#Desperately wish i could figure out how to draw them but alas

[eerna]

ok so its been a couple weeks how do u feel about totk zelink now

(context: here is part 1 of the ask, and also SPOILERS AHEAD!)

For reference, I am currently done with the dragon tears and sages questlines, but still haven't finished the Kogha one. Whatever happens after this point, I have no idea, I'm chilling and doing side quests and leveling up.

There is a difficult line to draw between "this is what the game is saying" and "this is what I am projecting onto it", but to me, this game is about how well Link knows Zelda. BotW was about trying to remember her and why she mattered, and TotK is about trying to figure out her plans and what she was trying to tell you, as she is no longer able to guide you the way she did in BotW. It's listening to what people are saying about her and deciding if it sounds like Zelda or not. It is beautiful, and shows how close the two of them are now! BUT. It would have worked even better if we saw traces of their relationship in the plot. This is a three-pronged feature: 1) In the main quest everyone calls Link "Zelda's swordsman" or "Zelda's chosen protector" and are surprised when they see him without her, but the NPCs STILL don't mention him. The way I almost screamed when I stumbled upon that Lurelin NPC who is like "oh yeah the princess would disguise herself and go on vacation and hike up to the Lover's Pond at sunset!" and I was READY to hear about the person accompanying her. But there was no one. Zelda was alone as far as this guy was concerned. Like pls. 2) Link should have revealed his thoughts on the mystery of Zelda's identity for this theme to work, at least by being the one to figure out the Zelda prancing around Hyrule is an impostor. In fact, the way they didn't try to incorporate the tears quest into the main storyline is pretty disappointing - sorry but Link would NOT just ignore knowing where Zelda is. They should have hidden the last few memories until you're done with the fifth temple to make sure he doesn't look like an idiot. 3) We are STILL in the "Link doesn't react properly to Zelda" era. I'm not even talking about animation, I would have settled for a "Don't look so concerned, we will figure it out!" or a "I know you wish to bring her back right away, but leave the research to me and focus on beating Ganon first!" from Impa at the end of the tears quest. Sure, I choose to interpret his mad dash through Hyrule Castle to get to the sanctum Ganon fight as him completely forgetting any caution or reason in his desperation to get to her, but is that really it? EVERYONE ELSE cares so so much about Zelda as a person instead of a princess, they are constantly talking about her, so Link could have gotten some moments of that too. I'm glad the game stated that Link's duty ended with the Calamity and he CHOSE to stay with Zelda, so it's not that he only cares because he has to, but I wish it was shown outside that one line in a secret diary.

In conclusion, I still stand by my previous claim: Skyward Sword did this same dynamic better, so if I hadn't played that game I might have been elated over this one, but alas. I am still hoping for an earth-shattering emotional moment towards the end of the game that is gonna render all my complaints wrong, I haven't lost hope, but wow my imagination is working overtime to keep me happy

[herohikara-wol]

FFXIV Write 2k23 - Day 27

Sole - Emperor AU

Zenos and Asahi both wanted to walk into the arena with him, but Hero knew better. Lakshmi was dangerous. He hadn’t even known he could use his echo as a shield, it had been a desperate wish when she’d attempted to draw Asahi into her world of bliss, a desire to protect someone dear to him. It worked, but the risk to either Asahi or Zenos was too great.

Especially if she took over Zenos.

Hero didn’t want to imagine actually having to try to put the prince down, being forced to drop all pretenses and kill him outright. Sure it’d finally give Zenos the fight he wanted- but his mind would be gone, irreparable. There was no way he’d be able to enjoy it.

So he had to fight alone, and what a slog it was. She’d call in the tempered Ananta to defend herself, and even attempted seduction to convince Hero to drop his guard. Those tactics wouldn’t have worked against Zenos in the first place, but Hero couldn’t risk calling for his help when he’d be more of a hindrance than a boon with Lakshmi’s powers. He explained that a dozen times when he returned from the battle. His powers made it safe for him to fight, so he was the only one who could do it.

Eventually Asahi accepted it, but Zenos seemed to sulk. Granted, Hero could only tell he was sulking because he seemed particularly standoffish when Hero was trying to deal with the Ala Mhigan resistance members after the fight. He kept looking towards the distance, eyes narrowed, like he wasn’t even hearing what was happening right in front of him. He didn’t seem to hear any of the conversation, of Hero’s agreements and concessions for the health and happiness of the region Zenos was temporarily in charge of until Hero found a replacement for Gaius.

Hero knew Zenos was sulking when the man vanished after they made it back to the Lochs. “Do I seek him out and fuss or do I let him work this out on his own?”

“Badgering him about his inability to fight at your side is only liable to upset him more, and potentially push him into taking drastic measures. He spent the entire time you were fighting clutching his bag like he was considering running in after you anyway. I believe it’s best if you let him cool off.”

Hero nodded and sighed softly, “I mean, unless I figure out how to replicate my echo, there’s no way to solve the problem.” He didn’t notice Asahi freeze in place, a dawning look of horror on his face. Hero didn’t know about the amount of mad science that went on in the shadows of the Garlean Empire, but Asahi did. He’d gotten in contact with several different scientists in his attempts to find a way to get Zenos’ favor, and despite never forming anything concrete with any of them, he could think of a few that had borderline illegal research Zenos could contact. Namely one Aulus mal Asina, a researcher blacklisted for trying to study the inability of Garleans to use magic, who’d recently abandoned his old lab under cover of night and had dropped off the radar entirely.

Asahi shook his head as he followed after the Emperor, it was probably coincidence that he vanished after Hero explained what his echo was capable of to Zenos.

Probably.

[jaskiersvalley]

Witchers didn't have daemons, that was a known fact. They were terrifying in their solitude, unfeeling and unaffected. Monsters made to fight monsters, they didn't need part of their soul for that. What the general public didn't know though was that the daemons weren't imprisoned somewhere, nor were they dead. The mages had figured out a way to separate daemon from child and force it into the most unnatural of shapes, another human. It meant two Witchers from a single child and the best part was, neither child nor daemon felt any connection to their counterpart once the process of the trials was complete.

In an effort to make sure full separation was certain and not even a sentimental link remained, daemons and children were separated and trained in different schools. Lambert had arrived at Kaer Morhen, still tripping over unfamiliar human feet and seething at being separated from his human. Over the years he tried to remember his human but, like all Witchers, they were given new names when they got their medallions and Lambert didn't think Luca still went by that name, nor would he be the scrawny kid Lambert remembered him as.

Whenever Lambert met another Witcher, he couldn't help but wonder whether it was his Luca that he was meeting. Though he wanted to believe that there would be a spark some kind of recognition there. He had been a little relieved when he met Letho and there was nothing there between them.

Of course Geralt had to be the first one to find his daemon. The smug bastard had found a bard who told people his daemon was a flea which was just like him; unnoticeable until he causes a nuisance. Most pitied him but Geralt had seen through the charade. He watched the bard without a daemon, curiosity and caution allowed him to permit Jaskier to tag along. The story tumbled out eventually.

"My great grandparents bought me. I was some kind of freak novelty some merchants were selling."

That was all Geralt had needed to hear and he was all but dragging Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in the winter. Nobody had expected Vesemir's face to close off completely.

"I remember you!" Jaskier said in way of greeting. "You were a dick."

"Julian." The reply was terse and tight.

Lambert got a front view seat to seeing Geralt's face flit through more emotions in one second than he usually did in a whole year. The embrace was tight, Geralt's nose buried in Jaskier's hair.

Jealousy trickled through Lambert's veins. For all he knew, his human was already a dead Witcher. There was no link between Witcher and daemon, the trials severed it all completely so when one died, the other didn't even notice, let alone die from it.

"Why isn't he a Witcher?" Eskel asked, eyes glued to the happy reunion.

"Kaer Morhen needed money. Your cohort, the daemons didn't become Witchers. We sold them to the highest bigger."

Lambert didn't expect Eskel to punch Vesemir across the jaw but he was sure as shit glad he saw it. It meant he didn't need to do it on behalf of Geralt and Eskel. For the first time though, Lambert had an optimistic thought.

"It might mean he's living a happy life somewhere. I mean, look at Jaskier. He's had it better than us."

That was a topic that came up repeatedly over the next few weeks. They dreamed up all sorts of fancy lives Eskel's daemon could have lived, the wonders he would have seen. Through it all, Lambert bitterly wished his daemon could have been anything but a Witcher. Alas, Vesemir rapidly disillusioned him from that idea.

"He's become a Witcher, probably dead by now. And if you met him, you'd probably wish he was."

"Is that so?" Lambert drawled, emptying his tankard with a disappointed sigh. He couldn't believe it was empty again.

"You suffered the same shit fate I did. Your human was trained by Cats. Guxart turned into an utter dick."

The words were muttered darkly and Lambert tried not to take it to heart how much hatred Vesemir oozed. It made him all that much more determined to not go the same way as the bitter old man. Instead, he turned to Geralt with a leer. "So, is it gay or is it masturbation to want to get off with your own daemon?"

To say the table erupted in uproar was an understatement. Geralt was scowling somewhat fierce, arms crossed over his chest in protest. It only egged Lambert on further.

"I think it's incest," he declared with a shit eating grin. "Technically it's part of your family because you have the same parents."

"It's masturbation at most." Geralt was growling and glowering. "Because the daemon was still part of you."

Through it all, Eskel stayed rather quiet. It was only when the other two looked to him for opinion that he leaned forward, propping himself up on the table with a serious crease to his brows.

"I think-" the words were low and measured, "-that as long as everyone involved consents, it's fucking hot is what it is."

"The only thing it is," Vesemir finally butted in, "is a disaster waiting to happen. You don't want to meet your counterparts. Trust me."

Except that only made Lambert all the more keen. He wanted to both prove Vesemir wrong and also have what Geralt and Jaskier seemed to be hurtling towards. So, come spring, he set out with the intent of fulfilling one contract only. It was one that he would pay himself for in emotional fulfilment. He was going to find every Cat he could until he found Luca.

He met Gaetan along his travels who laughed in his face and said he was much more into snakes than wolves. That was an encounter Lambert was more than eager to cut short because he did not want to think about how Letho and Gaetan were oddly complementary. It was also another jolt of bitter jealousy, another Witcher and daemon had been reunited while he was still out there looking for his own. Assuming Luca had survived.

Meeting Guxart was a bit of an accident and Lambert wished he'd not encountered the old Cat. He growled and hissed about his stupid daemon who would probably have turned into a useless pigeon if left alone. There was obviously no love lost between them and Lambert desperately hoped he wasn't going to have the same fate.

Third time lucky, as the saying went. Lambert had trailed the new Cat for a few days, learning his habits and watching him work. There was no ounce of recognition or familiarity. But then again, the last time Lambert saw Luca, they were being dragged away from each other, foreign hands on his rapidly shifting body so his eyes could barely adjust enough to see the screaming, tear filled face of his human. It was quite possibly the worst last image he could have had of Luca.

Satisfied that the Cat wasn't someone Lambert wouldn't want to associate with, he approached in the evening when the campfire was still bright but slowly settling.

"I was wondering when my shadow would make himself known," the Cat said easily enough, barely glancing up from where he was whittling something.

The last two times Lambert had tried to be careful with exploring the idea of the Cat Witcher being his human. He was tired and cut straight to the point.

"Luca?"

By the fire the man froze. It was only luck that meant Lambert could hear the shuddering exhales of someone trying to keep up the façade of calm and collected. Finally, the man set his carving aside and stood with an easy smile that felt like a thousand lies.

"I go by Aiden." It wasn't a reply and Lambert knew it.

"I don't remember my name," he admitted softly, desperately hoping he wasn't about to make an utter tit of himself. "People call me Lambert. But I'm looking for my Luca."

He didn't expect to suddenly have an armful of Witcher clinging to him like their very lives depended on it.

"It's really you!" Aiden sounded close to tears. "You never did have a single name, usually going by Idiot, Pain In The Butt, Menace and so many other equally flattering names."

"Guess that never changed," Lambert laughed wetly. He held Aiden close, wishing he could feel as he used to when they were connected. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

It was just that start of something Lambert never thought he'd have. Easy companionship, shared disdain for the whole Witcher thing, stories upon stories of contracts gone well, gone wrong, or just plain gone. By the time winter rolled round, Lambert was firmly of the opinion that he and Aiden would travel together, fuck the Path and all the teachings about it being lonely. If Geralt could have his bard then they sure as hell could have each other.

Getting to Kaer Morhen, Lambert gleefully had an arm slung around Aiden's shoulder, introducing him to the rest of his family. He especially delighted in the flaring of Vesemir's nostrils as he took in the situation.

"Cats and Wolves don't mix. You of all people should know that."

"And you should know it's my life's mission to prove you wrong, old man," Lambert shot back.

Perhaps the most curious part of the whole winter was that Geralt was already back with not one, but two guests. Jaskier was a known quantity and Lambert greeted him warmly. The other though was a near silent man who watched them through eyes that looked way too old for his body.

"This is Cahir," Geralt said when the man didn't even introduce himself. "We'd heard rumours of a Nilfgaardian without a daemon and went to investigate."

"Not a Nilfgaardian," Cahir grumbled with a half-hearted glare.

It took Lambert a moment to figure out just why Geralt would bring such a man back before his eyes widened in delighted realisation.

"You think that-"

"Mhm."

That was the extent of their conversation because Lambert was cackling in delight. He looked Cahir over with a newfound interest. Young, like Jaskier but so very different in behaviour. As much as they'd wondered about Eskel's daemon's fate, this wasn't one they'd predicted.

Three days later Eskel was leading Scorpion into Kaer Morhen's courtyard. Lambert and Aiden were all but bouncing with excitement, not wanting to miss the moment Eskel met his daemon. In their opinion Geralt was drawing things out and making it less fun by not having them all meet in the stables. Instead, Eskel was allowed to venture into the kitchen in the company of Lambert and Aiden who were vibrating in anticipation.

"Eskel," Geralt greeted him with a warm hug. Jaskier and Cahir were behind him, even Vesemir had ventured out to see what the outcome would be. "It's good to have you home. Allow me to introduce you to Cahir."

The two looked at each other with guarded gazes and Eskel gave a terse nod. It was as anticlimactic as fuck. No recognition, not interest, nothing. Just a slow once over which, if Lambert had thought about it, was pretty much a mirror image of each other, equally considering and closed off.

Despondent, he dragged Aiden off, helping lay the table for a shared meal. Vesemir was quick to follow, there was no way to tell whether he was disappointed or relieved by the lack of drama. Geralt and Jaskier wandered out, oddly deflated. Not two seconds later there was an almighty crash from the kitchen and they were all racing back. Only to turn right around and flee after a glimpse of Cahir pinning Eskel to a wall and kissing him like Eskel was the last gasp of air for a drowning man.

"So, are they?" Jaskier asked, glancing towards the kitchen. Something else crashed and thumped but it was best not to investigate.

After a moment it was Vesemir who tiredly said, "Does it matter? It doesn't seem like they much care."

All in all, Lambert didn't think he cared either. Cahir and Eskel seemed happy enough in their new acquaintanceship, trying to figure out their past could wait, if they even wanted to explore it. Though Lambert had a hard time imagining Cahir as a goat. Over the years he'd heard Eskel lament enough about how his daemon preferred to take the form of a goat.

Regret came the next morning at breakfast when Eskel and Cahir appeared at the table, seemingly indifferent. If the rest of them hadn't see the two almost violently making out in the kitchen before disappearing to a bedroom, they wouldn't have guessed anything had gone on between them.

"Hey Geralt," Eskel called, face passive. "You know the difference between a goldfish and a mountain goat?"

"A mountain goat could live in Kaer Morhen but a goldfish couldn't?"

Eskel rolled his eyes. "No, a goldfish mucks around a fountain."

"And a mountain goat fucks around a mountain," Cahir finished the joke. He and Eskel high fived without looking at each other. Lambert only smacked his head on the table when Cahir continued, "And I am no goldfish."

[janetbrown711]

“Why are you so nice to me” wakko or yakko max

To Wakko's delight, his brother kept good on his promise. Weeks passed and his brother devoted several days to restoring their bond just as it once was (the other days Yakko spent with Dot or with the both of them).

Heck, Wakko was so secure in his brother not abandoning him when Yakko asked if he could start up writing to Max again (at a much slower pace than before, he promised), Wakko said yes (barely) without hesitation. He knew that Max made him happy... and that he kinda owed it to Yakko to let him hang out with him again, as their little "not exactly falling out" was his fault (to him, anyway).

Everything was starting to seem... good- perfect, even.

However, Dot's birthday was rapidly approaching and Yakko was starting to get ideas.

"You know what we should do?" He said, lounging on the couch in the sunroom. "We should throw a ball for your birthday, Dot."

Dot perked up from her book. "What? Why? We never held balls for our birthdays before."

Yakko rolled his eyes. "That's because Grandma ruins everything. In this book I'm reading it says it was tradition for the royal family to hold big celebrations on their birthdays. I think it'd be fun- plus a great opportunity for you two to start making some friends."

Oh.

This again.

Wakko tried to laugh it off. "You'd have to get mum and dad to agree, and they've been pretty busy with the flooding in the west."

"Bah, that's mostly dealt with at this point. I'm sure they could use the break too," Yakko countered.

"B-but mom's coronation wasn't even that long ago," Wakko argued.

"It was over three months ago," Dot rolled her eyes. "I think a party would be fun," she looked to Yakko.

"Didn't you have fun at mom's coronation?" Yakko asked his middle sibling.

