would pay better than that, General. But I suppose you can’t take the bastard out of the slums.”
It had been at that point that Nesta had found Cassian’s hand under the table. It had been the most careful of movements—unnoticeable to anybody but them. The clasp of her fingers around his and the easing of the pain and fury in his gut had been the only thing that had stopped him from either beating Kallon to a pulp or leaving the meal in a rage.
Both of which would only have allowed Kallon to emerge triumphant… So, they had eaten in the sort of tense silence, speared sporadically with the odd ferocious comment. And at the end of the table, that damned sword had lain on the gilded cushion, gleaming magnificently in the firelight, calling to Cassian’s power in a way that pulled at his skin…
Now, recollecting the monstrosity of the evening, Cassian wanted to ward away the feeling of unworthiness that still lay bitter on his tongue. There was also a sense of foreboding that he could not shake. A terrible knowledge that whatever he and Nesta had constructed between them was something false rather than true.
There were so many cracks they had hastily tried to ignore. So many past actions that had been pushed to the background rather than being acknowledged.
Cassian didn’t know what would happen if they were addressed. If it would fling the two of them so far back into the past that it would shatter the present.
Yet… it seemed inevitable. A hulking, looming presence that clung to them like a shadow.
But for now… Cassian wanted lightness. He wanted to know that he and Nesta were ok. So he waved a hand tiredly at the room, and said, “Sorry we have to share.”
“It’s fine,” Nesta replied finally, as if she had been so far away it had taken her a while to rope herself back to reality.
Cracking open an eye, Cassian watched her close the bedroom door behind her. She had closed their bond as soon as they had left the dinner table. Cassian did not know if it was a deliberate move to shut him out, or just an attempt to sever any emotion. He knew she must be feeling raw. Lowering one’s shields did that, especially for Nesta, who felt more than everyone else. Azriel had warned him of that. Had confirmed what Cassian and Feyre had always thought. That Nesta’s gift expanded outside of the power she had clawed from the Cauldron. Something which had always existed inside of her but which had been magnified further when she was Made.
“I wouldn’t want my own room here,” Nesta elaborated when she caught him studying her.
Cassian watched Nesta’s ever perceptive eyes scan the room: the simple, whitewashed walls and the pine furniture. The room was of moderate size, although Cassian would wager that it wasn’t Lord Marsh’s biggest guest room. That silent rebuff hadn't gone unnoticed — not that Cassian cared. He had endured far worse conditions, after all.
Most of the floor space was taken up by the Illyrian bed, which was big enough for two sets of wings. Now, Nesta hovered beside it as if she were unsure what to do next. It was the most awkward he had ever seen her.
“By all means,” he drawled tiredly, waving to the other side of the mattress. He folded the wing that he had spread onto the other side—her side—of the bed, “I can sleep on the floor. Just...give me a moment.”
Ignoring his invitation, Nesta floated over to the dressing table instead. Propping his head under a bent arm, Cassian watched her as she started to slowly take the pins out of her hair.
For a long while, the clink of metal on wood was the only noise that filled the room, and Cassian was just about to ask Nesta how many gods damned pins she used, when she started to slowly unspool the hair from the top of her head. Jaw slightly slack, Cassian watched in awe as Nesta parted the thick strands of the braid with well-practiced hands. When she was finished, she began to brush it out, until the light brown strands shimmered gold in the faelight and the teeth no longer snagged on knows.
Cassian wondered if any male had ever seen her do this: the simple act of getting ready for bed. He hoped not. There was something intimate about watching Nesta let her hair down, as if every pin that came out of her head removed a little bit of that mask, revealing a younger, softer version of the hot-headed hellcat he usually had to contend with.
“You’re staring.”
The words clipped through the silence, as sharp as a cutting knife.
Well, perhaps she wasn’t a softer version, after all.
Cassian’s eyes slid to Nesta’s in the mirror. In the dim faelight, the blue of her irises had given way to a stormy, mesmerising grey. He made his lips pout, even as he imagined running his fingers through the soft strands. “Your hair looks prettier than mine.”
The faintest of smiles tugged at Nesta’s lips. It was slightly wicked, the only warning she gave him before she tossed him the ivory-handled brush.
Cassian’s hand snapped up, catching the brush inches from his face, his eyes never straying from hers.
His grin was triumphant and when Nesta rolled her eyes at him, the gesture so uncharacteristically playful, satisfaction burned through every pore, every fibre of his being.
How far they had come.
“Then brush it, you stupid brute. I won’t deny that it needs it.”
Cassian laughed throatily—the first true laugh he had let loose that day. “I thought you liked my rugged looks?”
A soft, unimpressed snort. “A wholly made up notion.”
He watched Nesta rummage through her travel bag and pull out a white cotton nightdress and some toiletries, before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. He brushed his hair whilst the water ran and then peeled off his clothes, baring his skin to the chill air.
The glare Nesta sent him when she reemerged would have sent a lesser male scarpering. It made him wonder how any of the males she had bedded had even made it home with her in the first place. She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, which only emphasised the swell of her breasts beneath the cotton. She was still wearing the pyrite, and the metal shone mockingly against her creamy skin—silver flecked with gold.
The sight of it so close to her cleavage had him biting back a groan.
Mother Above, he had to get a grip if they were going to sharing a room all night.
“You can’t wear night clothes like a normal person?” Nesta hissed at him.
With a taunting grin, Cassian rested a hand on a hip, highlighting his tight undershorts. He refrained from flaring his wings—largely because the space did not accommodate for it. “I usually sleep nude sweetheart, which would you prefer?”
And then, not waiting for her to start on him, he headed straight for the bathroom, making sure their skin brushed as he passed.
To his delight, Nesta’s angry snarl chased him until he closed the bathroom door firmly behind him.
When he reappeared five minutes later, Nesta was already under the covers with her nose buried in a book. Silent, silver flames licking fiercely up the chimney from the open fire grate. The heat was fiercely warm and very welcome, especially given that this deep underground, there was little warmth to be found. The heat sunk deliciously into his skin, and Cassian flared his wings slightly to fight the goosebumps that were scattered across the sensitive membrane.
Since Nesta had lit the torch at the widows funeral, she had taken to lighting the fires throughout the house, and Cassian had become so used to the glow of silver flames in every fire grate around the house that he barely bat an eyelid.
It warmed him, though, to see the house alight with silver and warmth. To see Nesta unafraid and relaxed. To see her sit near the fire, rather than as far away from it as possible.
“I didn’t see you sneak a book into the bag,” Cassian commented, as he pulled a blanket from the wardrobe and pulled on some loose pants. He had been teasing her before about sleeping in his undershorts. He’d mainly wanted to pull a reaction from her, to see how she would respond to his bare skin.
Her hiss had been satisfying enough. Not that Cassian hadn’t hoped for more. A too long glance, or even better, a blush.
Nesta didn’t glance up at Cassian as she turned the page. “You should know better than to think I’d travel without a book.”
He watched her eyes move across the page, utterly absorbed. Her long hair fell over her face and unconsciously she tucked the strand behind an elegantly arched ear. A signature move of hers, however unconscious, that he had yet to name. It was fast becoming one of his favourites.
Nodding, Cassian reached for the pillows on his side of the bed to distract himself from looking at her. Her next words made him pause.
“Just stick to your side.”
Nesta did not look up. She gave none of her focus to him yet she must have been watching him out of the corner of her eye.
“I don’t mind,” he reassured her after a moment.
A flip of a page. “There’s no room for your wings down there.”
She was right. It was a tight enough squeeze for his body let alone the wings on his back, and the blanket would do little to protect him from the cold flagstone floor. Cassian had endured far worse of course, but the thought of tucking his wings in that tight all night... well, he’d suffer for it tomorrow. And even though he knew sleeping an arms length away from her would be torture of a different kind...
“Thank you,” he conceded softly.
No acknowledgement, yet… this was progress. Only months ago, Nesta would have made him sleep on the cold just to watch him suffer.
A contented groan escaped him as the mattress moulded to his sore back. He rolled onto his side, flaring his wings to settle behind him and examined her.
The faded paperback Nesta was reading was well-worn. Many of the pages were dog-eared and Cassian knew that he’d seen her curled up with it before. He craned his neck in an attempt to try and read the title on the spine. He would bet good money it was a love story. No, he would bet his entire wealth that it was a love story.
It was quick, but he caught Nesta’s darting glance. It was enough for him to break the silence.
“Why do you read romance novels?”
A burning question Cassian had wanted to ask her more times than he could count. On both hands.
Not that he didn’t have his own theory on that.
“Why do you read books about war?” Nesta countered.
A slow, taunting smile. “I asked you first, sweetheart.”
Nesta rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Why can’t I read them?”
Cassian bit back a growl of frustration. “You can read whatever you like. What I mean is why do you enjoy reading romance novels so much?”
Nesta bookmarked her page with a scarlet ribbon—a gesture at odds with the earmarked pages—and placed it on the nightstand with a sigh. “I revoke my offer, you can sleep on the floor.”
“But what about my poor wings,” he whined.
“Feyre’s right, you really are Illyrian babies.”
Cassian scowled. “I’m full of testosterone, thank you very much.”
Nesta snorted. “Rumour has it that Azriel has the largest wingspan.”
The soft snarl that tore out of Cassian’s mouth surprised even him. He hadn’t made the noise deliberately, it had been completely unconscious, just as much as the next words out of his mouth. “Would you like me to prove you wrong, Nesta?”
His voice had turned low and husky without his bidding, as if it had done so purely on instinct. Maybe allowing himself to get in the same bed as Nesta had been a mistake. The scent of her was enough to cloud his judgement and this close... He could have his mouth on hers in seconds.
“I’d like anything but, actually,” Nesta clipped, completely unfazed by his act of dominance. “Besides, males seem to forget that it’s style over substance.”
Propping himself up on an elbow, Cassian leant towards her. He arched an eyebrow at her, his expression cocksure. Somehow, his headache had completely vanished. “Lucky for you, I have both.”
Nesta’s groan was one of long suffering. She reached to undo the clasp of the chain around her neck.
“Don’t take it off.”
Nesta’s head snapped round to his, his sudden command at odds with their banter. He held up his hands, the two ruby siphons glinting from where they sat firmly on the leather straps.
“We’re in that much danger?” she asked.
Cassian sunk back down onto his side, “I’m not taking any chances, and... I won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re not wearing it.”
Nesta’s lips parted slightly but her hands slowly withdrew from her neck. The stone glinted briefly against Nesta’s skin and then she extinguished the lights.
The soft flicker of silver that glowed from the hearth was the only reprieve from the darkness that fell across the room. Cassian wondered if flames would go out when Nesta fell asleep or if they would keep on burning.
The sheets rustled as Nesta got comfortable. In the following silence, Cassian could make out the reassuring thump of her heart. It wrapped around his own, the feeling a comfort until his breathing slowed and his muscles relaxed.
“He’s horrible,” Nesta said suddenly into the darkness.
“Marsh?” Cassian asked, but he knew who she meant. Wasn’t sure why he didn’t say it out loud.
“Him too, but I meant Kallon.”
Cassian grunted in agreement. Then, he dared to say, “He’s taken a liking to you.”
Revulsion forced its way down their constricted bond and into his gut.
Cassian didn’t need to look at Nesta to know her expression was hard. “He’s a pig-headed Illyrian brute.”
A flicker of a smile tugged at Cassian’s mouth, despite the subject. “I thought I was a pig-headed Illyrian brute?”
“Then I’ll have to rework my insults for you in light of recent events.”
Cassian barked another true laugh. Would Nesta ever stop surprising him? He suspected that if they were to spend a lifetime together, he would never grow bored. Would never be tempted to look in another female’s direction.
“I feel both triumphant and expectant,” he confided, before he sobered. “You didn’t have to defend me, earlier. I’m used to the comments. It doesn’t matter what I do, but my race will always see me as a bastard first and a General second. Being coupled with you is not something they will ever believe I deserve.”
More rustling of the sheets as Nesta turned onto her side to face him. Through the shadows, Cassian’s Fae eyesight could make out Nesta’s eyes staring directly at him. Even in the muted light, they were mesmerising. “I had a pretence to upkeep,” she replied shortly, as if that explained everything. But then her voice became so quiet that his ears strained to hear her. “You’re worth more than them.”
Usually, Cassian would have teased Nesta for voicing something so groundbreaking, but in this room—in this shared bed—the words dissolved on his tongue. He was momentarily speechless, so much so that the silence became awkward and weighted. His family had attempted to address his insecurities before, but it had never been enough to quash the beliefs that had been drummed into him from a young age. Cassian, too proud to succumb to the seriousness of the conversation, had brushed his family off until they left him well alone.
Azriel was the only one who truly understood; it was why he had never seen himself worthy enough to pursue Mor.
By the time Cassian summoned the courage to open his mouth, Nesta was already speaking, “How do they know about the war?”
The question made his heart stop. Not just because Nesta had mentioned a subject they usually stayed well clear of, but because, for the first time, she was addressing what had happened between them on the battlefield.
“I don’t know,” he admitted softly, ignoring the way his heart had begun to hammer in his chest. “By the time the healer had mended my wings everyone was talking about it. I think a conversation must have been overhead by a healer.” He paused, hoping Nesta might speak again. When she didn't, he added, “I was… very angry when I found out.” He palmed a hand over his face to try and soothe away the nerves that were humming agitatedly inside of him. He had done his best to ignore the whisperings behind his back.
It hadn’t been hard at first. The aftermath of the war had taken all of his attention. He had barely had time to eat and sleep, let alone digest the gravity of what others had found out. Not that he had gotten the gist of it in drabs: the entirety of the Night Court knew of how they had defended one another; how Nesta had been willing to die with Cassian when she could have run.
They did not know what he had promised. That he had kissed her, even though they were calling it the greatest love story in centuries. Cassian would never forget how Nesta had lain over him when she’d had the chance to run, and the urgency to her voice—the way it had cracked—as she had said; I can’t.
It was those two words which hounded Cassian the most, because even now, he did not know whether Nesta had said that because she hadn’t wanted to leave him, or because she had no choice.
“I assumed it was my sister and her loose mouth.”
Nesta’s words startled Cassian, bringing him back to the dark room rather than the muddy battlefield where his body was broken but his heart was full and aching. And in truth, Cassian had expected Nesta to draw a line under the conversation by ignoring him and feigning sleep, the next morning a fresh page where they need not bring up the previous night’s discussion.
Despite the dark, Cassian nodded, even though he was unsure as to whether Nesta could see it.
He had considered the same about Feyre. Not on purpose, of course, but by mistake. Feyre had been a witness. The original witness. “One thing I’ve learnt growing up Fae is that there are eyes and ears everywhere,” Cassian said eventually. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t prefer having my business kept to myself.”
Cassian knew Nesta was fiercely private, far more than him. Was it that invasion coupled with the monumental pressure that came with being spoken about by Fae and humans alike, as they whispered about the greatest love story in Prythian—the lowly bastard and the human Made Fae—that had been the final straw for her? Or had it been the death and destruction which had slammed the door shut on something as naive and fanciful as love?
The desperation to know—to understand—was so fierce that Cassian could not stop himself from asking what he had never dared, “Is that why you wanted nothing to do with me?”
A long, stony silence that eventually began to simmer with anger. Cassian did not know if it was the audacity of him having asked or for bringing unwanted memories to the surface.
Finally, Nesta clipped, “I wanted nothing to do with someone who treated me as second best.”
The icy dismissal in Nesta’s tone had goosebumps rising on Cassian’s bare arms. Recently their conversations had been a torturous, delicious heat rather than frosty, but this delivery… it made Cassian feel as if he had stepped back into the past.
They were going there then. A conversation Cassian never dreamed they would have. Yet here they were... and suddenly he was so terrified it would ruin everything he wished it would stop, even as he asked in a low voice, “In what capacity?”
Snapped words like the crack of a whip. “In every capacity. Let me go to sleep.”
“Nesta,” Cassian pressed, not caring that it was dangerous. Desperate to try and understand why they were not together when his entire body was begging him to close the distance. He knew she must feel it too. Hoped that she did. That it was not just a wishful fantasy on his part. Cassian had always thought their chemistry undeniable. It was what scared him.
It never went away, the wanting.
“What do you mean second best?” he urged.
“The fact that you do not know shows how stupid you are,” Nesta replied coldly, turning away from him, signalling that the conversation was over. Through the shadowy dark, Cassian could make out the slope of her shoulder and the outline of her curvaceous side. The spill of her hair, a tempting drape across the pillow.
He curbed most of the desperation that wanted to creep into his voice. “You are speaking of Mor.”
An abrupt snort of confirmation.
“Mor is my family,” Cassian said carefully, even though he knew his words would not convince Nesta.
“Your dynamic is not familial.”
“Not at the start, no,” Cassian admitted, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. To give himself distance. Because he could not bear to stare at her turned back as she tried to shut him out. “We slept together once when we were very young. It has never been repeated.” He blew out a long breath as he ran a hand over his face, trying to smooth over his pained expression. “She used me to lose her maidenhead. I don’t know how much you know, but Mor was mutilated by her family for it—she was dumped in the Autumn court with a note nailed to her womb for her betrothed to find her. It collapsed her marriage proposal and I have been responsible for that mutilation every day since, not least for driving a wedge between me and my brother.”
As he trailed off, the blankets moved and to his surprise, Nesta’s shoulder dipped slightly towards him. He’d clearly piqued her interest. “You mean Azriel.”
“Yes,” Cassian admitted bitterly. “I slept with Mor because I was a jealous prick and Az was besotted with her. His diverted attention made me feel like I had lost my brother and I thought it would make him move on.” Loosing another sigh, Cassian rubbed his tired eyes with the heel of his palms. “I grew up alone, so when I moved in with Rhysand’s mother and Azriel joined us… he and Rhys were the closest I had ever had to a real family. When we were a three, it was the first time I remembered being truly happy. Mor threatened that, so I did what I thought would remedy it. I was a naive, arrogant prick and bedding Mor is a regret that I have lived with ever since.”
Pausing, Cassian took in a deep breath. He’d never voiced any of this out loud before. It had always been something he and his family did not discuss out in the open, not until recently with Mor, anyway. And he had not gone into so much depth.
He hoped that Nesta understood what it had meant for him to be happy for the first time, when before that he had been miserable and alone. Nesta herself had confessed to Frawley that she did not know when she had last felt joy, but then Cassian had felt it the other day, the sensation so wonderful in her stomach he felt as if he had been knocked of breath. He had flown to find her, followed that tether between them that was more visceral than he had ever felt it, before he realised that this was not his moment to experience. So he had turned around in the skies, headed back home, waited to see Nesta later. Her face had been flushed and she was dirty from a day of helping in the widows camp… but her face, it was free of that mask. With it, her expression was less severe and the light in her eyes made her irises a shade lighter. It was the most beautiful thing Cassian had ever seen. And when she had seen him, she had smiled without thinking. As if he, too, brought her joy.
It had been a quiet smile. Secret. His.
But where could Cassian even start to begin explaining the mess of the love triangle between Mor, Az and himself? Of the guilt he felt for a few minutes of pleasure which nearly costed Mor her life.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “I felt so much guilt over what I had done—over what happened to Mor and for betraying Azriel like that—I spent the next five hundred years doing everything I could to make things easier between them. Azriel doesn’t think he is worthy of Mor and Mor isn’t interested. So I stepped in when I could… I eased the tension. I let Mor use me as a buffer and it just… it became a bad habit. We fell into an unusual friendship. Mor can be very protective of me.” He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I can see how things were misconstrued. I think about it a lot, Nesta. I think about it all the time.”
Only silence met his confession.
“Things won’t be like that anymore,” he pressed on. Because he needed Nesta to understand that Mor was not in the equation—that she never had been—even though he was sure he and Nesta would never be anything but two Fae forced into close quarters. “Mor has finally been honest with Azriel.”
No reply. Nesta had turned preternaturally still again, as if she weren’t breathing.
“Nesta?"
“What.”
It was only one word but it was more vicious than anything she had said to him in months.
He felt his blood heat as he propped himself up onto an elbow. “Are you going to say anything or are you going to ignore me and pretend this conversation never happened?”
Nesta’s body moved slightly beneath the sheets as her muscles seized up. “I don’t think any of it matters now, so it’s not relevant.”
“It has always been relevant to me.” Cassian’s voice came out as a low hiss, his self-control snapping as his vulnerability became too much to bear. He threw a protective bubble around the room, sound proofing them inside. For the sake of their pretence, he couldn't have Fae ears overhearing their conversation. And… he could not bear Lorrian and Frawley overhearing something so painful. “You terrify me, Nesta, because I have never been so fucking captivated by anyone in the whole five hundred years I have been alive. From the very start you were different and it scared the shit out of me. My entire family knew it, too. I’m not a fan of everyone knowing my business, either, believe it or not, and they witnessed you putting me down at every step.”
Nesta’s snort was so cold that his entire blood heated fire. He was thankful for the dark to conceal how red his face has turned. He wanted to throttle her at the same time as he wanted to press her into the mattress and slant his mouth on hers. To show her that even now he only wanted her. That Mor meant nothing. Hadn’t for centuries. That he’d royally fucked up in so many ways that he didn’t even know how to start apologising.
“If you cared so much, perhaps you would not drop my hand when your friend enters the scene or gift her lingerie whilst I am in the same room. You are disgusting,” she spat.
Then, Nesta was facing him again with such sudden speed that Cassian braced himself for an attack, but Nesta only propped herself up onto an elbow. Her hair fell like a curtain over her shoulder, the flare of silver from her fingertips lighting the room with a sudden brightness.
“You asked why I read romance novels,” Nesta said, her voice having dropped suddenly into a quiet fervour that was no less chilling. “I read them because I was engaged to a boy who turned out to be cruel and I have watched a five hundred year old male discard and ignore me as he pleased. I would rather read about love than be in it. After all, I recall you saying that I was not worthy of love.”
“Sweetheart—” Cassian croaked. The blood had drained from his face and he knew that if he were to look in the mirror all he would see was a haunted ghost of himself. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to say that. You were so empty. I couldn’t reach you and so I lied. I thought you’d get angry at me, but instead you just walked away.”
“You are not unloveable,” he told her fiercely, when she remained silent and so fiercely sad his heart clenched. He had not known that she was engaged to that human filth. “You are the exact opposite. If anything—”
He stopped abruptly. Took stock. Her light was still glowing around them, illuminating the room in an ethereal mist which he would have considered beautiful if the two of them hadn’t been consumed by such agony.
“You’re not unloveable,” he insisted vehemently, after a moment’s pause. “And love doesn’t work like that. You can’t choose not to love, sweetheart. You know—”
“We decide how we act on it, that’s what matters,” Nesta interrupted, that mist sparking momentarily into flame before it was eaten by shadow.
And that was the crux of it. The truth behind the words—the calculated response that told Cassian that Nesta had thought of this over and over again. He would not change her mind when it came to him, because it all boiled down to her ability to choose. And he was not a choice. He had been thrust upon her. They were history rather than present. Would always be that way, it seemed.
Cassian fell onto his back as the gravity of the realisation crushed him with such force that for a moment, he felt as if he was choking.
“It was wrong of me to do those things,” Cassian said quietly, forcing out the hoarse words through the tightness in his windpipes as a result of the crushing disappointment. “All of it was wrong of me. I know that, Nesta. You may think I’m old but around you I find myself a teenager. On Solstice last year I didn’t know how to deal with the situation so I ignored you before you could do it to me and then regretted it later. I hoped you would speak to me. I hoped—”
That you would change your mind. That you would want to be with me. That you would stop fucking all those males. That you would forgive me.
But Cassian did not say those things. Instead, he said, “Look, we just need to pretend to be together for one more day and then you don’t have to think about being tied to anyone ever again.”
Silence.
That as all he needed to move. Logic told him that he should stay put—that he should remain calm and rational rather than affected—but the pain was too much and he found himself sitting up and pushing off the covers. He needed distance. In this room all he could scent was her—jasmine and vanilla—and it hurt, to be so close and know that he could not comfort her without the knowledge that she’d set him alight.
Cassian had thought he’d drawn a line under it all. Thought he’d accepted that he was content to co-habit with her and resist the undeniable pull between them for the rest of his days. But they had taken such big steps forward recently. Had thought things had continually shifted until all it boiled down to was their connection, which ran far deeper than twists of rope and a damn Cauldron.
At times, Cassian had even thought Nesta had wanted him to touch her. Had almost leant in to him. Walked close, stayed close.
Snorting, he discarded the memories, angry at himself for having wished for something that he had tried to put to rest.
“Where are you going?” Nesta’s words were sharp. The fanciful part of him detected alarm, but Cassian pushed it away. He knew better.
“To sleep on the floor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Again, Nesta moved with that extraordinary speed that Cassian should have accounted for. He had seen her in the sparring ring, had witnessed her move so fast that she was almost a blur. Only he could move that fast.
A mist-wreathed hand closed around his wrist with a strength that had his heart beating in his mouth and his siphons flaring. “Stay.”
Cassian ran a shaking palm over his face, pressing the heel of it to his eyes, hoping the pain of it would ground him. “I can’t,” he lied.
“You can,” Nesta said shortly, but there was a quiet plea lacing her voice. “You will.”
When Cassian didn’t move, Nesta tugged on his arm, urging him to join her back on the mattress. “Please,” she breathed, and this time Cassian did detect panic, as if Nesta had not bothered to conceal it. “I don’t want to fight with you. You’re the only—”
To Cassian’s dismay, Nesta broke off as her eyes filled with tears. When she spoke, her words were barely audible—small, “I like my life at the moment. I’ve never liked it before.”
Something cracked inside of Cassian, the sound internal and akin to the smashing of china.
“I don’t want anything to change,” Nesta continued. “I don’t want to have to move back to Velaris. I want to stay with you where I feel safe.”
Her expression cracked. The tight line to her mouth trembled and a frown twisted across her features. A tear slid down her cheek. “I said awful things to you,” she admitted.
“Yes,” Cassian conceded with a sad, tremulous smile, because even now he did not want her to hurt. “And I said awful things to you.”
“I wanted you to leave me alone. You scared me.”
“I know,” he replied. Because he understood what she meant. How even though his blood sang when she was near, he was equal parts terrified. “You scared me, too.”
“I needed to make you leave.”
“I know,” he repeated again. Because he knew that, too. Knew she had purposefully driven him away. She had wanted to hurt and be consumed with trauma. To finally feel nothing. To make sure the those she cared for were safe from her.
A broken sob had Cassian cupping Nesta’s face before he could help himself. Her skin was unbelievably soft against his calloused palms. He brushed a thumb over the arch of her cheekbone. “Nesta,” he breathed, waiting until she looked at him, until blue and hazel clicked into place. “I want you to stay with me. You never have to move back to Velaris, not if you don’t want to.”
Nesta did not reply. Did not move away. He bowed his head until his forehead was resting against hers, wanting her to know that he was sincere. That he wanted her to stay not because that’s what she needed to hear, but because he didn’t know what life would be like without her in it.
“I like living with you,” he told her again, because he knew somehow that she didn’t believe it. “I don’t want you to leave, either.”
Then he pulled her to him. She didn’t resist, her body pliant as he wrapped his arms around her. Cassian could feel Nesta’s heart, the sound pattering to meet his, as she wound her arms around his bare waist.
Her furled fists rested lightly against his skin, the pressure welcome and wonderful as she finally held him back.