"Well I- I suppose I did..." Wakko thought back to the massive chalk drawing he had covered the floor with. It was pretty fun, and it made a lot of people happy.

"See? I'm sure a party in Dot's honor would be fun all the same- plus, making friends is great, I'm sure you'll love it," Yakko said with a reassuring smile on his face, though Wakko still wasn't quite convinced. However, he could see how much both of his siblings wanted this (even though the idea was only seconds old) and who was he to say no?

"Alright, I guess we can do that," He said, which made Dot clap in excitement as she began to detail everything she'd want for a party in her honor.

Wakko had a feeling this was going to be interesting.

.o0o.

As expected, their parents were ecstatic at the idea, and they spared no expense in attempts to create what they believed a much-needed celebration for the people of Warnerstock and their allies.

And to say it truly was Dot's creative vision would not be false. There were a lot of pinks- a lot, a lot of pinks. Though mostly tasteful, if you saw it it was hard to look away from.

But still, Wakko was happy for her, she was having the time of her life planning it all out with their dad, who was equally happy to spoil his little girl.

However, he knew deep down that despite what Yakko had sworn, her party was probably going to be very different from the coronation. He hoped it would be fun, but the more he watched decorations being put into place and talks about the guests and feasts the more he was beginning to worry.

He didn't say anything though, as the rest of his family seemed far too happy for him to want to bother them with his plight. They deserved this break, he was probably just being dramatic anyways. He'd be fine- and maybe make a friend just like Yakko said he would.

Wakko did his best to remain optimistic, despite the knots forming deep within.

It wasn't too long before the grand day arrived. Wakko had thought they had pulled out all the stops just for decorating but the day itself was insane too. Dot was showered in presents and even was taken out to town with William to go shopping for anything her heart desired, meanwhile Yakko, Wakko, and Lena stayed behind and supervised the final touches on the decorations.

Okay- really only Lena supervised, but Yakko and Wakko were technically there too. They didn't stay with her long, as she gave them a list of things to check up on so she could talk to some people which they were fine with.

Together, the brothers walked through the massive dining hall, checking curtains, flowers, vases, tapestries, etc. to make sure they were in the exact right places (not that the list really said where they were supposed to be) and checked them all off.

"So... are you looking forward to tonight?" Yakko asked, checking off 'left-most curtains'.

"Oh- uh- Yeah! I am... are you?" Wakko quickly said.

"Oh yeah, totally, it'll be great to see Max. It's been a while... you're still cool with that, right?" Yakko glanced down at him before checking another thing off.

Wakko nodded. "I won't try to prank or drive him away this time, I swear."

Yakko snorted. "I know you know better, I'm just asking if you're okay with me hanging out with him for tonight instead of you."

"Yeah, I am. You did say I should make friends after all," Wakko said, fiddling with gloves. Yakko looked away from the checklist and gave his little brother a side hug.

"I'm proud of you, you know that?" Yakko asked.

"Yeah, yeah," It was Wakko's turn to laugh.

"I'm serious-" Yakko let go and punched Wakko's arm lightly. "You're doing great. You should be proud of yourself too, you've come a long way."

Wakko smiled a little. "Maybe."

Yakko chuckled. "Well, it looks like we're just about done with this list. Wanna go turn it in to mom and go get changed into uncomfortable suits and greet guests for hours on end, or do you wanna just double and triple check the list until the last second?"

"Definitely check the list," Wakko laughed too.

And so the brothers did, until Lena caught wind of their shenanigans and forced them to start getting ready for the party (though they did cut a lot of time so technically they still regarded it as a win). At least those outfits weren't the worst they've ever worn (they were pretty confident nothing would ever top how itchy and miserable their funeral outfits were). Still, standing around and greeting people was a dreadfully boring job, not to mention awkward until their father and Dot eventually came to join them and actually do their job properly.

They knew their mom was busy, but leaving the two of them in charge was a little questionable.

Plus, after all that interaction, Wakko was starting to feel weird. Tired, but also not-? It was complicated. All he knew was that he wanted to be alone and maybe pace for a while, that'd be nice.

However, the party was to start in not too long, so he really didn't have time for that. He followed Yakko around for a while to the main party room where the people they had greeted before were all chatting amongst themselves. It wasn't too loud yet, but Wakko's tail twitched nervously as he weaved between people and conversations.

He hadn't been this nervous at the coronation- Wakko really wished he could figure out why he was feeling this way. Alas, he was unable.

He did feel a little better as Yakko and he found a spot of their own to chill in for a while, away from all the people.

"A lot of people came to this shindig, huh?" Yakko joked, "though probably no more than those who attended mom's coronation."

"Yeah..." Wakko said, trying to compare them mentally.

"More kids though, which is really good for you and Dot to make friends," Yakko said.

"Yep, yep," Wakko feigned enthusiasm.

"Are you okay..?" Yakko asked, causing Wakko to straighten out his act instantly and nod.

"Of course," he said. Yakko frowned.

"You don't have to lie you know," He remarked. Wakko bit his lip.

"M'just a little tired," he shrugged, figuring it was close enough to the truth.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Yakko asked worriedly.

Wakko nodded again. "I'll be fine, I'm probably just hungry."

Yakko laughed a little. "Alright, but you'll tell me if anything is wrong, right?"

"Mhm."

"Good."

The brothers stood in a bored silence for a while, before the rest of their family walked in and the festivities officially began.

It started with the feast, which was pretty harmless, as Wakko enjoyed talking with his family and the food was "quite excellent". The hall was filled with good cheer and hearty laughter, which he could appreciate.

However, after that, things began to blur.

It seemed only moments ago he was eating when suddenly everything was taken away and it turned into social hour. and Dot and their parents disappeared once more. He recalled Yakko asking if it was okay for him to go to Max, to which Wakko nodded and even pushed him away some. Oh god- he hoped that wasn't too aggressive.

Now he was alone. People were talking, walking, dancing, all sorts of activities. Wakko tried to take it all in, but all of the colors and sounds were starting to burn his eyes.

Friends. He was told he had to make friends.

He tried looking around for kids his age, but just turning his head made him dizzy.

Hmph.

Still, he was determined to function as a normal child would so he began weaving through the rapidly shifting crowd as he had earlier, just with a much louder and more busy crowd.

Suddenly his suit was starting to feel a lot more uncomfortable than before. God- if he could just find someone-

He bumped right into a lady in a bright purple dress. He quickly stuttered an apology before scurrying away as fast as he could, not even waiting for a response.

Seriously- was his suit trying to choke him? He pulled on it desperately, but if anything it just made the pull tighter. Wakko growled to himself as he walked further and further away from whoever that lady was, until he hit the wall.

At least the marble was cool, it was starting to feel like it was a million degrees in here.

Still, it wasn't enough. he still felt hot, and stuffy- was he even breathing anymore?

...Yes, yes he was. Rather fast though- oh dear, was that his heart? oh god- what was happening? Why was the music so loud? Why was his collar so tight? When was the last time he blinked? Where were these "kids" Wakko was supposed to make friends with?

Wait- no, he could see those. A group of them- shit, they were looking at him. Wakko noticed his nail was twitching nervously- he grabbed it and forced it to stop, but the kids laughed.

Wakko ran away again, covering his ears, his face turning red and the knot in his stomach transporting itself to his throat.

"No, no, no, no. Please, not now..." He pleaded with himself, but he didn't listen, and tears started to form. Wakko looked desperately for a quick way out, but still couldn't find any- curse the size of this place.

However, as his eyes darted around anxiously, he spotted something- a table covered in a white cloth that went to the ground. Without hesitation, Wakko went to it, making sure no one saw him before crawling underneath.

Wakko stayed there, covering his ears and rocking back and forth awhile, cursing his stupid brain for making these stupid tears that wouldn't end. He also cursed the stupid music for being too loud and the guests for being so many.

He wanted Mom.

He wanted mom to come and find him and scoop him up and take him to the playroom and sit in the rocking chair and rock him to sleep.

However, she didn't come.

No one did.

He was alone, and these tears weren't making him any calmer. Everything still felt so loud- it wasn't this loud before- he loved mom's coronation. Why was his brain so stupid?!

The young prince continued like that for a while, before someone came and lifted the tablecloth. He tried to make a run for it, but the someone grabbed his arm before he could- Wakko turned to look at their face and-

It was Max.

"S-sorry, I probably shouldn't... grab you," He let go, and Wakko scooted back, though he didn't leave. Max saw this as an invitation and joined him under the table.

"A-are- uh... Are you okay?" Max asked. Wakko looked away and shrugged.

"Right... not much of a talker..." Max recalled. Wakko nodded once, though he instantly regretted it, as it made his head feel weird.

Max tapped his fingers on his knee as he tried to figure something out. Wakko avoided any looks the Disney Prince gave him.

"Do you want some water? I can go get you some water," Max offered. Wakko sniffled and thought about it, before nodding once more (and regretting it once more).

with that, he disappeared, though not for too long.

Wakko noticed he stopped crying.

"Here, take this," Max handed him the glass. Wakko accepted the offering, taking a long drink.

Well, that felt at least a little bit better.

He glanced at Max.

"A-aren't you supposed to be with Yakko?" he asked.

"Dot was practically begging Yakko for a dance and I let him, it's her day after all," Max chuckled.

That made sense.

Wakko looked down at the glass, tapping his finger against it and looking at the water ripple.

"Do you need to step out of the party for a sec?" Max asked.

Wakko shrugged, taking a sip.

"Here- I'll help you find an exit," Max said, getting up and holding the cloth open for Wakko.

He hesitated.

He didn't deserve this- such kindness from the guy he locked in the tower mere weeks ago- it didn't make sense.

Then again, he'd give anything to get out of here.

Wakko listening to his senses and got out.

Carefully he followed Max through the gigantic room until they eventually reached a door, through which both of them slipped out of and into a calm and dark hallway.

Instantly, Wakko felt calmed, taking a deep breath.

"Wanna sit down?" Max asked, gesturing to the couches nearby. Wakko nodded. However, instead of sitting on the couch, he chose to lay on the cool floor, even taking off his gloves so he could feel the marble with his fingers.

Max didn't say anything for a while, not seeming to mind the silence. Which was good- because Wakko didn't feel like breaking it.

After a while though, a thought nagged at his brain.

Why.

Why on earth would Max help him? After everything he did? After everything he jeopardized? It didn't make sense.

Wakko sat up. Max looked at him but didn't say anything.

Wakko sighed.

"Why-?" He paused.

"Why... are you being so nice to me?"

"You were in trouble, I couldn't ignore that," Max shrugged. Wakko frowned, putting his gloves back on.

"I-i... Aren't you mad? At least a little?" He asked.

"It wasn't my first time being locked in a room for hours on end," Max snorted.

"Y-yeah, but I tried to hurt you. And Yakko..." Wakko looked at the ground. "I know how much you mean to him."

Max blinked.

"I- uh... well-" Max struggled with his words a moment.

"I don't... blame you, I guess. It's as new to you as it is to me and with a past and family tree like yours, I guess I don't blame you for lashing out? I dunno," Max shrugged, looking away.

Huh...

"Still... you didn't have to do this."

"I wanted to. Trust me, I would've helped any kid I found under there, but I'm glad it was you," Max said.

Wakko looked at him, deciding whether or not he believed that. Ultimately, he did.

"You know... Yakko talks a lot about you," Max said, piquing Wakko's interest.

"He worries a lot, but he says you're a really sweet kid, and I believe that," Max smiled a little. "You should be easier on yourself, you're still growing up you know?"

Wakko thought about that.

"I guess," He said. Max snorted.

"You know... you do seem like a pretty cool kid. I'm sorry if you ever felt I was ignoring you, I promise I'll try to make up for it too," He said.

Wakko thought about that too.

"Thanks," He said.

"I really do hope we can grow to like each other. Yakko means a lot to me and you mean a lot to him... you know?" Max blushed a little, scratching the back of his neck.

Wakko nodded, grinning a little.

"So... are we... cool?" Max asked.

Wakko thought about that as well.

"Yeah, we're cool," He said with his signature smile.

"Cool," Max grinned back. "Because I'm pretty sure Yakko might lose it if his dance with Dot ended and he can't find me."

Wakko laughed.

"Will you be alright?" Max asked, standing. Wakko nodded, getting up as well.

"I'm feeling a lot better... though I think I'll look for mum and dad," He said.

"Fair enough," Max nodded once. "Well- uh... see you around, I guess."

"See you around," Wakko laughed at his awkwardness before going back through the doors and back to the party.

Max followed soon thereafter, hoping Yakko wouldn't be too mad or worried at him for his sudden disappearance.

.o0o.

Yakko couldn't believe that a year ago today he thought his parents were dead. It baffled him honestly- he could turn his head and his parents were right there. They were never really dead- it shocked him to remember sometimes.

He also couldn't believe that only a year ago the most celebration they could share for Dot's birthday was a mini cake they had to sneak late at night.

And now look where he was- dancing in the middle of the ballroom with his little sister having the time of his life- despite the fact Dot couldn't stop giggling and he almost dropped her that one time.

However, he had to draw the line after three songs, which Dot understood, and he gave her back to their parents, hoping Max wouldn't be too mad about Dot taking up so much of his time.

"Ah, Max, there you are- sorry for dancing so long, I have a hard time saying no to her," Yakko laughed between pants, scratching the back of his neck.

"You just got done?" Max teased.

"Yeah, she really liked dancing," Yakko shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets.

"You look like you could use a breather," Max raised an eyebrow at him.

"Who, me? Whatever would give that idea?" He played back, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"C'mon- let's go to the balcony," Max said, taking his hand.

When they got to the door Yakko paused as he looked back at his family, unsure. However, his parents looked at him, and after giving a fair look of warning, they both gave him a thumbs up and nod of approval, and Yakko went off with his prince.

However, they didn't pick a random one, they went all the way through the halls to the usual one they'd go to when Max visited Warnerstock (the kid had a thing for balconies).

"Ahh, fresh air," Yakko embraced the cool night.

"Yep," Max embraced it too, immediately going and leaning on the rails.

"Are you liking the party?" Yakko asked.

"It's pretty good- though a little crowded, but I always know how to find some space," Max answered.

"I feel that- when my birthday rolls around, I'll make it a lot less crowded. I don't know what Dot had against having it outside, but what are you gonna do?" Yakko shrugged.

"I think Wakko would appreciate a smaller shindig," Max said, looking at the garden.

"What makes you say that?" Yakko decided to take his place next to Max also leaning against the railing.

"Ran into him- he wasn't having the best time so I helped ground him again," Max said like it was no big deal.

It was.

"Grounded him? You- managed to calm him down? Is he okay? What happened?" Yakko asked quickly.

"Woah, woah, it's okay. He's totally fine, just... overwhelmed." Max said.

"Oh... well... I'm glad he's okay," Yakko took a deep breath. "And I'm even more glad you were able to help him- that's huge... really."

He looked at him when he said that last part. Max blushed.

"I would've helped anyone, seriously," He looked away.

"Mhm, sure," Yakko teased.

"I am serious though- it probably means a lot to Wakko- he doesn't accept help easily and to allow you... it means he's starting to like you," Yakko said in all seriousness.

"That's good," Max nodded. "I really do want your family to like me- I just... don't have the best ways of showing it, I suppose."

"Hey, you're doing great so far," Yakko held his hand.

There was a moment before Yakko realized what he was doing and both boys broke the gesture.

"Haha... yeahhhh," Max looked at the wall away from Yakko.

There was a stretch of silence between the two, neither knowing what to do. Sure they knew what they wanted but... things are never as easy as just doing what you want.

"My dad and uncles like you too- if you care about that," Max decided to say.

"That's good," Yakko smiled a little, rubbing his thumb on the railing.

Another pause.

"You know- It's funny to me how when we met you thought I might too cool for you," Max remarked.

"When did I ever say that?" Yakko said.

"You called me cool at least fifty times upon first meeting me," Max play punched his arm.

"As I recall, you called me cool, so who's the real cool one here?" Yakko punched him back and the princes laughed.

"Alright, alright, you got me," Max chuckled. "I was just trying to say you were totally wrong, I don't have a cool bone in my body."

"God- you're so cool you don't even know how cool you are. Typical," Yakko sighed teasingly.

"Hey, didn't I just say you're pretty cool too?" Max accused playfully.

"Oh please, you're way cooler. No trauma and with fluffy, luxurious hair like that? Please," Yakko rolled his eyes.

"Oh puh-lease yourself. Trauma is just a cool backstory and you're home is a lot more fun and a lot less crowded and your family is a lot more cool too," Max pointed his finger at Yakko.

"You're exaggerating," Yakko pointed back.

"Nope- not at all. You're one of my first true friends and that automatically makes you very cool," Max crossed his arms.

"Oh yeah? W-well-" Yakko paused, looking at Max carefully.

A pause.

Max's dark brown eyes shined back at Yakko, reflecting the stars that surrounded them wonderfully. His fluffy and luxurious hair framed his face with perfect ease. His signature smile slowly turned into that of curiosity.

Yakko felt his heart flutter.

"I'm not as cool as you think," Yakko stepped down, looking at the ground.

Coward.

Another pause.

"..."

"Well maybe you are right- maybe I am cooler than you."

"Wha-?"

Before Yakko could finish the sentence, Max grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into a kiss.

"S-see?" Max was internally "fjdkaf;sfj"-ing in his brain. "You've won- I'm a lot cooler."

"Y-yeah," Yakko could barely speak his face was as red as Wakko's hat. "You're... yeah," his face melted into a goofy grin.

"Oh god- I'm sorry- d-did you not mean that..?" Max panicked, quickly becoming embarrassed.

"N-no!" Yakko snapped to life. "I-i... I- uh..."

"I liked it," He managed to say. Max smiled.

"W-... Wanna do it again?" Yakko proposed, and Max nodded, and they shared another kiss.

Yakko knew it was corny to think, but it truly felt just like fireworks in his chest.

He liked Max- Max liked him. A part of himself was realized- and he felt alive. A good kind of alive- not the kind of alive that came from life or death situations.

"So... I guess that makes us even," Max joked. Yakko laughed.

"I guess so," He couldn't get himself to stop smiling- neither could Max. They looked at each other before bursting into laughter again.

"Man, we really should return to the party," Max said.

"Yeah, you're right," Yakko's face was starting to hurt from the smiling.

"Do- uh... do you think your parents will be cool... orrrr...?" Max asked.

"Psh, I'm sure they'll be fine," He said without hesitation.

"Cool," Max said, opening the door out of the balcony.

Yakko looked at him for a moment, trying to absorb the moment as best he could.

"You okay?" Max asked.

"Yep," Yakko said, taking a deep breath as he implanted it in his memory in his brain forever.

"C'mon, let's go before they think we've done something stupid," Yakko said, quickly joining Max and grabbing his hand before running back to join his family.

however, right before entering the party room once more, Yakko paused.

"Does this mean our friendship is basically ruined?" He asked.

Max thought about it.

"I wouldn't think of it as a ruining per se... maybe think of it as an upgrade of sorts," Max winked.

God, he was so much cooler.

"Cool," Yakko grinned, squeezing Max's hand.

"Well... uh- shall we?" Max let go and offered Yakko his arm.

Yakko thought about it.

Taking it would mean no taking it back- it would mean the whole party would basically know that they kissed (holy shit- they kissed! that was a thing that happened!). His parents, his siblings, practically the whole kingdom, and their allies.

Yakko couldn't imagine any other way to walk back in.

He took his arm.

"We shall."

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 The End

[yandere-daydreams]

requests are open!!! what about a soft yandere fairy with a darling that accidentally wanders into their forest and won't let them leave? thank u sm!

I’ve never been able to resist a classic Yandere!Fae who can’t seem to understand why their lovely little Darling won’t give them a name and volunteer their free will without a struggle. It’s nice to be soft for a change, too, if only for the dialogue.

Title: Creation and Control.

TW: Imprisonment and Mind-Control.

~

You chose not to dance, tonight.

It wasn’t because you had anything better to do. The fae could hunt, they could harvest and maintain their make-shift homes and do whatever they wished once the sun slipped low in the sky, but as a human, a guest who’d been forced to overstay their welcome, you could only choose between joining one of the swirling, ever-growing circles or not doing so. For whatever reason, you’d picked the latter, taking a seat on a fallen tree-trunk and watching as strangers without names laughed and smiled and sobbed, some of them unfamiliar, and others prisoners like yourself, unable to leave because of magic or fate or in your case, a golden elixir you hadn’t known better than to drink. A goblet of it sat at your feet, now, but you didn’t pay it any mind. If only for the sake of protecting your pride.

Despite this, your attention dropped to the grail as a familiar figure started to approach, heavy footsteps muffled by the soft glass of the clearing. You didn’t have to greet him or be greeted in return, not when there was only one person who dared to speak to you.  Who bothered to speak to you, really. It wasn’t like a conversation with someone else’s personal pet would draw much interest, not from a group that had already seen so many of your kind come and go.

You only looked up when a long, lean hand came to rest on your shoulder, pressing down for a moment before you gave in, tilting your head back and letting your eyes meet the swirls of green and gold just beginning to pry into you. Durin, although that was more of a title than a name. The warden to your prison of trees and mushrooms and enchanting, unnerving smiles.

He spoke first. He always did. You were an object to be addressed, here, rather than one expected to speak out of turn. “My dear,” He started, already sliding a thin wooden comb in your waiting hand. “Indulge me and I promise, you won’t be pestered again until sunrise.”

You didn’t need further instruction. You pulled your legs onto the trunk and Durin lowered himself into the space they’d once occupied, soon sitting outstretched in front of you. It was a mind-numbing activity, braiding a head of long, pale hair into whatever dizzying pattern its owner requested, but you had plenty of practice, both from the task you were currently performing and the less patient stallions you used to care for on your family’s farm. You wondered if anyone took up to responsibility, now that you weren’t there to carry it out. You wondered if anyone even noticed you were gone. “It’s not difficult,” You mumbled, running your comb through a series of non-existent knots. “You could learn to do this yourself, if you wanted to. It’d be faster than coming to me.”

“I could, hypothetically, but I’m afraid we monsters don’t share your talents.” He paused, letting out a pleased hum as your blunt nails scraped idly against his scalp. “Hunting braids, perhaps, but nothing so…” He trailed off, rolling two fingers in a vague, arbitrary gesture. “Nothing so pointless. The Gods blessed us with many things, but alas, no one thought to add ‘creation’ to that list.”

Your response was delayed. You’d heard of their curse before, in tales of the suffering that was said to accompany any slight endeavor into turning one thing into another, but you’d never quite believed it. You supposed it was fitting, though. Durin didn’t seem like the kind of refined soul who would dwell in the sparsely decorated cave he called a home for any reason less than necessity. “I hardly think brushing your own hair would incur divine wrath.”

“If you can break one rule, you’re bound to break the rest. I wouldn’t be reduced to a pile of smoldering ash, but I doubt the consequences would be pleasant,” He explained, twisting to his side just enough to see you without disturbing the three tangled trails you were desperately trying to guide to an agreeable meeting point. “Are you trying to say you don’t enjoy my company, love?”

You didn’t answer him. With a particularly harsh tug to the strand you were holding, you forced him to wince, freeing you from his gaze with minimal effort. “And that’s why I’m here?” You asked, the words more a declaration of grudging recognition than a real question. “To braid your hair and tend to your every need, because you’re so tragically unable to?”

At that, he seemed to take offense, leaning back and into your lap, spoiling your progress as carelessly as he’d demanded it. You could see his face, like this, an expression of defined lines and pointed ears and traits that weren’t quite not uncanny. You might’ve said there was a hint of a collar bone beneath his loose tunic, but there could be no hints, not with Durin. He was the romantic interpretation of a man, something that got so close to being a perfect replica, but whose creator was too fond of embellishments to truly design something real. You could accept that you’d once thought of him as human, but you couldn’t forgive yourself for holding onto that belief for so long. Others in his entourage their otherness more obvious, decorating themselves with horns and hooves and whatever they liked, and while Durin was less apparent, he made no attempt to hide his wrongness. His grin, suddenly full of pointed, predatory teeth, was enough to prove that.

“You’re here because I want you to be.” He never looked away, never blinked, and abruptly, it occurred to you that he might not have to. “You’re here because I saw a young, vulnerable human wandering through my territory, following the calls of members of my court, and I decided to take pity on what should’ve been the main course of our next feast. And, because I’ve come to care for you despite your doubt, you will remain here. Allowing you to dote on me is just another privilege I’m kind enough to provide.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last, and you knew that. As well as you knew the color of the sky and the time of day, you knew that. You knew it, and yet, you found yourself frowning, stiffening, gritting your teeth as you resisted the urge to shove him away. “If you were kind, you would let me go. You know I don’t want to be here.”

His smile wavered, then dropped. “I don’t think I like your tone.”

“I don’t think I like being a hostage.” You didn’t try to stop yourself, pushing him off of your lap and fleeing from your informal, ruined haven. You had to force yourself to breathe, to inahle and exhale and make yourself calm down, but even that did little to calm your temper, only making you feel more like a child attempting to express their discontent. “You trapped me here. You took me someplace I don’t wish to be, and now, I can’t leave. How is that kind? How are you guiltless--”

“(Y/n).”

It was a silent command. You could feel it, something vile forcing its way into your veins and solidifying, rendering you speechless and paralyzed as Durin shook his head, letting out a ragged sigh before he bothered to raise a hand, gesturing for you to come to him. You didn’t have a choice, your movements rigid and your thoughts barely your own, but your body was quick to obey him, to stumble its way to its captor and fall into his lap the moment he expressed his desire for you to do so. His control faded as his arms wrapped around you, but Durin didn’t act to reinstate it, only reaching behind him and pushing something small and solid into your palm.

The comb. Sleek and wooden and so, so awful. You were tempted to cry, if only in frustration.

But, you didn’t try to resist.

Instead, you choked down your complaints and began working where you left off, attempting to ignore the contented, toothy smile now pressing into your skin.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - A Historic Blunder (Rated NC17)

Summary: Crowley shows up in the Bastille to rescue Aziraphale, but for some reason, when he snaps his fingers, it doesn't only release Aziraphale from his chains, it switches their places. Miffed at all of Crowley's mean comments about his beautiful suit, Aziraphale doesn't just opt to free Crowley, but forces him to earn his way out of his chains by putting his smart mouth and sharp tongue to better use. (1999 words)

Notes: Written for the @coldomenszine - nsfw digital-only edition. Warning for bondage and oral.

Read on AO3.

“What in the …?" Crowley glares at the shackles clamped around his wrists and Aziraphale's gold brocade suit miraculously tailored to his body. His eyes dart over to Aziraphale, clothed in the burgundy coat he arrived in. "Why am I wearing your clothes? And your chains? How the Heaven did this happen?"

"I don't know," Aziraphale says, massaging his wrists, rubbed raw by the shackles he'd been locked in. Indeed, how did this happen? Just moments ago, between pleasant banter and derisive remarks in regard to Aziraphale's unfortunate clothing choices, Crowley had snapped his fingers, performing a demonic miracle to set Aziraphale free. Which he did, so, of course, well done him. But now Crowley is the one in chains ...

... while Aziraphale is dressed like a peasant. 

"Are you losing your touch?"

"Very funny.” Crowley snaps his fingers again. And again. And again. But no matter what he does, he can’t break free. 

Most of what he'd intended when he snapped his fingers happened. Aziraphale is unbound, and the guard who had been sent to fetch him standing paralyzed in the corner. Other than that, nothing else worked the way it was supposed to. 

It's almost as if his spell backfired.

"Could this be a punishment from Hell for you rescuing me?" Aziraphale asks with genuine confusion. "You said your lot don't send rude notes. Could they have taken away your power instead?"

“Don’t know," Crowley says, examining his hands for answers. "Does seem like something they'd do.”

Aziraphale gasps. "Maybe they know you're here, and this was a test! Or maybe this isn't Hell's doing at all! Maybe this is Heaven's!" He looks up and around, trying to sense any Holy influence in their midst. If he finds any, he's going to be very put off, seeing as they made no move whatsoever to aid him.

"All interesting theories," Crowley agrees, giving the shackles a tug, checking their strength. "Theories I would love to discuss with you at length somewhere other than here. So why don't you get me out of this mess?"

Aziraphale tuts at Crowley's tone. He's every inch a demon of Hell, with demon manners, too. "What's the magic word?"

Crowley rolls his eyes. He considers not saying it out of spite, but what other option has he? "Please."

"Could you possibly say it nicer?"

Crowley fixes Aziraphale with the fire of his fierce, yellow eyes. "No."

"Fine." Aziraphale raises a hand to snap his fingers, but he hesitates. 

"Wot?" Crowley shakes the chains to remind Aziraphale what he should be doing. "Wot's the matter?"

“I don't know."

"Wot do you mean you don't know?"

"It was nice of you to sweep in here and help me, but you're being mean to me."

"I'm being mean to you?"

"You made fun of my clothes!”

Crowley sputters like a car struggling to start. “You’re ... you're ... you're going to let me get discorporated because I made a comment about your outfit?”

“It was rude! I'll have you know that suit was a gift from Marie Antoinette herself!”

"Pfft. Fitting you'd be wearing it here then."

Aziraphale tsks in disgust. "Was that really necessary?"

Footsteps overhead, coupled with the sounds of cells opening and shrill cries for mercy, draw Crowley's attention away, make him swallow hard. "Okay, look, none of that matters right now! I got you out of your chains, yes? Tit for tat, angel. Bust me out!"

"Quite right, quite right. I could do that. Bust you out, as you say. But what’s in it for me?”

"Aside from you not losing your head?"

"Yes. Obviously. Aside from that."

“I’ll take you to lunch," Crowley offers.

Aziraphale shrugs. “Alas, I’ve already eaten.”

Crowley pulls a face. “That’s never mattered before!”

“Yes ..." Aziraphale grins "... but today it does.” 

"Wot else could you possibly want?"

"What are you willing to give me?"

Crowley crosses his arms over his chest, fumbling with the cumbersome metal links so he can manage it. "I know you've got something on your mind, angel. So could you help me out? Give me a hint?"

"Well ..." Aziraphale rolls his eyes to the ceiling, stalling in the hopes Crowley might figure it out "... it's been terribly stressful here, locked up by myself, waiting to be executed ..." He busies himself picking nonexistent lint from Crowley's jacket, feigning nonchalance. He has no intention of letting Crowley lose his head. He's having a bit of fun with him. 

But maybe he can finagle a little something more. 

"So you're wanting something to relieve your stress, is that it?"

"Perhaps ..."

Crowley smirks. "The stress of being locked up or the stress of being an arsehole?"

Aziraphale huffs. “Remember, my dear, I can’t stop time the way you can so we don’t have a lot to play around with.”

“How much time are we talking about exactly?” Crowley asks, dropping to his knees. Aziraphale hides his triumphant grin behind a scowl when he sees the immaculate hem of his pants and the toes of his satin shoes come in contact with the grimy floor.

“There are guards strolling the halls, checking on prisoners several floors above us. There’s one a few floors down doing the same, coming up this way. So I’d say you have roughly twenty minutes.”

"Twenty minutes!?”

“Nineteen now.”

“Knowing the response time of your cock when faced with my tongue, I’d say that’s more time than I need.”

Aziraphale glowers. "Eighteen ..." 

"Alright, alright! Help me out! Undo your trousers!"

"You're already down there. I'd say you're in a better position to undo them, don't you?"

"Bastard!" Crowley growls. He snaps his fingers, quadruple checking that it won't work. Wouldn't it be the dog's bollocks if his magic came back in time to shove Aziraphale's snarky attitude right back in his face? 

But it doesn't.

Crowley unfastens the fall-front of Aziraphale's trousers, the rough metal of the shackles doing no favors for his wrists in this position, but that barely fazes him, focused on this particular task.

It's been ages since he's seen angel's cock.

He removes it from the confines of angel's trousers, holds it in his hand, and wonders - has it gotten bigger since? Has Aziraphale been putting extra effort into this part of his anatomy since the last time they were together?

Or is he doing this now for Crowley's benefit?

To make Crowley desire him?

Crowley opens wide, takes him in his mouth, but slowly. More slowly than usual. They might be pressed for time, but Crowley feels a need for vengeance. He's going to drag this out, use all of the eighteen - no, seventeen - minutes they have to frustrate the Hell out of Aziraphale.

Teach him a lesson he won't forget anytime soon.

Crowley's lips around Aziraphale's cock nearly discorporate Aziraphale in an instant. It's been too long since he's sampled this demon's pleasures - his warm mouth, his quick wit.

His exquisite company.

"That's is," Aziraphale moans as Crowley wraps his serpent tongue around him, then drags it down his length. "That definitely hits the spot."

Crowley pulls away. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. My knees are aching like Christ on the cross."

"Too soon, my dear," Aziraphale mutters, eyelids fluttering shut to block out sounds of clattering chains, guards coming ever closer, screams of prisoners dragged to their deaths, the ominous drop of the guillotine. "Too soon."

This is the way things have been between them for as long as Crowley can remember. These small indiscretions, stolen taboos, are all they're allowed. They never know when they will have time together, so they relish it whenever it comes along. As fun as it is riling angel up, Crowley can't help wishing he could do things up proper: in the quiet of his flat, on a bed of rose petals, with a bottle of champagne, a bowl of fresh cream, and all the time in the world to enjoy it.

“Crowley!" Aziraphale whines, hips bucking, desperation saturating every breath. "They're coming!"

"Are you?"

"This isn't the time for humor!"

"How much time do we have left?"

"We don't have any left!”

As if on cue, the guards Aziraphale has been sensing arrive, going on loudly about what could have happened to their companion (Marcel - the man stuck in the corner). They stop, do a double-take, then go bug-eyed when they spot Crowley, dressed like a member of the haut monde, on his knees in front of Aziraphale.

At first, they don't know what to make of it. They would chalk it up as a victory if not for the fact that, even dressed like one of them, they have no idea who Aziraphale is. And though they recognize the fancy suit Crowley is sporting, they have no clue how the man inside went from plump and pale to thin with flaming red hair and dark glasses.

They try to think up a practical explanation, but as former men of faith, they come to the conclusion that what's going on inside the cell is the work of the Devil. They hurry off, presumably to summon back-up, screaming about witchcraft and perversion. Aziraphale doesn't know for sure. They could be yelling about the weather. His grasp of conversational French isn't as good as it should be. He could ask Crowley to translate, but he wouldn't remove his mouth from his cock for anything.

Tragically, Crowley does so himself. "I think we've been spotted." 

"How did you guess?" 

"Are you even close?"

"Yes! Yes, I am! I ... oh, let me! May I?" Aziraphale grabs Crowley's head but waits for a consenting nod before he holds him still and fucks his mouth to the finish. And Crowley lets him. He may as well have some fun with his mouth before he and his head become strangers. Not that he thinks Aziraphale would leave him there to be beheaded.

But would he? 