“So, you won’t sleep on the floor?”
Such a small voice. Vulnerable and trusting. A voice she didn’t use with anyone but him.
“No,” Cassian assured her, knowing that staying was something he would never refuse. Something he couldn’t. “I won’t sleep on the floor.”
When he lay on the edge of his pillow closest to hers, Nesta settled beside him. She found his hand beneath the blankets, her fingers threading through his.
The initiated contact had his blood thrumming and he resisted the urge to pull Nesta back to him and wrap her in his arms.
An indeterminate amount of time passed.
Cassian listened to Nesta’s breathing as it became even; the slow, relaxed beat of her heart. The sound of his, thumping in tandem. Watched her eyelids flutter shut and her features soften. Felt how her fingers remained entwined with his.
“We would have crashed and burned. I would have dragged you down.”
Quiet, sleepy words. A confession, really, and Cassian stilled in surprise at the honesty that was not spat or wringing with deadly venom, but level. And if Cassian allowed himself to be rational, he knew that Nesta was right. Despite the thorny, overgrown path they were trampling down, it had all been necessary. Trauma, internal conflicts, self-doubt, complicated relationships… there were so many things that the both of them had needed to face before they could be truly content. What was it Cassian had said to Rhys when his brother had asked about his happiness? I’m working on it. He still was, but with Nesta beside him, still holding tight to his hand, Cassian found the world a little brighter, despite the shadowy future that lay ahead of them—a shape that had not yet taken form.
So, Cassian allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. “Maybe I’d like to be set alight.”
A soft snort. “That doesn’t mean you should.”
Then, Nesta’s fingers squeezed his. Soft breath travelled across the pillow to caress his cheek. “Goodnight, Cassian.”
He wondered how many times Nesta had actually said his name without being in mortal danger or when she had needed to get his attention. His name sounded intimate on her lips, a whisper of a prayer across the void that he hoped was narrowing between them.
In his mind, Cassian raised her hand again to press a kiss to her knuckles, even as he merely tightened his hold on hers.
It was in that moment of calm that Cassian vowed that he would change Nesta’s mind. That he would spend this gifted time showing Nesta that they might be strung together but that he had chosen her, if she would have him.
In the flickering silver light, Cassian felt Nesta began to slip into unconscious. Felt her fingers loosen their grip on his, but he held on tight, and said, “Goodnight, Nesta.”
Tags: @arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775 @iwastoowildinthe70s @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @san-y-a-blog
149 notes
·
View notes
Note
i watched tvd for the first time last year with my friend (she'd already seen 4 seasons while it was on air but stopped) when we finished it she sent me some of your posts because they were EVERYTHING we were ranting about and discussing throughout the show lol and then we read your fanfiction. i adore your stories and the way you write! i was wondering if you could pick 3 moments of angst, 3 moments of fluff, 3 moments of smut from stelena fics that you're really proud of, which would those be?
ooh, thank you! and hmm, great question.
3 moments of angst
1. Basement scene, "Just This Night"
“Stefan…”
He picked a bottle and stared at it but didn’t turn around.
“Stefan.”
He didn’t answer her and stood still.
Elena walked down the last three steps. “Can’t you even look at me?”
“No,” he said finally.
Elena felt a pang in her chest. “Don’t say that,” she said. “Please don’t say that, Stefan, I—-”
“I can’t look at you,” he said. “Because every time I do look at you, I see him all over you and it makes me want to set the house on fire.”
Elena opened her mouth to say something but couldn’t find any words that would rectify the situation.
“Every time I look at you, this morning plays over and over in my head and I want to get black-out drunk just to forget it. Every time I look at you and see his mouth on you, I want to bash Damon’s head into a wall over and over again and the guilt of that, the shame of that, is suffocating so no, Elena, I can’t look at you because looking at you kills me.”
“I’m sorry,” she managed to say. “I’m really, really sorry, Stefan, I shouldn’t have done it.”
“That’s the thing, you should’ve,” said Stefan. “You two are together, you’re married."
2. Zip-up scene, The Problem Is...
Stefan ventured further into the room and as he approached her, Elena turned toward the mirror again; she sensed his presence at her back and shivers erupted along her spine and arms, even her legs. Slowly, he began to zip up her dress and Elena closed her eyes as she felt his lips brush the nape of her neck, just barely grazing her so that her body was aching with the frustrating pleasure of near-contact. When he was done fastening her dress, Stefan’s hands slipped up from the material, onto her bare back; his fingertips were gentle whispers on her shoulders, lightly stroking her skin and her lips parted, her breath caught in her throat, her heart rate increased…
Elena sighed his name. “Stefan.” She faced him, leaning into his body and immediately, he put his arms around her and she folded into his embrace, clutching onto his jacket. “I missed you.”
“I missed you,” he said and he held her even tighter, his mouth atop her head, in her hair. Elena blinked slowly in comfort, in relief and her hands slipped up to his chest and she pulled away slightly so that she could look directly at him. After a moment she lowered her gaze to his lips. Stefan paused, an expression of conflict passing over his face, and then he closed his eyes and pulled away further so that their embrace was almost broken.
“We can’t,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “I know.”
3. "Marry him" scene, Painted Altar
Stefan didn’t say anything for what felt like a long time. He continued to gaze at Elena in her dress, his eyebrows furrowed, his jaw clenched and his eyes red and anguished. He allowed himself one minute to envision himself downstairs waiting at the end of the aisle with a rose in his lapel and two men standing next to him; one minute to see himself in his mind’s eye, waiting with the excited urge to bounce on the balls of his feet, his face alight with joy; one minute to indulge in the beautiful fantasy of waiting for Elena Gilbert to walk down toward him to be his wife for eternity. Then he closed his eyes and breathed a tortured sigh.
“I think,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I think you should marry him, Elena.”
“You what?”
“I think you should marry him,” he repeated. His tone was more urgent now, desperate. “You said it yourself. You said that you loved him—”
“It’s not enough!” said Elena incredulously. “It’s never been enough.”
“It was enough for you to stay with him for three years,” said Stefan harshly.
Elena put her hands to her head and clutched her hair. “Why can’t you just let yourself be happy?”
“That’s Damon.”
“No,” said Elena. “Damon … he struggles with responsibility and someone loving him, someone expecting things from him? The responsibility of that freaks him out.”
“And being with you helped him overcome that.”
“And you,” said Elena, speaking over him. “You don’t think you’re being responsible unless you’re unhappy. You don’t think you’re being a good man unless you deny yourself what you want.” Elena looked at him, her eyes pleading and Stefan turned away.
“He’ll know, you know,” said Elena suddenly. “He’ll know that I’m unhappy and that will ruin him.”
“You would never tell him,” said Stefan at once. “And he doesn’t know now.”
“Of course he does,” said Elena. “We fight about you more than we fight about anything else, I just keep denying all of his suspicions. Our bond … it can’t be ignored, Stefan. Not by anyone.”
Elena started to approach him but Stefan took a step back, moving so that he was in front of the painted altar. He couldn’t bear for Elena to touch him in that dress, it would kill him.
“Elena, please,” he begged.
She didn’t listen and came toward him, his eyes closed and his face turned away from her but Elena put her palms on the sides of his face and brought his gaze to her. “Stefan,” she said. “Stefan. I love you. OK? We can’t hide from this anymore.”
Stefan leaned forward and kissed her hard on the lips, one hand on her cheek, the other on her back, feeling the corset ties that fastened her dress. He tortured himself with the taste of her tongue, the softness of her lips; utterly ripped himself apart with rediscovering the feeling of coming home, of finding solace and thrill in her arms, in their hold. Elena threw her arms around Stefan’s neck, melding into his body, arching her back to push herself deeper into the kiss, into him, their embrace an eternalized moment beneath the painted altar.
“If you really love me,” said Stefan between kisses, his breathing ragged, his eyes finally giving way to tears, his lips swollen and burning, his hands trembling against Elena’s face. “If you really love me you’ll marry him. You’ll do that for me. Elena, please.” He kissed her again, closing his eyes, feeling more tears stream down his face. “Please.”
3 moments of smut
1. Bloodshare, Counterpoints
At that moment Elena sunk her fangs into Stefan’s neck and felt him his readiness intensify beneath her. He let out a groan that reverberated throughout her bones and that made her suck harder, causing him to moan louder. His cries made her itch her tongue above his wound as she drank and he squeezed her in response. Elena sighed, relishing the intensity of his pleasure; it was a gateway into how he felt, what he felt, into his fears and dreams, his hopes, his disappointments, his priorities, his arousals, into his very being and Elena revelled in it. Without warning, Elena felt fangs pierce into her back just behind her shoulder and she mewled as she fed; stricken with a pleasure that brought her to an immediate climax that shattered her completely and that didn’t stop, but that erupted in wave after wave after wave after …
2. Library scene, The Problem Is (because I had to do an Atonement-esque scene, dammit)
he moved her across the room until her back was against a bookcase. The hardcover spines dug uncomfortably into Elena’s skin but she couldn’t have cared less not with Stefan pressed against her, his kiss reckless, almost wild, almost reverent.
“I want to see you,” he gasped and he undid his mask, letting it fall indelicately to the floor, by his feet so that he stepped on it when he melded into Elena again. Her hands were everywhere on his body, gripping his neck, gliding down his back, combing through his hair and she pushed him to her so that his body was pressed even harder against hers. Months of restraint, of lingering stares and unspoken wishes, were coming undone in this moment, being fully realized in this embrace.
Elena slipped her hands beneath Stefan’s jacket and slid it off so that it fell to the floor, feeling his muscular arms through his shirt and beneath her palms. She loosened his tie, ridding it from his neck and undid his collar so that she could kiss him along his throat, listening as he sighed appreciatively. Her fingers made quick work of the rest of his buttons while she felt his hands on the back off her dress, undoing the zipper, his lips grazing across her shoulders. Elena pulled away, panting heavily, catching her breath, and started to fumble with Stefan’s fly but he growled in impatience and brought her lips to his again, lifting her so that her legs were wrapped around his middle and so that she was half-sitting on one of the shelves, some of the books falling to the floor with loud clunks. Her dress was pooled around her waist now and Stefan’s mouth was on her throat, her chest, between her breasts, his hands kneading her back, unbuckling her bra and Elena gasped, clutching one of the shelves above her head. Stefan reached up and put his hand over hers, their fingers entwined. Elena felt him hard between her thighs and she moaned, longing for this; she longed for this with her entire body, it was excruciating.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” she whispered.
Stefan wrenched away from her and looked up into her eyes, his breathing ragged and his gazed aroused and raw and … tormented.
“What?” said Elena breathlessly. “Stefan, what is it?”
“Elena, I can’t,” he said. “You have no idea what it’s like, to want you like this, to crave you like this but I can’t do this and see him everyday, I can’t go further than—”
She kissed him, her lips soft, her mouth hard. “We won’t,” she said, panting. “We won’t go further than this. I just…” She pushed her lips against his again, putting new meaning behind it, kissing him fiercely, sadly, with want for more. She breathed into his ear. “Stefan, I—” He pulled away from her and burrowed his face into Elena’s neck, his hands skating over her skin, losing himself in the taste of her, the smell of her, anguished with self-control, keeping himself from getting lost completely like wanted, like she wanted. He wrecked himself with the feel of her, his hand squeezing hers against the bookshelf, her fingers digging into his knuckles
3. Reunion sex, What's A Soulmate?
This was too much. Too — she — he — Elena forgot how to speak, how to think, how to breathe. Her body convulsed in waves of pleasure so penetrating that she didn’t know how she could possibly not die.
It felt like — she felt like — he — they —
The clatter echoed in Stefan’s ears but he couldn’t stop feeding, he couldn’t stop moving; Elena was everywhere on him and he was revelling in her essence, her very being, she’d allowed him that access, he was alive to experience that access and that was — it was — he was —
Stefan’s body tremored with the same severity it trembled from before and he quickly extended his arm, turning his hand into a fist, and he crashed it down on the carpet, creating a hole through the material and through the wood; the impact of his punch splintered the floor throughout the living room. His other hand reached for the leg beneath the couch, his hips rotating, his tongue lapping, Elena’s blood on his tongue, her legs around his waist, her moan in his ear —
“Stefan…”
He thrust into Elena hard and deep, clenching the wooden couch leg in his hand, splintering it in his hold so that the couch became lopsided.
3 moments of fluff
1. Taking care of drunk Elena drabble
Stefan grinned as he made it back to the bed. “Sit up? Arms up.”
Elena raised herself into an upright position and lifted her arms. Stefan swiftly slid off her tank top and dressed Elena in his shirt, gently putting her arms through the sleeves.
“What about my jeans?” she said.
Stefan tried not to laugh at Elena’s drunken attempt at a seductive expression.
“Miss Gilbert, are you trying to seduce me?”
She smiled in triumph. “It’s working, right?”
Stefan moved so his face was only a breath away from hers. “Absolutely.” He kissed her forehead and helped her inch out of her pants, then picked up her tank top and put her clothes on a nearby chair.
As he opened the decanter of water sitting on the table next to the armchair, Elena bunched the front of Stefan’s shirt into her fist and bent her head to inhale the scent of the material.
“I love wearing your shirts,” she said.
“I know,” said Stefan, pouring her a glass of water. “You’ve stolen about five.”
“Seven, actually.”
Stefan put the water on the nightstand and then lay Elena down. “I love sleeping in them even if I’m home and you’re not there,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around a pillow.
“Seven shirts? I consider that larceny.”
“I don’t care,” she said, hugging the pillow tighter.
2. Food fight, Only If For A Night
Whoosh. Hiss. Sizzle.
Stefan broke away and looked behind him to the stove. The pot with the spaghetti was overflowing. He rushed back over and lifted it off the burner, draining the pasta in the strainer.
“You’re distracting me. You can’t be in the kitchen,” he said.
“But I like watching you cook.”
“Then you have to watch. Stay there.”
“But I can’t see from over here. Let me help.”
“Remember the last time?”
“The fire extinguisher was right there! Come on, I can do something.”
Stefan turned his head to look at her, she looked back.
“Fine. Come here.”
Elena grinned and skipped over to the counter by the stove.
“You can start on dessert. Work the dough with your hands.”
Elena shifted over to the sink and rinsed her hands beneath the faucet, wiping them off on a tea towel, and then she dug her hands into the silver bowl in front of her, kneading the dough.
“Like this?”
Stefan glanced over to what she was doing then turned the heat down on all of the burners and moved from the stove to the counter. He stood behind Elena, his front pressed against her back and he put his hands in the bowl with hers, their fingers entwining as they both massaged the dough. After a while, Elena hooked some on her index finger then turned around slightly to smear it beneath Stefan’s nose, giving him a moustache.
“There,” she said, barely containing her laughter. “Much better. You look so much more sophisticated with a moustache.”
Stefan stared seriously at her for a minute and then abruptly grabbed fistfuls of dough and slathered it in her hair.
“STEFAN!”
Laughing, he used his speed to zoom away from her as Elena reached for the cutting board and hurtled diced onions and tomatoes and parsley at him by the handful. Quickly, she opened the fridge, taking out a bottle of Heinz and raced toward Stefan, squeezing all of the ketchup onto his head. Stefan retaliated by grabbing clumps of the spaghetti and throwing it at her. They continued to run around the kitchen, their bodies a blur of speed, chucking fruits at each other, spraying condiments on one another, dumping juices and sodas on each other until they were grimed and slicked with food. Breathless and exhilarated, Elena hid behind the breakfast counter, stooped low as Stefan stood in the kitchen.
3. Wind Down, Confrontations
Stefan nodded and then eyed the packages surrounding Elena. She shrugged. “I told you I could break him,” she said.
Stefan grinned an walked over to the bed, falling flat onto the mattress.
Elena put her hand atop his head, lightly brushing his hair. When he looked up at her, she took out another marshmallow and put in between her teeth. Stefan leaned forward.
“That’s why I only put five packs in the cupboard,” he murmured. He sunk his teeth into the other end of the marshmallow so that his lips pressed against Elena’s, kissing her.
“Where are the rest?” she said, smiling, but Stefan kept kissing her until she started to giggle.
“Tell me!”
He shook his head. “I’ll never surrender.”
Elena kissed him again, deeper this time, and he responded with an enthusiasm that made it clear his passion from this morning hadn’t left him. She felt herself beginning to sink into him, felt herself itching for more and didn’t know if she’d be rational enough to stop herself when she’d already delayed their gratification a few hours earlier.
Luckily, Stefan pulled away just an inch, his chest heaving with unfulfilled desire, eyes hungry and aroused and happy. But there was something else there too; Elena could feel it. It was only a second but he had that silence to him that consumed him sometimes, when the demons of his past
“How was your day?”
Stefan sighed and then rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. He reached beside him and stroked Elena’s arm.
“I have to go to Syracuse,” he said.
*BONUS FOR ANGST*
Wedding Scene, Endure Choices
Caroline made it to the altar and Stefan took her by the hand as she moved to stand in front of him. He could see Elena in the periphery, just behind Caroline and a little to the right. Her head was turned toward them like the other bridesmaids but her eyes were lowered. Stefan looked back to Caroline who was smiling incredulously. She put her hand on his cheek.
“Aww, your face is red,” she said. “Are you going to cry?”
“No,” Stefan whispered. He smiled. “I won’t cry, I promise.”
She giggled.
Damon started the proceedings and something within Elena shrunk painfully, there was a weight on her chest that made her want to sink onto the floor. It hurt her to be so devastated with grief on her best friend’s wedding day and she wanted to the ceremony to be over so she could feel ashamed in private, so she could endure the extent of her sorrow alone because watching the two of them together opened within her a wound beyond healing
“The couple has prepared their own vows…”
Elena closed her eyes at the words. Is this what she woke up for? To suffer for a choice she thought she needed to make but that only caused her massive destruction.
“Oops.”
Caroline fumbled with the piece of paper she’d written her vows on and it fell to the floor. When she bent to pick it up, Elena took this moment to glance at Stefan. Just once. When he wasn’t paying attention. She lifted her head slightly to gaze at him and saw that he was already looking at her, raw-eyed and clenched jaw. Her lips parted. Something within her contracted. And she felt the tears before she knew what was happening; she didn’t sniffle or blubber, she merely cried silently, stoically, accepting the warm streaks down her face.
The emotion that had been swelling in Stefan’s chest burst beyond repression and a tear dropped from his eye as he watched Elena cry. Caroline stood back up, blocking most of Elena from Stefan. She looked at him.
“You did cry,” she said.
“Sorry,” he gasped as another tear fell. “I am so sorry.”
Caroline smiled and started to read her vows as Stefan and Elena kept each other in their sights, staring at one another through the corners of their eyes, as one tear fell after the other.
Damon turned to Stefan. “Brother, your turn.”
Stefan’s eyes fluttered. He refocused his attention to Caroline who beamed at him. “Caroline, I …” He pressed his lips together.“I am not a perfect man and I never want to hurt you. Ever. You’ve seen me through so much. So I … I vow to you today to do everything in my power to be the man that you deserve…”
Elena chewed on her bottom lip as another tear fell, the salty sadness stinging her tongue. Stefan powered through even though he was torn inside with longing and guilt and shame and sadness.
At the back of the venue, behind the guests, two people listened to the ceremony with lazy expressions; one was picking at her nails and the other was eating some of the wedding cake with his fingers.
“I have to say, I’m disappointed. All I heard in Hell were stories about the Infamous Katherine Pierce and your flare for making an entrance. All you did was wake up Elena Gilbert. Not to brag, but the last time I crashed a wedding, the bride died and so did, like, fifty guests. This is just boring.”
Katherine turned to Kai. “This is more personal than that. I don’t just want to kill them for what they did to me, I want to destroy their lives and everyone knows, including Caroline but she’s just being an idiot, that Stefan Salvatore and bland, simple, self-righteous Little Miss Elena Gilbert are each other’s One True Loves. They will never get over each other. And nothing pleases me more than Stefan watching Elena watch him marry her best friend while Damon watches Elena’s reaction to Stefan marrying Caroline and Caroline being Caroline and burying her head in the sand, acting like none of this is happening. It’s going to rip them all apart until finally one of them snaps and I’m going to be there when that happens. They’re going to destroy themselves over this little love rhombus and then when they’ve psychologically and emotionally torn each other to shreds, I will kill them all.”
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Dinosaur and the Vampire Part Two (carlisle cullen x reader)
Request: hi can you do a one shot for Twilight where the reader is best friends with Bella and is there at the car crash in the first movie, they go to hospital and that’s where the reader meets Carlisle, really fluffy, thanks
Word Count: Long
Pairings: Carlisle Cullen x Reader
Warnings: nothing
A/N: This is part two of this request because it was so highly requested!! Thank you so much for the love and support!! I’m back re-reading the twilight series so if you have any requests just send them my way<3
MASTLERLIST
“I’ll see if we can sort this thing out.”
It was the last thing he had said to her with a small and yet reassuring smile before he turned and walked through those pale doors and apparently, y/n’s life. She hadn’t seen Dr Cullen since the day of the accident. Hell, she had barely seen his adopted children. Spring was warming into summer, the sun glittering down through the immense greenery and the Cullens were never around when it was sunny.
Bella and Edward were getting closer with every passing day. He had taken over their morning ride together, stopping by in his silver Volvo to pick Bella up, every so often flashing a smile at y/n as she climbed into her own less flashy car. Edward was kind enough to leave Bella to y/n after school, considering they both finished with gym. It was precious time for the pair as they recounted their day and filled each other in on gossip, none of it proving to be that interesting. Well, apart from the budding romance between Bella and Edward.
Despite y/n’s secret complaints every time Bella disappeared from a study session or cancelled a trip to Port Angeles, she knew her prejudice came from no genuine malice toward Edward. After all, he was lovely. Since the day of the accident his attitude towards y/n had done a 180, before he had never so much as spared her a glance and now he smiled at her in the corridor, even sat next to her in English, the only class they shared together. He made little conversation, most of it was inquiring after Bella but it was nice to have made a new friend.
It just seemed unfair. They way he had spoken in the hospital made it seem as if something would happen, perhaps an apology gift or an invitation to their mansion up in the woods. Something. Edward’s cordial behaviour was pleasant but in no way satisfactory. Y/n wished in every spare moment to see the doctor again, and when she wasn’t wishing to see him she was imagining what it would be like to see him. Maybe he’d pick the Cullen’s up after school or maybe there would be some big event in town which everyone went to. It was a silly thought since the Cullens were rarely grouped with ‘everyone’. So her mind of drifted to the idea of herself being injured, dragged into hospital only to have his face, angelic and flushed in light hovering above her.
“Stupid.” She muttered under her breath, dismissing the thought instantly. Bella threw her a glance, “Forgot to carry the one.” Y/n lied as she smiled and looked back down at her barely touched maths homework. All this pining and obsessive thinking made her feel so little and insignificant. She felt like a student with a crush on their teacher, and in many ways she was. Every time his name or ivory face rolled into her mind a small voice in her head protested.
She hated that voice. It was the one that reminded her she was only a junior in high school. The one that mocked her, told her that he was an adult with a job, a medical job that must have demanded a couple of years of study pushing him into his late twenties. What doctor has time for a high school student with a crush. A crush that was so overt she couldn’t even talk to Bella about it. Bella who had quickly grown into becoming her best friend, Bella who was dating Carlisle’s adopted son, Bella who was currently packing her things into her bag with haste.
“Where are you going?” Y/n hated the small whine in her voice and tried to play it off with a smile. She wanted to be happy for Bella and Edward and deep down she was, they were just a reminder that she was getting nowhere with her own crush and, most likely, never would.
“I’m running up to Edward’s to pick up his Bio questions. I forgot about them and he offered to help.” She smiled, oblivious to y/n’s anguish.
They were camped out in Bella’s room, a strange sounding CD playing in the background as they finished off their schoolwork. It had become a bit of a ritual to spend time with each other doing insignificant things. Bella was nice like that, never desperate to go anywhere or really do anything, happy to stay inside. Plus Charlie liked having y/n in the house, he was always asking her questions about her parents, grateful Bella was able to make such a good friend so soon.
“M’kay.” Y/n followed in suit, shoving her unfinished problems into her bag. This was her cue to leave. “How is Edward by the way?”
“He’s...fine?” Bella smiled wryly through her lashes, “Why are you asking?”
“Oh, it’s just, you always fill me in on your gossip but never actually tell me how he is.” Y/n smiled back as they both padded down the stairs.
“He’s fine. I think. His family’s a bit nervous about us actually.”
“Oh.” Y/n tried to make her voice sound as inconspicuous as possible, hiding her feral craving for more information on the Cullens.
“Well...it’s mostly just Rosaline, you know the blonde one.”
“The gorgeous one.”
“They’re all gorgeous.” Bella sighed.
“You got that right.” Y/n muttered under her breath. Pale hair melting into pale skin - the human equivalent of snow.
“Anyways,” Bella sighed not hearing her, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yup!” Y/n called over her shoulder as she hopped the fence between their two houses, pulling the keys out of her pocket.
A loud engine revved distantly followed by the squealing of car tires as a silver blur flashed down the street before halting in front of them. Edward. He was out of the car quickly, a broad grin stretched across his cheeks. He was smiling at Bella, of course. Y/n was happy for them, smiling to herself as she pushed her keys into the door.
“Hey y/n!” His voice was both silken and broad.
“Hey!” Y/n spun around shooting him a grin, “How are you, I haven’t seen you for a while.” It was nice now that she was able to actually carry a conversation with him, that they weren’t just strangers.
“Yeah weather’s been nice, Carlisle took us up this trail in the mountains. It was beautiful.” Edward said his name so casually and yet the word stunned her for a minute. It had been so long since she had actually heard it said aloud.
“Oh,” She murmured, her breath somewhat stuck in her throat. His eyes were careful, assessing her despite his broad welcoming smile. “Well you owe me,” Y/n relaxed back into the conversation, “I’ve been taking over Bella runs to school.” His laugh was loud and rare.
“Hey!” Bella half-protested tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, “I didn’t realise I was such a burden to you guys.”
“Aw, it’s okay.” Y/n smiled, her keys feeling slippery in her fingers, “You make up for it with good conversation.” Y/n turned back to the door, mentally preparing for her night of microwaved meals and algebra.
“Y/n,” Edward’s voice surprisingly called out, “I’m running Bella up to mine for some biology questions but I wouldn’t mind if you came. I’ve got that first edition Hardy I was telling you about in English.”
The offer was most shocking to Bella who turned, utterly stunned, to gawk at her boyfriend. Y/n felt as though she had just been slapped as her heart lurched, sure her and Edward were chatty but the fact he was now inviting her to his house - the Cullens house. She did a quick mental calculation. On one hand she was invading Bella’s privacy with Edward but it was him who offered the invitation, on the other hand, well she might just see him. If it were anyone else y/n would have politely declined and been happy with soggy potatoes and Pythagoras, but she felt completely and utterly compelled to accept. The mere chance that he might be there in that house was enough for y/n to waltz her way into the back of Edward’s silver Volvo.
***
Edward drove like a maniac and somehow, that made sense. Y/n gripped the edge of her seat as she glanced out the window focusing on the never ending blur of blue and green. The conversation was casual and somewhat stilted but y/n couldn’t even try to care, her mind was already there in the Cullens house. She pictured popping into Edward’s room to grab the book and bumping into him, or the scenario where he was in the kitchen, or what about seeing him as he comes home from work, wearing the same pale shirt and tie.
Y/n hated how obsessive her mind was. But it genuinely felt as though she couldn’t help it, as though she had no control over her thoughts whatsoever. A small knot had twisted its way into existence in her gut and what was worse, they had already arrived.
“You guys can stay for a bit,” Edward got out the car heading into what can only be described as a mansion. “I’m pretty sure everyone’s out.” These seemed to ease something in Bella but had the opposite effect on y/n. Trying not to think about it y/n was quick behind Edward and Bella who had loosely interlocked their fingers as they walked in.
Taking her time, y/n absorbed what was probably the most beautiful house she had ever seen. Wood and glass flowing from wall to wall in eccentric shapes and patterns. Artwork y/n would never understand slung across the walls. A grand piano, smooth like silk displayed in the corner
“Oh, y/n.” Edward called her back to reality, “I’m pretty sure I left the book in the kitchen, I was going to bring it to you tomorrow.” Y/n was taken aback.
“Wow, thanks Edward. You really didn’t have to.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He smiled, “You’re free to get it, Kitchen’s just up the stairs and to the right.” Y/n smiled at him gratefully before heading up the stairs. Partly to leave Bella and Edward in peace, partly to admire the home interrupted. She took her time going to the kitchen, admiring the way the Cullens lived. Of course they lived somewhere like this.
Once in the kitchen, y/n spotted a worn copy of ‘Tess of the d’Urbervilles’ waiting for her. Picking it up she thumbed through the first few pages noticing small faded scribbles in pencil - it would be nice to have a look in Edward’s mind.
“Y/n.”
All he said was her name and yet she knew in an instant who it was. Snapping the book shut and spinning around, there he was. His trousers were dark and tucked into them was a crisp shirt, white as skin and unbuttoned slightly, the sleeves rolled up to display his forearms. They looked like marble, pale and stony and completely solid. His silver hair was swept away from his face, his eyes a golden brown similar to Edward’s. “How did you...” he trailed off, his voice soft and distant, not a hint of anger.
“Sorry Carlisle,” Edward appeared out of thin air behind her. She took note of how he never called him ‘dad’. “I thought everyone was out. I brought y/n and Bella up to collect some things for school.” The two Cullen’s stared intensely at each other, something passing between them in that look.
“I’m sorry,” Y/n blurted after a moment, feeling as though she had intruded, “I’ve got what I came for,” She held up the book, “I can head back now.” She attempted a half-smile not meeting Carlisle’s eyes.
“It’s fine.” He said almost too quickly. His voice quiet, meditated. “You’re no bother to me.” The way he spoke, it was so elegant and unlike anyone in town. “I see you two are friends now after the accident.” Edward and y/n shared a glance.
“It was no big problem really.” Y/n felt herself melting into his presence, now more confident to steal looks at his unwavering eyes, fixed on her. “Just a scratch.”
“Still,” A smile had warmed into his stony cheeks, evidently comfortable himself as he busied himself with a folder already fanned out on the counter top, “Edward’s behaviour was unacceptable. He did apologise?” Carlisle leaned on his forearms, his smile widening.
“Yes...I did.” Edward groaned, y/n couldn’t help but giggle. He then turned to her, “You should’ve heard the verbal lashing I got when I came home.”
“Edward.” Carlisle warned, his smile dropping disapprovingly. Edward held y/n’s gaze for a moment before slowly reaching Carlisle's stare, again something seemed to pass between the two. “Did you say Bella was here?” Carlisle swiftly changed the topic.
“Yeah, I best go find her.” Edward added, the two easing the tension with expertise. “Before she falls down two flights of stairs and through a window or something.” He muttered.
“Wouldn’t put it past her.” Y/n agreed.
“Me neither.” Carlisle added distantly causing y/n to flash a smile at him. Edward bounded out of the room, distantly calling Bella’s name as he began his search. “Good book.” Carlisle commented.
“Yeah when Edward said I could borrow his first edition I was in shock to be honest.” Making conversation was disturbingly easy.
“You can take anything you want from our library, it’s full of first editions.” Carlisle said without thinking, “It’s sort of a...hobby. For us.” The way he said ‘us’ made y/n shiver, he knew that him and his family were exclusive, outsiders. Us and them, and y/n couldn’t figure out what side she was on.
“I have a feeling this one will take me a while but thanks. I’ll keep your offer in mind.” She smiled without thinking.
“It’s nice to see Edward’s making friends. We’ve been here a few years now and he’s only just branching out.”
“Well, ‘making friends’ is a bit of an overstatement,” She leaned back against the counter top, comfortable, “Technically me and Bella are the only two people he’s talked to outside of his own family. And I’m pretty sure he’s only putting up with me because I live next to Bella, that and your...verbal lashing.”
“It wasn’t that bad, honestly.” Carlisle chuckled to himself.
“Thank you though, nonetheless.” He eyed her carefully, his golden orbs flitting across her face and, unless she was mistaken, for a moment they glanced down her body.
“Your cut cleaned up perfectly.” He spoke into the silence, “No scarring at all.”
“I don’t think I would’ve minded a scar. At least it would be a conversation starter.” He laughed, it was softer than Edward’s, more rounded and from deep within his chest.
“Ah yes, then you could tell everyone about the time you walked into a car door.”
“Technically, I think the car door walked into me.” He laughed again and y/n’s chest swelled with pride. She was doing it, holding a conversation with him at ease. “It feels like ages ago now,” She pondered aloud, “And it’s really how Edward and Bella met. Funny that.”
“Yes.” He agreed, his eyes holding hers a second too long before he turned back to his paperwork. “Well,” He cleared his throat, “Best get back to business.” Almost like clockwork Edward and Bella appeared at the stairs, giggling to themselves about some inside joke.
“Yeah uh, I’ll see you around.” Y/n shot him a tentative smile. He didn’t say anything in response but his eyes were conveying an emotion she couldn’t quite comprehend. She already knew that look was going to stick with her.
“You ready to head back y/n?” Edward asked as he sidled into the kitchen. From behind him Bella shot y/n an apologetic look as if she were sorry for leaving her with Carlisle. How little she knew.
“Of course.” Y/n smiled at Edward.
“Okay, just head down to the car I’ll be down in a sec.” With one last smile at Carlisle y/n skipped a little to meet up with Bella before the pair headed downstairs. It wasn’t until they were far out the house and near the car that Bella started a conversation.
“Sorry for leaving you there.” She half-smiled.
“Don’t be.” Y/n tried not to smile too much.
“Carlisle’s lovely isn’t he?” The question caught y/n off-guard, it took her a minute to realise Bella was speaking of him as a fatherly-figure.
“Uh, yeah.” Y/n stammered, a pink flush spreading across her cheeks. Bella noticed and went to say something when she realised.
“Y/n, your book?”
“What?” Y/n was confused again before realising, looking down her lap was empty. Completely devoid of all 19th century classical text. “Shit, be back in a sec.”
And with that she was out, jumping up the house steps two at a time. When she was in the house though she slowed down again, afraid of the mere thought of falling and damaging anything within the house. As she moved through the house she became aware of somewhat raised voices.
“What game are you playing?” It was Carlisle’s voice, not angry, not anything. It was completely monotonous. It was wrong to eavesdrop but it felt like she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. On one hand it was rude to eavesdrop, on the other she was already stuck behind the corner of the kitchen and had no idea how to walk into the kitchen naturally, especially since the conversation had already begun and the Cullens would know that she must’ve heard some of it.
“I’m not doing anything.” Edward’s voice was soft as well. The pair arguing without arguing.
“What you’re doing is dangerous.”
“You’re so happy for me and Bella. Every time I enter a room all I can hear it you’re praise of approval. Why can’t you let yourself be happy.”
“Edward-”
“I’m being serious.”
“I don’t need this right now I’ve got paperwork.”
“If we were to live life your way you’d quite literally be doing paperwork for eternity.”
“The smell Edward. Even I have only so much restraint.” Whatever she was expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. Y/n was brutally offended. Surely, surely he wasn’t talking about her. Mortified, y/n tugged her shirt to her nose and inhaled deeply. It smelt like her mother’s washing detergent and y/n’s cheap perfume from Christmas. The statement had knocked her so off balance she wasn’t quite aware of Edward stalking in her direction. Hurriedly, she paced down three steps before walking up them as if it were the first time.
“Y/n.” Edward exclaimed loud enough for Carlisle to hear. Y/n looked at him, trying to mask whatever emotion she was feeling.
“Sorry. I forgot the book.” She smiled, hoping her eyes didn’t give her away. Edward said nothing, just disappeared and returned with the Hardy, gently passing it to her before leading her downstairs. Did he know she was listening?
The drive home was silent.
next part
requests open <3
Tag list:
@itsshelbygates
@quixoticcat
@pluckastarfromthesky
@flirtygerty
@sadbean18
@nialeesato
@the-fall-guardian-fox
@thechangingcolourswithinthewoods
@lazy-girl82
@bvbwestfall
@badedum-badaboom
@originalsoulcollector
#twilight#twilight imagine#edward and bella#edward cullen#Bella Swan#carlisle cullen#cullen#carlisle cullen imagine#carlisle cullen x you#carlisle cullen x reader#carlisle cullen x y/n
706 notes
·
View notes
Text
All of you
WARNINGS: NSFW. IM NOT KIDDING THIS IS ABSOLUTE FILTH. 18+/Pro hero au! All of it, all of it happens. Slight angst fluffy after care ending.
Your body seized as you threw your head back into the pillows, forcing your hand to continue its ministrations as you rode out another climax. Although you did not know how many you had achieved.
You only knew that you felt lonely afterward, so terribly lonely and the only thing that could ease the pain was the temporary high of fucking yourself.
Since clearly no one else was gonna do it for you.
Not to mention you felt utterly unsatisfied after each high point, no matter how fast or how hard it came, you never felt full.
Slowly starting again has your legs shaking, back pressed into the husband pillow for a semblance of human contact, sliding the dildo in and out as your fingers used your slick to slide across your puffy clit.
"F..fuck!" A gasp that echos around you before you encourage yourself, "Don't stop!"
"Fuck is right." The male's voice startles you, your eyes blown wide as you draw your legs to yourself, didlo forgotten on the sheets.
"B...Bakugou!" Damn were you embarrassed, mortified really as your ex stood in the doorway of the old master bedroom the two of you shared.
Although that was half a year ago.
"Wh...what are you doing here?!" Great, just great, he caught you at the worst possible moment. Even when the two of you were dating you didn't like having him watch not matter how much it excited him.
"Needed to return some old key for work, couldn't find it at my place. I thought it'd here." His dark burgundy red eyes made you feel dizzy, as if you're drunk.
"You didn't call or text! I..I" Tears burn your eyes as you pull the blanket around you. Wanting to pull it over your head and just die really.
"Don't be shy kitten." The old nickname causes your cunt to clench, you bit on your lower lip as he approaches you, "Why are you hiding from me?"
"Baku…"He cuts you off, hand tight around your throat as he rips the blanket from your shaking hands.
"Is that my name pet?" A growl in your ear before his face swims in front of yours. He watches for your telltale sign of floating, your eyes water, lashes fluttering as you fight to keep the panic at bay long enough for it to turn into pure pleasure.
"Answer me." His voice is steely, fingers pressing harder into that frantic pulse. Warmth washes over your whole body as you begin to feel light headed, soft fingers caress your skin as caramel floods your sense.
Funny how easy it is to fall into old habits.
"I…I'm sorry S...sama." You choke out, he smiles in response. Pressing his mouth hungrily to yours swiping his tongue along your lips, you part your mouth to allow him entrance. He dominates you with his harsh kisses, hand still pressed to your throat, giving you enough air to breath but choking enough that your vision blurs in your peripheral.
This kiss, Gods you felt like you could cum from this kiss alone. Higher than any drug you could ever get your hands on as you settled deeply into subspace, your eyes begin to roll. Suddenly Bakugou pulls away and with it all of his warmth. He leans back, a cruel smile on his face as he watches you hesitate to reach out to him. He could tell you wanted more of him.
No you fucking needed it.
"What's this kitten?" His voice is deep, filled with malice as he holds the neon pink dildo in his hand, "Looks like you were having fun."
Your head is far too high in the clouds to answer as your body hums in excitement, he has that look in his eyes, like he likes what he sees. Oh and does he like what he sees, his favorite sub, drenched in your own sweat and slick, cheeks burning red as your eyes scream fuck me.
And you know it's just a matter of time before he goes feral.
"Open your mouth." A simple enough command that you do, tongue extended for his pleasure. He chuckles before tapping the head of silicone toy to your tongue.
"Show me what that slutty mouth can do."
"Wha..what?" He shoves it into your mouth until you gag, a soft moan follows only widening his smirk.
"Kitten did you forget that quickly how much I fucking hate repeating myself?" He grabs for your hair, the pleasant burn at the base of your scalp has you soaking the sheets between his knees. He guides your head along pink shaft encouraging you to give him a show.
You suck and pull on the dildo pretending it was his throbbing cock instead of the lifeless silicone that slid between your lips. Mouth salivating with earnest as you remember his sweet salted caramel taste, a moan escapes your mouth from the thought of his hot cum hitting the back of your throat. You deep throat the toy, gagging again, eyes watering as you hold eye contact. Bakugou swallows thickly, the ache in his pants demanding attention as his cock begins to weep.
But he isn't done playing with his food.
"Tsk. Guess something never change huh? You just love sucking dick don't you filthy slut?" You moan in response, he watches your cunt quiver from his words.
Again he rips away your joy, just as you were working the toy over just the way he liked. You feel at odds with yourself as you breathe heavily, hoping and praying he says those magic words.
He doesn't say them just yet.
He removes his pants and boxers, freeing his thick member from their confines. He gives it an eager pump as you lick your lips.
"Do you want a taste of this?" Your mouth waters again, watching as he spreads that delicious precum across his length.
"Yes, Sama. I do."
"Have you been good enough to get a taste?" His voice is sultry as he lazily strokes himself all you can do is nod in response, eyes glued to the motion of his hand.
"I don't think you have, stuffing your own slutty hole and cumming until you've lost count." Your cheeks burn, how could he always read you like an open book, no matter how closed off you thought you were? He grabs you by the ankles, pulling you to him before he bends over. Breathing softly over your soaking core to watch it clench around nothing. His grin becomes wolfish as he dares to come closer to give your clit a soft lick. You mewl from the action, gripping the sheets to keep from forcing his head into your sopping cunt.
"Fuck I missed this pretty pussy of mine." His fingers go up and down your core as he smiles, "Tell ya what. If you're my good kitten and hold your cum while I eat I'll let you have a taste of me. Might just fuck you too."
A soft gasp leaves your lips, nodding in response. It was going to be hard, out of all of your partners Katsuki always ate you the best. He was always attentive, he knew when to thrust his fingers, when to suck and nip at your clit, hell it seemed he even knew when to grunt to let you know he loved every second of turning you into putty in his hands. He forced back your leg, biting at your inner thighs before he dove in. Tonguing your hole as his nose presses against your sensitive bud.
Moans echo around the room in a seemingly never ending string as he laps at your sweet nectar. He locks your bud in his mouth, nipping before tonguing it hard, thrusting his curled fingers into your core as he slides over that soft spongy spot. Stars dot your vision as you clench around nothing, screaming as you fight the tight coil in your stomach, holding it as best you can. Foisting the sheets and even his hair as you try to pull him away.
"S...sama please. I… I can't I…" He comes up to hold eye contact with you, fingers still thrusting into you. Hard enough it rocks your body.
"You will slut. I haven't had my fill." Purposefully he groans over your abused clit causing your head to fall back, he continues for a few moments more.
Just as you're about to release he pulls away, your body shakes in anguish and anger. Had he stopped a second later it could have been bad for you.
"Well it looks like you get rewarded sweetheart. Let me see that pretty mouth, I just might fill it with cum." He wipes at his mouth with a deadly grin, his hand smoking, filling the air with burnt sugar.
You bend over as he gets into his knees, arching your back to best show your ass as you attempt to take him to his hilt. You gag, the head deep enough it cuts off your air. You moan around him sending a vibration up his length. He grips your hair roughly, bobbing your head as he watches your face turn red from lack of air, gagging, adding more lube for his pleasure.
"F...fuuck kitten. Fuck!" His cock throbs in your throat. Using his free hand to leave a mess of scratches on your upper back.
"Fuck!" He pulls your mouth from his length with a lewd pop. Breathing heavily as his eyes burn with desire. Your stomach flips as he pulls you by your hair up to his mouth, kissing you deeply. Almost gently before going feral with his tongue. Tasting every inch of your mouth before he attacks your neck. Marking you with deep bruising sucks and pink bites. Hands burning on your ass leaving crude red hand prints.
"Assume the position." He growls, easily you obey. Turning away from him, face pressed into the mattress as you present your ass to him, wiggling it for a tease earning a quirk backed smack. He rubs the spot tenderly before slapping it again and again. Watching your folds glisten. He teased you by sliding his head up and down in your slick.
"You want this cock baby? You want King to dick you down so well you forget your name?"
"Y..yes." You whimper. He growls, fisting your hair pulling your head away from the sheets.
"Fucking speak up. Tell Sama exactly what you want." Again you moan.
"Please, please fuck me s..sama!" You try to move your hips for some friction but he holds you steady.
"Such an eager slut." He starts pounding into you, bodies flapping as he sets a brutal pace, "God you're just sucking me in kitten. Fuck this pussy was always my favorite."
Another blasted back slap lands across your cheek, welting into a thick hand print. All you can do is whimper and take his cock as your velvet walls suck him in, sliding against your sensitive spots. Bakugou spies the forgotten toy as a devilish thought washes over him. He reaches for the neon dildo as he speaks.
"You like sucking dick baby?"
"Yes! Yes sir!" You moan out, uncaring if your neighbors can hear you.
"Good. Then make sure I can hear you moan over this." Again he shoves the hot pink dick into your mouth. You suck eagerly and with sloppy tongue strokes and he demolishes you.
"Such a good kitten. Such a filthy sweet slut." Another smack sending you closer, "You sure are squeezing me. Gonna cum on my cock?"
You nod, moaning yes around the toy.
"Then you better cum hard." He moves impossibly faster, balls hitting your clit just right as you gag yourself with the toy. You cannot take it, the mattress and the world fall from beneath you as your vision is spotted black. Your body seizes, convulsing beneath his touch as you shake and wither as he fucks you through three more orgasms. Another builds as he presses down on your back, he never was satisfied until you were begging him to stop.
"S..samaaaaaa!" You try to warn, mouth abandoning the toy as he bends you to take him deeper. The pressure become immense before you break, cunt clenching him so hard he almost cums then and there. A clear liquid leaves you in spurts as you squirt all over him, leaving him the okay to finish himself.
His pace becomes sloppy.
"Fuck such a good girl, squirting on my cock for me." He groans, replaying your face over in his head before he looks down at you. Your tongue is threatening to leave your mouth, drool passing down your lips as your eyes roll into the back of your head. The sight is what sends him over the edge as he fills you with rope after rope of salted caramel cum. His throbbing cock bringing small mewls from you as he slowly brings you down. Rubbing your back and ass. Withdrawing himself to fold you into him but it is as if he cannot come to you fast enough. You claw at him, forcing your face into his chest as his strong arms envelop you, one hand running along your spine.
"You okay kitten?" His voice is soft, you wonder why the two of you let work tear this relationship apart. You shake and shiver in his arms, falling back to Earth at light speed. Tears well in your eyes as you cry into his chest. Feeling something for the first time in such a long fucking time.
"Shhh...shhh. Sama's got you." He coos, pulling you so he can carry you princess style, "Let's take a bubble bath to clean up and cuddle okay? Sound good baby girl?"
You sniffle, clutching at his chest as he carries you to the en suite. He sets you on the vanity. Wrapping you in a fresh towel before he roots around the bathroom as if he never left. Opening the linen closet growling as he settles for scented Epsom salt.
"I need to get her more bath bombs." He snarls to himself, drawing the hot water into the bath. He finds old bath rose buds and sets them into the water with the salts. He dims the lights, a small pop dances between his fingers as he sets dusty tea candles aflame. When he is satisfied he sheds his shirt, gently coaxing you out of the giant towel. He holds your back to his chest, gently sliding into the tub with you, wrapping his arms around your middle. When you finally relax a bit he sighs. Placing his forehead on the nape of your neck.
"Kitten I'm sorry. I took advantage or the sit.." You squeeze his arms to stop him.
"N..no. I n...needed that." You sniffle. Pushing yourself deeper into his chest. He sets his head atop of yours, one hand holding you close as the other traces over your bruises and bites.
"I needed that too." He answers honestly, "If...if you don't want a relationship I can always just be your Dom. Like how it was before."
Before, as in BEFORE either of you caught feelings. You shake your head, he couldn't be just your Dom.
"I want all of you Suki." You turn to face him, voice firm as you stare into his glistening eyes, "All of you."
He understands what you mean, you're telling him you need his unguarded heart.
"Then you have me." He leans in, his free hand holding your head in place. Katuski kisses you with such a tenderness you heart flutters. He pulls away slowly, eyes soft as they stare into that stunning color of yours.
"Always?" You ask meekly. He smirks as his cockiness and bravado return.
"Fucking always kitten."
551 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tutor Girl
Title: Tutor Girl
Prompt/Day: Day 10 - Movie/TV/Book Fusion
Tumblr name:
Rating: T
Brief summary: Inspired by One Tree Hill Season 1 Episode 3 - Are You True? Any possible triggering/warning tags: None
Ignoring the vicious pounding in her head, Hermione tapped her wand against the giant pile of musty books, giving them the command to sort themselves into their rightful place. She massaged her temple as she waited for them to finish. It had been a long day and she was looking forward to the end of her shift at the library when she could curl up next to the fire in the Ravenclaw common room with her book before bed.
With her tidying completed, she returned to Madam Pince’s desk to collect her things. Knowing the librarian hated any sort of noise, Hermione gave her a curt nod to say goodbye then threw her far-too-heavy bag over her shoulder before finally leaving.
Although the corridors were already dark, she didn’t have to worry about being caught out after-hours, thanks to her Prefect badge. If she came across Filch as she made her way to the Ravenclaw tower, Hermione could just say she was on rounds. He wouldn’t know any different anyway.
She lit her wand then turned the corner, making her way towards the great staircase. Distracted by the thought of reaching her destination, Hermione didn’t notice the shadow stepping out from behind the suit of armour until it was standing directly in front of her.
“Hey!”
Hermione jumped a mile, placing her hand over her pounding heart as she struggled to maintain her composure. She lifted her wand, ignoring the tremble of the light as she surveyed her assailant; a tall, redheaded Gryffindor.
Growling in frustration, she dropped her wand to her side again and righted her bag before carrying on her way, trying her best to ignore Ron Weasley as he fell into step with her, easily matching her furious pace with his gangly legs.
“Can I help you?” snapped Hermione.
She had no time for the wizard ever since he’d started making her best friend’s life a living hell for wanting to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team this year. Harry had it hard enough as it is, without the added grief from Ron Weasley.
“Well, I hope so. You’re the lucky witch who gets to be my tutor.”
“Yeah, right. I don’t think so, Ron.”
He carried on walking alongside her, frowning at the piece of parchment in his hand. “But you’re Hermione Granger, right?”
She stopped in her tracks, grumbling in frustration as she snatched the paper out of his hands, lifting her wand so that she could read the writing on it better. “I’m sorry. I’m best friends with Harry Potter.”
“Oh, well. My commiserations then,” Ron quipped in return.
Hermione’s eyes rolled so hard, she thought she might have gotten a glimpse of the back of her head. She waved the note at him. “I’ll take this and speak to Professor McGonagall in the morning and see if I can get you assigned to someone else.”
Folding the parchment up neatly, she stowed it in the front pocket of her bag and continued making her way to the staircase, trying to put as much distance in between her and Ron as possible.
“No, no, wait.” He hurried to catch up with her, grabbing her arm to stop her from running away. Goosebumps covered her flesh as his fingers made contact with her skin, although she did her best to ignore the sensation. “There is nobody else. I’d be fine with that if there was—”
“...if there were,” she interjected, unable to stop herself from correcting him. A blush creeped up her neck as soon as she realised what she’d done.
“See, you’re helping me already!” Ron gave her a lop-sided grin. It lit up his ocean blue eyes, even in the darkness of the corridor.
“Look, I can’t help you, and on top of that, I won’t help you. Got it?” Pulling her arm out of his grip, she pushed past him, deliberately hitting him with her shoulder. She bit her lip as pain radiated from the point of contact. Ron was fitter than he looked, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing her aggression hurt her more than it did him.
“Don’t you worry about me, Hermione Granger,” he called after her. “I reckon I’m going to be just terrific. I mean, that’s what getting a T in Potions means, right?”
A rush of guilt washed over her as she hurried away. Although she wasn’t a Hufflepuff, the desire to help was strong, even for an awful wizard like Ron Weasley. But she couldn’t allow herself to get caught up with him, not with everything else going on.
⁂
After a restless night, Hermione sat eating her breakfast alone at the Ravenclaw table. Ron’s words bounced around her head every time she closed her eyes. As a member of the tutor group, it was her job to help students who needed it, and she hated letting someone down. Still, someone like Ernie might still be able to do an okay job with the Gryffindor Keeper, as long as they didn’t clash heads.
To add to Hermione’s anguish, Harry had owled and asked to meet her late last night. The Quidditch team had poured water into his kit bag, drowning all his books and his dry clothes and he was finally at his wits end with them. He wanted to quit, and it took a long time for Hermione to talk him off the ledge.
It was so unfair. He’d done nothing wrong, apart from wanting to join the team all of a sudden. They were short of a seeker anyway, and Harry was good. She just wished there was something she could do to help him.
A flurry of activity at the Gryffindor table caught her eye. The Quidditch team sans Harry were saying goodbye to each other, leaving Ron Weasley, their ringleader, alone to finish his breakfast. The idea hit her like a bludger, and she was up on her feet before she even had the chance to say Blibbering Humdinger.
Slamming the piece of parchment from last night down on the table, Hermione slid into the seat opposite Ron. Her sudden appearance caused him to choke on his toast. Although the thought of him passing away in front of her was very appealing, she wasn’t one for murdering her classmates, however annoying they might be.
Lifting her wand with a sigh, she cast the charm to clear his airway. “Anapneo.”
Ron thumped his chest then took a huge swig of pumpkin juice. When he finally recovered, he flashed her that huge lop-sided grin again. “Thanks for that. What are you doing here anyway, Tutor Girl? This isn’t the Ravenclaw table.”
“Look, I know you’re struggling in Potions, and you might end up getting kicked off the team if you can’t get your grades up. Snape is super strict, I get it. And if you’re genuine about wanting to learn, then I can help you.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “That’s great! I—”
“I have two conditions,” she interrupted. “One: Harry does not find out about this, ever. Okay?” She waited for his nod before continuing, “And number two, you leave him alone. No more pranks or hazing. Just let him play on the team.”
Ron’s eyes burned into her with an intensity Hermione had never experienced before. It was like he could see into her soul. She resisted every instinct that told her to run away, and fast. Instead, she slid her hands under her legs, and gripped hold of the wooden bench she was sitting on.