"Oh! Oh, dear! Oh for Heaven's ...!" Aziraphale comes down Crowley's throat in a wash of Holy light enough to burn straight through to his stomach, but that's part of what he enjoys about letting angel use him.

That taste of Heaven that accompanies his orgasm.

"Oh my goodness!" Aziraphale pants. "That was exceptional, my dear. Bravo. You really know how to rise to a challenge."

"I'm glad you're satisfied." Crowley wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then licks up every last drop. "But there's still the matter of you breaking me out."

"Yes ..." Aziraphale awkwardly clears his throat "... that."

"You are going to free me, right?"

Aziraphale shoots Crowley an offended look. "Of course, I am! I'm an angel of my word!"

"A-ha. And how do you intend on doing that when you didn't want to use a miracle to free yourself?" Crowley asks, kicking himself for not considering that at the beginning of all this.

"Oh! Well, you see, I nicked the key from that chap over there ..." Aziraphale pats down the pockets of Crowley's coat, then the pockets of his own, chirping a tiny, "A-ha!" when he finds it.

"Why didn't you tell me!?"

"You didn't ask!"

"How did you get it off him without his noticing?"

"Nu-uh." Aziraphale sticks the key in the lock and gives it a twist. "A magician never reveals his secrets." 

"Wait! That means you could have gotten yourself ... and me ... out of those chains this entire time!?" Crowley hisses, shaking out the throbbing in his wrists as the chains fall to the ground. But Aziraphale sidesteps Crowley's question and helps him to his feet.

"Come come now! Let's get moving!" With a snap of Aziraphale's fingers, Crowley is re-dressed in his original clothes while Aziraphale reluctantly switches outfits with the still frozen guard. "We mustn't hang about!"

When the guards return, there's only one prisoner in the cell. 

The aristocrat on his knees and the revolutionary he was servicing are gone.

[justimajin]

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt.4

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

↳ (4.1k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating, graphic descriptions of violence and blood, major character death

gif credit.

➟ Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, January 12 

You and Namjoon return back without much of a word exchanged. 

The stifling silence lingers longer than its welcome, and there’s occasional swaying of your eyes, hastily scanning over Namjoon’s features. Moments like this make you wish you could figure out what was churning inside his head, the knowledge of his thoughts easing your work by tenfold. 

But alas, Namjoon is the heir to the Kim Empire. Although you have a carefully constructed image of him in mind, he has only been kind and considerate to you, and volatile when the situation calls upon him for action. Something that makes you truly wonder if you’ve been able to assess his character properly at all to this point. 

Entering the house, you plan on heading back to your bedroom and reporting back the information you’ve obtained ‒ until a hand covers yours against the doorknob. 

You swivel, brows knitting together. Your breath immediately hitches, noticing how Namjoon is just inches away from you.

He simply stares at you for a moment, like he was deciphering a puzzle. Lips moving, out escapes a question that you weren’t expecting. 

“Why are you trying to be a part of this?” 

Your eyes enlarge and you rattle through your brain for the clearest of answers. 

“This is your work...I just wanted to know more…” As if on instinct, you attach your role to it. “A-As your wife.” 

Namjoon’s lips draw into a line, and there’s a heavy crease forming in between his brows. A soft ‘tick’ leaves him as he spins around, planting a hand on his temples. 

For a second, you’re not sure what to make out from the gesture. In fact, you can’t recall if you’ve seen Namjoon like this before, especially towards you. 

Hesitating for a moment, your hand begins to slowly advance, moving towards his shoulder. 

He whirls around and you retract it in an instant. 

The breath is knocked out of your lungs when Namjoon clasps onto your hands, desperation reigning heavy in his eyes and rendering you immobile. 

“Please, don’t.” His voice cracks and your gaze instantly latches onto his, “I‒.…I don’t want you succumbing to it too.” 

Confusion swirls in your eyes and Namjoon exhales, fluttering his own shut. “The work I do‒the work I continue on from, it’s not the most pleasant...” 

“And…it’s something that’s completely broken my family.” 

Your pupils flare and Namjoon opens his eyes, tenderly gazing at you. 

“They act as if they don’t care much about the business or about controlling it, when in reality it’s all they ever concern themselves about.” Namjoon explains, “When we got married and you had dinner with them….I saw the family I knew before I became the heir, the ones that hadn’t let this business take precedence over everything else…” 

He continues, anguish leaking into his words, “I….I don’t want things to be the same way with you.” 

Your eyes don’t leave him and the pulse of your heart rate steadily increases, almost doubling when Namjoon squeezes your hands. 

“Get involved in something else, please.” He pleads, “It can be anything, just‒…” 

There’s a moment of hesitation, before he decides to be completely truthful. “Just know that my hands are the ones that have been tainted enough.” 

You harshly suck in a breath, warmth rapidly radiating over your skin. Namjoon expectantly stares at you, waiting for an answer that you can barely conceive. 

Swallowing hard, you nod in response. His shoulders deflate with relief and a genuine smile spreads across his features, but all it serves to do is make the sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach worse. 

I’m sorry, Namjoon. 

You weren’t sent here to not get involved, you weren’t trained and tasked with the mission of relaying information back, seeking an infiltration rather than a relationship from your marriage. 

Picking up the familiar box and hearing the static that reigns out, you patiently wait for the signal to correspond. The thought of Namjoon holding your hands and begging for you to delve deeper elsewhere because of the impact on his family, pangs through your mind more than you would like. 

The signal is sent through and you prepare yourself, placing your hands on the box. 

But for the first time since you’ve been married, you hesitate. 

“W-What?” 

You wonder if your ears heard right, but the remorseful look on your parents suggests otherwise. 

“We’re sorry, Y/N....” Your father states, turning his back without a second look in your direction. Your mother follows suit, not foregoing a glance either. 

You stand frozen, pupils latched onto their disappearing backs. Water begins to surface within your eyes and the door begins to slowly close behind them, all traces of light cutting off. 

┈

“Again!” 

The voice roars in your face, a wince running through your shoulders immediately. 

“I-I have no idea what you’re talking a-about…” 

His hand immediately grabs onto your chin, pushing you forward. Your breathing is uneven, eyes wide with fear. “This is the face of a liar? Say it firmly!” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You swallow hard and the daunting man in front of you seems satisfied for once, stepping back to look through the thin glass on the other side of the room. You don’t dare look, accepting that you were merely a puppet whose strings had to be pulled the right way. 

At the sound of approval from the glass, there’s a smile that curls on his lips as he turns to face you again. 

┈

“I-I can’t…” 

A hand slams against the metal table you’re sitting at and you jolt, “A woman tells you she has information regarding the Kim’s and you need to get it out of her.” He nearly snarls in your face, “What. do. you. do?” 

You almost feel like you’re being suffocated, but the answer slips through your lips after being drilled in there for a thousand times. 

“E-Exploit her weaknesses.” You squeeze your eyes shut, “Guilt her into thinking she can trust me…” 

He steps back, staring down at you with cold eyes. His gaze would make you waver, gawk at something else until it was over, but you raise your eyes, staring back at him without hesitation. 

A smile curls on his lips when he notices you’re beginning to hold the same coldness in your eyes that he has. 

┈

“AH!” 

You clasp your hand around your shoulder, the throbbing radiating all the way through your back. A punch is thrown your way and the grimace you hold vanishes in an instant. 

He scowls, “Keep your eyes on your opponent, Y/N!”

“S-Sorry…” 

A hard kick lands on your leg and you immediately collapse, a pang of pain shooting down where your hands grasp on. 

“What did I say about apologizing?!” 

Your mouth remains sealed shut and you attempt to get up, ignore the wobbling urge your knees have. Another punch is thrown in your direction and although clumsily, you manage to defect it in time. 

A wide grin spreads over his features. 

┈

“I-I can’t do this...I-I can’t…” 

His voice is far from gentle, “Y/N.” 

“I was never meant to be a spy.” You plead, “I-I can’t do any of this…” 

“Y/N.” 

Your voice cracks, “I-I just want to go home…” 

Your fingers are forcibly pride open, the cold metal jamming into your skin. Despite your protests, your arm is lined up in front of you, the man on the chair cowering away with wide eyes. 

“This is your job, Y/N.” He states coldly, “If circumstance calls for it, you will have to do this.” 

There’s a group of individuals behind him, all carefully observing you like some sort of lab rat. Your hands tremble uncontrollably and there’s a sick feeling in your stomach, but despite all that, you know there’s no way out. 

You’ve pleaded with him. You’ve pleaded with your parents - who aside from concern-filled faces, turn away with a blindeye. 

There’s no use. This is who you are now. 

“Y/N.” Your instructor scowls, “Shoot.” 

Hot water rolls down your cheeks, the weapon threatening to slip away from your hands. 

“Y/N.” His voice grows louder, commandful in nature. He doesn’t tell you what to do anymore, instead he glares, the silence in the room being daunting enough. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you try not to think about how terrified the man in front of you looks. 

Your body propels backwards, and you’re sent flying until your back smacks against the wall. The metal slips from your fingers and you can’t bear to open your eyes, the scent of blood already alerting you of your lethal actions. 

The sound of footsteps coming closer greet you, and you don’t even need to look at him to see the smile that curls on his lips. 

His words are laced with satisfaction and pride, but they only serve to increase the emptiness inside you. 

"You're a tool now, Y/N. From on, you must follow our every instruction and order."

Like a robot, you solemnly nod. The mayhem of your doing is dragged away from the room, leaving behind a steak of crimson against the ground. 

From there on forth, the nightmare begins. 

Your eyes shoot open, a harsh gasp leaving your lips. Glancing rapidly around, you notice the wide two doors in your direct view and the luxurious bed that sits in the corner of the room. 

Your heavy breathing begins to still, shoulders slowly sinking down. There’s a silky texture against your skin that shifts, the length of the maroon gown pooling onto the ground. 

You sit up straighter, mind still dazed. 

Namjoon walks in, adjusting the cuffs to his suit with a deep frown. His eyes flicker up on you at once, a smile of relief tugging on the corner of his lips. 

“You’re awake?” 

It takes you a second to register his words, but after a moment you nod. “I hope you’re not feeling too tired to come with me.”

Shaking your head, Namjoon grins and you rise from your seat. He lets you loop your hand around his outstretched arm and you attempt to void your mind, aware that you’ll be spending the rest of the evening underneath a scrutinizing spotlight. 

***

The night swiftly passes by, individual's intermingling and conversing amongst themselves. You remain latched onto Namjoon’s arm, following him around as he greets members and thanks them for coming. Save for the chance encounter you have with his parents and a brief run-in with one of the company managers, your eyes continue to stay glazed over. 

Namjoon seems to notice right away and for once, you don’t question the motive behind his intention. 

“I’m fine.” You ease when he piques if you’re fatigued from the gathering. A waiter passes by you and you instantly reach out, reluctantly grabbing onto a glass of wine.  

Namjoon doesn’t question you again, but when he rounds the corner and heads towards a group of four familiar individuals, you’re grateful for picking up the beverage. 

Contrary to previous encounters, the shareholders don’t appear utterly offended nor hostile by your appearance. You presume that to be a good sign. 

“It’s about time you showed up.” Yoongi quips. Namjoon sheepishly smiles, and Hoseok chimes in. 

“Have you heard anything about the recent deal?” He quirks up a keen eyebrow and Namjoon advances forward, beginning to explain into detail. Although intrigued, you take occasional quiet sips from your drink, making no move to intervene. 

“How have you been this evening?” You blink for a moment, before turning in astonishment towards the source of the voice. 

Taehyung takes a sip out of his own drink, eyeing you for an answer. “I’ve been alright.” 

“You seem tired.” Brows furrowing, you glance at him peculiarly, wondering if it was truly obvious.

“I’m just a little under the weather.” 

He hums, continuing to drink from his glass and standing near you during Namjoon’s explanation. It draws curiosity out from you, but there’s a bitter taste lingering on your lips. 

You draw your upper and bottom lip together, smacking them together with puzzlement. Your stomach churns, the acidity in your throat abruptly spiking up and overwhelming your senses. A sudden wave of vertigo hits you out of nowhere, nearly causing you to trip. 

Two hands shoot out to steady you immediately.

“Y/N?” 

Although you recognize Namjoon’s voice, your response is cut off the moment your hand reaches up to cover your mouth. His grasp on you tightens, and before you know it, you’re being led out of the room immediately. 

You can’t recall where Namjoon brings you, but you can feel the cool texture of a wall against your hands as you attempt to steady yourself. There’s still a hand covering your mouth and Namjoon leans in closer, whispering underneath his breath. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Oddly enough, his calming voice is a lot more soothing to listen to compared to the bustling mixture of sounds coming from the gathering. 

You nod, shakingly letting out a breath. “I-I almost felt like I was going to throw up.” 

Namjoon sharply gazes at you with alarm and although you seem to be doing better, his grasp never leaves you. 

“Do you want to go home?” 

Your involuntary assumption is to first contemplate. Contemplate on whether or not it would be a smart move on your part to not be here by his side when he’s clearly interacting with important individuals. But unfortunately, the acidity tickling your throat seems to have an agenda of its own. 

Letting out a sharp cough, you nod and Namjoon instantly looks around for an exit. 

“Namjoon!” A man stands at the end of the hallway, tilting his head in confusion, “What are you doing out here?” 

You recognize him as Kim Yooseon, one of the company’s deal makers. You hear a sound of dismay leave Namjoon and with a heavy sigh, you tug on his suit’s jacket. 

“Just drop me by the entrance.” 

Namjoon doesn’t hesitate to protest, “But Y/N‒”

“It’s okay.” You reassure, “It’s more important for you to be in there compared to me. I’ll manage.” 

Namjoon appears to be caught in between agreeing with you and on the verge of letting out a string of protests. However, when you pleadingly glance at him, he can’t seem to say no. 

He ends up dropping you off with his driver just like you had requested and with a persistent gaze, leaves without another word. The moment he vanishes, you let out an audible breath, the proximity he was holding you on top of your nausea becoming more overwhelming then the urge to let your insides all out. 

You’re luckily dropped off back at the house in silence, only seeking out assistance from the driver for a bag in case the urge abruptly hits you in the midst of the ride. He questions if you’re alright and you quickly reassure him just like you had done with Namjoon, before hiking back to the house with swaying feet. 

Alarmingly, another wave of vertigo washes over you, this time with an aftermath of a throbbing sensation cascading through your head. Your stomach swirls at the same time, the hurling urge returning at full force. 

It’s only when you cradle your stomach with your hand and rest against a wall that your vision begins to blur, eliciting a sudden rush of panic that you’re ultimately faulty at coping with. Your feet mismatch and you collapse onto the ground, right in front of the house you needed to be in. 

As your eyes begin to droop and lull back, the sound of heavy footsteps greet your ears. 

***

Your eyelids slowly flutter open, the sight of crystals hanging from the ceiling greeting you. The familiarity strikes you at once, and you instantly scramble up onto your hands. 

You’re sprawled out on the ground, still wearing the maroon gown from the evening. 

“I never knew the L/N’s tried to create their own spies.” The deep voice halts your movement, a trail of goosebumps spreading over your skin, “Not a bad move, if I do say.” 

You don’t spin around right away. Instead, you slowly turn your head to the side, the sight before you distorting your breathing pattern. 

Your body violently trembles and the delicate maroon material you adorn is fisted within your hands. 

He stands against the wall, a familiar box in his hands and the door to the bedroom sealed beside him. Cocking his head to the side, he sends a smirk in your direction. 

“How stupid did you think the Kim family is?” A playful look dances in his eyes, “Are we that easily fooled?” 

At your quivering silence, Taehyung grows dismayed. “According to you, I guess we are.” The sound of metal alerts your ears right away and your eyes grow wide, fixating on the sharp object in his hands. “But don’t worry, you won’t be able to trick anyone after this.” 

You roll over in a flash, instincts thankfully taking over for a split second. Taehyung sighs, yanking out the curved knife from the ground before whirling around and lunging for you again. You’re able to evade him again, rising up onto your feet. 

Your heartbeat petrifying thuds against your chest as you glance around, mind becoming erratic. 

Taehyung sighs again, unclasping the knife in his hands and placing it back into his pocket. For a moment relief fills you, but it’s short lived when a revolver emerges out instead. 

He points it towards you, holding onto the same expression as the first time he aimed a gun in your direction.  

You attempt to swiftly move out of the way, but you’re not as lucky this time around. 

A loud cry escapes your lips and you collapse onto the ground, a pulsing sensation radiating from your left leg. Tears begin to emerge in your eyes and Taehyung appears relieved for once, satisfied he won’t have to chase or hunt you down for this to end. 

He aims the gun down at you. “Goodbye, Y/N.” 

The sound of firing echoes through the walls, and the remainder of the bullet clanks onto the ground. 

Nearly having scratched the surface of the polished floor. 

Taehyung’s eyes are wide and your hand tightens on the metal, having successfully knocked him down with your body weight. His irises darken considerably and a small grin tugs on his lips. 

“What are you waiting for? Shoot.” He chuckles boisterously, like he’s isn’t the one currently on the ground and being confronted with a gun. 

Your mouth twitches, the hot excruciating throbbing in your damp limping leg tingling through your skin. The ends of your fingers tremble the slightest, and it’s something Taehyung doesn’t ponder to take notice of. 

“I knew Namjoon shouldn’t have married a L/N...all of you are always the same....” A devil-like smirk crosses him, voice dropping into a low whisper, “Weak.” 

Abruptly, he’s off the ground, smacking the back of your elbow to loosen your grip. Thankfully, you latch onto the weapon tight enough, gripping it away from his preying hands. 

An echo murmurs through your head. 