Finally, he spoke again. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
Breathing out a long sigh of relief, Hermione relaxed. “Okay, good. Tomorrow morning, seven on the bench outside greenhouse three.” She pushed herself off the bench and smoothed out the wrinkles in her starched grey skirt.
“Wait, why can’t we go to the library to study? Rumour has it you live there when you’re not in class.”
“Oh ha ha. It’s greenhouse three or nothing. Take it or leave it.”
“Alright then.” Ron shrugged. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Seemingly done with the conversation, he continued with his breakfast.
No longer hungry, Hermione hurried back to the Ravenclaw table before anyone else saw them. She abandoned her half-eaten meal, scooped up her things then made her way out of the Great Hall, giving one final backwards glance at Ron, who was smiling to himself as he ate, looking very pleased with himself.
A flutter of excitement filled her belly as she passed into the antechamber and made her way to her first class of the morning. Maybe taking a chance on Ron Weasley might not be so bad after all.
41 notes
·
View notes
Note
Ineffable Husbands hurt/comfort for the writing requests thing please?🥺👉👈
Something Quite Unlike Most
Anthony J. Crowley liked to pretend that he didn’t care. He was awfully fond of acting indifferent and cold to other demons of Hell, and even occasionally to his friend*, Aziraphale. Demons like him, well…they didn’t actually exist. He wasn’t really a demon* at all, to be entirely honest.
He wasn’t sure what he was.
But he knew damn well that he was kidding himself if he thought he couldn’t care less about Aziraphale.
Especially once he received a very urgent phone call from the angel himself.
His phone rang once. Crowley didn’t pick up.
His phone rang again. Crowley glanced at it once or twice and didn’t pick up.
“I’m not going to pick up,” said Crowley as he picked up the phone upon hearing the third ring. Muttering a few colourful curses, he placed the receiver to his ear. “Yes, hullo, Angel, how are you?”
Aziraphale breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Crowley? Oh, hello, dear! Er- well, I’d be doing well, but I’m in a bit of a pickle.” He chuckled nervously and yelped. “Well, you see…”
“What the dev- Er- God? What have you done, Angel?” He tried to hide the urgency in his voice as he tapped his fingers against his desk, but his concern* was clear.
“I may have…er…well, don’t laugh at me, Crowley!” Aziraphale demanded with a slight whimper.
“I won’t bloody laugh, just tell me what’s wrong!” Crowley demanded.
“Someone gave me an old book,” Aziraphale confessed. “He was a really, really lovely gentleman. He was very tall with rather wavy ginger hair and had very odd eyes and cheekbones.”
“What?” Crowley asked in a mix of astonishment and blatant horror.
“Oh, yes! I was quite fond of his eyes, multi-coloured. Looked like the stars!” Aziraphale smiled pleasantly while simultaneously wincing in pain. “Said his name was Ben*.”
“Ngk,” said Crowley.
“Something wrong, dear?” Aziraphale asked in classic angel fashion (even whilst being in pain).
Crowley sputtered out a string of nonsense in an panicked attempt to tell Aziraphale to throw the book into the Pacific Ocean. “Tha- that wasn’t some kind bloke, Angel. What was the book called?” He was seconds away from bolting out the door.
Aziraphale sounded sheepish. “Well, it had a different cover at first. I thought it was a first edition copy of Huckleberry Finn, can you imagine that? Then when I opened it up, the first page said ‘The Lesser Key of Solomon*. Bless me, I’ve- ow!- no idea what that means.”
“It means that an undesirable just- oh, bloody- oh, b-bloody, good G- Satan. Shit!” Crowley knew exactly who he was talking about, especially when he mentioned his former boss*. “Angel, I’m coming over right now!”
“Oh, take your time!” Aziraphale said kindly, before letting out a dainty “fuck” as a result of the excruciating pain he was in. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “Goodbye, Crowley!”
And then he hung up.
“Damn it, Angel!” Crowley hissed as he sprinted out of his flat and to his beloved black Bentley. He knew he only had a few minutes before Aziraphale* burst into flames or- worse! Something much worse!
Not realising he didn’t have his keys, Crowley accidentally willed the car to start and started driving like a man possessed. The other cars on the road parted in waves as he slammed down the accelerator and sped to Aziraphale’s bookstore*.
On its own, the car’s radio dial spun around and landed on a station that was blasting ‘The Show Must Go On’. Crowley glanced at it in surprise and adjusted his sunglasses, still not slowing down.
Inside, my heart is aching…
He spun around a corner and nearly hit a jaywalking pedestrian.
My makeup may be flaking, but my smile…
Crowley swallowed a lump forming in his throat, heart racing.
…still stays o-O-NnN- Nearly there, Crowley!
He flinched as the familiar voice of his ex-employer crept over him. His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
Oh, don’t fret, darling. I’m sure he’ll be just fine.
“What do you want?” Crowley demanded, his voice shaking. ���He didn’t bloody do a thing!”
But you did, didn’t you? You betrayed me, Crowley. What ever happened to our side?
“There was never any ‘our side’,” he spat. “You wanted to- to destroy the world!” Crowley scowled and tried to turn off the radio, but it sent an electrical shock coursing through his fingertips. “Shit! Shit!”
Don’t be so foolish, darling. Shame about that human, though. If Aziraphale dies, well…hahahahaha…
“Shut up!” Crowley roared, and just like that, the radio clicked off.
Silence filled the car as tyres screeched and the Bentley arrived at the bookshop.
“Angel?!” Crowley shouted as he slammed his car door shut and rushed inside.
The bell tinkled and Aziraphale looked up. “Oh- ow!- C-Crowley, hello, dear!” he said weakly. He was slumped against a bookshelf, his wings visible and extended for some reason. His pleasant smile hid an obvious truth.
He was dying.
Crowley’s gaze, frozen with fear, landed on his friend’s wings with horror. They were turning black with some sort of secreted oily goo and the feathers were falling off, and Aziraphale was pale. Paler than usual. Circles were dark under his unusually dull eyes, and trickles of blood were making their way down his lips.
“How do I fix this?” Crowley said in despair. “How? D-do- do I- I…Miracle. I can do a miracle, can’t I, Angel?”
Aziraphale lifted his head and met Crowley’s terrified eyes. “Dear, listen, I’ve…I’ve tried it. Didn’t work, I’m- I’m afraid.” He let out a little chuckle. “Foolish of me to check. Should never have- well…sit with me, dear. For a bit.”
Crowley nodded and gingerly sat by Aziraphale. “Angel, there…must be some-something. Anything at all, I’ll do. Please.”
“It’s all right, Crowley,” Aziraphale reassured him, before coughing loudly and dabbing a bit of blood away with a handkerchief. “We could have run away together, you know? You wanted to.”
“Alpha Centurion,” Crowley murmured. “There’s nothing?”
“Nothing,” Aziraphale whispered. “Take my hand, dear. Only for a while?”
Crowley nodded again and intertwined his fingers around Aziraphale’s own. “I…I…Please, Angel. Don’t leave me.”
“We’ve had six thousand years, Crowley. Isn’t that enough?” Aziraphale tried to smile, but he grimaced instead. “I’m…sorry.”
“No,” Crowley said. “It’ll never be enough. I…I love you, Angel. For six thousand bloody years, and now I’m going to lose you because of- of- fucking Satan!” Tears dripped down his sharp nose and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. “Angel?”
Aziraphale did not respond.
“A-Angel?” Crowley mumbled, sniffing and pushing his shoulder. “Angel, please…”
The ‘please’ didn’t work.
Crowley swallowed and stood up. He took a shuddering breath and staggered to Aziraphale’s desk.
“DAMN IT!” he shouted, but it didn’t feel like enough. “DAMN IT! DAMN IT, DAMN IT, DAMN- SHIT!” Crowley picked up the cursed book and threw it across the room. “WHY HIM? WHY- WHY HIM? FOR GOD’S- FUCKING! HELL!”
He didn’t notice, but he was radiating a power that hadn’t been seen in centuries as he sank to his knees in despair. His wings sprouted painfully from his back, black as night, as he struck the floor with his fists in anguish.
“AZIRAPHALE!” Crowley screamed* with such vigour that the bookstore shook, the lights of London flickered, and the ground trembled. “GOD!” He pounded the ground and cried out for someone, anyone, to hear him. The Powers that Be had decided to be especially cruel that day, leaving him to ponder why they had chosen Aziraphale- his* angel.
Crowley, for the first time in his entire existence, sobbed. All at once, his anger went away, and all that was left was a crushing sadness that left him slumped against a pile of books in unwavering agony. His soul was shattered and his mind was empty, an awful combination for a heartsick demon-but-only-just.
He was silent for a long time. The only sounds in the bookshop were the occasional shuddering sob, and even that steadily dissipated until the world finally quieted down.
A hand lay on Crowley’s shoulder.
He looked up.
“Do you love him?” an elderly woman asked.
Crowley blinked and nodded, trembling.
The woman smiled. “I suppose it is possible, then. For a demon to love an angel. For one to change one’s plan. One’s destiny.” She tilted Crowley’s chin up with delicate fingertips. “I ask you again, Anthony J. Crowley. Do you love Aziraphale?”
“Yes,” Crowley whispered, and his heart ached because he meant it, really and truly meant it.
“Well,” the woman whispered, her fingers beginning to glow golden, “it is decided. Your angel must be returned to you. It is not his time. And you have proven yourself worthy, Crowley. May you forever keep my trust.” She turned towards the fallen angel (the truly Fallen one) and waved her hand over his pale forehead.
A light bathed over Aziraphale, and his wings fluttered and straightened themselves, the colour returning to a radiant white. The blood vanished from his lips and his eyes grew bright. Then, slowly, carefully, his chest rose and fell with the effort of taking easy breaths.
Crowley couldn’t help but stare in astonishment. “Thank you,” he murmured, unsure of what else to say. “Can I ask, er…” He rubbed his forehead and crept to Aziraphale’s side. “Who- what are you, exactly?”
The woman laughed softly. “I’m ineffable,” she said gracefully, and her form flickered and dematerialised from the bookshop, leaving Crowley to wonder if he’d just witnessed a true and genuine, bonafide Miracle.
Aziraphale’s eyes slowly opened and gazed adoringly at Crowley. “Hello, dear,” he whispered, his cheeks rosy and healthy. “I must apologise for leaving you, if only for a moment.” He smiled sheepishly.
“You bloody bastard,” Crowley sniffed as he pulled Aziraphale to his chest and held him tightly. “I thought I’d lost you. For good.”
“I never want to leave you, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied. “Not for another thousand years, at least. You still owe me crapes, don’t you? Can’t possibly go without trying those.”
Crowley chuckled as his eyes burned. “As many crapes as you can eat, Angel.”
“You really are quite nice. The nicest demon I’ve ever met.”
“I dunno. I dunno if I’m a demon anymore.”
Aziraphale looked puzzled. “Then what?”
“I’m yours,” Crowley said, and took Aziraphale’s hand in his to lead him out of the bookstore.
In the end, they were all right.
It really was ineffable.
༺═──────────────═༻
*friend, meaning the Olde English and Germanic ancestor of the word ‘frēon’, which in turn originally meant ‘one who loves’.
*the demon I refer to, of course, is based on the Greek word ‘daimon’, which is defined as a ‘divine power, fat, or god’. Crowley was neither. The real translation means ‘replete with wisdom’. Crowley didn’t have that, either.
*this marked the sixth time Crowley had ever been concerned in his life. They all, of course, had been concerning Aziraphale in some way, shape, or form.
*if this sounds familiar, then it should.
*another name is ‘Salomon is Regis’. It’s a cursed grimoire of demonology. Demons fear its power.
*Satan couldn’t outright kill an angel, but he could trick an angel into killing himself. He was quite fond of stealing faces of popular celebrities to do this. Aziraphale, being Aziraphale, didn’t recognise him.
*the curse was so horrific that Aziraphale could not miracle himself free.
*he had the location memorised to demonstrate how little he cared for Aziraphale.
*it is said his grief was so great that it shook the Heavens.
*Crowley never truly wanted anything more in his entire life.
#good omens#ineffable husbands#crowley#aziraphale#amazon prime original#fanfiction#request#fic request#anthony j. crowley#a. z. fell#miracles#Ángels#demons#god#angst#hurt/comfort#fluff#happy ending
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Nanny
request: “Hello, could you write something where a few years after the death of his wife Draco hires a new nanny for Scorpius and ends up falling in love with her... could have anguish, but the ending would be happy? Please!My first language is not English I'm sorry if you got confused.” - @trouxa2x
a/n: i hope this is what you wanted! and your english is great don’t worry :) also-there is a phone call which is in italics and song lyrics for La Vie en Rose by Edith Piaf in italics
pairing: Draco Malfoy x Nanny!Reader
word count: 2.2k
warnings: mention of death for like a moment
summary: After the birth of his son and the death of his wife, Draco Malfoy needs a nanny
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The day Draco Malfoy’s son was born was the happiest and saddest day of his life. His loving wife Astoria had been diagnosed with a blood curse that killed her moments after Scorpius was born. His first breath, had been her last. Although he knew this would be the likely outcome, it was still crushing. Draco didn’t like to talk about his emotions and knew the only way to get over his wife’s death would be to burry himself in his work as a Healer. But with a baby, he couldn’t just shut out the world. He needed help. It was obvious he was struggling.
During the long process of making amends after the war, Draco had some how become close to the golden trio he had despised so much as a child. Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione had all come by to meet Scorpius and check in on Draco. He looked awful. The bags under his eyes were worse than during the war. “I have a friend who is looking for some work as a nanny, she’s great with kids, babies especially. I’ll get you her number” Hermione said, rummaging through her purse looking for her contacts book. Draco nodded slightly. He had considered getting a nanny but the idea of another woman acting motherly toward Scorpius made him feel sick. However, Draco politely took the number and thanked Hermione.
As the months continued on Draco found it easier to care for Scorpius. He had taken up a job as a consultant for the hospital so he could spend most of his time at home with his son. But as the months stretched into years, Draco grew depressed. Scorpius became fussier and fussier and the hospital was begging for him to come back as a full time Healer. “It’s time” Draco thought. He looked through the drawers of his desk until he found the phone number Hermione had given him nearly two years prior. He dialed the number, feeling anxious and unsure of exactly what to say.
“Hello?” a female voice answered.
“Hi um is this Y/F/N Y/L/N?”
“This is she, may I ask who is calling?”
“Oh yes um this is Draco Malfoy. I’m a friend of Hermione Gran- I mean Weasley’s.”
“Oh hello! I remember she mentioned a few years back you might be in need of a nanny.”
“Yes! Well, I had been handling it pretty well but now I am finding myself in need of some help so I can go back to work…”
“I see. Let me guess, those ‘terrible two’s’ are in full swing right about now” she chuckled.
“Yes exactly! I was wondering if you would consider interviewing to become a live-in nanny for my son Scorpius. I am not sure for how long or what I would pay you but-”
“Don’t worry about that right now,” she interrupted. “I’m sure we could conduct a formal interview as well but may I come over and just meet Scorpius first? I find that sometimes the baby will tell the parent whether or not the nanny is the right fit, even before an interview.”
“Yes of course. Can you come over around 11 am tomorrow?”
“Yes. See you then. Good day”
“Thank you, cheers”
He hung up the phone. He looked over at Scorpius sitting in his high chair. The baby gurgled and threw some cereal to the ground. Then seeing his cereal on the ground, Scorpius started to wail at an incredible volume. The interview couldn’t come soon enough. The next day at 11 am sharp, Y/N knocked on the door. When Draco opened it, she was met with the chaos that had become his daily life. The house was a mess and Scorpius was screaming. “Hi, welcome. Sorry about the mess” he stammered, showing her into the house. “Nice to meet you Mr. Malfoy” she replied cheerily. Seemingly unfazed, she walked into the living room, put down her purse, and sat down next to the screaming baby. Draco watched her as she began to rub the baby’s back and started to softly sing. The baby slowly began to quiet down until he was quiet enough for Draco to hear what Y/N was singing.
~Quand il me prend dans ses bras, qu’il me parle tout bas. Je vois la vie en rose. Il me dit des mots d’amour, des mots de tous les jours, et ça m'fait quelque chose….~
The baby began to smile as Y/N picked him up and cradled him, still singing.
~Il est entré dans mon cœur, une part de bonheur, dont je connais la cause. C'est lui pour moi, moi pour lui dans la vie, il me l'a dit, l'a juré, pour la vie. Et dès que je l’aperçois, alors je sens en moi, mon cœur qui bat..~
She then began to hum the tune more quietly and sway lightly. Scorpius’s eyes fluttered closed as he drifted to sleep. She smiled and looked up at his father. Draco was standing with his hand over his mouth, tears falling from his icy blue eyes. “Are you alright Mr. Malfoy?” she whispered. He nodded. He cleared his throat quietly before speaking. “La Vie en Rose was the song Astoria and I used for our first dance at our wedding”. “Oh I’m so sorry, if I had known I wouldn’t have…” He shook his head at her. “No it’s alright. I just… miss her”. She tilted her head sympathetically. “From what I’ve heard of her, she sounded lovely. I wish I could have met her.” Draco nodded and looked down at his shoes, trying to hold himself together.
“If you would tell me where his crib is I can put him down so we can start the formal interview. If you’d like” she said, knowing a subject change was what needed to occur. Draco nodded and gestured for her to follow him. Once Scorpius was in his crib, the adults went to the living room to discuss the particulars of the arrangement. Y/N told Draco about how she discovered her love for child care when she worked as a nanny for a short time while traveling in France. “When I came back to England, I worked for a few other Wizarding families including Hermione and Ron for a short time. Ron actually nick named me ‘the baby whisperer’” she said chuckling. “After what just happened, I’m inclined to believe him!” Draco replied. Without needing to consider it, Draco offered Y/N the job.
A year later Draco was still kicking himself daily for not hiring Y/N sooner. His life and mental health had improved drastically since she moved in. He was able to go back to working at the hospital full time and help people like he had always wanted. The two had developed a close friendship and Y/N became part of his family. The house felt almost foreign when she was gone. Though she was a live-in nanny, Draco still encouraged Y/N to take days off, and when she would go, Draco missed her terribly. He could tell Scorpius missed her too.
“You’re falling in love with her!” Hermione teased. She had come over to see Y/N and Draco and knew immediately. “What? No, she works for me. That would be highly inappropriate” he replied defensively. Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco looked across the room at Y/N. She was holding Scorpius near a window and was pointing at something and talking to him. Scorpius was giggling loudly and clapping his little chubby hands. Draco couldn’t help but smile. There was no doubt that he was fond of Y/N, but did he love her? She was great with Scorpius, she understood Draco’s feelings (sometimes better than he did), and she was beautiful. But her beauty wasn’t just external, she had a truly beautiful soul. Another six months went by before Draco was sure. He had fallen for Y/N. He hadn’t meant to fall for her, but she was easy to love. He tried not to act differently towards her but after the realization of his feelings, he couldn’t help it. It started with lingering glances and lead to going out of his way to have little moments of physical contact with her. Whether that was reaching for the same toy to give to Scorpius, or squeezing her hand to get her attention while Scorpius was sleeping. There was not a doubt in his mind about it. He loved her, whole heartedly.
Draco woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of Scorpius crying. He rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed. He walked down the hallway and into his son’s room, only to find that Y/N was already there. She was standing with her back to the door, rocking Scorpius and singing to him. Draco stood outside of the room, leaning on the door frame as he watched Y/N calm the crying child. He couldn’t help but smile at her. Eventually, she stopped singing and spoke to Scorpius. “You are so loved Scorpius. Your dad loves you, I love you, and your mama loves in all the way from heaven.” Draco continued to smile but in a more melancholy way. Y/N had always made a point of talking to Scorpius about his mother, even though she knew the baby didn’t understand what she said. Draco still found it difficult to talk about Astoria, but Y/N had always insisted that Scorpius know how much his mother loved him, even though she was gone. She rocked him a few more times before placing him back into his crib. When she turned to face the door she smiled at Draco. “I’ll see you again in an hour or so” she joked. She walked past him and exited the room, making her way down to the first floor. Draco watched her walk away before returning to his room. Scorpius didn’t cry again that night but still Draco couldn’t sleep. He decided to go down to the kitchen and fix himself a sandwich, besides, if he was awake he might as well do something to pass the time. As he made his way down the hall to the stairs, he noticed a light was on in the kitchen. He walked down and found Y/N sitting in the kitchen. She was sitting at the kitchen counter eating a bowl of pasta and reading a book. She looked up when she heard him enter the room. “Can’t sleep?” she asked. He chuckled and nodded. “Welcome to the club. Look I even saved you a seat!” she joked, gesturing at the chair next to her.
He rummaged through the pantry and complied his sandwich. He then joined her at the table. She put her book down and angled herself in his direction. “You seem different” she said. He looked down at his plate, feeling a pit in his throat. He gulped. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You just seem…I don’t know, happier recently. I can’t put my finger on it”. Did she know about his feelings? Was she trying to bait him into admitting it? He forced himself to look at her. Even at 4 in the morning she was beautiful. He took a deep breath and decided to answer honestly. “I recently decided that I’m ready to open myself up to the idea of love again. Astoria wouldn’t want me to be alone for the rest of my life and something just told me its time” he said. Y/N smiled. “That’s really great Draco. I’m so happy for you”. She had a slight glimmer in her eye, she had to know. He eyed her a bit suspiciously. She laughed. “Ok ok don’t give me that look! Hermione might have mentioned to me that you had found someone and I had to ask! Whoever she is she’s a lucky girl” she turned back to her book.
Draco couldn’t believe what he heard. Y/N, the girl who some how knew him better than he knew himself, didn’t know he was in love with her! He smiled and rolled his eyes as he stood up and leaned his back against the counter, putting his hand over Y/N’s book. She looked up at him, some what puzzled. “Y/N, it’s you. I’ve fallen for you. Totally and completely” he said, hopefully sounding more courageous than he was feeling. Her jaw dropped. She couldn’t speak. She mouthed “me?” and pointed to herself. Draco’s smile widened and he nodded. She grinned. He cupped his hands around her cheeks and leaned in closely, so closely it was a wonder their eyelashes didn’t brush against each other. He waited for her to give him permission to close the gap between their bodies. “Kiss me” she whispered. He closed the gap and their lips touched, gently but still passionately. She stood up from her chair and rose to her tip toes as her hands played with his hair. The kissing became laughing as they came up for air. “I didn’t think it was possible to kiss someone and smile at the same time” Y/N said. “With you, I don’t think I’ll ever stop smiling”. There was a comfortable silence as they rested their foreheads against each other, enjoying being close. “I love you Y/N”. She looked up and into his eyes. “I love you too Draco”.
#draco malfoy x reader#draco malfoy x nanny!reader#scorpius malfoy#draco malfoy one shot#draco malfoy fanfiction#draco malfoy fluff#harry potter#harry potter au#draco malfoy au#hermione granger#ron weasley#draco malfoy imagine
335 notes
·
View notes
Text
Blackthorn Creek
Author: Randombtsprincessa
Characters: Park Jimin x Reader (2nd POV)
Words: 24.1k
Genre: Beauty and the Beast AU! Fantasy, Angst, Fluff, Smut!
Rating: NC-17 ranging till 18+ during the last scene, just to be safe.
Warning: Curses, magic, violence, conspiracy for treason, heavy insecurities, imprisonment of sorts, animal attacks, description of blood and injuries, mob mentality, invasion, stabbing, falling from heights, death, marital sex, first time, kissing, fingering, unprotected sex (be careful folksies!) And a whole lotta cheese cause it’s Jimin and I love him.
A/N: The following work is part of the Twisted Fairtytales: Members in Distress for @ksmutclub I had the idea for this story sitting in my WIPS and thankfully, the project came at the perfect moment! I hope you all like it as much as I loved writing it!
A major thank you and a glomping hug to @cuziloveyou7 and my amazing best friend for all their support for the fic!
The night was chill.
Pale, gossamer links of snow knitted across the glass of the castle, the granite of the stairs seeping the cold through to the skin.
A light chatter was interrupted when the front doors thudded – once, twice and then another time.
It was late, after all; much too late for any visitors, too rude for guests to show up…
The King, a benign man, stood from his seat near the fire, guards surrounding their liege. The Queen looked up at her husband, worried but the King patted her shoulder, beckoning for the doors to be opened.
It would be rude to leave the doors barred too, of course. It could be someone in need.
He watched, curious, as his Maitre D’, Seokjin, walked slowly to the doors. His arms flung the heavy oaken doors open, a flourish to his actions.
“Welcome,” Jin spoke in his exaggerated voice, “to the Castle of Blackthorn Creek. To what do we owe the pleasure, and to whom, may I ask?”
There was silence, much too thick, much too tense to be someone in need, to be a friendly visitor.
“I am here, to see your King. Bring me to him.”
Seokjin stuttered in his vigor, an unnerved stance taking him over as he glanced back to the royal couple, a question to his eyes.
The King cast an eye to his right corner, where his trusted advisor sat, his shoulders visibly tight. Namjoon cleared his throat, a warning sound. “I will see him.” The King said instead, knowing it would be better to see what the stranger wanted.
His guards circled him, his wife remaining behind as he approached and stood behind Seokjin.
“You are in the presence of our Lord and King.” The man announced, drawing away with a stiff bow – unlike any he had performed before.
The King stepped forward, and looked at the man who stood at his doorstep. The man, in turn raised his head, allowing for the dark hood atop his head to fall back. His head was cast in shadows, the whites of the eyes visible as he spoke.
“Your Majesty, I have come from far lands for the pleasure of your company.”
“Consider the pleasure ours, please do come in. What can we do for you?” The King waved a hand, dismissing the surrounding guards as the stranger tilted his head, walking in with his head still held high. He stopped right inside the threshold, as the inmates of the house gazed with wonder and some horror at his visage.
His head was shaven, dark marks etched into the near blue-white skin of his face. His arms bore similar marks, sheathed in crimson robes that were certainly not the fashion of those times.
“Well,” The King pressed.
The stranger slowly blinked his unnerving eyes, a flash of green lighting them. “I hear tales of your kingdom, your generous reign in my homelands. I must say I am not disappointed.”
He finally turned his head to where the Queen sat. “I also hear tales of a beautiful daughter. Your little Princess,”
There was a ringing silence. Guards shifted in their positions, Namjoon and Seokjin drew closer to the Queen and the King froze. To all but the mysterious stranger’s eyes unknown, a small figure crouched at her mother’s skirts, face turned curious to the sudden tension in the air.
“What do you want?” It was the Queen who spoke. Her crown glinted in the firelight, her body clenched on her chair. The stranger didn’t look at her when he answered the question.
“I come with a proposal. I offer my hand in marriage with the Princess.”
There was another pause, albeit much less tense as movement started.
“Preposterous; she is but a child.” This came from Namjoon.
“I am willing to wait.” The stranger said coolly.
“Then you will be waiting forever. I will not give my child to any godforsaken man who happens across my door and throws around absurd ideas. You will never have my daughter.”
“I will be a good husband, and a good king.”
“My Liege; do we have permission to draw arms?” The guard closest to the King asked, his hand already drawing closer to his sheathed sword.
“Nay, no bloodshed; just throw this madman out to the snow.” The King spat, his cloak whirling as he turned to go back to his family.
Behind him, his men converged, arms raised to push the stranger out the palace gates.
Time seemed to slow as the men gathered around his form, which had straightened to as tall as he could get.
“You’ll find you’ve made something of a mistake…Your Majesties.”
A cruel smile curled his lips, hands cupping near his stomach. His large sleeves gave way, revealing the etched marks and even as they pulse green, his form erupted in green light, exploding out till it engulfed the entire estate.
The King buckled, his arms wrapping around his wife and child as the men began to shout, and darting away from whatever it was the demon man unleashed.
“Hear me, O great King; for your impudence, I place your most beloved under this curse. You will be reduced to nothing but a fixture; your entire household will be mere pawns to be used by commoners. And your daughter,” The smirk widened, finding the small girl who still hid, now visible to everyone as their horrified gazes found the young princess.
“Your daughter will be left all alone. Her beauty will now be gone, her temperament destroyed. She will be feared, loathed, a monstrosity that will live with your enchantment.”
“She is a child! You are hurting a child!” Finally, an anguished wail escaped the Queen but the wizards over spoke her, drowning her words.
“At the age of twenty and three, she will be rendered thus permanently. Not a thing but the truest of love can rescue her and break my curse. Only the one who will look past her form will win that honor.”
The light faded with the man’s silhouette, the only thing that remained in the blazing glimmer of the settling curse. Movement ceased, the fire died into its embers…
“You will soon find that I am the only man who is merciful and worthy enough.”
These last words echoes in the halls, sealing through the stone and glass until another sound replaced it.
The screams of a terrified little girl…
Time seemed to flow like water after the screams died.
Nobody took courage to go up to the Palace, find their rulers…the town forgot they even had rulers. Administration moved into common hands, spread to the citizens and the legend of the lost royal family became a ghost story.
The path to Blackthorn Creek remained abandoned, silent, and derelict.
In the town of course, the ghost story didn’t matter. Life had moved on, become busy, become full of bustle.
Park Jimin threw the doors of his father’s work room open, sticking his head in to check once on the aging man.
“Father, I’m out to the baker’s. Shall I bring back something?”
There was no answer from his father, just a distant sigh that said there was nothing that could be brought back that would satisfy him.
Jimin drew back, unable to curb his rising disappointment. There was something in the slump of his father’s shoulders, ever since they’d moved into the developing town of Blackthorn Creek that, as much as the exuberant Jimin tried, he simply couldn’t shake.
Perhaps, it was his mother’s death that took their house and worldly belongings. Perhaps it was the sinking of his father’s patent ship, causing such debt that there was no hope to pay it back with nothing to put up for interest.
The Park family had to relocate from their luxury in France to the eastern countryside, to this small place. It had taken all the merry from his father’s life.
Jimin, however, worked hard to keep his spirits up. This was a setback yes, but his father was a genius. He was sure to come up with another pitch that would work out. And even if he didn’t; well, Jimin would always be there to take care of his beloved father.
A basket in hand, Jimin cocked his hat, setting out for the day.
The town, as small as it was, was full of life around midday. The market bustled, the streets running with people and the pub was always open, till as late as it could get.
But even through the color, there were shades of grey. The cheerful Creek had one mighty legend; one of the local royals’ disappearance. There was a long winded street that was barred from the public, leading up to a small hill, behind which there was said to be the palace.
He had taken these myths with a small smile, aimed at the person trying to call for his attention with these stories.
But even he had to admit, such tales of mystique piqued his fancy in the most delightful way. France had been exciting, especially for a young man such as himself. Plucking him out and placing him in a much smaller world where things were…stagnant, did cause something of a blow to his vigor.
Jimin stopped, contemplating the bookshop that lay just at the edge of the forbidden path. He had a few books still remaining back home, left to be read – but perhaps, he could squeeze in another couple?
“My boy,” The shopkeeper chuckled at the frown on the young man’s face. “Are you done with those piles that you took already?”
“Not quite, sir,” Jimin grinned. “I might just pop by again soon enough.”
The shopkeeper gave him a toothy grin, watching the man glance in some wonder at the blocked off road. The mountains had already started to grow slick with frost – sign of another passing winter. “Here,” he said suddenly.
Jimin stuttered in his forward steps, retracing back to where the stooping elder held out a pale bound tome from the front window. “Sir,” he raised his eyes in puzzlement.
“It’s a little something special I had lying about collecting dust. It was surprising that this one hasn’t caught your eye as of yet but I’m sure you will enjoy it.”
Jimin gave the friendly man a smile, letting the soft book fall open upon his palms, sifting through the delicate pages. “What’s it about?”
“The very thing you’re so curious about; lost princesses, brave knights, curses, fairies…” The book keeper burst out laughing at the soft blush that crept along Jimin’s cheeks. “You don’t need to be coy, son. Our little legend is bound to attract someone.”
“I must thank you sir. I will return it as soon as I’m done.”
“Oh by all means, keep it. It’s better suited to your hands than the shelves in this old place.”
Jimin blinked. “That’s a generous gift. I hope I do it justice.”
“I’m sure you will. Now off with you; the market isn’t going to stay open all day.” The man waved Jimin off, returning to his shop.
Jimin found himself quickly immersed in the fantasy, the short stories of courage, chivalry, sacrifice and fire keeping his nose well buried in the musty pages as he found the daily shopping that he was required to do.
All was well, until the book was snatched out of his hands, a giggle soon to follow.
“Hello stranger.”
“Hyebin,” Jimin sighed, looking around to where the young girl had snapped the book shut decisively.
Hyebin had been the girl to whom Jimin owed most of his knowledge of the town. Raven haired, slim and tall, she was the beauty of the town, sister to one of the most renowned hunters in the nearby vicinity – Kai. He and his sister had taken over most of the social scene of the town, near to becoming the law itself.
And Hyebin had her eyes set on Jimin ever since he set foot within the pub; by proxy, leading her brother to pester him with offers of her hand.
“May I have my book back?”
Pale glimmering lips pouted at him, the book still clutched in her hands. “You never pay attention to me, Jimin. Not when you have books about,” she said.
“Of course that’s not the case.” The man said smoothly.
“It is so. What’s so special about books anyway?” Hyebin took a step further back, too quick for Jimin’s reaching fingers. She pried the book open rudely. “They don’t lead to too much around here.”
“There’s more to books than just material gain, Hyebin.” Jimin was becoming impatient – his eyes fixed on the way her nails dug into the delicate binding.
“If you say so, when we’re married; would you still pay more attention to books than me?”
Jimin dearly wanted to say that that would never happen but he settled for resignedly bouncing on his toes. “What if I read to you?”
“I’d fall asleep.”
“I see.” This time Jimin moved fast, hands grabbing the book from Hyebin’s distracted hold long enough to fall back a safe distance. “I need to go back home. Give your brother my best.”
By the time he got home, his father had put away his new working equipment, instead pacing about in the handkerchief living room.
“Father,” Jimin greeted, putting up his hat.
“Son, how…how was the day?” His father stopped marching, coming up to take the basket of shopping from him.
“Normal, had to dodge Hyebin as usual,” he muttered, making his father chuckle.
“One of these days that girl will marry you still.”
“Such a horrifying thought,”
“Then let me put you to ease.” Mr. Park put his hands on Jimin’s shoulders, making his son look him in the eyes. “There has been some development. The ship that I lost at sea, a year ago, has been heard from. I have been called to attest to it.”
Jimin took a moment to process the news, watching his father’s eyes light up with something that was fearfully hopeful. “Do you mean that --?”
“Possibly; if it is true, we can go back to our old lives again! Think of it, Jimin! Paris, France, the beautiful sprawling house that we had to give up. Your education…” The man smiled affectionately, “We’ll have to find you a lady to wed who is at par with you.”
“Father,”
“I set off tonight! It will be a day’s journey but I know you can watch over things here.”
Jimin watched as his father hurriedly moved to the door, a coat and hat finding their way on his body and his cane and horse whip clasped to his breast. “Wish well for us, my son, our lives could be soon close to change. Do you wish for me to bring you anything back?”
“No father, just you,” Jimin bid farewell to his father, watching him disappear within the small stable to gallop away.
When Mr. Park had set out for the harbor, his spirits had been up soaring in the clouds, visions of his life returning to him in his previous splendor. Now, stood at the wooden ledge, watching crestfallen as merchants, traders, moneylenders, once his friends but now…now they had gathered around his returned goods and scavenged and distributed everything among themselves.
“Your debts are clear, Park.”
“Jimin won’t have to be in debt to us anymore, sir.”
“Go back home sir,”
Just words…nothing more, no comfort found his heart when he straddled his horse again, starting the long trek home.
The horse wouldn’t gallop, possibly sensing its master’s indolence and Mr. Park was overcome with a sudden wave of gratefulness for the animal. After all, he would have to strengthen his bones; he had to deliver the news to Jimin.
The idea of disappointing his son was probably more harrowing than that of losing his wealth yet again.
At least now they were free from debt.
There was a small whinny, attracting the older man’s attention as he looked up to see which path he was on. It was long, thin, winding up a hill he had never seen before in his life.
“Hey boy, I think we took the wrong way.” He patted the horse’s head, before getting off, grabbing the reins. “Let’s find a way out.”
A few miles in, Mr. Park stopped, short of breath.
“Where in the world are we?” He growled low, ignoring the shuddering animal behind him as he trudged on when a high, pitched sound made them both freeze.
A wolf’s howl…
There were wolves around. Mr. Park was alone with no weapons and no idea of where he was. His horse let out a sound of protest again.
“Damn it all too hell,” Mr. Park quickly climbed the horse, kicking it to speed. “Take off, boy; we don’t have any time to lose.”
His ride raised back its front legs, before racing down the way they had come.
Jimin had been anxious all day, toiling in the small garden that his father had managed to build in the front of their house. Sweat had gathered his dark hair into clumps, matting his eyes so when he hear the familiar whinny of Geureum, the horse, he smiled naturally – relieved that his father was finally back home.
“Ah father, nice to –,” he turned, his smile vanishing slowly when he saw the horse alone, pawing his hooves into the dirt, snorting impatiently.
“Geureum, where is he?” Jimin grabbed for the horse’s reins, pulling it closer to soothe it. “Where is Father?”
All Geureum did was shake his head roughly, stepping back and forth.
“Can you show me where he is, huh, boy? Come on,” He slipped his foot in the stirrup, hauling himself into the saddle. “Take me to him, Geureum.”
Geureum stopped only once when he reached a huge, wrought iron gate, roses and swans intricately welded to the metal, now rusty from disuse.
Something had prickled Jimin’s hairline when Geureum had approached the blockaded hill up to the legendary Blackthorn Creek palace but the horse had circumvented it, riding up a much thinner path up.
Jimin slipped off of the horse, patting Geureum on the side. “Stay here, boy.”
And then…with a creek that echoed through the cold night, he entered the palace, walking through huge oaken double doors to find his father.
He had to admit, for a second, standing in the atrium of the castle, he was struck by how grand it must have been. The ceiling peaked, now broken in with many of the granite slabs gone, the starry night sky clearly visible. Dirt and mud had accumulated on the marble floors, muffling the clicks of his boots just a bit.
“Father,” he called loudly before cursing to himself.
What if someone heard him? He wasn’t exactly supposed to be here.
Jimin shook his head. Who would hear him? It was a deserted castle with its family long gone. There probably had never been a family; the town had probably spun a yarn to make it special to tourists.
He crept up grand staircase, sticking close to the rails.
“Father,” he called again.
“Jimin…?”
He whirled, looking around for the source of the sound. “Yes, father it’s me.” He ventured, noticing a hand slipping out from the bars of a door. “Father!” He dropped to his knees in front of the door.
“Jimin, what are you doing here? You can’t be here, you have to leave!” His father was wailing from within, his hands grasping air in search for Jimin.
“What are you saying? Of course, I had to come! Who did this to you?”
“No! Don’t you see, Jimin? It’s true, the legends, the stories, they’re true!”
“What is true? Father, tell me who did this to you?”
“The monster; there is a monster in this castle!”
Jimin paused in trying to pry the door open, widened eyes swiveling to his father’s outstretched hands. “What?”
“It’s true! Please you have to leave! It’s dangerous!”
“Father, that can’t possibly be true!” Jimin said adamantly only to be proven wrong the next second.
A roar that sent Jimin’s hair rising to its ends erupted, echoing around the cavernous halls. A heavy weight landed on his shoulder, throwing him away from the door.
“What are you doing here?”
If there was a god, Jimin had better start praying to it, he thought, cowering away from the hunkering shadow that loomed over him. All he could discern were bright yellow eyes, slanting dark pupils glaring at him and the appendage his father had left hanging out the bars.
“Jimin!” His father chose to shout at the very moment.
Jimin watched the – the – thing – rise upon its legs, prowling further in but still remaining in the dark corner. “What are you doing here?” It asked again.
Jimin blinked slowly, trying to make sense of what was happening to him. Here he was, in an allegedly cursed castle. His father was locked up, raving about monsters and now he was face to face with what appeared to be a huge animal…only, it talked like a human.
“I…I came for my father.” Jimin stuttered, trying to push himself back up.
The yellow eyes flickered, between Jimin and his father, before creeping back into the shadows. “You came in vain. The prisoner will not be released.”
“No wait!” Jimin called, shuffling to his feet as the figure began to draw back. “You can’t keep him here like this! He’s an old man, he’ll die!”
“THEN HE SHOULDN’T HAVE TRESPASSED IN MY HOME!”
Jimin froze at the sudden roar, managing to grab onto his father’s hands finally. This was real. The legend was true. The people living in the castle were monsters, cursed.
“Your…please – I’ll do anything.”
“No! He’ll stay here, locked up because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.” The monster began to disappear.
“Take me.” Jimin took a step forward.
The figure paused.
“What, Jimin, no – no, listen, you can’t do this!” His father yelled.
“I mean it. You take me, let him go.” Every word strengthened in his throat, conviction pushing him forward till he was barely a meter away from the monster.
“You – You’d do that? You’d stay here, in exchange for him?”
Jimin met its eye. Bright yellow to Jimin’s deep brown, when it stepped finally into the small lighted part.
Coarse, shaggy fur coated a huge, lumbering form. The bright yellow eyes that seemed so unnerving were set in a canvas of a ferocious face, the fur streaked with grey and black, a huge snout for a nose and huge fangs that protruded from its mouth.
A lesser man would’ve burst a lung screaming at the horrifying sight but Jimin managed to hide his face, backing up till he could feel his father trying to clutch at the back of his shirt.
“I…I would. Let him go and you can take me.” Jimin finally said and he was proud to say that his voice remained steady.
There was a ringing moment of doubt, flickering in the golden orbs of the monster, before with a growl it raised its paw. Jimin flinched, cringing away from the blow but it never fell. Instead, he heard a dull, metallic thunk and the heavy padlock fell to his feet.
Mr. Park fell out; the door giving way under his weight and he clung to Jimin. “No, no, please, don’t take him, keep me – I have nothing to live for anymore but my son has a whole life.” His father begged to the monster but the only reply they got was a ferocious roar. “GET OUT! If you value your life and your son’s, leave; or I will kill you both!”
The monster turned on an enormous heel, stomping back into the darkness.
The tower that Jimin was pushed into had one small window, a little too high for him to reach, but he managed to hike his nimble body up till he swung from the ledge. His fingers reddened from the strain but when he finally peeked through the window, he just barely caught the end of a huge cart, led by a snorting and neighing Geureum.
He dropped from the ledge, landing squarely on his feet upon the uneven flagstone and cursed, running two hands through his ruffled hair.
“Hello sir,”
Jimin jumped, whirling around at the smooth voice that sounded nothing like the awful grate of the monster’s growl.
“Right down here.”
Jimin backed up as far as he could against the wall before casting his eyes downwards. There was nothing on the floor, soft moss growing within the cracks with one slightly buffed up candelabrum left behind.
“Hello,” the voice said again.
“Where are you? Look, I’m not scared of anything anymore so you’re doing nothing,”
“Of course not, sir, it’s me…Kim Seokjin, the…” a sigh, “the candle holder.”
Jimin took a shuddering breath, before very slowly diverting his eyes to the golden instrument on the ground.
It wasn’t very huge, just barely above average but the sweeping extensions made it seem bigger than it needed to be. Dripping wax clung to its arms where the candles stuck, the gold sheen pale yet glinting in the bare light. Just on the handle, there was an etching…just like one of a face. Even as Jimin watched, the candles lit up, making him flinch.
“Please follow me, sir.”
Jimin gulped.
“Follow you where?”
The candelabrum, to Jimin’s astonished eyes, seemed to turn on the base.
“The Mistress is installing you in a room of your own. The household doubts you want to stay in the tower.” There was something caustic about the smooth tone of the thing. It made Jimin almost bristle and refute before he looked around the tower he was put in.
It was one of the spindle shaped ones, too thin and a little rickety. The window that he had tried to peek out was the single one allowing light in and he could feel some vertigo setting in already, if the nausea was anything to go by.
“Fine – lead the way.” He said.
Jimin had already gauged that the palace had been luxuriant in its time but now, walking quietly through the long hallways with…an animate object bouncing along in front of him, he had to admit; that the ruin that now faced him didn’t seem adjacent to what the palace must have been before.
The stone, now greenish grey had gnarled carvings etched into them. The statues that stood at corners had most of their heads broken or missing and the small beam that the candles gave off only made him all the more unsettled.
“We know it’s a little…dull – around here but we hope you’ll like it.” It was as if the thing knew what was going on in Jimin’s head.
“You said ‘we’…and ‘household’ before…but except for you…and…well, the monster,” Jimin stopped talking when the candelabrum winced.
“You…might want to be careful about that. The Mistress is sensitive and none of the people in the castle will appreciate you calling her that.”
Jimin nearly tripped on his feet when he finally processed something. “That…that thing is a she?”
He was ignored. The candelabrum stopped in front of one of the doors, double door, handles of glum silver. “This is going to be your room, sir.” Jimin didn’t answer, quietly reaching for the handle and turning it, letting himself in cautiously.
The room wasn’t lighted, most of the darkness only marred by the light streaming from a glass window. He could spy a bed at best.
Jimin was about to step in further, squinting his eyes when he heard a loud creak, possibly a considerable weight upon a floorboard and then the clink of metal.
“If you don’t like the room, we can move you.” He heard but instead of the smooth, cool voice of the candelabrum, it was gruff, low and sullen.
He whirled to see a huge part of a shadow standing well back into the room. A heavy cloak wrapped up the body, concealing it further within the darkness.
Jimin didn’t speak as the form lumbered to the open door.
“Your needs will be seen to here. My servants will attend to you.” There was a pause before it took hold of the door. “And you will meet me for dinner; every night.”
The slam of the door made Jimin jump; his immediate reaction was to run to the door and look through the keyhole. There were footsteps and a murmur of conversation but aside from that, the entire palace seemed silent.
Jimin huffed, walking over to the window to open it, casting a furtive look outside and letting out a scornful laughter. He was a good way up the ground. Jumping from the window would mean certain death and even if he only escaped, it would be with broken bones and with no horse.
He doubted the ‘Mistress’ would nurse him back to health.
“My sweetest sister,” A finger brushed under the supple cheek of Hyebin, turning her attention to her brother who loomed over her at the counter of the pub. “What has you down?”
Hyebin pouted, throwing Kai’s hand off. “I went by Park Jimin’s house this evening to see if he would take a turn with me. He wasn’t there. The house was empty.”
“Maybe he went off with that father of his.”
“Why would he? There is nothing to do for him.”
Kai cast a glance at his grumpy sister, feeling the brewing of an odd emotion that he had had for her for months now. It was a mixture of pity, annoyance and yet the unyielding need to present whatever she wanted on a golden platter. He knew that Jimin did not return even half of a quarter of affection that his sister had and while he was annoyed at her overzealous devotion, he knew that she would never falter.
She got her stubbornness from him, after all.
Now, there may be better men for Hyebin than Jimin, but she wanted him and Jimin would marry her – Kai would see to it.
“Sister,” he began.
“You promised, Kai! You promised me you would make him marry me. You don’t love me. You can’t even do this much for me!”
“Now, now, dearest,”
Hyebin’s face had reddened; her hair crackling as she swelled like a bullfrog, ready to rail at her brother when the doors on the pub crashed open, with Mr. Park falling, raving against it.
“Help,” he panted, grasping at whatever was close at hand to heave himself up. “Help, my son, my son please.”
Heads turned, eyes falling to the soaked man as snow melted and pooled around his boots, the cloak wet and snug around his head. His eyes shifted from one astonished face to another, growing more restless.
“Please! I need help. My son has been taken by a monster!”
Behind him, Kai heard Hyebin’s squawk of indignation die down, releasing instead a dainty gasp. He watched the loony man walk around, trying to clutch at the sleeves of the patrons who shook him off with scoffs until he neared the siblings, finally tumbling at Kai’s elbow.
“Please, Kai, my last hope – you…have to help. My son, my only son – gone! – taken! – I can’t take this.”
Hyebin shrunk away from the delirious old man, bundling her dress to her knees even as Kai shook his arm free. “What’s the matter, Mr. Park? Be a little clear.”
“The monster of the palace took Jimin! Trapped him in the big castle on the hill…I couldn’t do anything!”
There was a pause as Kai furrowed his brow, before a patron shouted. “Leave him, Kai. He’s probably mad with the cold!”
“I am not!” Mr. Park immediately protested, wringing roughly at the coat before slumping his head and walking out the pub, defeated. They could hear wails of anguish in the cold winds outside but none were met with sympathy.
“He ran away!” Hyebin finally screeched, sinking her nails in her brother’s arms, ire flaming again.
Kai didn’t answer, letting his arm lax while his thoughtful expression slowly merged into that of a smirk. “Hyebin, my sweet; you might just get to marry Park Jimin after all.”
Jimin didn’t know when he’d dozed off. It must have been the exhaustion of the day, the pressure, the sorrow but he had curled up in one of the dusty armchairs, closed his eyes for possibly a second, only to gather his thoughts. Now he woke up to a pitch black room, stars visible from the window and he knew it was very late into the night.
His back had cramped in his position, obliging him to get off when he heard the gentle knock on the door. He took a wary stance, waiting for the doors to be barged into but to no avail. It was probably Seokjin the candle holder, Jimin decided, going to open the door.
“My now, I thought you’d wait for all the milk to go cold before you opened the door.”
Anticipating it, Jimin was already looking to the floor, only to be met by what looked like a tea set. He watched eyes boggling as the tea pot, a tall, sleek work with a rotund belly hobbled into the room, followed by a cup, and a sugar bowl.
“Um, what…who – are you now?” He asked.
“I’m the head cook, boy. Min Yoongi’s the name, also known as the best damn teapot in the kingdom. This right here,” the snout of the teapot tipped down to the cup, “is Taehyung, the assistant cook but not the best cup even in the room because he can’t keep himself on one stupid shelf.”
“Yah Hyung,” the cup opened at its seam, as if they were lips. “Don’t be mean.”
“I wasn’t going to come at all but I can’t leave you alone. Now then to business, boy; the Princess is taking a late supper so you can eat with her. You can have some milk before you go. You look like you’ve been crying and you’re just going to upset her.”
“Upset her?” Jimin glared, as the tea cup, filled with milk jumped into his reluctant hand. “I am the one trapped here.”
“Look on the bright side.” The teapot waved its spout and all the tea materials gathered in one line, heading out the door. “There’s a splendid welcome supper to be had. Come Taehyung.” He called as he exited.
“Oh but,” the tea cup sloshed some of its content onto Jimin’s hands when it jumped down, skidding across the stone before the door shut again. The sounds of the tea cup’s protests reached Jimin even through the heavy door.
Jimin wiped his hands of his trousers, grumbling at the way he made a mess when he backed against something large.
“No need to worry, young sir. Wardrobe is always here to help!”
Golden but dusty doors banged Jimin on the face, nearly tossing him onto the floor as the wardrobe advanced, rows and rows of pristine, shiny outfits ready to be worn. Jimin gasped, clutching his nose in pain as he shook his head.
“Many apologies! It’s been a while since I’ve been opened for any event at all. I am Jung Hoseok, the royal master of robes. Please do look through the selection to pick something out. I daresay you’ll want to change out of your outfit for dinner.”
“No thanks,” Wincing, Jimin managed to get to his feet. “I’m not going to dinner with Princess Monster down there.”
“Oh dear,” he heard the wardrobe as he crossed his arms, turning to the window to glare out of it.
The long dining table had been decked out for the first time in fifteen years. Silk cloths had been draped over the mahogany, candles put up, torches wiped and lit, plates and tableware sparkled in the dancing flame of the fireplace.
Yet, none of the chairs had been pulled back.
Seokjin and Yoongi, watched, anxious as the Mistress of the Castle, their Princess prowled in front of the table, each paw taking further weight from your animal bulk.
“Your highness, perhaps…you should sit and wait.” Seokjin suggested.
“No; I will wait for the man.” You said. Your voice had dipped down to a warning growl but your household items…your staff had never been very afraid of you.
Maybe they had, once, when you had first transformed and not taken to what you had become. A monster, a huge, hunkering loathsome thing which wanted to claw and destroy anything that stood in its wake…
It had taken years, but you had somewhat been ‘tamed’ since then.
“Princess, please, do consider that if we play our cards right, this man could be your salvation.”
“You think I don’t know that? I do…I know that but…how can he be if he won’t even come to dinner?”
“Perhaps also take into consideration that the boy is trapped here. He won’t see his father or his previous life again.” Jin’s statement wasn’t met with any geniality, instead the candelabrum found himself in the vice grip of his Mistress.
“Then what should I do? Do I throw him out? Let him leave so he can bring back a mob? No! I won’t do anything and if he wants to be difficult, I can be too.”
“We know that, your highness.” Yoongi said, his spout quivering. “We just have to remember to keep our tempers in check.”
The last statement was spoken pointedly and the monster blinked its huge yellow eyes, looking down to where you were almost squeezing your Maitre ‘D. You dropped the candle holder, Seokjin bouncing back a few steps when the door to the dinner room opened.
“Ah, there he is.” Yoongi’s belly turned, the porcelain splitting into a smile.
You turned, eyes trained in anticipation but what peeked in was an ornate long grandfather clock, its rose gold arms clasping the door in trepidation.
“Namjoon, where is the boy?” Seokjin asked immediately.
The royal advisor hemmed, glancing anxiously at the bunched up bulk of the Princess. “He says, he won’t be coming, your highness.”
There was a ringing silence, torn by the groans of Yoongi and Seokjin before you stood up, your clawed feet digging into the stone floor so hard it hurt.
“Fine, if he wants to be so stubborn then let him have his consequences too. Yoongi, you will bar the kitchens. He will not eat anything unless he first comes to me.”
“Princess, we can’t woo a dead man.” Namjoon said calmly but you were already dropping down from an upright position to what you were used to, on all four feet, crouching.
“I don’t care! Just…just let him starve! I don’t care if we find bones in his room.”
The three items converged, all talking together and you slammed a paw on the table, shredding the cloth. “Enough; let me go!” You roared before taking off, leaping over their heads so you could head and lock yourself in your quarters.
The silence that brushed up and closed around you as soon as the doors shut behind you and automatically locked was bliss. Yet your mind was anything but.
Hateful thoughts swirled in your mind, mostly aimed at yourself, some at the enthusiasm that your staff seemed to show for this new addition to your home and finally, venom spilling out to the man who had now entombed himself in one of your best rooms but couldn’t even show the decency to come down for dinner.