“….if you ever are found out, Y/N….. 

....at the split second in discovering your true nature….

He successfully snatches the gun, propelling the hammer back in a hurry. 

….you cannot choose hesitation….

...and the evidence must be destroyed….” 

Once the gun is pointed right against your temples, you hope that Taehyung has prepared himself for a rude awakening.  

A hard punch lands straight on his nose and you grasp onto the gun, aiming it straight for him. 

Taehyung’s eyes are wide, and for the first time you can see fear in them. 

Fear of the emerging coldness that resides in your own. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you fire. 

The sound of a thud greets your ears, and the reeking stench of freshly spilled blood is enough of an answer for your actions. 

***

Small huffs leave your lips, body limping as you walk out of your bedroom. Red residue coats your hands, dripping down your leg as you apply pressure to the metal embedded into your skin. Your other hand still tightly grasps Taehyung’s gun, keeping it securely by your side. 

Slowing turning around, you glance over your shoulder at the corpse on the ground. A grimace runs through your features, but it’s accompanied by a hiss as blood continues to trickle out of your wound.  

You begin to limp ahead, continuing to move forward. 

A tray clatters against the ground. 

You flinch, dilated pupils glancing up and preparing for defense. However, your breath hitches in an instant, terror pooling into them instead. 

Eunjoo stands before you, her shaky hands reaching out to cover her mouth. 

“M-Miss Y-Y/N…?” Her eyes have grown in size and your breathing becomes erratic as they continue to soak in the red staining your gown along with the gun in your hand. That’s when her trail of sight freezes, latching on the body behind you that you have yet to dispose of. 

In that split second, the fear in her eyes morphs into utter rage. 

“Y-You…” Her chest heaves, face flushing red, “Y-You’re a spy.” 

A pang of pain throbs through your heart, “Y-You’ve been a spy this entire time!” Disbelief strikes her, the dots beginning to loosely connect, “Betraying the trust of M-Master Kim...”

Eunjoo’s voice cracks and your eyes screw shut at the sound. 

“A-And me…” There are a thousand regrets laced in her bitter words. Tears begin to form in your eyes, but you fight back the urge to let them drip down your cheeks. 

The sharp sound of silver suddenly greets your ears. You jerk your head up, ignoring the way your vision has started to blur. 

Eunjoo stands in front of you, a butter knife in hand. You’re not given a chance to react one bit when she charges right at you with a cry. 

She’s unarmed and pinned to the ground in an instant. 

You aim your gun straight at her. 

Struggling for a moment, you notice the tears running down her cheeks and the soft sobs escaping her lips. 

“W-Why, Miss Y-Y/N? Why?” 

As she pleads, her frantic state mimics your own. You can’t hold the tears at bay anymore, your bottom lip quivering as they uncontrollably stream down your flushed skin. 

After a pregnant silence, you choke out the words, “B-Because there’s no other way…...” 

Your vision has blurred over entirely, “I’m sorry, E-Eunjoo…..but you’ve seen too much….”

Unlike Taehyung’s eyes, Eunjoo’s aren’t filled with either fear or horror. Instead, there’s just lingering disappointment, and for some reason that makes your heart tighten even more. 

Your hand trembles as you place your finger on the trigger and for once, you keep your eyes wide open when it’s pulled. 

***

The floors are shimmering, a near pearl hue twinkling from their surface. 

There are void from any pieces of glass, the silverware properly tucked away. No scratches litter the outside of your bedroom door, and there are no remains of a static box leftover. 

You steady yourself against the bathroom wall, sliding down until you’re fully seated on the ground. Disinfectant in hand, your leg is raised, now angrily blotched with murky dark red cracking around the small metal pocket. 

Once the area stops stinging and is finally clean, you shakingly inhale, before digging your fingers into the hole. You harshly bite down onto your teeth, a silent scream ready to erupt from the bottom of your throat. 

Metal clinks onto the ground and your shoulders visible relax for a moment, before you take out the disinfectant again. This time around, a sharp needle is plucked in between your fingers. 

The echo of footsteps entering the front door halts your actions, freezing you in place. 

Abandoning the needle, you quickly peer around, confirming that the door was locked. The footsteps continue to grow in sound, and with a haste opportunity, your vision fixates onto the shower tap. 

It’s not long before a knock resonates against the door, “Y/N? Y/N, are you feeling better?” 

Namjoon places his ear against the door, the sound of water sprinkling drawing a frown on his lips. 

“Y-Yeah...I’m feeling much better, Namjoon.” 

He hums, wondering if the water hitting the ground was the reason why your voice sounded deeper and thicker than usual. “Alright….I’ll just be here, if you need anything.” 

You make a sound in approval and he softly smiles, ultimately deciding to head back to bed after a long night. 

Water continues to splash against the surface of the ground as a fine needle quickly moves against your skin. In the midst of this, your hand ceases to tremble and a whimper escapes your quivering lips, right before you erupt into sobs. 

[wevegottogetaway]

Crashing into you

Sooo, I have no idea where this concept came from but here is you and Harry surviving a plane crash only to find yourselves stranded on an island (featuring best friends to lovers and who knows what else). There is more to come after this part, I’m just really busy with uni at the moment, so smaller pieces at the time it is. Please leave some feedback if you have any, or tell me what you would like to see happen in future parts! Happy reading xx

It wasn’t supposed to happened.

None of it was. Not the birds. Not the fire. Not the nose-dive.

And you weren’t supposed to be there either. Weren’t supposed to find yourselves floating 35,000 feet over endless stretches of sea when it happened. Not you and certainly not Harry whose presence was only the result of his boundless generosity.

It was a last minute trip on your part, an emergency response to the calling of a friend back in London; they’d gotten hospitalized and you were their emergency contact, pretty simple maths. Your assistance was irremissible and since it was cutting your time short with Harry, he didn’t hesitate before offering both his support and an express flight aboard some kind of private jet. None of you knew it at the time, but that decision turned out to be a twisted expression of serendipity, a very sick jock that the universe wasn’t supposed to make.

Except it did happened and there was no escaping the cataclysm that ensued.

                                                        ***

The cabin of the small plane is plunged in peaceful silence, the deep whir of its engines and the soft snores wafting through Harry’s nose the only white noises filling the space. There is no fussing toddler, no businessman talking loudly on the phone, no arguing couple; just you and Harry, one flight attendant and two pilots. Everything around you looks pristine and expensive, from the champagne you were offered but declined at the beginning of the flight, to the refined suede upholstery covering all the seats.

You’re not used to the luxury, and frankly, neither is Harry.

He doesn’t use private planes very often, doesn’t think it makes much sense to waste all that toxic kerosene when commercial flights do the job perfectly, and doesn't like how they make him feel like the diva some people mistakenly make him out to be. But for you he’d bend the rules. For you he’d bend over and backwards to assuage any of your pains and worries. You had been so on edge when you told him about your friend, so desperate to be there for them,  he had just wanted to be there for you in turn.

That’s why the two of you hopped in this small aircraft nearly four hours ago, with his hand drawing comforting shapes on your back. Now, you find yourself absentmindedly nipping at your nails, overthinking ever possible scenario that could unfold once you land and find your friend. In deep conversation with your conscience, you’ve been looking out the small window to your right, as if any of the two blue immensities painting the horizon knew all the secrets that you needed. They don’t; if anything, they bring their own mysteries to an already confusing world.

The atmosphere inside the plane is so inert, it feels like someone pressed the pause button. The flight attendant has remained quietly by her station, waiting for any signal that would indicate her presence required, and the pilots haven’t piped a word since their polite ‘have a lovely flight,’ when you first boarded the plane. The little company wouldn’t bother you so much, if Harry hadn’t fallen asleep thirty minutes in, leaving you to your own devices. You figure you can’t be too grumpy about it though, he did just rent a plane for your sake after all. Plus, his unconscious state has allowed you to ogle his sleepy figure for hours without being noticed, a treat you’re rarely privy to on top of being a nice distraction from your current troublesome thoughts.

Three years. Three years you’ve been a very dedicated friend to him and he to you. Three years of holding each other’s hand through any hardships and laughing till you’re blue in the face; three years of always supporting each other in your craziest undertakings and inspiring each other to be the best version of yourselves. You two are an indestructible pair and your friendship is the purest, most sacred thing you were given in this world.

Except, it’s also been three years of mind-boggling and consuming feelings that can’t be quelled and have no limits. Three years of secret glances when he’s too focused on something else to notice. Three years of talking yourself down from those feeling, but to no avail; they keep coming back full force and with a vengeance. It quickly became a full time job really, an art you mastered over time. At first because he was happily in a relationship, so there was no speculating whether your affections could be returned. Then once that ended, you were already so wired to ignore the skip of your heartbeats when he looks at you tenderly, or the soft and sometimes borderline ambiguous cuddles he gives you when he’s had one too many Margaritas; that the fantasy of him loving you the way you do was just unfathomable, you never even considered speaking up about it.

But these were your three years, not his.

You let out a deep sigh, as your musings once again circle back to your unrequited love. You wish you had more control over them, could limit them to sleepy fabulation sweetening your mind right before you surrender to unconsciousness. But alas, them come and go as they please, slip into your mind at any inopportune time, often betraying you by pigmenting your cheeks in cerise-colored bashfulness. Even now, in the stillness of the pressurized cabin, as your eyes settle back on his slouched form in the seat opposite yours, your skin can’t help but heat up in fondness.

Before you can get too lost in the soft eyelashes caressing his cheekbones, or the cupid bow shaping his pink supple lips, or the way a few of his mischievous curls are dandling in front of his face, slightly fluttering at each soft puff coming out of his mouth…yeah, before you get too lost in all that, you reach for the small bottle of water sitting on a small table.

You barely have the cap unscrewed before a massive tremor shakes the whole aircraft, spilling half of the bottle’s content on your lap. Your hand immediately white knuckles the armrest of your seat, your eyes widening in fear and frantically scoping the cabin for the flight attendant or anyone that could tell you what the hell is going on. Then the panic pumping through your veins prompts you to check on Harry and wake him back to alertness, but to your relief, he’s already groggily shaking the slumber from his limbs with a deep frown on his face. "Wha’s goin’ on?"

If dread wasn’t firing each of your nerve-endings, you’d find his grumpy look and slurred speech quite adorable, but the sight of the frazzled-looking stewardess coming towards you is sending a different kind of chills down your spine. These people are trained to maintain composure in all circumstances, so her trepidation can only mean one of two things: she’s either very new at her job or there is clearly a cause for concern.

"You two need to fasten your seat belts immediately," she speaks hurriedly.

"Sophia, what’s going on?" Harry reiterates his question with more alarm.

"We’ve collided with a flock of birds. We don’t know the extent of the damage yet, so I need you two to buckle in."

You and Harry share a worried look then, still confused about the situation. The plane has regain some semblance of stability, it seems, but Sophia’s anxious behavior doesn’t sooth your nerves one bit. She makes a quick exit back toward the cockpit, probably to discuss the ordeal further with the pilots. You gulp your uneasiness away, fidgeting on your seat as your hands blindly feel around for the safety belt, but the image greeting your eyes as they veer back to the window has your heart dropping to your knees.

Lambent orange and red flaring from the engines and lapping at the wing. Black smoke leaving an angry trail behind the plane and fogging up the windows.

"Harry," you barely manage to breath his name out and the urgency of your tone has him straighten up in his seat. "Harry the wing is on fire." You twist your head back towards him only to find him jumping from his seat to plop down next to you. The absolute gleam of terror swimming in your eyes makes his blood turn cold, so he quickly takes your hand in both of his before glancing at the carnage taking place outside. He gulps in apprehension before buckling his seatbelt and checking that yours is clasped in as well.

"Fuck, okay, it’s okay, love. Everything’s gonna be okay." It’s more prayers than reassurances tumbling out of his mouth, squeezing at your hand in plea, and a couple seconds after his utterance the tremors resume with greater intensity. You both can feel the aircraft slanting downward as everything around you start shaking as though you were caught in an earthquake. Except, you couldn’t be further from earth at the moment, and the shaking is not going to just pass after a while.

Objects start falling and rolling down all over, the tray of complimentary drinks tumbling down from the back of the plane to crash at the front. You and Harry are wrapped up in a protective embrace, tucking your faces in each others neck to avoid impact and because you’re both too afraid to look at the unfurling chaos. You can feel your seatbelt straining against your lower belly in a dire attempt to keep you in one place, but as the plane starts plummeting for good, top becomes bottom, right becomes left, and your bodies become masses thrown around at the hands of gravity just like everything else.

The last thing you hear before everything goes south is a defeated ‘brace for impact’ coming from the small intercom of the cabin. You feel the brutal shock of the plane hitting smooth surface if it weren’t for the speed of the collision, and then it’s just water.

Water everywhere. Water enveloping your body in a frigid clutch, water weighing you down as it imbibes every fiber of your clothes, water invading your retinas and blurring your vision. Water seeping through your mouth, pouring into your lungs when you feel the skin at your shin torn by sharp metal.

You vaguely hear your name being shouted, but the shortage of oxygen in your system makes you feel delirious. At this point you barely have enough energy to fight unconsciousness, much less the threat of your crumbling surroundings. That’s how you don’t feel the hand grasping at your shoulder and hosting you up on a floating piece of broken wing. Harry is holding onto it for dear life as well, muttering more prayers and encouraging words for you to please stay with him but soon you are both overthrown by your unconscious, slowly drifting away on the makeshift buoy.

                                                        ***

When Harry regains consciousness, the first things he feels is hard grounds underneath him. His ears are ringing, his throat is sore and his mouth feels dry, not to mention the splitting headache jackhammering at his skull. Groaning and frowning at the pain, that’s when he realizes that the ground against the skin of his cheek isn’t completely hard, but rather granular at the touch. Slowly, he brings his hands higher near his face and flattens them to hoist himself up. Once on his knees, he finally blinks his eyes opened, squinting at the blinding luminosity of the sun. And then it’s just sand.

Sand everywhere. Sand stretching miles into the distance. Sand itching at the joints of his fingers, sand creeping inside his shoes and clothes, sand weaving through his hair. Sand obnoxiously lingering on his lips, and as he tries to brush it off with the back of his hand, he has to spit some out of his mouth after realizing that said hand is also covered in it.

How did he find himself stranded on a freaking island? How did this happen? How could he be one minute safely by your sides, helping you through a tough situation, and then the next, thrown into the deep end - quite literally - scrambling for his life because some dumb birds decided to crash in the engine of the plane? Why him, why-

It’s a jolt to his brain then, an electric shock firing his body up to a standing position when the thought of you clashes in his mind. His breathing picks up considerably as he recalls the last time he saw you, passed out on the broken part of the wrecked airplane. He’d passed out soon after you as well, but what had happened since then? Had you find your way on this desolate beach as well? Or had your unconscious body slipped back into the water and sank all the way to the ocean floor until you reached that hidden museum of all the things and beings that fell victim to the sea?

Harry shudders at the thought. No. He’s not loosing you, now or ever, he convinces himself as he frantically jogs along the beach. Not when he never got his chance. His heart is lodged in his throat and threatening to escape at every passing second. Not when he still has unfinished, or rather, un-commenced business with you. Sweat drips down his face in searing droplet, a faint sting above his left eye barely registering in his frantic mind. Not before you know his last secret. His breathing is starting to get scarce until finally, finally his blurry eyes fall upon a figure stretched out on the sand, waves still licking at their feet. His job turns into a sprint as he begs for them to be you and for you to still be alive, desperate cries of your name echoing in the wilderness. "Please be okay, please be okay, fuck I need y-"

His relief is short lived once he takes in your passed out form, the blueish hue of your lips and the very lack of movement of your chest, twisting his guts in a painful knot. Harry abruptly falls to his knees next to you and brings his ear to your body hoping for any indication that you are still breathing. He fights the onslaught of hyperventilation that threatens to take over his body when he finds none and quickly checks your pulse at your carotid. His eyes pinch in brief respite: it’s faint but it’s there.

His brain almost goes into overdrive as he tries to recall everything he knows about CPR before his hands instinctively start pressing at your chest as though they already know what to do. It gives him time to absorb all the composure he can muster and think more clearly. He’s got to keep your heart going, that much he knows, and if you’re not breathing, it’s probably because you’ve got water in your lungs. Upon the realization he briefly stops the cardiac massage to pinch your nose and blow as much air as he can into your mouth.

For the next couple of minutes he does just that, alternating between insufflating oxygen through your mouth and pressing at your heart. His own breaks every time he pulls away from your lips and they still don’t pink back up to their usual lovely cherry color. Tears roll down his face in a constant flow, forcing him to wipe his face against the material of his shirt at his shoulder; there is no way in hell he is stopping his action for even a fraction of a second. He’ll die trying to save you before you die on him, and then he’d kick you ass from heaven down to hell for even thinking of leaving him behind.

All of a sudden you start coughing wet sounds from your throat, your body jolting from its spot on the sand. Harry’s never been so happy to hear someone choke (on water, that is) and as you turn your body sideways to let out all the excess of water clogging your chest, he closes his eyes and tilts his head back towards the sky in gratitude. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispers out in relief, before regaining his breathing and focusing back on you. He draws soothing circle against your back as you cough the last bit of water out of your mouth, pushing your hair out of your face to give you space to breath. Lord knows you need it.

"It’s okay, pet. You’re okay, you’re alive. Fuck you’re alive, I can’t- please don’t ever do that to me ever again, you hear me?" He rambles at you as he cups your face with two trembling hands. He is in shamble in front of you, the high he was caught up in, in his order to save you finally dissolving and leaving only but shock and despair in its aftermath. You’d come this close to die in his arms, you both realize. This close from your life being highjacked from his in the middle of nowhere and the thought turns your blood even colder than it already is.

"‘kay, m’okay, Harry. We’re both okay," you reassure him too, and just hearing the sound of your hoarse voice is enough to calm him some. He brings you in a bear hug, tucking your face underneath his chin and draping is other arm over your back. You don’t hesitate before you return his embrace by wrapping your arms around his waist.

For a hot minute you remain intertwined in silence as you breath each other in and revel in the fact that you both survived the crash. Once your heartbeats have lowered down to healthier levels, you slightly part from each other and your eyes glisten as you lock them with his. "You saved my life, Harry," you whisper out to him with a tender caress at his cheeks, trying to ignore the small cut at his brow bone. "I just- thank you, thank you so much."

He answers with a small shake of his head, "don’t thank me, pet. I can’t imagine what I woulda done if y- if I couldn’t-" he struggles to let the words out and his face turns into a grimace at their implication. "M’just so relieved you’re alive, I’m the one thankful for that if anythin’," he ends up saying against the palm of your hand before leaving a small peck there.

As you move to stand up, you feel a sharp sting at your shin as soon as you apply pressure on your right leg. Looking down, you spot a gash at the skin, it’s not too profound that you won’t be able to walk, but it definitely needs tending to if you don’t want it to get infected. You let out a quiet ‘fuck’ in frustration before catching the look of concern of Harry’s face. "It’s fine," you brush it off, "just gonna need to clean it out. That cut on your face as well," you motion at his injury and he brings his hand up to feel out the cut in confusion. He hadn’t noticed the small wound, you realize. "Right, yeah," he answers after inspecting the patch of blood coating his fingers now.

Now that the shock of the situation is slowly dissipating and that reality is setting in, you both start thinking about the next course of action. You’re both alive and relatively unscathed, but now what? How do you get out form this place? Where even is this place? And how do you go home? It becomes increasingly obvious that you don’t have much resources and that you need some sort of plan if you want to survive.

"What about Sophia and the pilots? Do you know what happened to them?" you suddenly remember the rest of the crew. Perhaps they know more about how to proceed in such a situation. They might even know where you’re located, how far you are from home and what’s the procedure to ensure everyone’s survival and rescue.

"I dunno, love. Didn’t see them when we were in the water, I think they might have been on the other side of the plane," the somber look on his face betrays his pessimism as to their fate. They would be on the beach as well if they had survived. As the same reasoning courses through your mind, you look down in sadness at the vicious image of them struggling in the water before succumbing to the fatigue. Harry notices your pained expression and brings you back against his frame to leave a small comforting kiss at your hairline.

"Alright, it’s gonna be fine," you declare in pretend confidence. "People will start looking for us, right?" you try to make light of the conversation. "Hell, there’s probably going to be a whole unit created to find you as soon as we don’t show up in London and I’m sure they’ll find us fast." Hope is emulating in your belly where water had previously drown your vigor. You’re probably right; surely, if the one and only Harry Styles disappears in the middle of a plane crash, the response will be worthy of the man.  

He doesn’t seem to quite share the sentiment however, if the small frown and nervous nipping at his lips suggest anything. "Love, I- Jeff’s the only one who knows we were going back to England. He might not notice right away." It’s his own fear talking, the idea that it might take more than a day for people to notice their unsettling absence.

On a normal schedule, him and Jeff would be in constant contact, sharing details for the next day’s agenda, planning tours, interviews, promotions and pitching in ideas for new projects, but be that as it may, Harry was currently on vacation. He’d taken a couple weeks off to relieve the pressure from the last busy months and catch up on some much needed time with you, and Jeff knew that meant a little less consistent contact for this break to be as rejuvenating as expected. Would he think much of the absence of texts from his friend? At some point definitely, but how long would it take for concern to replace dismissal?

Talk about rejuvenation.

"What about the plane company?" you ask, not ready to see your hopes dwindle down.

He seems surprised at the thought for a second before the anxious lines on his face smooth out some, iridescent eyes locking with your own in renewed faith. "You’re right, Jeff was the one who made the booking, so the company will have to contact him once they know about the crash." You let your lips quirk into a soft smile at his optimism before he adds, "we just have to survive until then."

"Right," you dial back on the heart-talking and dares your brain to recall any tips about survival behavior you’ve ever heard. "So we need find water asap and to make a fire before the night falls." You know water should be your priority, you have three days before you die of dehydration, maybe even less under this blazing sun. And despite behind surrounded by water, you know that the sea can’t help you with that. It’s quite ironic in a sense, you find yourself trapped by water, yet the biggest threat to you in that instance is the lack of water consumption. As for the fire, you also know temperature can drop very low at night in places like this and since you don’t have anything to bundle yourselves in, hypothermia is your second biggest threat.

Harry nods in approval before looking around. The beach is enclosed between the sea and endless stretch of luxuriant green tropical jungle. "Come on then, we should try and see if anything from the plane made it out on the beach. I think I saw some pieces earlier, maybe we’ll find something to store water." You think it’s a brilliant idea since you will need some kind of container should you be successful in your quest for water. And with that, you both start walking back towards the edge of the shore, Harry’s hand holding tightly to your shoulder keeping you close to him.

➪ Masterlist

[lightbeyondeden]

Lullaby

Lullaby

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

a/n: dis is my baby. please be nice to her. i lub her. this is my ultimate romantic fantasy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kUeDkPMFOuQ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zl0rJvz2N6g

 if you want to listen to readers song.

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: none

Masterlist

Spencer sat upright as he once again heard the opening notes of the same piano ballad he had heard three other times this week. The melody just barely echoed through the room, passing through the thin walls like a ghost. 

When it started it was three forty eight on a Tuesday morning - the Virginia sun still sat deeply below the horizon and the chill of February was keeping Spencer awake. The song was just loud enough that only someone who was already awake would be able to listen, a secret ode to insomniacs. Spencer attentively listened, shifting to the edge of his bed and straining to hear. On particular nights, such as this one, he would be compelled to crawl out of the warmth of his bed to sit with his back against the door of his apartment, just to be close to the sound. 

Some nights he just took in the music, most nights however, he was curious. Spencer Reid was incapable of leaving a mystery unsolved - and thus he took on the case of the mystery lullaby. 

It was times like this that he wished he knew his neighbours better - or knew them at all for that matter. His ‘unsub’ surely wasn't the old man who sometimes received his mail, nor was it likely that the chronically hungover group of college boys who only seemed to play rap music were the ones spending their nights playing classical piano. 

So he sat, for the fifth time this month, desperately trying to internalize the sound. He so badly wanted to know what the piece was, maybe if he knew it would help him figure out who was behind the playing. 

The song ended at three fifty four - cutting itself two minutes short. Spencer began to fear something had happened, why would the song just stop? Should he go investigate? No - he shook the thought. That was a ridiculous notion, it was an ungodly hour - making it entirely probable that the player of said song had just tired of sitting up and wondered back to their bed. With no hope of accomplishing anything by doing the same himself, he got up to go put on a pot of coffee. Spencer’s socked feet padded across the hardwood, the only sounds left echoing in the apartment were his footsteps and the never ceasing hum of traffic on the street that lay under his window.

A long few hours later Spencer found himself sitting cross legged in his desk chair hunched over a stack of files. He was mildly grateful for the numbing paperwork, not sure if his tired mind was up to trying to track down a serial killer today no matter how much coffee he fed it. Not that he was getting much paperwork done anyway, though. He just couldn’t stop replaying the melody in his head. 

He was so preoccupied he didn’t even notice Derek and JJ make their way over to his desk, holding a breakfast sandwich out to him. 

“Food, Spence” JJ mused when he hesitated to take it, “That big brain of yours needs it.” 

Spencer obliged, taking a gratuitous bite. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until he started eating, the whole sandwich was gone in a mere minute or two. He stopped and pondered for a moment, egg still in mouth; he pondered what could draw him so strongly to a person he had never even seen before. He had felt this with Maeve of course, but that was very different. Music can’t replace a conversation, can it?

He decided to ask the only person he knew that was good at this feelings stuff.

“Garcia?” He said tentatively, stepping through the threshold of the batcave door. “Can I talk to you?”

“Of course my sweet baby angel, what can I do for you?” 

She could see the hesitation in his eyes. Motioning for him to sit, she put down her lunch and turned her attention towards him fully. 

“So this is really strange, and I know it's strange,but I just can’t get it out of my head. There's this piano that plays in my apartment - always late at night, always the same song. It’s driving me crazy. I just want to know who it is, what it is. It's classic for sure, maybe beethoven based on the composition style alone but that isn’t always a definite-”

“Spencer.” Penelope mused, stopping his already derailing train of thought. “Someone is playing piano, and you want to know what it is. What’s the most efficient way to do that?” 

Spencer looked up, blinking softly. 

Penelope giggled. “You ask.” 

“But Penelope I don’t think you really understand, plus what if-” Spencers head was already full of a million hypotheticals. 

“No.” He was cut off again. “Go ask.”

~

Three thirty eight AM came faster than it should’ve. A stack of several different books sat discarded upon Spencer's bedside table, all flimsy attempts to distract his buzzing mind. When it started, earlier than it had been many times before, Spencer felt his whole body tense. Was he really about to go knock on some stranger's door? At this hour? 

His feet, clad in rubber bottomed slippers, found their way to the door before his mind had time to stop them. He slipped a key in his pocket, turning the latch ever so gently behind him. When he stepped into the hallway it felt infinite. He walked on tiptoe for what seemed like hours, but was really closer to seconds. 

The mossy green door stood like a barricade, Spencer's own pulse drowned out any semblance of melody that he could’ve heard before. He raised his hand to knock, it stood surprisingly still in the air, and left three short raps. 

The sudden silence was deafening. The crescendo of the melody could never reach its climax, as the pianist was now taking quick, small steps in Spencer's own direction. 

In that moment he willed himself to turn around and run off, to let the person on the other side of the door believe they imagined the knocking. Let himself believe he was hearing things, a reminder to call his doctor and his mother. 

But alas the chain slid across and let the door fall open, behind it revealing the most beautiful person Spencer had ever seen, which certainly did not ease his anxiety. 

“I’m so sorry! Did I wake you? I thought nobody could hear me.” The stranger seemed as anxious as Spencer, but seeing them like this gave him some sort of false security. 

“What song is that?” His voice cracked as he spoke, tender from hours of rest. 

“It’s-” They faltered, “It’s beethoven. A romance piece.” 

It was quiet again, the very thing the music had been used to prevent. They stood like teenagers who were waiting to be scolded. Silently anxious, regretful of their individual curiosities. 

The pianist spoke first again. 

“I can stop. I really didn’t mean-”

“No. I- uh, I quite like it.”

A soft smile replaced each of their worried faces for a second. 

“Do you want to come in? For a cup of tea perhaps? I could use the company.” 

Spencer smiled again. He felt a warmth from this stranger that he hadn’t felt in a long time, maybe since Maeve's death. 

“I would like that.”

[whyralltheusernamestaken]

hey! i love ur blog and i couldn’t resist requesting something. so i was thinking that if the reader was from medieval times where they have magic, wizards, knights, mages, and stuff like that. so 1 A was hit by a quirk that brought them to that dimension. and the reader is like god level with the amount of power they have even though their the same age as class 1 A. and they help the class survive or sum like that after like knights attach them cause sum of them look weird. can u use they/them.

It's just the main three boys if that's alright :( I can do hcs with the entire class if that's more of what u had in mind! Just leave another ask,,, sorry about that 😅 

Warnings : swear words 

Words : 1.2k 

You were bored. 

Perhaps that was the understatement of the century, but an otherwordly being like you had ceased to find interest in the small confines that was your world. The never ending weeks of wasting your life on your temple throne, perched upon a royal gold seat and listening to prayer’s wishes were certainly tiring you out. The ordinary wished for happiness, for their crops to yield well or for them to find true love, the king would wish for power, luxuries. And through your judgement, you would grant some of these wishes, crafting an empire like soft clay in your hands, a game to a child. Yet even with your godly powers, you could not seem to satisfy your boredom. 

Today you watched idly as a mage stepped into the light of the temple's wishing grounds. You sat high above the clouds, listening to their talk of discovering a new spell, hidden from the mere mortal's eyes. Sure many of mankind had laid eyes on you before, however sometimes you preferred to keep away from the prying eyes. After all, you were far far superior than them - one of their creators, in a sense. Your messenger would speak to your creations when you chose to observe from afar, teaching them of your presence with fables and songs. It had only been seventeen years since you were first introduced into the world, born from ashes through their beliefs, and yet you were already one of the most respected gods.

~~~ 

The villain's quirk was truely terrifying. One would only be a fool to engage in battle with someone who's quirk they did not understand. The first year class of UA learnt this the hard way when the warp gate villain's quirk had transported them to an entirely different location. Different time period perhaps. Todoroki had picked up on this as he gazed over what was once the medival Japan. 

"Um guys." Midoriya called out. 

"Where are we?" 

"Do we look like we fucking know Deku?" the blonde shouted, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he marched around the alley, coming to an abrupt halt when his eyes met a busy marketplace. 

The streets were lined with broken stone, small tent like structure of straw and wood littered the area as people bustled in and out of them, each carrying a basket. The air was a brown hue from the sand that had been kicked up, the shouts of stall owners filling the air as exchanges of good and money illustrated the market place. 

"This isn't modern Japan." Todoroki stated, looking out at the same scene. He stepped out into the street, sticking to the shadows and the other two followed, survaying their surroundings in case of an villains. His ears perked up as he realised the people spoke in a different language altogether. "This might not even be Japan." 

"U-uh what?" Midoriya stuttered, close to tears as he frantically looked around. "What do we do? Where are the others? How do we get back? Is all might okay?" 

"For god's sake, shut up." Bakugou scowled. His dismissal was perhaps due to an inkling of fear that had burrowed it's way into his heart. He had utterly no idea where they were and no one could help him. Alas, his pride would never allow him to voice out his concerns and so he followed in silence, a dull glare permenantly etched onto his face. 

~~~ 

"Shit." 

"Yeah we are in some pretty deep shit." 

"Why the fuck are they treating us like the villains here?" Bakugou shouted, running down the cobbled street as men on horse back clothed in sheets of metal chased after them, swords and spears in hands. 

"Over here." Todoroki called out, pulling the two behind a row of neatly trimmed bushes and running further into the garden. 

"Hurry up and find them!" they heard one of the men shout in the background. 

"Ah!" Midoriya screamed, tripping over and landing directly into a small pond. He desperately scrambled to his feet, eyes glancing over the fish that he may have crushed in his fall. 

A small laugh rang out from the distance, the boys all swiftly turning their heads towards an approaching figure emerging from behind the trees. "That was rather humorous if I am permitted to say so." you chuckled, running a hand through your locks and your eyes darted over the three strangers. "And you are...?" 

“There they are!" the voice bellowed, the sounds of hooves drawing closer as the boys turns to run. 

"Gentlemen!" you proclaimed, your voice ringing sharp through the air, ceasing all movement. The horses had stopped right in their tracks and even the teen's feet were frozen to the ground. 

"Y-your highness!" one of them stuttered, jumping off his horse to bow down on one leg, the other guards following suit. 

"May I ask if you know these men?" You tapped your chin slightly, cocking your head to the side as you studied them. 

"They are my guests." 

"H-huh?" 

"I see your highness, please forgive us for chasing them however they were spotted-" 

You waved your hand to stop the guard from speaking. "No worries." you beamed. "Please excuse their unsightly behaviour." 

"Unsightly? You bitch-"

"Bakugou please stop." Todoroki sighed. "They're helping us."

"I am a fucking god and I just got sworn at." you muttered softly, turning your head to the side as you brought up your hand to your mouth, faking a sob. Your pity party was cut short when you heard your messenger, Hermes calling for you.

"Y/N!" they flew over, sighing as they landed on the grass. "You cannot just leave your duties like that." they scolded you, recieving a pout in return.

"But it's so boring there." you whined, scrunching your face up at the thought of another day wasted. "I'm growing old Hermes and I don't want to be cooped up in that damn seat for hours on end."

"Old my ass." the blonde snorted, rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms, sending you a glare. "You look the same age as us."

"How are we able to understand you?" Todoroki suddenly asked, registering that the language you spoke was not Japanese, and yet he was here having a conversation with you.

"Hmm I wonder. Maybe I’ll tell you later." you replied, feigning curiosity before turning back to the guards.

"These gentlemen will be staying with me."

"Y/N you can't-" 

“Your highness-" Hermes and the head guard began.

"Silence." you demanded, the air once again growing cold and still. "How dare you speak back to me."

You watched as the colour drained from their faces, the guard's lip trembling with fear before breaking out into laughter. "Just kidding!" you said, sticking you tongue out before turning on your heels. "What possible harm could dear ol' me do?" 

“A remarkable amount." Hermes sighed. "Your highness do you remember that one time you flooded the halls of the gods-"

"Hermes shh!" you gasped, running over and throwing a hand over his mouth. "Not in front of the guests."

"Those guests are leaving."

"B-but." you pleaded, sticking your lip out in a pout. "Look how good looking they are."

"Y/N."

"No." you huffed, skipping over to the dual haired boy and throwing your arm around his. "Well would you like to come with me?"

"Why would we go with a brat?" A sudden object flew past, you reaching out your arm to form a barricade of air, the spear stopping just centimeters from the blonde's neck.

"What the fuck? Why are you trying to kill me you dipshit."

"You know what." you sighed.

"I'm leaving him behind. You can have him Hermes." 