What was so difficult about dinner?
And why was he allowed to shut himself in his room when all your life you had been told to never hide yourself from the rest of the house?
Granted, all your people were now objects, magical but still just objects. Your parents had been turned to statues, forced to weather out in the overrun gardens and you had been raised by Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon mostly. Children your age; Taehyung and Jungkook had hated you in the beginning and you had never sought them out yourself.
Over time, Taehyung had forgiven you but Jungkook turned to a Duster never saw you, working quietly where you would never tread.
The rest of your household never came forward and said it; having never witnessed the event that had transformed you all but the malice was palpable. The rejection hurt, you were a child shunned and you sprouted claws much too early for anybody’s liking but you had tried.
You had tried, before giving up. You gave up because nothing happened. Fifteen years and no prince came; no fairy godmothers pointed their wands at you. The wizard never came back to see if his spell wrecked you.
All the stories that showed that Princesses would be rescued fell short at one crucial juncture.
No one told the story about the cursed princess who was ugly, who was a monster, who wasn’t the pale skinned beauty in a glass case or silk bed.
No, nobody came to save the ugly princess and over time you learned to see yourself just that.
This man – this Jimin, would be no exception.
“After all, what’s to love?” You muttered.
You vowed not to weep. Not for a man, not for the humanity that judged who was worthy of love.
Jimin had dozed off again. When he woke, it was with a start, groggy and fumbling in his movements. This was a bad habit. He needed to collect his wits about himself. Maybe it was the magic of the castle but he had to remember that he wasn’t safe in here, no matter how friendly and polite everyone…everything was being.
Somehow, in his slumber, the torches in the room had been lit, casting the place in a dazzling golden glow. The chair he had fallen asleep in again was pushed right to the edge of the room, near the window. He spied that the bed had been made with brocade bedding, surfaces had been dusted and to his surprise there was a pool at the very centre, filled with clear, almost glittering water.
Jimin’s stomach, having refused dinner with the Monster out of pride was already protesting, tossing him out of the chair in the direction of the pool. Maybe a cool drink would cheer and lift his spirits.
He sat at the engraved stone border, looking down at his haggard expression in the water, running a hand through the pool, cupping the soothing liquid up to his lips.
The minute the water passed his lips, a new sense of relief and rejuvenation passed his body, coursing through him as though adrenaline itself. Jimin got to his feet, looking about if he could ask the Wardrobe – Hoseok – where he could go to find food.
He found the spot empty, instead there stood a mannequin. On it, hung was a brand new outfit; a white spotless shirt, black trousers and blue silk coat. The mannequin stood lifeless even as Jimin stripped it, and then with apprehension brewing at his belly at accepting the gift, himself. However, unease had to wait; he was soaked, cold, and soiled. He would fall sick at that rate and then all his plans of escape would shatter. He also didn’t want to be indebted to the castle in any way.
So with a bite at his pride, he put on the outfit before pressing his ears to the door, listening for any movement. He couldn’t hear the pounds of the Princess’s paws, the clatter of any objects moving, no conversation, nothing at all.
Wary in his gait, he stepped out, keeping a light foot to lead him on when something whimpered from his side.
Jimin jumped, whirling in anticipation of roars, of overwhelming friendliness but instead a small pair of eyes beamed up at him from behind a moth eaten curtain. Running a hand over his panicking heart, Jimin’s lips tugged into a soft smile.
“Hello there,” he cooed at the pup that ventured out the curtain with three more at its tail.
“Oh, wow, puppies.” Jimin wanted to laugh at the simplicity, at the adorableness but the pups only let out soft gurgles, wrapping paws around Jimin’s legs, trying to nudge him along.
“What is it? Where are you taking me?”
Jimin allowed him to be prodded and nudged along by four small dogs, along the hallway, down the stairs and through another until he was pushing open a door, clearly the kitchen.
“Oh my,” his eyes fell first to the teapot on a wooden table, followed by the grandfather clock and candle holder he’d seen already. “What are you doing here? How did you,”
The teapot stopped when he saw the four puppies cuddling around Jimin’s feet, something of a softness melting the intricate seam of it. “Ah, of course,”
“Forgive me, I didn’t know. I was just hungry.” Jimin shyly dipped his head, knowing he was probably trespassing on some late night gossip among the staff.
“No, no, of course you’re hungry, you did show some nerve. It must’ve made you ravenous.” Seokjin bobbed towards him, wrapping a gold arm around his coat tails, dragging him to the table.
“Don’t worry, sir. We’ve spoken with the Mistress. She’s going to show some leniency. She won’t come down to dinner the same time as you do…unless you request it.” Namjoon the clock lied smoothly.
Jimin was sat at the table by Seokjin, a napkin pressed at him by the teapot as dishes and plates of food began to dance around the length of the table, piling upon the plate presented to him to eat.
“I…thank you.” Jimin frowned, unable to think of anything more to say.
“You may also wander the castle and grounds as you wish. One of us will always be found around and the Guides,” Yoongi pointed its spout at the four pups that stood lined near the door, “will be your companions mostly.”
Jimin looked down at the hearty meal in front of him before digging in. “That will be very nice. Thank you.” He said around a mouthful of potatoes.
True to their words, the castle and grounds were left wide open for the curious Jimin. He woke up to a wonderful outfit slung on the mannequin; suits, coats, wonderful silks and soft cashmeres to drape over his body. The wardrobe – Hoseok, had returned, helping Jimin dress for the day’s adventures.
Jimin would eat breakfast in his room, sitting at the edge of the pool where – he wondered if it was his imagination – the water seemed to move to entertain him. He would climb over stiles; sniff the glowing flowers, count stars and fireflies if he stayed out too late. The castle, upon inspection was vast. Huge statues imposed upon him, Grecian, roman and baroque architecture worked itself seamlessly in the palace and he had fun listening to Namjoon talking about each was worked in or acquired.
He was very rarely alone.
The Guides, as the staff called the small pups were always with him. He had learned their names from Taehyung, the tea cup. The fluffy brown one was Holly, a pair of small Pomeranians that shaded darker was Mickey and Yeontan and then finally a pure white one named Monnie.
They led him in and out the lands, sometimes through a grotto where the only thing that nestled was a pair of entwined huge statues. He had stopped and stared up at them for quite a while. They were probably the biggest in the entire castle, both wearing a pained, sorrowed expression that bore Jimin’s own heart down. He didn’t venture in that particular grotto again. It felt too…private somehow.
Jimin was given dinner in the main dining room, the long table decked out only for him. He would sometimes cast a look upon the opposite chair, feeling lonely even if he had multiple entities to talk to.
The Princess never came upon in Jimin’s presence for days. He could sometimes hear the paws of her feet on the floor when he was roaming about, but she never once tried to impose herself on him. It was almost as if she watched him watch her home from afar.
Something in Jimin tugged when he thought about home, how he had completely left behind his straggly little town for this palatial world. He missed his father terribly yes, but here in the estate that he was free to roam, with people whose knowledge he was free to peck at, the silence had turned blissful very quickly.
Thoughts of escape never strayed further from his mind but for now, he wanted to stay cocooned in this silence.
It was almost two weeks till he was made aware of the very real presence of the mysterious Princess. He was used to her being a phantom by now so when the Guides playfully nipped at each other, chasing down a corridor, Jimin followed at ease, not feeling the pricks of unease until he reached the darker end of the corridor.
It was a whole quarter, possibly belonging to one of the royal family. He peeked into the empty bath before venturing further into the darkened opening.
The palace that had been warmed by fire for their new guest – or prisoner, however Jimin wanted to look at it had failed here. There was an odd chill running through the walls, as if someone had sucked the temperature and doused the room in ice.
The furniture was all dusty, clearly not attended to, and silver and cream paint peeled from the walls. He could almost spy the moss that collected in the cracks of the walls before he came to stand in front of the wall of paintings.
Each and every face on the walls, Jimin noted had been slashed. It was a brutal mutilation, clearly from the Princess’s claws. There was one painting that remained, of what had to be the royal couple. A tall, regal man stood at the side of an equally prim lady who sat on an armchair. One of his hands clasped her shoulders while hers held on to a young child, poised delicately upon her knee.
The child, a girl wasn’t having it though. He could tell the struggle of her flailing arms and kicking feet yet her face was void of distress. Instead he stared at the laughing, playing child, baby curls fluttering around her ears, thick fingers and chubby cheeks – the full deal. A small golden tiara nestled upon her head, crooked from her movement.
The picture was so happy; it brought a catch to Jimin’s throat, looking back up at the couple, tearing his eyes from the once human Princess. There was something hauntingly familiar about the faces yet Jimin couldn’t put his finger on it.
So engrossed he was, in staring at the pictures, moving on to where he tried to put together shredded pieces of the painting together that he failed to notice the silence. There was no yapping of the puppies to be heard and this silence was anything but comfortable.
When the door squeaked open, Jimin turned, coming face to face with the monster who had been diligently avoiding him. Half her furry face was shadowed, but he could tell from the single wide open yellow eye that he wasn’t an expected sight.
The eyes darted from his face to his hands, placed upon the paintings. Jimin had barely opened his mouth, to apologize, to explain, perhaps to snap but the Princess had already dropped to her haunches, a low growl ripping through the back of her throat.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? HOW DARE YOU COME HERE?”
Jimin stumbled back, pressing against the wall as the monstrous Princess leapt, scrambling towards the paintings and covering them up.
“I…I was just,”
“LEAVE! I WANT YOU OUT. GO! NOW,”
Jimin had heard enough and it presented a brilliant opportunity to him. She wanted him to leave. He could leave.
So quick he was, sidestepping the crouching girl that he had no time to see her fall to the floor, the cloak that covered and hid her body wrapped protectively around as a whimper replaced her roars. The Princess’s sobs never reached Jimin’s ears.
He didn’t wait to find any of the household staff. He knew that they would ultimately attempt to stop him, try to make sense of the Princess’s commands. So he hurried down the stairs and out the side to where he’d found the stables.
His own Geureum was gone, with his father but he yanked on the reins of a white stallion; titled Jjangu on his crest. Jimin saddled the panicking horse blindly, patting it only once to soothe it before he was mounting and taking off in the distance of the town.
Your roaring yells had reached the ears of the household, of course. Namjoon was the first to respond, sliding into the royal quarters; his wooden stand skidding as he found you curled up under the one painting that you couldn’t bring yourself to destroy.
It was your family portrait, commissioned just two years before your lives would change forever and while you had torn up every picture of your face that hung up, you couldn’t destroy your parent’s.
Namjoon could tell from the shudders that shook your form that you were just finishing crying. Propriety dictated that he wouldn’t trespass on a royal in distress but you were his charge, he had raised you, taught you, attempted to feed you since he could bring your fear and panic at being transformed into a beast to heel.
“Princess…Y/N,” He coaxed, golden bars running through the shaggy mass where your hair would be. His heart ached at the soft sniffles that sounded too loud because you…you weren’t human after all.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. And it’s okay to not be, you won’t be less of a person for your troubles.”
You raised your head with a deep scoffing laugh. “I am not a person, Namjoon. I’m a monster; a loathsome creature.”
The clock ticked angrily but didn’t prod the issue. “The boy -,”
“Left; I scared him off. That’s that then.”
Namjoon shook his head, casting a glance out to where the snow had become wilder, until only white could be seen. “Your highness, he left in a terrible condition. He’ll get lost.”
“I don’t care.”
“Princess, Namjoon,” Two heads turned to where Seokjin rushed in, candles burning on his many wicks. “The boy, Jimin, he has taken off on your horse! He’s taken Jjangu.”
“WHAT IN THE WORLD?” You screeched loudly enough for both grown men…objects to flinch. “MY HORSE…HOW COULD HE DARE, HE -,”
“Princess, the wolves, if the wolves find them, it will be too late,” Seokjin murmured softly.
There was a heavy pregnant pause in which Namjoon and Seokjin stared at their Mistress, holding her shaggy head aloft as if she was praying for pity. Finally, under the gaze of your caretakers and advisors, you slumped, admitting defeat.
“Alright, alright, I suppose we can’t leave him to die in the blizzard.”
When you had first transformed, a howl had been the first thing that had scared you. Your small hands and feet had turned into paws, huge claws protruding from the nails. Your hair seemed to grow everywhere until you were taught that it was fur, too coarse and too matted to be what had been a well taken care of head of hair.
Your first memories after the transformation had been running away, tripping and falling multiple times because you weren’t used to your new body until Namjoon and Yoongi had found you, cowering under a broken branch. Howls had pushed you into a scared ball and when they’d found you, they’d spoken. You could still remember a clock and a teapot trying to act brave as a single wolf, too big and gleaming in the moonlight curled back its lips, issuing the threat that had locked you in your castle forever.
Of course, with age and your guardian’s patience you had honed your new abilities; speed, agility, strength and keen senses.
It was easy finding your fearful horse and Jimin, running on all fours as if a wolf yourself. Your ears pricked, picking up the yells of the man and whinnying as wolves surrounded your charges on all sides.
It was stupid to charge in head first, but when you saw a wolf snap Jimin’s weapon, a single stick in two between its jaws, it was exactly what you did.
Your first powerful spring, landed you clean behind Jimin’s now buckled body. The wolves immediately halted, intelligent eyes darting from the curling boy at your feet back to you, tongues rolling perversely.
You felt rather than saw Jimin raise his head, wondering why the wolves hadn’t ended him already. When he felt the larger presence behind him, he turned, gaping up at you as you placed one paw to the front, marking a line, marking a territory.
Loud snaps surrounded you, the wolves reorganizing till they circled you now, ready to attack from every direction.
Your eyes, however, sought one wolf out, finding its way back, sitting on its hind legs, tail wrapped around them. You snarled at it, the wolf obviously smirking at you before it rose up, stalking over to the head of the pack. It gave a short yap and the wolves, in once sleek, collective move, pounced.
You only had time to jump over Jimin, drawing the attack away from the human and your precious horse before you felt the first swipe of claws at your back. You whirled around, your own paws frantically hitting and lashing out, trying to bat away as many wolves as you could with as much force as you could muster.
You knew you couldn’t kill them, of course but it wouldn’t be for the lack of trying.
The wolves landed as many blows as they could on you, punishing you, sinking in teeth around your wrist, snapping around your ankles until you could smell the warm, metal in the air, from mostly your wounds.
“Enough,” You finally heard the one wolf, it’s comrades backing away with one word until you were left, swaying, eye to eye with its imperious gaze.
“Back off.” You growled but the only reply you got was a rough snicker, animalistic and feral.
“We would, just to see you fail in this attempt, Princess. We still wait for our master, and the day he becomes King, we shall have the boy for dinner. Another time,” The wolf tipped its tail at you, before turning and trotting off.
Jimin only raised his head when the sounds he could hear was the stamps of the horse’s hoofs, the whistling of the wind through his hair. When he peeked through slatted eyes, he could see you, tall, bulky, standing up to your full height as he caught the wolf farther away, dainty steps carrying it till it melted in the snow.
Jimin’s black robes that he hadn’t changed when he rushed out where wet, dirty again and he picked himself up, trying not to make too much sound lest you turn and put him through the same assault as you had the wolves.
He had heard the heavy thuds of your paws, the throwing around of the wolves as they banged against trees and rocks. He knew you could shatter his skull with one paw but then he’d also heard your screams of pain, each singing through him as you tried to keep the wolves away from him and your horse.
He reached the reins, about to climb on when he saw the horse’s eyes for the first time. They were wide, the neck bobbing as it tried to free itself from Jimin’s holding.
Jimin frowned, turning from the horse to where you stood and for the first time, he saw the damage inflicted upon you. Your heavy cloak had been ripped to tatters, hanging off of you in ribbons that exposed him to you. You wore pants, to contain the large hind legs, a simple men’s shirt. It was now smeared in stark red, the crimson pooling from your feet and arms into the pure snow below.
He watched as you tilted to the side, your weight finally tipping extreme and you collapsed, snow and blood flying from the impact.
Jimin turned to the horse again, reading the pain in the horse’s eyes.
It loved you.
Jimin once again turned to where your body lay, shivering just so slightly.
You were just a child, a cursed little baby girl.
Jimin’s mind flooded with images of a small girl in the painting, phantom giggles in his ears.
You saved him. He couldn’t leave you to die.
Jimin dropped the reins, his feet sinking into the inches deep snow as he ran over to you, kneeling down to turn your face towards him.
Your eyes were long closed, your mouth parted just enough for him to see the fangs within but he looked past that. Your fur was wet, both from the melting snow but also from your blood and as he cupped your huge head, he knew you wouldn’t last in this cold. Already, your breathing was erratic, your chest falling further with each exhale.
He looked to the horse that trotted closer, responding to the man who was helping his owner. It took severe effort, hefting the Princess but Jjangu was unexpectedly strong. The Princess lay across the horse, feet and head dangling and swaying as Jimin took the reins again, deciding to walk as he made his way back to the Castle, your home.
If the household staff was surprised to see Jimin back again, especially with an injured Princess lobbed across her horse, they didn’t express it. Instead they swarmed, concerned around where Jimin heaved and unceremoniously dropped the Princess at the base of the stairs.
While a coat rack took a shivering Jjangu back to the stables to be fed and warmed, Jimin helped the rest of the objects drag their Mistress to the sitting room.
“Great, what’s she gotten into now?” He heard as he unbuttoned his coat, rolling up his shirt sleeves.
“Not now, Jungkook; she’s injured badly, near death. Either help, or stay out of the way as always.”
Jimin tilted his head towards the sullen reply, straining to hear. “Gladly, if I never see her face, it will be too soon. She’s the reason we’re like this, or have you forgotten?”
“Jungkook, that’s enough!” He heard the low angry rasp of Namjoon’s voice when there was a shuffle in his eyesight.
The Princess seemed to be able to tell that she was safe again, grunting and whining as she sat propped up in a huge winged armchair. Her tattered robes had been shed off, her modesty preserved by the fact that she was entirely covered in fur but Jimin kept his eyes averted respectfully anyway. Her large legs were drawn up as she clutched her wounded, slashed appendage close to her body.
As Yoongi hobbled over, full of hot water, followed by medicine bottles on a spidery tray that clattered, Jimin ripped bandages. He filled up a golden bowl with the steaming water, dipping medicine and cloths in it.
The moment he stood up, intending to nurse the Princess, she flinched, surprising Jimin as she cowered away from him. She turned her back, and he could hear a distinct whimper, as she licked at her injuries.
She’s not used to being vulnerable, Jimin realized, his slack frame pushed to movement with the fear that her licking and prodding would infect and worsen the slashes.
“Now, now, don’t do that.” He moved too fast, grabbing a hold of the Princess’s shoulder and was immediately met with a wide open maw, her ferocious roar shifting his hair back.
Jimin dropped his hand, scowling at the stubborn slump of her arm, drawn back to her tongue. “You’ll make it worse. Just let me help.”
“It hurts.” She snapped when Jimin leaned right over her, attempting to wipe at the mangled arm.
“If you hold still, maybe it won’t.” Jimin tried to keep his voice steady, not wanting to snap at the already pained girl. Her screams at the biting and slashing wolves were still too fresh in Jimin’s mind. He wanted to show some kindness but she was just so…pigheaded.
“Maybe if you hadn’t run away, I wouldn’t be hurt.”
Jimin raised his eyebrows at her petulant tone. If he wasn’t already aware, he would’ve believed the Princess to still be a child at the sullen note of her voice. Something tugged at the corners of his lips as she attempted to cross her arms; the clawed up one still dangling in his hold.
“You told me to leave, remember?”
“I didn’t mean the castle.”
Jimin dropped the bloodied cloth in a waste bowl. “I suppose the lesson here is that you should watch your temper, isn’t it?” He made an exaggerated show of dipping another cloth in the medicine bowl, ignoring the Princess as she huffed and dropped her huge head on an equally huge paw, distinctly pouting.
“Please hold still now, this is going to pinch some.” He used the same tone as he would on his father, concentrating at digging out some remaining bits of grime from the claw marks. A few of his swipes made the Princess cringe and try to pull away but not once did her strength win against his sharp glances and sudden tightening of grips as he repeated the process on her feet.
Finally as he did the bandages he spoke again.
“Thank you, for saving my life.”
The Princess was quiet for so long that Jimin had to chance a look up, catching her quickly smoothening her expression into one of nonchalance. “You’re welcome.” She growled lowly.
But Jimin had already seen the bitten lips, the downward slope of her brow and the glassiness of her eyes.
He stayed right there, on the floor at her feet for a while, until the Princess, who had been staring into the fireplace had her eyes drooping. He stood when he was sure she was asleep, snores shuffling the fur near her mouth and nose.
Jimin folded back the sleeves on his muddy shirt. He knew he needed to change his clothes if he wanted to stay well, if he was sick as well, who would take care of the Princess? He hardly thought Seokjin’s candle hands or Namjoon’s golden bars would be able to change soiled bandages and he could already feel a chill coming.
Placing a huge blanket on the sleeping Princess, he went up to his room to change.
“How is she?” Hoseok asked immediately, as he shuffled inside for something to wear.
“She’ll have a few days with that bandage. It’ll probably scar.” Jimin answered tiredly, dropping his clothes and entering the bath where Yoongi was already pouring hot water in the tub.
“Thank you,” Yoongi said as he stood by. Jimin turned his head to look at the gleaming pot in question. “For not leaving her to die,” Yoongi clarified.
“Of course not…I will admit I had the thought but, I couldn’t. Not after she’d risked hers to save mine and Jjangu.”
“Jjangu was a gift foal from her father. She loves the animal more than anything.” Jimin heard before with a click of the bathroom door, he was alone.
He sighed, laying his head back along the porcelain edge. He was desperately exhausted, aching and needed to sleep, but there was a gnawing in his chest. He knew the Princess was in good hands now; he would only be needed when she needed her bandages changed and he knew she could manage that herself but he found it difficult to not be worried for the girl that somehow seemed so small and scared in all her ferocious enormity.
“Maybe…maybe I could try to be her friend.” Jimin mumbled, more to himself than anything as he closed his eyes.
Jimin took his vow seriously.
The first thing he did when his eyes popped open and fell on the customary outfit left for him; a simple powder blue shirt and black trousers – was to jump up and get dressed even before Hoseok had opened the eyes on top of it.
Quietly, he made his way down to where the Princess was still snoozing in the chair, flinging open curtains and inching closer just in case she woke up and panicked.
“Princess,” Jimin called gently, her head moving just so. “Your highness, wake up.”
With a groggy groan, her head fell towards his direction, yellow eyes blinking open in the filtering morning light.
And to the Princess’s dawning wonder and shock, Jimin gave her a beautiful, wide grin; possibly the most beautiful sight she had ever witnessed in her life.
From then on, both Jimin and Y/N tried to make an effort.
Y/N still felt her temper flare up quick as a snake’s attack but she quelled it in fear of the look on Jimin’s face. Jimin learned that despite her age, the Princess was still just a sheltered child who knew only what had been told to her.
Jimin tried to get you to participate in various activities. He taught you a few card tricks with a very old battered set that Seokjin unearthed, he told you stories of France, his life, what the world had to offer outside of the small town that had forgotten and abandoned her, he even tried to paint with her – although that ended in a disaster that had Yoongi steaming from his spout, Taehyung quickly sent to supervise the cleaning.
You, on the other hand, took Jimin outside.
Even though, Jimin had had the Guides to lead him places, no one knew the Castle and its grounds like you did, having spent fifteen years prowling and growing in it.
You allowed him to ride Jjangu while you walked, sometimes raced him. He had to change your bandages multiple times during these rides, noting with some joy that you healed faster than a human.
With four wild puppies and Jjangu, you took him to the top of a stile where in the falling night; he could count a multitude of stars and constellations. You threw Jimin in fountains; let him sift through flowers in the crumbling greenhouse, taste the fruits from the Grottos.
“My parents,” you pointed with a clawed finger, up at the huge entwined statues that had haunted Jimin before. He looked, focused on their faces more now, recognizing them from the portrait.
“Are they…gone?”
“No, just left frozen, to watch over what happens to me,”
Jimin turned to see you staring down at your palms, the story of the curse now making him enraged for your sake rather than sad. However, he kept mum, afraid of upsetting you rather than providing comfort. Instead, he took your huge gnarled hand, leading you quietly back.
Jimin and you took meals together now, lunches and dinners. He had unintentionally grimaced when he saw you simply lower your face and devour the food directly from the bowls and plates. In time, once he saw you try for him sake, he realized that your hands were simply too big for the dainty silverware and fragile glass goblets that fitted so perfectly in his.
So the next meal, Jimin surprised you by asking Taehyung to simply not provide any at all, raising his own bowl to his lips to eat as you did.
Your smile, huge, fanged, fur creasing in the corners of your mouth yet so happy, golden hue shining in your eyes, made him make it a habit to accommodate you, rather than ask you to change for him.
“Can I open them now?”
Jimin followed the trail of your cloak, sight barred by his hands as you attempted to lead him off for a surprise. You had been excited, the morning you simply strode into his room before he was even dressed. He had rushed behind Hoseok, who laughed at the pink of his cheeks and flustered backing away from you, until you claimed that ‘it was ready’ as he hurriedly put some clothes on.
“Not yet,”
Jimin heard the creak of doors, the clangs of curtain rings and felt the warmth of the sun on his skin.
“Okay, open them.”
Jimin dropped his hands with an indulgent smile, first looking at where you stood at the window, paws clasped together, and a nervous grin on your animal face. Your ears stood on point, waiting for his reaction as Jimin’s eyes wandered…and then widened till they were ready to pop right out.
It was a library.
A wonderful, glorious library, better than the dingy bookshop in town, better than any he’d seen in Paris. This was better than anything anyone could create in the whole world. Towering till the eye could see, with ladders and actual staircases leading up, his neck strained trying to fathom just how many books there were there.
“Oh my god,”
“Do you like it?”
Jimin looked down at where you were nearly vibrating with nervous energy.
“I had it cleaned, that’s what took so long. Seokjin told me you loved reading so I thought you should have this. I don’t know if everything is alright, but I checked last night and,” You stopped rambling when Jimin said your name. It was just a soft whisper but it tore a shiver through you at the tenderness, the fondness in it.
You had never heard anyone speak to you like that – not even your caretakers.
Jimin was practically aglow. His eyes shone as if someone lit coals underneath, his teeth blinded with the power of his smile, before his eyes turned to invisible slits.
“I absolutely love it, Y/N. Thank you; no one has ever done something like this for me before. This is perfect.” He strode forwards, his hand reaching for your face where his fingers nestled within the shaggy fur on your cheeks. He kept his smile fixed, nails gently scratching as your breath caught at the affection.
Jimin stared up at you, his own eyes and face sobering at the wide eyed look on your face. His fingers slowed till they just rested there, the both of you staring at one another.
“Ahem,” Jimin finally cleared his throat, removing his hand from your face. Was that disappointment he saw across your face? He turned to the shelves. “What shall we read first?”
Something thudded in Jimin’s chest, racing his blood with adrenaline as you and he sat on the floor in the sitting room, books strewn around you and the fireplace bathing you in heat.
“…and they lived happily ever after.” Jimin finished, closing the fifth book.
He had laughed and placed his head on yours when he discovered that you loved stories as much as he did. You had demanded him to read for you with one, two and the next three books. Jimin had happily obliged, enjoying the way you now sprawled on your front, arms cradling your head, looking at him with such a rapturous expression, he could melt.