"Your highness, I do not want him."

"Tough." you snickered, dragging the other two back to your temple.

~~~

"Todoroki Shouto." you echoed, looking at the boy seated opposite you upon one of your grand pearl quilted couches. "That's cute."

"Thank you your highness." he replied with a small smile.

"Oh my god." you waved, your face tinted a slight red. "There's no need for such formalities! Just think of me as an average civilain."

"But-" "Shh." you hushed before turning to the blonde. "Midoriya?"

"Y-yes?" he jumped, a small squeak to his voice. "There's no need to be on edge." you reassured.

"You're perfectly safe here. Well apart from that thing." You nodded your head towards the boy chained up to one of the grand marbel pillars, a muzzle clasped against his face, his angry shouts filling the hall now that attention was back on him. Honestly, it was hilarious that Hermes had resorted to this.

Midoriya picked up another grape, before adding, "Yeah, that's Kacchan, he's like that most of the time."

"Well, it's about time I get back to work." you sighed as you heard the clocks chyme the fifth hour of the evening, stretching your arms above your head.

"May we observe?" Todoroki perked up, turning his attention away from the fuming Bakugou.

"I mean sure, I don't know why you'd want to though since it's really boring."

"I'm sure it's amazing!" Midoriya rebutted, a large smile on his face now.

You clutched your chest at his adorablness. Maybe they could stay for a while.

[vasiliquemort]

“- Just look at yourself. I am ready to drink this look, this need, this desire, all my eternity. Just imagine what you will become, as soon as I let you open up, as soon as our logos is fed up there, in the south. Power corrupts, and the power that we will have absolutely corrupts, so you will stay. Therefore, I can do it as much as I want. Just take a look.

When his hand returned to my stomach, pressing against me, I was shocked again, and when the movement of the fiery serpents became distinctly bright and unbearable I cried out in helplessness. He cooed lovingly, fervently - crimson lips looming over mine, and then dropping lower - hot breath down my neck. He traced my features with his fingers and the tips of his lips, studying for the thousandth time - the chin, the blood lines, the collarbone, down to the heart - and then he left a long, adoring kiss on it.

- Even my kiss may last longer than their lives. Just love me.”

“Enough”

- Enough.

My voice seemed deafening to me, but I did not budge - I will not allow him to have power over me, I will not allow him to birth weakness in me. I closed my eyes - in anticipation, and in an attempt to cope with the heavy breathing that was born in me - it seemed to me that the chest under his hand was burning and languishing every second.

I didn't know if I could push him away - my hand buried itself in the fiery curls, feeling their crushing softness, but his head seemed to me leaden, and I could not move it even a millimeter. He still did not show me his face – yet I feel how my words awakened something, something flared up and disappeared inside of him, but I could not accurately describe it in words, only feel the subtlety of my logos.

He sighed, snuggling closer, but at the same time as if petrified - suddenly he seemed so deceptively soft, the defenseless bones of his shoulders dropped gently, like in a dream.

- It's a heavy burden.

I opened my eyes - and met the dangerously tender coals of his own. He looked softly and thoughtfully, but in his face, as always, there was crushing hardness and coldness, and I did not believe his openness.

- A heart. This is our heavy burden with you. We have one for two, and because of that you will never feel peace - and you will never be able to escape from me. Does it scare you? Are you angry, exhausted from the urge to break my neck and leave? Do you think maybe you will ever succeed? You don't want me, at least not now, but you can never, my dragon, do anything about it. You are stuck.

He pulled away - stubbornly pursing his lips, leaving me alone - deprived of his heat I was exhausted from the endless cold of these walls, deprived of the brightness of his eyes I seemed to go blind and remained in the darkness. He slung his long hair over his sharp shoulders - a thin hand returned to his goblet, and he drank the rest in one gulp, and then poured another one - but this time he controlled himself, and began to slowly inhale the vapors. It seemed that this was his way of distraction - and way to hide, as I could not read his expression behind the iron walls, he separated himself and was left alone with his thoughts. Then he laughed - suddenly, loudly and shortly, and the tip of his feet touched my thigh in frustration, drawing attention.

- Maybe I should take it? Your heart, it belongs to me - but since you really want me to leave I can do you such a favor, how do you think? You will be left alone. As I once did. You will faint from the cold, you will not know what to do with your own darkness and perversity, your sins will devour you - but then there will be no me who will love and protect you from them. Oh, but you will stay - like me, you will flare up again, on your own coals, but you will never become whole, because here I am - your alpha and omega, your other half, and I will be gone. You know that one day you will become just like me, you are my part, my firstborn, and I am your true soulmate, by blood and desire, yet in the end you are free to choose your path yourself. But you will never love anyone without me. You will never warm anyone, you will never feel satisfaction in anything - you, like all of them, will be the living embodiment of greed. You don't know what love is - you are just a reflection of me or of what you might be experiencing. You and I are special, but alas, oddly enough, all good things will go with me. Why do you think you're better off without me? That you will become better? Why are you pushing me away?

I was silent - my head was spinning from the sweet smells, from the heat in me, but I listened to his every word. I saw him study me - like a cat that thinks whether she should eat her kitten, or caress it. I refused to look at him - he was exhausted and was not himself, and I do not want to feed any of his worries and devils in those head.

I wanted to leave, but instead turned away and took the fruit from the table in my hands - licking my iron taste from knife, I began to peel the fluffy rind, putting my thoughts in order along with methodical movements. I didn’t say anything and he didn’t look at me anymore - I could hear only deep, heavy breathing, as if he had been wounded.

I peeled the fruit completely - its juices flowed down my hands, and at the tip of the knife I sent a piece into my mouth - and then winced at the touch on my shoulders, almost crippling my lip. His hands slipped deceptively softly along my sides, hugging my waist - and pressing me against the clawed figure he buried his forehead in my shoulder in contrition - so devilishly tall, unexpectedly overhanging, like a sun, and the smell of his breath - as sweet as my fruit , burned me again.

- Yet probably it doesn't matter. You and I don’t need to think about it, you will never leave me, aren’t you? You and I will lose too much, and although I know that you are fraying with a thousand worries and fears, it is my responsibility, my destiny to take care of you and keep you as close as possible. You will hurt yourself on your own sharpness if I am not there. It's good to rely on me, to trust me, after all, I was always there, I never let you down.

It is true - Charet was a creature of greed and vices, he enjoyed the way people fell at his feet for the very share of what he offered me. He enjoyed what he could push me to - for our goals, our needs - desperate or hedonistic, and over the years I've done a lot of terrible things. He didn’t value other people, and he was a lot to me, but still he never was a liar or a coward. He cared, he just didn't always care if I could repay him for those feelings.

- You're not foolish enough to give me up. Sometimes I start to forget about it.

He kissed the back of my head - and breathed in the smell deeply, but there was no lust or greed in this touch, he did not come closer to me and holded me softly - like a beloved pet.

- It’s strange, of course, that you don’t want me — perhaps it’s a matter of time, but even so — I don’t see anything wrong with that. As I said, you can have fun as you wish - you have always been special to me, and there is nothing wrong with not looking at me the same way as others.

- You don't like this. You go berserk every time, as soon as I step aside - your pride is too great to live with me, although you are not to blame for this, it is your nature. But can I let you do that? What else do you want besides my worship, besides my every breath and heartbeat, every moment of my life, which lasts only thanks to you?

- Not much, actually. You're just scared that I could start to control you. You are as scared as I am.

- You? Scared?

He reluctantly shrugged his shoulder and grabbed my hands, taking the fruit and knife, then splitting it into pieces on his own. He was tall enough for me to slip out of his hands now - but I stood still, not moving, watching his every move.

- Well, that's not the right word. But isn't that exactly what you want, Archon? Control? Power over me, over your own life, over your little sins and desires that do not allow you to completely glaze over and turn into who your parents want to see you so much? Oh, of course, they love you endlessly and free of charge, but isn't it from them you have these thoughts, my darling? Thoughts that your place next to me is not enough, that I am not just a part of your family and life, but an instrument - a source of power and wealth that your little coven needs so badly? They tied you to me so that you don't run away, so that you have no choice but to lead them, but to be better, stronger, prettier and smarter than everyone who has ever been on this earth. You are the source of their wealth, their blessing and endless joy, their heir and an iron hand. But isn't it all thanks to me? Don't I need it as much as you do? Would they have been able to raise you and give you so many opportunities? I need you because you are a part of me. Even more than their own, because without me you simply would never have been.

I recoiled and was about to leave at last - his words were true, my value and the way my coven looks at me was never a mystery to me, but is that all? Isn't love and hope not enough, does he want to deprive me of this little in this gloomy, cruel and cold world? He never went that far - and I won't let him tarnish my feelings for my family. They are all I have except him.

But he stopped me again - with one hand he pulled me down, despite how I tried to pull away – yet he only sat me down next to him, side by side, and continued. His appearance was practically cheerful, partly even playful - but despite the soft tone, his words were like red-hot iron.

- But they know. Know that I need you too, just as badly. You and I feel things very differently from the rest. You have never worried about me as much as I am about you, because, beside you, I am like the sea. Do you know how it feels? How cold does anxiety feel when you go into the woods to your wild hunts again? How does a red-hot iron tear me apart when your own skin bursts under someone else's blade? I am inside you, you and I are one whole, but everything that you, my little lich, dear inanimate, is incapable of feeling - those things I experience in full. You and I are desire and fire, and your own burns brighter every year, blinding them, but still you are my cold side. Your passion, the heat of your blood, the crimson on your cheeks - they are all like death breath without me. It’s me who warm you with the cold, it’s thanks to me your blood doesn’t turn black. And I need your heartbeat, to feel the life of your breath, as much as you do. Ah, and how much can I do for your joy? For pleasures - small or crushing, if only you were happy, my soul. You are not just my vessel, I need you so, so much more..

It didn't matter whether I softened or not, but his own gentleness washed over me with a wave - glimpses of his feelings, bright, crushing lights, made their way to me more and more often in anticipation of summer. Is this how it feels? Or is this how a living person should feel?

- I'm not sorry for my words. Never. But I am sorry that my temperament fell out of place today - I could use it differently, in the way that would please both of us.

He turned to me, looking deeper into my eyes - the corners of his lips lifted encouragingly, a palm, sweet from peach juices, gently, as if not to frighten me away, lay on my cheek.

- Not that I blame you on this. It's time for me to get used to it, an eternity awaits us - which I want to finally spend in joy and good company. No matter how much I have to wait for you on this icy rock that you call home - and all this so that you bloom. I will admire you, I will guide my little ghost, the affectionate blood eater, the way it should be. And today, too. We still have time until dawn.

Until the fog clears, sky on these lands is like tides. Even in summer, the sun does not come out on the islands for months - and when it is, the eternal veils do not allow the rays to break through. We are all here - ghosts, reflections of old magic, children of nights and waters, and only the darkest of arts remain the source of food and warmth for us. Those, which were bestowed upon us by such beings like Charet - or by someone who is related to those beings, like me.

Sweet fingers pressed the fruit, dripping with crushing juices, to my lips - one of the wonders of Charet, the demon of pleasures and joys of life. The fruit was divine, for lack of a better word - many would turn to it with religious reverence, but it was given to me as a gift, for nothing.

Almost for nothing. I closed my eyes, sighing, preparing for a long night - a night of talking and stories, plans and shared dreams, as summer is just beginning. We prepare, I drink his logos, share the fire and passion that swirl in him endlessly - and the longer my years go, the more I see his reflection in me. When I bit the fruit, his hand immediately pulled back - to cut off a new piece, which he had already left for himself, alternating, and even when he drank his juices himself, I felt its crushing sweetness.

- You're staying tonight, aren't you? Am I the only one from whom you seek peace and joy tonight?

I sighed, sipping plum wine from his goblet - astringency hit my head a little, and I leaned back on the pillows, and the snake joined me soon.

- Of course, my lord.

[frostsong]

9—14: commend.

rating: T

characters: original characters, douceline de dansereau, jannequinard de durendaire, aymeric de borel, lucia goe junius

tags: 4.0, msq: ‘stormblood’, post-ala mhigo, sappy janne, i always leave aym in the corner sweetie i’m so sorry

summary: nothing but the highest praise for halone incarnate.

wordcount: 1446

“My dear, you’ve done it again!”

In the blinding heat she thinks she’s dreaming, until his arms are around her and she realizes she--he--and all of this--is real.

Behind him the Lord Commander beams, as bright as the Gyr Abanian sun will allow him, and his second-in-command stands astride, an evident crease in her smile meant for the man holding the Hero of Eorzea in a tight embrace.

“--Oh, not that I ever lacked faith in you--” A quick, strong kiss on her sweat-matted forehead, then another on her rosy cheek, enough for her to giggle in spite of how worn she was from all that had transpired, from storming Ala Mhigo to the death of the Imperial Prince.

“Nor did I--”

“J-Janne, what are you doing here?” She finally manages to speak, her voice still trembling with laughter while one hand of his cradles the delicate line of her jaw with the utmost care. A realization settles in and she gasps, eyes widening and smile giving way into an open-mouthed gape.

“Y--you were with us--”

“Oh NO! Heavens, no.” His thumbs brush her loose curls to the side, and by the look in his eyes she knows he’s using all of his power to keep from kissing her right then and there.

“Not with you in the fighting, I mean. I just happened to arrive not too long ago, really. Much of our forces were away and there was hardly anyone left to receive me. Not that I minded, of course--I’d rather they were all at your side.” As I wish I had been, his eyes said. But Dou shook her head and grinned, her gloved hands falling atop his own.

“I’m so happy you’re here, Janne.” 

“Perhaps I’ll leave a proper congratulations for another time,” Aymeric let out a subtle cough masquerading a chuckle, and already the knights that accompanied him began to snicker at the sight of Count Durendaire’s nephew being so unabashedly affectionate in the presence of the Savior of Ishgard. The man had plenty of rumors even before Douceline became a known figure in their city, though his involvement with her had propelled his infamy to greater heights than any of his countrymen could have ever imagined.

Lucia nodded in confirmation and sent her a cool smile.

“Indeed. Such efforts on your part could never be understated.” A bow, and Douceline was left once again in shaky laughter as the other knights followed suit.

“I--I couldn’t’ve done it without any of you there with me...”

“Dearest, you are far too modest. Even with such talented individuals could such a feat not have been accomplished without your guiding star to lead us!” The astrologian still holding her ‘round the waist chided playfully, before placing another kiss on the opposite cheek, and the Lord Commander made his leave with the rest of his retinue, leaving her and Jannequinard to venture into the shade of the city walls. 

“Now then, should we retire to your chambers—er, where is it that you’re spending the night, dearest? I can have my things brought wherever—that is, if the page I handed them to didn’t lose them—”

“A tent.” She didn’t see why her temporary lodgings should be grander than those of the warriors she fought alongside.

“A tent! Splendid...though I suppose you wouldn’t mind switching to somewhere with a roof?” Now inside the reclaimed city, Dou could tell he wasn’t ecstatic about sleeping outdoors, though she still had her doubts about requesting such a thing that sounded so entitled. So she simply shook her head and smiled.

“Just a tent, Janne.” He smiled back—though thinner in the way she knew he smiled when he wasn’t sure about something.

“Splendid...I see. Though if ever you have the opportunity for a longer respite, I heard word of a quaint little bath house in Porta Praetoria. I heard the weather there is positively balmy.” At his suggestion she failed to hide a giggle.

“I think it’d be rude of me not to see how the others are doing...there are casualties, s-so.” At this he seemed to concede, albeit reluctantly. And Douceline could understand it a little. He had come all this way to see her, only for her attention to be as divided as it was beyond the confines of his office at the Astrologicum, or behind closed doors at his chambers in the Belfry.

Already in the corner of her eye Douceline could see one, two, five familiar faces, which were quick to catch her recognizable visage--and even more recognizable it would become, for all she had accomplished, for all she had come to symbolize.

And his heart sinks to think that, with each and every step she took, he felt further and further left behind.

Right where they started.

When she finally tears herself away from friends, comrades, and all above, below, or in-between, he was quick to weave his gloved fingers snug around her own, lurching past the varied palette of robe, chainmail, and metal to find his way back at her side once more, the very place where he wanted so desperately to feel like he truly belonged.

Fortunately, she turned her gaze to him and smiled--smiled in that weary way he remembers the meaning of: the wish of wanting to leave, of wanting no one’s company but his own.

And he was more than happy to acquiesce, sending the hungry, growing crowd a cocky smirk as he led her away into the coming night. 

━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━━━

“--and that one stands for Rhalgr. Lyse told me.” 

He watched idly as her index finger drew a line connecting one distant speck to the other, into the shape of something--someone--he could care less about. Selfish as it was not to pay attention to the words she was saying, he simply missed her too much to care for all that Gyr Abania and the Far East had to offer her; at least, at this very moment. 