“Read…one more…?” Jimin looked down to where you slid another book in his lap. Your eyes were big, hopeful and the rush of emotion that swirled in Jimin’s stomach was nowhere polite. He thought back to Hyebin, wanting to be married to him and yet knowing that she would fall asleep at the one thing Jimin was so passionate about. He cursed himself for the comparison. There was none. Hyebin wouldn’t even occupy the shadow of who you were.
“Y/N…I’m tired. How about you read for me now?” he leaned back on his arms, nudging the book back at you.
You paused, sitting up slowly before taking the book in your huge hands.
“I…I’ll rip it.”
“I’ll fix it back for you.” Jimin said immediately.
Your face fell as you opened the book, taking some time to flip it to the first page. Jimin watched; somewhat concerned as you slowly read the first of the fairytales.
“Once…up – on, a time…”
“Y/N, love,” Jimin had no time to worry about the endearment that slipped his mouth. “What’s wrong?”
“I…I can’t,”
“Can’t…read…?” He guessed.
You nodded quickly, fearfully.
“Oh, I thought Namjoon taught you.”
“Alphabets, a little book of stories and history…but I…I can’t read big literature. I can’t even hold books.”
Jimin’s heart cracked as you glared fiercely at your hands again.
“No matter, I’ll teach you, here, come now. I’ll hold the book for you.” Jimin grabbed the book, holding it open for you as he slowly, pronounced the words, you following him.
Behind you, unbeknownst to both of you, Yoongi, Namjoon, Seokjin and Taehyung sighed dreamily.
“Think they’re in love yet?” Jungkook drawled from behind them.
“Not just yet, I suppose, but they’re getting there.” Namjoon said.
“They need one more push.” Yoongi muttered.
“And what better than…a ball,” Seokjin glanced at Taehyung, wearing identical smirks.
Hyebin lay on her front, draped along the chaise in a manner that would have most men in the town be willing to do her bidding. The one she wanted, however, hadn’t even gone past the town in ages. She was bored; dejected from the lack of attention and her brother – she cast a venomous look to where her older sibling paced in front of the fireplace – hadn’t done a thing for her.
“Don’t look at me like that, Hyebin. I’m thinking.” Kai said, catching her eye.
“Well, perhaps you could think later. Isn’t this the time for action?” Hyebin cupped her face.
“Not yet; your impulse is what ruined your chances with the boy in the first place.”
Hyebin scowled.
“But don’t you worry your pretty head, darling sister, for your brother has a wonderful plan in mind.”
“Which is…?”
“Never mind you, you will go about ruining things and Jimin won’t marry you as well. You will only blame me.”
Hyebin slammed a small fist on the chaise. “Kai…tell me!” She whined but Kai only walked to the door, opening it as he tossed her a cloak. “Come on, we’re going to play nice and talk it out with Park Jimin.”
Much to their disappointment, however, and to Hyebin’s rage, when they arrives at the cottage of the Parks, it was completely dark. Not even one candle had been lit on the porch.
Kai knocked; once, twice, thrice even yelled for both Jimin and Mr. Park but the only thing to reply was the keening silence.
“They’re not here.” He mused.
“You don’t think they…left, do you?” Hyebin whispered.
“All their things are still here.” Kai’s eyebrows creased, flickers of annoyance and true anger flaming in his own eyes. “Well, we won’t stop. They have to come back some day. We’ll be ready.” He ignored the smack of his sister’s hand at his back, striding back towards the pub.
He needed a drink.
When you entered your quarters after a day of playing in the gardens with Jimin, watching him weave a crown of roses and dandelions which he placed on your head, you weren’t expecting to see Seokjin standing there with a bunch of standees and mannequins that used to be ladies in waiting for your mother.
“Um…Seokjin,” You queried even as you were swarmed with too many ceramic hands.
“’Tis the day, your highness, it is the day of your birthday! We have to have a ball in the honor!” Seokjin exclaimed.
You were shoved in a tub full of hot water and bubbles, the soap soaking into your fur. The words were enough to shoot a tendril of doubt through your heart, snaking till it looped around and squeezed. Your breath deepened as the mannequins began to scrub at you, rubbing in the water and soap till it reached the skin underneath.
It was your birthday already? No, it couldn’t be. You would remain a monster for all eternity otherwise. You would be condemned to live like this. Loveless, because who would look at you and feel anything but disgust and terror?
“Seokjin, my birthday isn’t till one another day.” You reminded the Maitre D` from behind the screen.
“The actual day isn’t of import, Princess. Besides,” He lowered his voice, “the day of your birthday will be the last day of the curse. It is make or break for us. You have to tell Jimin of your feelings for him and he has to return it. We simply cannot leave these things till the last minute.”
You remained silent, watching the mannequins use huge metal buffers to file and shine your claws.
“You…you do – you do have feelings for him, don’t you Your Highness?” Seokjin asked, misreading your silence.
You sighed, dipping further down into the water. Of course you had feelings for Park Jimin. Only an idiot would have a man like him around and not fall for his kindness, his generosity, and his open mind. Also, the small slants of his eyes, the way his lips split to reveal a gleaming smile that could halt an army, with shiny dark hair that fell into his eyes.
He was an angel.
And you were a hideous beast…
“It’s not my feelings that are a problem, Seokjin. How can someone like him ever feel for me, unless it’s fear? Maybe I haven’t earned his affection still.”
“Ah phish-posh, you forget, dearest Princess; we have all watched you and him very closely. We have seen the way he looks at you. Only a man that loves someone will have such a beam to their face.”
You sunk down further, Seokjin’s words easing the nervous grip in your chest a little. Perhaps…you did stand a chance. You could tell him of how you felt, he would tell you what he felt, and maybe you and your people can become human again.
You held the hope close as you were ushered to your own wardrobe, gowns that you had never once had the occasion of wearing, now shoved against your body and you into them, made to twirl in front of a huge mirror to check for anything to improve.
The time had come.
The gown that both Seokjin and the lady in waiting had chosen was approved by Hoseok finally, him making you swish the skirt and twirl in front of it, while pins and needles were floating around you, just in case things needed to be loosened or tightened anywhere.
You, who for almost all your life had only donned on the left behind clothes of your father of the male staff had almost giggled at the fancy attention, enjoying the feel of silk and gossamer curling around you and pooling out from your waist.
The dress was a pale gold and silver, shimmering with crimson jewels strewn about the skirt. A heavy diamond brooch glittered to where the bodice and neckline fell in a waterfall of fabric and your hair had been lifted from the mass of fur at your neck, rolled up elegantly till it lay in a soft mass on top of your head.
“Your highness,” Seokjin said finally and you were surprised at the sniff he let out discreetly. “You look beautiful. Come, your gentleman waits.”
You followed the candelabrum, exiting the room as Seokjin led you to the ballroom, to where the stairs led up to where royals made their grand entrance. You could hear light conversations down below and if you close your eyes, you could almost imagine that it was really a ball of people come to wish you good fortune on your birthday.
Maybe, if you could put aside your doubts and the harsh truths that crushed hope in your chest, you could have it someday soon.
You heard the Maestro, now transformed into a sprawling Organ, strike up a tune and Seokjin swished a golden bracket, gesturing you to walk down.
You lifted up the enormous skirts, praying to anything divine that your claws, now shortened down and sparkling, wouldn’t rip the dress anywhere and walked down the stairs, seeing everyone gathered at the base of the staircase, smiling up.
Mostly, though, you only noticed Jimin.
It was true, you hadn’t paid much attention to what kind of clothes Hoseok had been putting on Jimin for the duration of his stay here. Before, it used to be rich fabrics and embellishments that glimmered with his movements. The moment of your friendship and he began to step out had caused for simple cloths, sans coats and cloaks unless it was snowing.
Now, Hoseok seemed to have pulled all stops.
The suit that Jimin wore was all black, form fitting with studded rubies along the lapels and buttons the same shade as yours. Gold lace wound around his neck and his hair shone with the same effort, as if he’d undergone the treatment you had as well.
He smiled widely when your eyes met his, stepping forward till he reached you.
“You’re stunning.” He said and you could only muster a shaky smile, fluttering from the sincere compliment. “Happy Birthday, Y/N,” he whispered, bowing as he extended a hand for you to take.
You let your paw rest gently on his, deliberate and careful not to let him feet the real weight of it. “Thank you,” you managed a smile as wide as his, before the rest of your household gathered around you, wishes poured out and rushed words carrying you off to the cake.
Jimin was excited to see the cake, three tiers of it. Y/N’s eyes popped open wide, gaping at the sheer size of it but even as he grabbed her hand, leading her to cut into it; she was looking down, trying to muffle a smile.
He had to commend Yoongi and the entire kitchen staff. The cake was rich, fudgy and even he was rushing after that very last crumble. Finally, he felt the nudge of Taehyung, the cup around his ankle and he moved into action.
“Could I request for the birthday girl to bestow me a dance, your highness?” He stood up from his chair, slyly winking over to where Y/N put down her plate quickly, looking almost as if she was going to laugh.
“Of course, kind sir but I should warn you – I may step on your toes.”
Jimin chuckled, pulling her onto the glittering marble dance floor. “I don’t mind; you can step on my toes anytime.”
Y/N blinked down at him, Jimin could feel her breath catch at the way he would his arm around her waist and clasped her hand and couldn’t help but smile. She tried not to, moving slowly along with the way he led her, her attention focused down mostly to keep from actually crushing his feet when he stopped moving.
“Come on, let’s go look at the stars. Tonight, they’re as much more gorgeous than ever, as if they’re shining solely for you.”
He walked back with Y/N in tow, opening the balcony doors and letting her go out first before he shut them again, turning to see her stand at the rails, looking up where the stars mirrored in her golden eyes, twinkling in the sky and on the earth alike.
“So,” Jimin cleared his throat, gaining her attention again. “Are you enjoying your early birthday festivities?”
Big eyes blinked yet again at him, something shifting beneath as they were lowered. “I am, much more than I would usually, I suppose. I haven’t had a birthday in fifteen years.”
It was Jimin’s turn to blink, only in horror. “Not one in fifteen years?” he asked.
“Well, Taehyung tried, for the first two years, but then…I had no one to share it with. I had no one.”
Jimin closed in to where she stood with her back to him. His hand ached to rest along her cheek, turn her so he could look at her face but he resisted. “You have me now.”
She still didn’t turn. “Jimin…” A breath was drawn, as if steeling her for some deep resolve. He watched as your shoulders, clad in golden shimmers he wasn’t used to seeing her in slumped finally. “Are you happy here, with me?”
Jimin’s first instinct was to blurt out a simple ‘yes’. Was he happy here? Yes, he had everything he could possibly dream of and more here. He had the library, the gardens, the long winding hallways, the grottos…the silence, oh god, the blissful silence where no one bore down on him, no one judged him for not eyeing girls, not being interested in hanging out around the pub, not being Kai’s lackeys.
Was he happy with you? Of course, he, for the first time, felt someone was completely understanding and kind to him. No matter that he was perhaps the first to show her human kindness too but she let him be when he needed, listened to him read, asked him questions and challenged him. She fulfilled him in a way no one had.
No, they were two whole people. They had just found fulfillment in each other, and he was happy to call her home as much as the castle. He was happy. He was content.
Y/N didn’t seem satisfied. Her head turned fractionally, peering at him in such a fashion as to confuse Jimin. “Wouldn’t you ask for anything else, if you could? There must be something more you could ask for.”
Jimin hesitated, once again hand hovering over her but unable to touch. “I…yes,” he sighed, dropping his hand. “I would ask to see my father again but,” he quickly rushed on, lest she be upset. “I know I can’t, so I won’t press for it.”
She turned finally, too fast for him to not be startled. “There is a way. You can see your father.”
Jimin frowned, crossing his arms, more to protect himself against the temptation than defiance. “How?”
The Princess quietly walked by him, opening the doors and carrying on, Jimin taking a moment to follow hurriedly after her, still confused and a little worried before he realized that they were tracking a familiar path to his room.
“You had a way of seeing your father all the time.” Y/N spoke, stopping by the pool in the centre of the room. She bent down over it, gesturing for Jimin to join her. “You can call out for the waters to show you what you wish for. The waters even have healing abilities. The Wizard’s token, left behind to torment me with everything I can’t see but still so that I wouldn’t be able to harm myself in any way.”
Jimin heard it all; unnerved by the way someone could hurt a little child. Yet, the allure of seeing his father was way more than the urge to console the Princess. He sat at the edge as Y/N drew away to give him space.
“Please, show me my father.” Jimin said, his voice sounding desperate even to his own ears.
The water swirled clear, one turn, two turns before deepening into a whirlpool. Images swirled at the very bed of the pool, bubbling up till they hovered over the spin of the water. Jimin watched eyes tearing from horror as his father stumbled from one tree branch, to another, panting, struggling to stay on his feet.
“Oh no, father.” He nearly shouted, before remembering his father couldn’t hear him.
“Jimin, Jimin, Jimin,” his father chanted before finally dropping down into the snow, shuddering and curling up in the frigid ground.
“No!” He sprang to his feet, the illusion breaking with his movement, subsiding into the waters again, still and clear. “My father, he’s sick. He’s alone, wandering the woods, looking for me. He could be dying. Y/N, the wolves…what if the wolves find him?”
Jimin turned around to look at you, facing the window, silent as before. He wondered if you had heard him at all.
You had heard him.
Your ears pricked, flattening against the side of your head as you processed the frantic desperation to Jimin’s voice, your mind racing with a million thoughts.
You thought back to your childhood, soft smiles and misty words now fogged with time…and then all you remembered was pain. The pain of changing and growing too many sizes too big, the eruptions of the fur, claws, having to get used to them. The pain of being unable to eat and the consequent process of starvation until Namjoon figured out how to feed you – like a dog.
The fear of being hunted mingled with the uninterrupted loneliness that no matter how much your staff tried to ebb, would never cease.
You remembered back to spending hours upon hours with the statues of your parents, wailing when it got too much, with even your own people afraid to approach you.
Then you thought back to the first day you’d met Jimin; brave and strong and so sacrificing, martyring himself for his father to stay here…with you; showing you kindness, helping you, teaching you, and even saving your life.
He’d sparked companionship for you.
How were you repaying it?
By holding him captive here? You had seen the devastation on his face that first night, the same pain that had been your constant. How could you claim to feel anything for him when you were hurting him?
You had lost everything as a child, and you had grown up used to it. You couldn’t put Jimin through the fresh agony of it. He had a life to get back to, loving people to help him.
He was human. He didn’t deserve to live with a paltry princess living in a curse.
And with that came the final blow…
How could he love someone who had torn him apart from his father? How could Jimin be fond of someone who had basically subjected his father to a pitiful, lonely death?
So you quelled the cry of your heart, steeling bands of iron around it until you could nurse its break alone. You made the decision simply because it was already set in place.
“You should go. Go back to him.” You said quietly.
There was a pause.
“What did you say?” You heard him, too close to you and you flinched away from his proximity.
“I grant you your freedom. You’re no longer my prisoner.” You turned to face him, grateful for the fur that absorbed any stray tears before they were obvious.
Jimin’s eyes were shiny as well, but you knew they were tears of joy. He gaped, his breath catching before he spoke, choked up – “Thank you.”
You watched, leaning against the window as he hurried to take off the heavy coat, instead shrugging on a simple, heavier cloak. He pulled on boots, easier to wade in the snow.
You, on the other hand, went to one of the dressers, unearthing a vial and moving to the pool, dipping and collecting the water in the shimmering glass.
“I’ll be back before you know it, Y/N. I think I’ll have to bring my father along sometime – convince him that you’re actually a big softie, none of the roaring monster that you were so kind enough to act as.”
His voice was teasing; light, even jovial as he eagerly approached you. You remained silent, handing him the vial.
“Here, take this. It’ll be useful to you. If you need to be healed…or it can help you remember me.”
Jimin’s smile faltered, looking from the proffered container back up to your eyes, now obviously dripping.
“I’m not going to be very long, Y/N. At least, not long enough for me to forget you.” He laughed, still pocketing the vial when you didn’t withdraw it. Sighing, you shook your enormous head.
“No…you can’t come back. You have to stay away. Stay with your father.” You refused to meet his eyes.
“Wait, what…what are you saying? What do you mean I have to stay away?”
“It means that you shouldn’t come back to the castle.” Your voice broke. “You have to stay in the town, maybe even go back to Paris. Live your life, Jimin; you have the rest of it. You deserve much better than living in a dilapidated castle with a monster.”
“No! No, I can’t…Y/N; you’re part of my life. I can’t…I can’t just, let you think that of yourself and your home. Y/N, you’re so important to me.”
He was reaching for you, his hand going to wrap around yours but you backed away quickly, unable to let him touch you lest you break down and beg for him to come back, to stay with you. You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t subject him to that.
You loved him too much for that.
Instead, you fled, turning on your heel and exiting the room on all fours, ignoring his rough calls of your name. You knew he wouldn’t waste time chasing you, not with his father in that state, not with the threat of the wolves hanging about his head.
When you entered your room, your whole staff was already present, with expectant beams on their faces. You even spied Jungkook in the midst, the feather duster nearly reeking of disdain.
“Well, how did it go? Did he say it back?” Seokjin nearly shook from excitement.
You dropped your head, already dreading their reaction. “I…I let him go. His father is sick. He needed to go back.”
There was a silence so deep, so disappointed; you inwardly cringed even when Jungkook broke it with a caustic snicker.
“But…but we were so close. Why would you do that, Princess?” Namjoon asked.
You walked to the window, throwing them open to see the last vestiges of hooves vanishing in the snow. “Because, I love him,”
Y/N had been right. There had been no time for Jimin to process what had just transpired in his room, not when the cries of his father echoed through his head. He mounted Jjangu and sped off in the direction he’d gleaned his father would be. He had to be single-minded for his father for now, he decided. He couldn’t take care of the old man if his thoughts were littered with questions, with confusion, with hurt as to why it was so easy for Y/N to just tell him to leave. Did she not feel the same for him as he did her?
He knew he couldn’t disrespect her by showing up with his sick father at her doorstep after she’d told him to leave. Perhaps, after his father was healthy, he would map the course again, ask for answers, and plead to stay with her. Perhaps, he’d hurt her somehow and this was her way of protecting herself…?
Jimin sighed, laying his father back before warming water, laying thick cloths soaked in hot water along his forehead to fight the cold back. It took him back to when he’d patched Y/N up after the wolf attack and he had to shake off the thought when his father stirred, looking blearily up at him. “Jimin…you’re back!” His father sat up too quickly, holding his son at arm’s rest to check him before pulling him to his breast.
“Ah, son…I never thought I would see you again. But how…how did you escape the monster?”
Something tugged in him at his father’s tone, making him pull away from the man. “She’s not a monster, father. The legend of the Castle is true. She’s the cursed Princess…” Jimin sat at the edge of the bed, his eyes taking on the sheen of reminiscence as he recounted his journey with her till he was told to go back to his father.
He hoped perhaps, that his father would encourage him to go back, but he needed him to be stronger first, so once his tale was over, his father still gaping at how Jimin made the monster who had imprisoned him and his son sound so human, he fell asleep.
Jimin, however, didn’t. He paced back and forth from the fireplace to the bed, interrupted only by a quick, sharp knock on the door.
Scowling at the late hour, Jimin opened the door, not too pleased to see who it was on the threshold.
“Jimin,” Kai beamed, almost too familiarly as Hyebin tipped her hood back, studying Jimin as if she was planning to gut him. Her nails were digging into her brother’s arm and Jimin wondered how strong Kai had to be to not wince.
“Kai,” Jimin modulated his voice coolly. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Entirely too late, my good man,” Kai turned his head to his sister. “Didn’t I tell you it would be rude to show up right now?”
Hyebin didn’t answer.
Jimin ran a hand through his hair, frustration making him further annoyed. He needed time and space to think, to process things. His father was sick, he had been a prisoner in an enchanted castle where he had found more solace and acceptance than he had in freedom, he had fallen for a cursed Princess who might or might not return his feelings but had forbade him to return to her. He needed to make plans for his future.
He couldn’t be discourteous though, not when they’d taken the trouble of coming by.
“Come in please; my father is ill and sleeping so if you could keep your voices down and be quick about this…” He let the door fall open further. Kai and Hyebin walked in as if they weren’t going to take no for an answer anyway, shedding off their cloaks and making themselves at home.
“Well Jimin, I must say it’s a relief to see you. Your father had been by the pub, you know, raving on about you being kidnapped and all by some monster and imprisoned. We dropped by a few times later to see the house empty.” Kai said. “We all thought he’d gone mad, or you’d run away and he was just lying to make us all look for you.”
Jimin didn’t look at the taller man, feeling the pinpricks of anger flare again at the accusation. “I…yes, I’ve been away. I was at the castle. My father wasn’t lying, neither is he mad,” He said coldly.
There was a silence in which unbeknownst to Jimin, Kai and Hyebin exchanged looks.
“Wait, you’re talking about the palace? The royal palace on the hill…that’s where you were and the monster is real?” Hyebin asked, bug eyed.
“Yes, the monster is your Princess and she’s not vicious or anything, Hyebin, unlike how you described her when you told me the story. She doesn’t devour children and she doesn’t make their bones into furniture.” Jimin snapped, crossing his arms before sighing as he glanced into the fireplace, eyes and voice softening. “She’s a little short-tempered, yes but she’s kind hearted and caring and intelligent and curious. She’s my friend.”
Kai watched Jimin calculatingly, while Hyebin clenched her jaw.
“It sounds like you like her.” She said finally.
“I do. Also, it’s really late. I think I should go to bed as well.” He said. His voice left no room for argument.
Kai gave him a tight smile, his too white teeth glinting almost maliciously in the firelight. “You think…it wise to harbor such feelings for a monster, Jimin? Need I remind you this…thing is cursed and is a bad omen in our town?”
“No Kai, she isn’t. Now please, I am tired.”
For a second, he thought that Hyebin would refuse flatly but even as he steeled himself to assert himself yet again, she was standing and with Kai in tow, moved out without another word.
Jimin puffed a breath of relief, moving to douse the fireplace. The swab plunged the living space in darkness and he stretched his arms above his head, arching his back, already looking forward to his bed when he heard the hushed conversation not too far from the house.
The one thing about living so far from the town and right in the middle of a disused farm was that there was nothing to absorb sounds. Each and every noise reverberated and echoed loudly in his house, enough for him to never be startled.
He went to the window, keeping back enough to see Kai, now holding his torch above him and Hyebin, talking. While Hyebin didn’t bother to lower her voice, Kai was trying to shush her, low and hissing but even his voice carried back to Jimin’s focused ears.
“…you didn’t see his eyes, Kai. He doesn’t just like this bitch. He loves her. He won’t even hear any truths about her!” Hyebin screeched.
“You sure know how to pick them, sister. A man who’s into bestiality,” Kai snidely replied, stopping when Hyebin grabbed his collars.
“This isn’t funny. You have to talk sense into him…or…I don’t…I don’t know, we have to kill this Princess of his.” Hyebin said.
“Keep your damn voice down, will you? Is that all you can think of in your pea brain? Jimin, Jimin, Jimin; all the time…it’s annoying.” Kai snatched away his coat from Hyebin. “Think of it like this, little sister. This girl is a Princess. She is our Princess, a royal. We cannot truly establish a government because a monarch is alive.”
“What the hell does that matter?”
“Darling sister, do use sense. Jimin is here, which means this Princess doesn’t have a man around right now.”
“So…?”
Jimin heard Kai snap his jaw. “So, sister, I go and I marry her. Simple, and effective; I become King, all powerful and she is out of your way. I will command Jimin to marry you and since you will be royal; he cannot hope to refuse.”
“You…you cannot be serious, Kai. I mean, are you really going to do that? She’s an animal.” Hyebin’s shock was palpable even to Jimin.
“Well, of course I don’t intend to honor the marriage wholly. I’m a hunter, aren’t I? Think of it like my greatest hunt, one that makes us the most powerful pair here. Plus, who’s to know…? Maybe the Princess meets a little accident a few days after our wedding. At least the kingdom will have a king they know and trust; they will only see it more as a sacrifice on my part.”
“You’re…despicable, brother.” Hyebin’s lips trembled before stretching into a cruel smile that looked odd on her beautiful face. “But a genius,”
“I know that. Now hurry up, we need to go to the pub and collect a mob. I cannot go alone in case the Princess tries to get aggressive. I’m going to need witnesses just in case we need to come back and convince Jimin his lovely Princess was actually a monster after all.”
Jimin was moving even before the fleck of light completely vanished from sight.
All thoughts and feelings of exhaustion melted from his body, arms and legs regaining energy as he burst into his father’s room. The old man started awake from the sound, jolting and clutching the sheets as he looked at the manic light in Jimin’s eyes.
“Son, what – what’s the matter?”
“I have to go father. I have to go back to the castle. Y/N is in danger.” Jimin rushed his words, tossing things from dressers till he found a bag, throwing some matches and a torch into it. He patted his pockets for the vial of pool water Y/N had given him, about to turn for the door when his father clasped his shoulders.
“No! I just got you back; I cannot let you go back there!”
“Father, you don’t understand. Kai…he’s taking a mob to her! They’re going to kill her, all because I opened my mouth.”
Jimin’s father wavered, his grip loosening only slightly.
“Come with me, then. See for yourself.” Jimin moved past the old man, not waiting for him to follow. However, when he reached Jjangu, who raised his head quizzically, his father, was right there, climbing on behind his son.
Praying that he wouldn’t be too late, he leaned over to Jjangu’s ear.
“Come on boy, we’re going home to our Princess.”
Jjangu whinnied, rising up on his front legs and then they were racing from the stable, in the direction of the palace.
Jjangu thankfully took the way that they were most familiar with, through the woods. Even as they surpassed the town, he could see the lit fires, domestic weapons of all sorts raised as cries and shouts filled his ears. They were breaking down the blockade; he realized when he saw the closed bookshop, going only the way they knew.
His fault…his fault…
Jimin shook his head, nudging Jjangu to go faster. He had to reach Y/N before Kai did, or he would never forgive himself.
The fire leapt high and powerful, licks of warmth flaring out against where you sat with your back to the muttering and mourning gossips of your royal staff.
You knew that the moment you’d spilled out the truth about how you’d sent Jimin away, even forbidding him to ever set foot back in the castle, you’d basically condemned your entire household and yourself to a grim fate, but could you condemn him to one as well? No, you couldn’t. Besides, you were used to this now, used to living like an animal. Jimin shouldn’t have to live in company of one for the rest of his life.
Behind you, Jungkook led most of the ranting. “I’m telling you; this was the plan all along. Get the Mistress all soft and mushy so he could get out of here first chance he could get.”
“Jungkook,” Yoongi sighed. “His father was sick.”
“So, all our families are probably dead now. We won’t ever get to see them now, or even to see their gravestones.”
You knew he was right. Maybe it was ok to live with yourself like this, but sacrificing your own people to this curse made guilt creep up your throat tenfold.
“Perhaps, we shouldn’t have gotten as attached to him as we did, even before knowing what his obligations were.” Seokjin said.
You were about to turn to snap at them all to get back to their chores when Namjoon suddenly squeaked, the clogs of his clockwork chiming anxiously.
“Wait, wait, there’s someone coming…OH lords above! Princess, Princess, it’s the townsfolk, invading the castle gates. It’s a mob!”
“Wait, what…?” You nearly fell off the chair, confused when the doors to the sitting room were flung open again, a squad of soldier armor leading a panting Jimin in.
“Y/N…mob, people are coming for you…run!” He managed to puff out before leaning his weight on his knees, drawing heavy breaths.
You blinked quickly. Didn’t you tell him not to come back? But he was here now, come to warn you about the mob…worrying for your safety.
“Jimin…” You breathed, “You came back.”
You drew closer to the wheezing man, a paw running along his smooth cheek.
“Of course, I did. I had to warn you.” Jimin looked up at you, time slowing as your gazes remained suspended. He placed his own hand on yours, squeezing it even as Jungkook broke it in his rasp.
“Well now, that’s sweet. So, are we to assume you led the mob here before promptly losing courage?”
You and Jimin both turned to look at the feather duster now propped up on a dresser, eyeing Jimin with as much disdain as you had seen him do you. Jimin gaped, flabbergasted while you were ready to rip out all his feathers.
“Jungkook, he came to warn us. Don’t be an idiot.” Namjoon said roughly.
“I can’t believe you’d lap that up, sir. He left here, went back home to tend to his ill father, so he said, and now he’s back…with encroachers on his heel. Why would you believe him? Because of the pool; the waters are also subject to imagination, Namjoon, or have you forgotten?”
“Enough, we cannot fight amongst ourselves, we have to protect the castle and our Princess.” Yoongi said. He turned to the soldiers, ordering for them to gather the rest of the household up and prepare for defenses.
“Ask him, Princess. Ask your dearest if he told them or not.”
You rolled your eyes at Jungkook, turning, however, to Jimin. It was better to put this to rest. “Tell him, then, tell him you didn’t.”
Jimin was still looking at Jungkook, a peculiar expression of conflict gathering his eyebrows together.
“Jimin…” You prompted.
“I…” He looked at you then, and just the look in his eyes – wide, pleading, had your hand slipping from him.
“See,” Jungkook said, as Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi and Taehyung gaped at their friend. “I told you, he told them.”
“Jimin, tell me you didn’t.” You whispered.
“I – I did, but I had no idea -,”
“That they were going to take advantage of the fact that a whole castle was left unattended and come to loot it? Or that they were going to come to kill and behead the Princess so they could mount her head upon their walls?”
“Why…how could you?”
Jimin looked at you again, away from the brewing anger and distrust of the staff. “Y/N, try and understand. I only told the truth, I told them you were harmless.”
“You’re lying.” Jungkook hissed.
You watched his hand try to reach for you, pull at you, but you drew away, cringing away from his touch. He stuttered in his steps, looking at you, beseeching.
“Princess,” Namjoon called softly, “what are your orders?”
You looked away from Jimin, reminding yourself you had duties to perform. “Keep safe the castle. My parents…they shouldn’t have to see their home seized in front of their eyes.” Your anger flared as you glared at Jimin finally. “Remind them that there still is a monster in the castle.”
Without another word, you dropped down on all fours and leaped clean over Jimin’s head, bounding for the roof from where you could see everything and lead stray invaders away from your people and home.
Your orders were followed to a tee. Thousands of household goods launched an attack on the people who were mostly comprised of men, having no idea how to operate the basic home wares.
Drawers smacked into jaws, hot water and oil were poured on head, knives and burning torches chased men around until they thought it better to just leave the castle alone and crawl away, defeated.
You stood on top of the parapets, watching your subjects nurse and curse over their bruised and burned extremities, retreating from your home. Perhaps, there would be no reason for the monster to show up after all. No legends would pass around; no one would spread talk to lure hunters and thieves to your home.
You didn’t go down though, instead, curling into yourself on the edge of the roof.
As happy as you were about the prospect of people leaving you alone, you had to contend with the fact that it was Jimin, the man you trusted, the man you loved who had ruthlessly allowed people to come hunt for you. You had mattered nothing to him. It would’ve been better to have someone draw a knife through your heart now, it might’ve hurt less than the betrayal.
“Oh Princess,”
Your ears pricked.
“There you are. You know, when I didn’t see a huge, hunkering monster down below I was worried Jimin might have lied.”
The voice was unfamiliar, nasty and it grated on your nerves so you stayed still, hoping the person would mistake you for a statue and pass by.
“Apparently, the poor boy hadn’t lied. He was so in misery you see, had to come back, leaving his little lady behind. Someone had to convince him that a princess needs a real man around for a husband.”
You frowned, feeling it draw closer.
“So I have a proposition. You marry me and we live happily enough. I’ll even throw in a wedding kiss.”
The footsteps behind you stopped, and you hoped that your silence had fooled him enough until they started again. “Now, Princess, it’s rude to not acknowledge a man talking to you. Turn around; let’s see what got Jimin so dewy eyed. I have to see if you’re worth all the talk.”
You remained still.
“Turn around now.”
You ignored him.
A sharp, plunging pain ripped through your back, making you gasp and seize up. Something pinched at the centre of your back, protruding out and you knew it was an arrow, turning to see the tall man, draw another from his quiver, placing it on his bow.
“Well now, looks like we’ve found our communication link. Are you going to be nice, now?”
You flailed, clawing behind to draw out the agonizing spike from your body.
“No use. I have perfect aim. Now, stop dancing and listen unless you want another to keep it company in your chest.”
He drew back the bow string.
“KAI, STOP!”
You stopped as well, seeing the man – Kai – turn around to look at where Jimin stood on the top most balconies, leaning almost all the way down. You took advantage of the momentary distraction of the hunter, throwing your full weight at him.
Your muscles and joints screamed at your movements, huge as they were, weighing you further down as the man turned quickly to you, trying to aim the arrow towards your body. You gripped his hand, twisting it out of the way.
“This is a nice surprise! Seems like you really are a monster, and here you were hoping for a human companion!” The Hunter laughed maniacally, shaking hair out of his eyes.
You growled, pulling the hunter close enough to snatch his bow, snapping it with a simply pinch of your fingers. “Get out of my house.” You gripped his throat, squeezing just enough for him to be able to tell. “Never come back…or I will kill you.” You flung the man away from him as the disgusting being that he was, backing away.
Adrenaline fading, the fatigue of blood loss raised its ugly head again, faltering your steps and blurring your vision.
“Y/N, here, come here, you’re hurt.”
You turned once again to where Jimin stood, his hand extended for you and stumbled towards him, shaky feet nearly throwing you over the edge more than once. You reached near him, raising your hand to grasp his and began to climb.
“You’re still here.” You choked.
“Of course, I had to clear things up.” Jimin smiled, eyeing you carefully.
You made to return the smile when another scream of pain tore through you, making Jimin jump before he saw the knife embedded deep in your side.
“NO!” He roared, feeling you slip from his fingers when he saw Kai’s added weight clinging to your cloak.
Your back curved backwards; Kai gripping the back of your cloak and hair in a tight fist. His lips split in a wide, sinister smile. “Go on Jimin, pull us up. You save her, you save me.”
Jimin snarled a curse at Kai, eyes darting from your drooping eyes to Kai’s bright ones. He couldn’t save Kai, he knew that. Left alive, he’d keep coming back again and again. You would never truly be safe with Kai alive.
“It’s okay…”
Jimin’s eyes snapped to Y/N, narrowing at the small smile tugging at your lips in puzzlement.
“It’s okay; you have to let me go…”
“What, no, I’m not going to -,”
“It’s better this way.”
“Y/N, no, Kai let her go!”
“I love you, Jimin. I’m…I suppose this is goodbye.”
Jimin opened his mouth to shout for you to hold on when all sound stopped short. You opened your paw, his own hand too weak to hold up all the weight of your body and Kai together. He watched, too slow to move, too stunned to understand as your eyes closed, still smiling while Kai’s eyes widened, almost comically, smile fading and mouth opening in a silent scream as you both fell.
There was no time for Jimin to even scream for you.
Everything was numb. Everything was silent.
Well, in all actuality, a battle had waged around him, promptly won by the small but mighty objects of Y/N’s household. Cheers of victory and joy could be heard from the lower rungs of the Castle. It was just that Jimin’s eyes could only see Y/N’s last smile, hear her last confession and feel her hand slipping from his.
All he knew was that Y/N was down here somewhere – ironically, falling right into her parent’s grotto – and he had to reach her. Nothing else mattered.
The soft grass of the grotto crushed and crumbled under Jimin’s boots, as he walked and broke into aching jogs as he spied the huge mass of fur on its side, reminiscent of when he’d seen Y/N topple over after saving him from the wolves. The memory stung his chest now.
“Y/N,” he gasped seeing Kai’s body almost completely trapped under hers, his fist still closed around her clothes.
He bent over, ripping his hand away and rolling his dead body away till it lay feet away, open eyes dead and unseeing, his laughter finally fading into nothingness.
Falling to his knees, he heaved Y/N’s head onto his arms, propping it against his shoulder. Her eyes were closed as well; smile gone and he could spot a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth into the fur. His hand trailed down to the knife in her side, slowly, gently easing it out and tossing far away from her as both arms came to wrap around her, rocking.
“Y/N, hey, it’s okay, come on wake up. He’s gone. Kai’s dead and every one fled. You’re safe now.” He hushed.
She lay still, too still, not even shifting a little in answer to his voice.
“Y/N,” Jimin vowed now to give up so soon. She had to be alive, she was probably just unconscious. He tapped her cheeks, ran his fingers through the mass of her hair and fur.
“Y/N, please, I’m so sorry.” He buried his head against her neck, taking in a whiff of the musk that he was so used to now. There was a change now; it smelt too metallic, too…sodden. “Please, wake up.”
She couldn’t be dead…she couldn’t leave him like this; not after saying she loved him and pulling off such a ridiculous stunt.
His body shook, feeling the chill settle in. Somehow, Y/N’s body that radiated so much warmth normally wasn’t enough to keep the cold away now. Jimin shuddered, drawing her closer before closing his eyes finally. A sob choked its way out his lips, followed by a sound that was too close to Y/N’s own agonized ones.
“Please, come back, Y/N, please, I love you too. So much, so much, please,” he rocked faster, more to keep himself moving than to shake her awake. He couldn’t stop moving, it would only mean for him to accept that Y/N wasn’t moving as well and that she was…she was.
His tears soaked through her fur.
“Now, this is quite the unfortunate situation.”
Jimin hiccupped, looking up to where someone new had joined them in the grotto. For a wild second he thought that it was Kai but no. This man was much taller, skinnier, even unhealthy looking.
A snap echoed from behind him and he jumped, looking about to see a very familiar pack of wolves surrounding him, grinning and tongues lolling. He pulled Y/N closer but the wolves didn’t seem to intent on attacking, instead collecting behind the new arrival.
Jimin squinted, wiping off the blurring tears to see the man was known to him.
“You,” He said at the bookseller who peered down at the cursed Princess with something akin to bitterness.
“Me,” The old man hummed, turning to face the wolves and Jimin was astounded to see that a wave of this man’s hand was enough to line them neatly up.
“How…I thought you never left the bookshop. Did you come with Kai?”
“Kai?” The bookseller laughed, caustic casting a cursory glance at the dead man feet away. “That pathetic excuse for a human and you think he’d have any sort of influence over me?”
Jimin watched as the man drew himself to full height before light erupted out from somewhere in his chest, blinding Jimin and making him feel colder than he did before. Once he felt the light fade from his screwed up eyelids, he peeked through, gaping in disbelief.
Long black robes swirled around the now, considerably younger man, almost as if it was sewn directly from the shadows around him. Long sleeves fell back to reveal tattoos in a language Jimin had never seen before, glowing even till the skin of his bald head and face.
“Not quite who you expected, I see.” The man said.
Jimin was still trying to put together the old bookseller who had been so friendly to him transformed into this being when with a clatter and loud clangs they were surrounded with more things – this time on Y/N’s side.
Namjoon’s clock chimed angrily, Seokjin’s fiery wick gleaming in the dark as they caught the man standing over Jimin and Y/N. “The Wizard,” They gasped, followed quickly by Yoongi and the others who skid to a halt.
“Be gone, monster! You have killed our Mistress!” Yoongi clattered.
“You’re the one who cursed Y/N.” Jimin said, realization dawning over him like a pot of cold water. However, there was no fear in his voice. After all what was the use? Y/N was dead, neither she nor he could be hurt any further.
“Now, now, calm please. Is that any way to greet the man about to grant you salvation?” The Wizard raised his palms.
“You cursed us too swine!” Namjoon yelled.
“I did. And I fully intended to come back on her birthday to remind her that she owed herself to me if she wanted to have her life and loved ones back. It seems,” He looked down at Jimin cradling her body and again there was strange bitterness to his gaze, “I have been rendered useless. She has found love…I didn’t think it would’ve been possible.”
He looked up.
“So now, here, my word means something in the world.” Light shone again, only this time it was blue.
Jimin watched the light move out from the Wizard, creeping slowly to where Y/N lay against him. The light cocooned her, moving forward till it had surrounded everyone present in the grotto and on and on till all he could see was blue.
Jimin’s proximity helped in seeing Y/N, and he clasped her protectively, worried the light was going to further cause her harm. Only, it didn’t. Instead, her weight began to ease up off of Jimin. Fur receded and fell off from her body to reveal smooth skin, wet and smeared with visible blood, fangs shrunk back, and ears flattened and became smaller.
The huge mass of a creature began to slowly shrivel, until all that remained in his arms could no longer pass off as an animal. No, this was laughably, astonishingly, human.
Jimin raised a hand inquisitively, running it through the strands of hair that were now free from the matting of fur, his hand coming back red.
“She’s…”
“Back to normal…or rather what she would’ve grown up to be; that’s about as normal as I can make her.” The Wizard snorted at his own joke.
“Is…your highness,” Jimin turned to see that there were people in the grotto, no longer just objects.
A tall tanned man stood foremost, dimples poking out as a wondrous smile lit up his face, hands running over his suit. “I…I’m a man again!”
“Or how much you were before,” Another spoke, taller than the first, golden hair falling into his eyes.
“Gentlemen, calm down!” A shorter man barked.
These were strangers to Jimin, or maybe not. He looked back up at the Wizard, ignoring the joyous reunions behind him. “She’s…still dead.”
“Yes, but then, the way to bring her back to life is with you, isn’t it?”
Jimin was about to ask what he meant when he remembered the vial. The vial full of the pool water, that Y/N had said had healing abilities.
He delved deep, bringing out the mercifully intact vial before upending it completely into Y/N’s open mouth.
He waited, with bated breath as moments passed. And then – skin knitted back together, the grey pallor of her face smoothed till a healthy glow seeped in her cheeks.
With a huge shaky breath, Y/N opened her eyes again, fumbling with her body as if it scratched at her.
“Y/N, hey, Y/N,” Jimin grabbed her hands, much smaller and claw less, fitting into his easily.
Big, wide, fearful eyes met Jimin’s. “J-Jimin?”
“Yes, it’s me.” Jimin placed his head against hers, taking in a deep inhale that wasn’t of musk but of bloodied skin, of sorrow, or uncertainty. Closing his eyes and hoping for the best, Jimin turned his head to place his lips swiftly on yours.
There was no reciprocation at first, worrying Jimin that perhaps, he’d pushed you too far too fast. However, he felt your small hand move past his neck into his hair, entwining with the strands to hold him against you.
He moved away from your face, reminding himself that you still needed time and space to learn physical love when your eyes, now bright with unshed tears landed on something behind him.
It took him a bit to register the utter silence, hushed conversation behind him and he turned to see that the huge statues that used to be the only decorations in the grotto were no longer there, instead right behind him stood a couple, too familiar.
“Mama! Daddy!”
Y/N fled Jimin’s arms, instead throwing herself into her parent’s arms. Jimin fell back from the impact; quickly picking himself up to see the pair wrap their tight arms around their daughter, tears streaking through dirty, muddied faces.
The man was tall, his wife regal as they still retained the glow of youth, having spent their lives inanimate. Their daughter may have grown in front of their eyes but there was near to no difference in ages, Jimin noticed. He turned his head, but the Wizard and his pack of wolves were long gone.
Y/N shirt and pants were also now tattered, too huge on her now smaller body. Jimin tugged off his coat, wrapping it delicately around her shoulders when a hand stopped him from moving away. He looked at the queen, small crown still perched into her mussed hair who smiled at him.
“Thank you,” she mouthed, tugging him closer till he was hugging Y/N from the back as well, and Jimin couldn’t be more grateful at the gesture.
The moments, hell, the days after the…incident, or rather your birthday had been all muddles and stumbling through time. As a cursed monster, time had seemed to stretch, with you craving love and companionship simply because you’d been told that they would break your curse. The very notion of these emotions had become a means to an end.
You had so much to learn, you realized when you stepped back into a castle that had no broken ceilings, no gaping holes, no smears of dirt and growing moss. The stones gleamed, jewels sparkled, sculptures loomed, just as they had in your distant memories.
Everyone stared, even the members of your household who had lived with you forever. You supposed you weren’t the only ones in need of reacclimatizing.
Chamber maids and maids in waiting dragged you and your mother away almost immediately. You were washed, scrubbed, hair oiled and washed and scented, similar to the ball but only this time the gown they put you in felt too big, too airy for you. Your skin, used to being protected by masses of fur and hard muscles shuddered at the gauzes and weightlessness of your new things.
Mirrors and portraits, previously smashed or torn by your claws had been reinstated and you had spent hours just staring at the unfamiliar face in the reflection. You weren’t a child anymore; you weren’t the beast you were used to seeing in cracks of glass and shards of mirrors. You had grown into a young maiden and you had no idea who you were.
The resurgence of a bustling royal palace, with many of the staff setting out to locate their families had created a buzz. Kai, the hunter had been dragged away and Hyebin, his sister as Jimin told you had been tried for conspiracy for murder.
Of course, things hadn’t become hunky dory fast. Things still needed to be sorted out, a monarchy had to be established because the so called government that had put Kai in charge in the first place was found now corrupt, seeing how easy it had been to rile up the public on the word of one man with no proof at all.
You left your father to handle these matters. Your mother had something much more stressful for you to think about.
Whether or not you wanted to marry Park Jimin…
You knew he was in the palace somewhere, along with his father. He’d come seen you but there hadn’t been much conversation. You had been too unsure of your own self, of your new or rather old body and you wondered if Jimin liked you as a human as much as he had when you were a creature.
“Don’t be silly,” Jimin had said, once on a slow walk around the garden. Your steps were much slower now, smaller feet tended to do that but none of you were in a hurry. It seemed Jimin was as eager to know the new you as you were. “I loved you when you were covered in fur and I love you now, even though I must say I was hoping to introduce a few of my friends to my beastly fiancée.” You had smacked his arm, unsettled at the joke even though he wrapped his arms around your waist.
“Don’t worry so much about this. The curse is past. No one and I mean it, will ever hurt you now. They’ll have to go through me.”
The burning sincerity in his eyes and voice left no room for you to argue or doubt.
And so, you shyly visited your parents that very evening, hand looped in your lover’s, asking for their blessing to marry him.
Your engagement to Jimin lasted longer than any a royal was supposed to have, stretching out for months as you relearned human life. You were taught to walk properly on two legs, carrying things with a tiara affixed to your hair. For days you would bat at your hair when the pins keeping it in place pinched or pulled at you.
You learned how to dress yourself, how to put on various forms of jewelry, how to take baths and resumed your studies and royal duties.
Suffice it to say, you were now missing your animalistic life at times, you were so exhausted.
However, Jimin was a constant, learning with you, talking you through the harder aspects, supportive, encouraging, and absolutely perfect. It was also getting hard to keep your hands to yourself when it came to your private moments.
Physical love was one aspect that you absolutely dreaded touching upon. You wondered if you would be good enough, if Jimin would find pleasure in you or if you would find pleasure in him. He did place chaste kisses against your skin and lips when he thought it was okay to do so and you had only found him losing control once. It had been late at night when he visited you and had read to you till you were drowsy. With only a mind to gently kiss you goodnight, he had leant in only to be trapped by your hands, trying to get as close as you could to him.
He’d gripped at you, trying to pry out of your touch but had melted fast, molding and pressing you to your mattress. You had felt him growing aroused against your pelvic bone, rutting against you, gasping when he pulled away, blinking and shaking hair out of his eyes.
“Now now, love, we have time.” He’d pecked your cheek, disentangling himself from you before almost limping out.
Soon enough, it was time for the main event of your life.
Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung and Jungkook returned in days time, bringing what was left or added to their families and they stayed on till after your wedding took place.
Jungkook had mellowed in the face of his parents being alive, fifteen years older of course but delighted to have him back. He’d wished you well, but not apologized for his earlier behavior – you didn’t expect him to either.
Your parents had gone above and beyond for the wedding, throwing the lavish event for the entire town and further to come attend. Your gown was created for weeks, Hoseok personally supervising the process so that when you walked down the altar finally, upon your teary eyed father’s arm; you erased all thoughts that you had been a monster for most of your life prior.
You left the palace for your honeymoon, following Jimin’s advice to leave the royal duties to your still young and hearty parents while you took some time with your husband, so you could acquaint yourself both to him and to the world that he wanted to show you.
You knew where to start the journey of course, with your groom’s lips twitching at the very first words that tumbled out during the ceremonial dance.
“Please,” you’d whispered, laying your head close to his heart.
“Anything for you, darling,” Jimin had whispered back, smile obvious in his voice. “Paris it is.”
Jimin might not ever get used to the feeling of you fitting into his arms, you thought to yourself, glancing at your now husband, ever so often.
He’d lifted you up into his arms the moment you’d stepped off the carriage, beaming about something called the threshold ceremony, carrying you through the doors of the French villa carefully.
“Satisfied?” You asked when he stood still, eyeing the windows in contemplation.
“I’m wondering if I’m missing something but I can’t think of anything as of yet. So yes, here you go.” He placed you down, letting you walk through the house while he watched over the servants who carried through your luggage.
A late meal later, you stood at the mirror in the bedroom, painstakingly pulling out the multiple pins from the up-do your hair had been twisted in, your husband peeking in with a mischievous grin.
“Having fun?”
“No,” You grumbled, your arms dropping from the strain. Jimin walked up behind you, beginning to quickly pull out the multitudes of metal from your hair that would make a magnet drool. “Why are there so many?”
“Look on the bright side,” Jimin muttered, delving deeper into your scalp, “For the rest of our honeymoon, you could be completely free from all of this, until of course we have to go back.”
You glanced up at him quickly, seeing the darkening expression brooding on your husband’s face as he dropped the final pins on to the dresser.
“I was thinking.”
“Yes,” you squeaked out embarrassingly.
“Well, we’re all alone now, so we don’t have to be worried about anyone walking in on us.”
You turned around completely, confused. “That’s what you were worried about?”
“Of course,” his smile flickered. “What else would I be worried about?”
Your eyes fell, feeling all sorts of stupid now. “I just thought…maybe you didn’t…you know, feel that way about me now.”
A finger brushed under your chin, tilting your face back up. “Love, I married you.”
“Yes but,”
“Mm, but nothing, come on; let me show you what I feel for you.”
Jimin’s arms, much stronger than you had given him credit for swooped under your thighs, lifting you up to wrap your legs around his waist swiftly. As a monster, you had never given thought to how powerful Jimin really was, but now when you were human, much more fragile than you were used to, he was blatantly flaunting his strength.
You couldn’t fault him for that.
Your husband dropped you onto the centre of the massive bed, arms balancing his weight over you. “Are you okay about this? I don’t want to force you into anything that you’re uncomfortable with.”
“No,” you reached for him, winding arms around his neck. “I’m fine, I want to feel you. I want to learn this with you.”
Your eyes closed automatically when he kissed you, sweetly but strongly, tongue laving over your lips, slipping between with less to no battle from you. Your mouth parted easily for him, letting him plunder moans from you.
“Fuck,” Jimin breathed, pulling away before his eyes were widening. “Oh, I’ve never cursed like that before.”
His cheeks were so red, you couldn’t help but laugh. “No worries, I’ve never made someone curse like that before either.”
Jimin’s fingers trailed to the ties of your night shift. “Perhaps, we’re a bad influence upon one another.”
“Perhaps,” your breath caught in agreement, Jimin’s fingers pulling at a peaking nipple while his head lowered to suckle on the other. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all, my darling wife,” his lips were curved wickedly when he resurfaced; sitting up to remove the cotton night shirt he wore and tugging off the gown from your body right after.
You lay naked under him, open for his perusal and taking. Your hand shifted up, trying to pull the sheets up to cover some of your modesty until Jimin caught up, taking your hands to place them right there.
“There,” His mouth opened, tongue rubbing over his swollen bottom lip. “Do you feel that? That’s what I feel for you. You don’t need to hide from me love, never ever. I have loved you before, I love you now and I will continue to love you more for all our days to come. Do you understand?”
You meekly nodded.
Jimin’s eyes flashed down your body, knees parting yours before his hand touched your bare core, running over the nub in circles. “Am I understood, love?”
“Yes-yes,” you gasped, neck falling back for him place kisses even as a finger slipped through inside of you, thick but gentle, stretching you just so.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good,” Jimin removed his hand, placing the digit in his mouth, eyes still firm between your legs. Normally the lecherous look on any man would have you burst with rage but Jimin had you nearly quivering in anticipation, especially when he finally pushed down his trousers.
You had never seen a cock before, never having any contact with a human male, but you had to say Jimin’s was an impressive specimen. Thick in girth and flushed a sensuous red, the head throbbed in need before he was guiding himself to your body.
“Ready, love, I need you to breathe with me.”
Jimin dropped low on you, lips tugging and pushing at yours, his spare hand clasping your breast to distract you as he pushed in. your knee bent, curving over his hip as you gasped, eyes watering at the sharp pinching sensation deep within you. Your husband halted, waiting for the expression of discomfort and pain to pass from your face, fingers brushing away any stray moisture from the corner of your eyes.
“I…I’m okay, please move.” You told him, Jimin studying you carefully before he drew back, thrusting in experimentally. The first drags of his hips, followed by the slow plunges still made you bite down your lips, screw up your eyelids before you found your rhythms.
Jimin ended up with his hand at your nub, rubbing it in gentle circles, lighting sparks in your nerves with the motion of his lovemaking, your nails digging into your lover’s back and shoulder, trying to get as close as possible.
The first jolt of climax nearly made you cry out, burying your face in his neck to muffle the sounds when he followed, heavy grunts falling unabashed from his lips, hands twining with the strands of your hair to seal your lips in a clumsy kiss as he spilled deep into you.
Rolling over, with your head safely clasped in the nook of his arm, Jimin sighed contentedly, warm hand against your back.
“Jimin,”
“Yes, love.”
“So…what happens now?”
Your husband turned his head to give you a sleepy grin.
“Now we’ll live happily ever after.”
#ksmutclub#notyourdamsels#btsbookclub#smutcentralnet#ficswithluv#jimin fanfic#bts fanfic#jimin smut#bts smut#jimin angst#bts angst#jimin fluff#bts fluff#jimin#bts#park jimin
585 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
the-cosmic-creature
jim kirk irl
dss-pistol-ling
Domain Explorarium, Pistol-Ling/Omnicron-Beta.
abanpklbandung
Tanpa judul
dsta-hk
Untitled