“...You’re not listening.” Her voice sank as he smiled, lazily drawing up his bare forearm to brush the back of his fingers against her rosy cheek. Fury, how wonderful it felt to feel her again. Neither his memories nor his own imagination could conjure anything close to the actual thing.

“Forgive me, dearest, I--can’t find it in myself to focus on more than one thing tonight.” Dulcet words in an equally smooth cadence did nothing to stop her from puffing her cheeks in outright frustration, her rosy-gold hair dimmed to a dulled purple tint under the mountain sky.

“And so my body and my voice are two different things?” At her words he grinned, teeth striking white in the dark of the late evening hours, naught but the moon, stars, and dying flicker of the campfire to give them light.

“They are indeed. They adjoin to comprise you as a whole. Much like...er. The heavens and the earth?” She crossed her arms (she had gained more taut muscle, much to his delight) and waited, muted-rose eyes sharp and glowing in the nearby firelight. Clearly his one example wasn’t enough of an argument.

“Like...the sun and the moon. Without one of them we could never complete an entire day!” In desperation his grin widens in the hopes he’d done better, but to his dismay her head sank with a paired sigh.

“...I suppose.” Accepted? Forgiven? While the back of his head hit the tassled pillow-roll in relief, he took her hands into his own to bring her back atop his chest, the meager sheets pooling at her waistline. 

“Listen. I love the sound of your voice and the words that come with it--truly, I do, But what little of you I can have from linkpearls and letters can only--” He stopped with a sudden, shaky breath. Something feels lodged in his throat and whatever it is makes his words falter, his streamline of thoughts unravel. It’s the feeling he gets when he knows he’s said too much, and he’s ashamed that even now, it has him in such a vice grip. Even now with the woman who professed and proved her love to him for reasons he could never truly comprehend.

“...I think I understand.” Her knuckles lie relaxed against his collarbone, and the scent of her breath is sweet. He closes his eyes to take it all in. Her and him, skin to skin and nothing and no one between them. Loathe he was to admit it, this moment wouldn’t last, and come morning they will be parted once again.

But for now, they’re together, and he has no choice but to make the absolute most of it.

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

NEVER WAS THERE A TALE OF MORE WOE, THAN THAT OF OUR JEANNE AND FANGDADDIO 😭😭😭

But alas, I will relay what I read back in the day to the best of my abilities! Spoilers for the end of Jeanne’s route under the cut, rated E (for everyone) for maximum uwus (and M for angst bc F U C K):

Okay so basically Jeanne’s route goes a lot like most of the routes, and when MC gets attacked (by the rival vampire turned by Vlad) our eyepatched wonder is not happy about it. He storms over to Comte’s room and demands to have his questions answered. Comte notes how deathly serious he is and breezes past the enmity, telling him to go ahead and ask whatever he needs to. Jeanne threatens to kill Comte if it turns out that he’s lying about anything from this point forward. To which Comte (being a little shit), replies that he literally can’t die so like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Jeanne tells him he doesn’t care what it takes; he’ll rend him apart to the tiniest shred over and over and over again--even if it takes them both to the other side to accomplish it. Comte concedes and says “very well; if I lie, you’re welcome to try.” Jeanne finally asks if Comte has made a revival pact with anyone new. Comte is genuinely confused and confesses that he hasn’t--that he has no idea who Jeanne is talking about. “What ‘comrade in arms’???” Jeanne seems to sense that Comte is responding in earnest (but is also confused bc like, then who the fuck else turned the guy??? WHO IS THE THREAT I MUST STAB)

Jeanne admits that MC was attacked and you can feel the change in gravity in milliseconds. Comte starts asking where she is and if she’s okay, and Jeanne explains that she’s still in the mansion and she’s fine. Jeanne then asks if Shakespeare has the ability to turn people like he does, and Comte is bewildered to put it mildly. He’s like ??????? Where is this coming from, of course he doesn’t???? I turned him myself, he’s a lesser vampire--he doesn’t have that ability???? In a moment of sheer livid impatience, Jeanne grabs Comte by the lapels and screams “Then who can!?!?!?!” Comte stares at him and admits that there are only two people that he is aware of who can accomplish such a thing, himself and someone else. They hear a loud crash and they run to the dining room, only to find a window smashed, Mozart wounded, and MC gone. Comte’s furious sprite appears, and he asks Jeanne to look after MC, he has something to take care of. Isaac asks him where on earth he’s going, and he reveals that he’s going to Will’s house before storming out.

Poor Shakespeare faces the brunt of Comte’s rage--though I get the feeling, knowing now that Shakespeare is Vlad’s puppet--that the threat was meant more for Vlad than for Shakey boy. Comte goes to Shakey’s place and Shakespeare offers to put on tea or wine, says it’s strange for him to appear so late. Comte tells him not to bother, since he isn’t here to exchange pleasantries. Shakespeare seems p shocked given Comte isn’t usually one to be so direct or terse, and when Comte walks in he backs Shakespeare into the wall step. By step. By step. He asks him if he was involved in the harm done to MC, and Shakespeare’s like “Yeah lol what’s it to you.” And when their shoes are nearly touching, Comte grabs him by the throat and lifts him off the ground. He tells Shakespeare that if this goes on, he won’t show any mercy: "To those that would harm a single member of my house, I will hunt them to the ends of the earth. To the very depths of hell." The narration notes that he lets go of whatever dampens his pureblood aura and nearly suffocates Shakespeare with his raw intensity and power, before putting him down again and saying “That’s all I have to say. I have no more questions for you.” Comte walks right back out, slamming the door while Shakespeare is on the floor coughing. 

So, needless to say, things are hella rocky between Comte and Jeanne throughout the better part of the route. But given the odd dichotomy of Comte’s reactions (his complete acceptance of Jeanne’s fury versus his own anger being directed at Vlad), it definitely felt like there was more there. Everything finally comes full circle at the end when Comte gathers everyone inside the dining room to explain precisely what happened (Vlad, etc. I’m assuming) and asks everyone to take proper precautions moving forward: "I'll take steps to make sure this never happens again. But if we are faced with a similar situation, know that I am prepared to protect you all with every fiber of my being." He deems secrecy a moot point given this incident, and just wants everyone to be safe and ask for help should they need it in the future. 

MC notes that he doesn’t have his usual placid demeanor; he’s incredibly serious and grave. She’s like “Oh boy some serious shit went down huh...but if anything, I feel like it’s only made us have more faith in his ability to protect us c:” AND HERE IS WHERE THE BIG HURT HAPPENS KIDS GET YOUR TISSUES AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Jeanne: "...Alright. I will trust in your words. But can I ask just one thing?” Comte: “Yes, Jeanne?” Jeanne: "You know I always hated you, I truly believed you revived me against my will for a long time." Comte just sorta deflates, but he doesn’t say anything (MY POOR BABIE) Jeanne: "But, is that really the case? Did I want to live on, away from that pyre...?" [There was a long silence.] Comte: “...That day, when I appeared, you screamed desperately 'Why must I die here. Whether it be God or the devil, someone make use of me!'” Important note: Jeanne tells MC that he is able to recall thinking that, but he has no acute recollection of saying it; this is the moment at which he lost consciousness. MC: [;-; No matter how hard he tried to stifle it, it (his deep wish to live) came out all the same...] I wasn’t able to transcribe it, but Comte essentially tells him that he tried to ask Jeanne, but he was already barely hanging on--there was no way he could get a proper answer. (This is highly plausible given we know that Jeanne was incarcerated by the Inquisition, tortured, and starved before he was tied to that pyre--it was a miracle he lasted that long. He didn’t even have the strength to move/struggle from where he was tied). Comte goes on to say that Jeanne was pissed to shit when he woke up and there was little he could do to alleviate that (I mean given he was waiting for the sweet release of death it makes sense but also N O ;-;). For a while Jeanne just stares at him before asking: Jeanne: “...Why? Why didn’t you tell me after all this time?” Comte: "Because I thought it was okay if you berated me a little." Jeanne (vine voice: AMERICA EXPLAIN): ?????????? Comte: "Despite being alive...you looked dead to the world ever since the day we met. No matter how hard I tried or whatever I did, I couldn't seem to change that. But...the only emotion I seemed to be able to draw out of you was hate. If hatred was the only thing that could move you, I figured I'd take on that role. Better to see you express something than to see you lifeless beyond any glimmer of hope or change." Jeanne: "Why....why would you go that far?? Why did you bother? I don't...understand" BECAUSE HE HAS SO MUCH LOVE TO GIVE AND HE LOVES YOU I’M SOBBING ALL OVER AGAIN OKAY DEEP BREATHS THE SHOW MUST GO ON MINNIE Comte: "Because I'm the one that revived you...because to me, you're all my precious family." Jeanne: "...............................................................I...I'm sorry" AND JEANNE HANGS HIS HEAD WAAAAAAAAAAAH Comte’s brows rise: “...Jeanne?” Jeanne: "I know an apology doesn't forgive everything I did/said. But I don't know how else to make amends"

It goes on to show them all making amends, and while Jeanne can sometimes be like “ughghhghgh d a d stop nagging I’m fINE” he secretly really loves the guy. In Jeanne’s third bday story he’s literally like [Comte’s a weirdo but I see now that that's just how he cares abt me. He's not just worldly, he's a good guy. c: I just don’t care abt whatever he’s going on abt rn]

So like full disclosure before Jeanne’s route I still loved Comte but I really didn’t know much about him beyond the “eccentric nobleman persona.” Granted we definitely get glimpses into who he really is, but this was a sizeable breakthrough. (And probably a strong allusion to the release of Comte’s MS soon after.) That being said, there were so many things said here that just absolutely shattered my heart. 

Because here’s the thing. I have no qualms with Comte’s wish to be a dad--or even to revive the men, for that matter. If it makes him happy and he intends to take care of them reasonably well, then who am I to criticize him? (Fun fact: Leonardo essentially says the same exact thing; he’s more against it than I am because of the whole turning humans, but he doesn’t necessarily vilify Comte because he knows his intentions are good. And if everyone’s happy with it, what can he say?) But the fact that Comte handles their issues with so much patience and maturity...I’m in love???? There is sincerely nothing sexier than this for me. He’s fully aware that Jeanne was treated like absolute shit by the people he tried to protect, that he never really got to live for himself a single day in his life--never knew a moment’s peace, joy, or appreciation. He tries everything he can think of to get Jeanne to maybe not hate being alive as much, but fails at every turn. He still refuses to give up on the guy despite the less than ideal state of things, and decides that if Jeanne needs an enemy to survive--he will be that enemy. He doesn’t care that the guy he’s trying to help would skewer him the second he had his back turned (Jeanne pls this was a new suit couldn’t this wait). He takes full responsibility for deciding to turn him; knows that since he erred on the side of caution, it’s up to him to offer a life that’s worth keeping/staying alive for. He doesn’t belittle Jeanne’s plight for a moment, never deems him stupid or shortsighted. He’s able to understand that in the wake of so much pain and loss, of course Jeanne might not notice the finer points of Comte’s attempts to cheer him up. Even if it pains him to be on negative terms (HE LOVES HIS BOY HE DOESN’T WANT TO FIGHT) he will fully accept it if it brings Jeanne peace, if it helps Jeanne get to a place where he can begin to accept the affection he wants to offer.

And THAT’S what kills me, kids. Four hundred years, and Comte fucking LEARNED something. He is perceptive to uncanny degrees, and never fails to read a room in milliseconds; not only does he pick up on how people feel, he responds with appropriate, gentle measures. What I love so much about Comte is that he knows full well that genius does not come without its price. You could be the smartest person on earth, the most talented, whatever you choose to call it, but it will invite no shortage of hatred from other people, no shortage of misunderstanding and disdain and violence. If people don’t go mad with power, they are destroyed by the very places that birthed them. As such, the last thing he wants to do is put them under more pressure, or force them to do things against their will; he just wants to give them a chance to live beyond such fickle and hostile circumstances. And he takes this seriously, this isn’t remotely a whim for him despite all evidence to the contrary. He gets that healing takes time, and as much as he wants everyone to be happy he’s more than willing to give them space/resources to figure it out. Like. He is the father everybody DREAMS they had (if they didn’t already have a good one) and the fact that I can’t tell him what a wonderful job he’s doing is killing me on all levels INCLUDING physical.

And I just?????? Jeanne’s palpable remorse when he finds out????? And Comte’s surprise???????? Like Comte wasn’t necessarily expecting that level of apology, he knew he was taking a gamble and he was ready to do whatever he had to, he wasn’t intending to hold it against his boy. But Jeanne just has such a tender and well-meaning heart (no matter how much he struggles to express it) that regret was inevitable. There’s just so much love in that moment, in Comte’s capacity to forgive and take on so much of poor Jeanne’s unhappiness, and Jeanne’s fully ability to admit he was misguided, lower his head, and apologize. THEY JUST GET ME BLUBBERING LIKE A THREE YEAR OLD OKAY THEY ARE BOTH SO IMPORTANT TO ME AND I HURT

Tl;dr: JEANNE’S ROUTE SHOT ME FORTY-SEVEN TIMES IN THE CHEST AND LEFT ME PINING FOR COMTE MORE THAN EVER BEFORE OTL

Also a bonus, because it only just occurred to me (spoilers from the end of Comte’s route):

THEY HAVE A LEGIT REVERSAL AT THE END OF COMTE’S ROUTE???? Comte once again gathers everyone to reveal Vlad’s identity and intentions, and he apologizes for keeping it from everyone, lowering his head. He’s more than ready to face everyone’s ire for keeping secrets, but everyone’s just like “dad pls lift your head it’s okay, we’re just glad we can help you now--you don’t have to carry it all on your own.” AND IT IS IN FACT, JEANNE, THAT ALSO SAYS “No need to bow like that Comte, aren't you the one always saying we're family?" AND WHEN I TELL YOU I WAS IN A PUDDLE OF TEARS?????? I WILL NEVER BE OKAY. POOR COMTE WAS SO MOVED AND MY HEART CAN’T TAKE HAVING THIS KNOWLEDGE WHERE’S MY HANKIE. JEANNE. BEING THE ONE. TO SAY. “Aren’t we family?” WHEN HEARING HOW HARD COMTE WAS WORKING TO PROTECT THEM, BC HE 100% IDENTIFIES WITH THE STRUGGLE OF LOOKING AFTER PEOPLE THAT DON’T KNOW/CARE THAT SOMEBODY ELSE IS THE SACRIFICE FOR THEIR PEACE OF MIND. I--

WHAT IS IT THAT JEANNE AND COMTE SHARE TO THE CORE, SO MUCH THAT JEANNE WOULD NEED NO OTHER EXPLANATION TO CHANGE HIS MIND AFTER YEARS OF BITTER DISDAIN???????? THEIR CAPACITY FOR DEVOTION, THEIR EASY WILLINGNESS TO SACRIFICE ANYTHING TO PROTECT A LIFE. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THIS EPIPHANY IS GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF ME

I’m crying rn I just: Comte: !!!!!!! Somebody who gets it!!! :DDD Jeanne: die. Comte:  Comte: ;-; understandable have a nice day

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Winter Whumperland Day 2 - Alone

Summary: Written for Winter Whumperland Day 2. Set in a modern AU, sequel to Day 1 'Appearances'. At night after the party, Hiccup lies awake, unable to sleep. He's not alone in bed, but still alone with his thoughts.

Rating: Mature

Characters: Hiccup, Viggo

Pairing: Vigcup, past-Hiccstrid

Words: 1 321

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Prompt: “Sleep Deprivation”

Whumpee: Hiccup

Author’s Notes: Since these all take place in the same story, but are loosely tied together, it means that I have the full story to work with as I post these one-shots. I somewhat re-wrote this one and the previous one to fit and flow better and even added another scene to Day 3 because of an event happening on a later day that was already planned but hadn't been written yet.

What I'm trying to say is, this has been an interesting project to work on.Also, is the rating of "mature" right? And I've seen the Winter Whumperland blog itself tag the first Day as "dubcon", does that count for whole relationships that only one half of the couple wants as well?

Constructive criticism is appreciated!

Enjoy!

@amonthofwhump

Ao3

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The clock ticking softly on the wall is infuriating, but it's about the only companion he has right now. That and the moonlight timidly lighting the room with what little the moon can reflect.

Eyes on the ceiling, he's never seen a room look so blue before, so used to the orange light of streetlamps coming in instead.

Or maybe he is used to it, he's been here long enough, after all.

He hates how that thought makes him feel. He's so used to everything now, nothing really fazes him anymore, nothing is new.

He wants to be at home.

Hiccup sighs deeply, a familiar feeling of a deep yearning in his heart that seems so far out of reach now. Every day it dwindles just a little more, every day it goes farther and farther away. Like a pleasant dream one has at night only to wake up and barely remember it.

Someone follows his example, breathing just as deeply, but more contentedly than he does.

He's not alone in bed as Viggo is with him. As if they're a real couple, they share the bed and sometimes it's almost like the elder of the two actually believes that they are. And Hiccup, he feels like pretending that they are makes things easier for him.

He pretended less than an hour ago.

Both bare underneath the covers, Viggo's head is lying on his naked chest, Hiccup can feel his prickly beard on his skin. His expression is quite neutral and Hiccup would've liked it if his sleep was at least a little bit troubled. He doesn't deserve a full night of rest.

The ironic thing is, Viggo is sleeping well because of Hiccup's presence. Something he'd told the young man, who almost felt flattered until that rational part of him, no matter how small after everything, reminded him not to be fooled.

Viggo is a manipulative man, the last thing he needs is to develop Stockholm syndrome after everything.

It's not fair that he gets to sleep while Hiccup can't. He's too uncomfortable to.

There's a layer of sweat coating him and the feeling of it drying on his skin is abhorrent, especially given the circumstances. And so is the culmination of wetness between his legs and on his stomach. They had sex before Viggo so graciously fell asleep on his chest and Hiccup desperately wants to take a shower.

But alas, he can't. That involves getting up and 'his darling' won't appreciate being moved. Maybe he'll get the chance somewhere during the night. If not, he'll be forced to wait until morning. So he has hours of uncomfortably lying in their mess to look forward to.

And he'll be expected to change the sheets later. When you keep someone hostage for your pleasure, you expect them to do the housework, too, apparently.

The Grimborns used to have a housekeeper, but she was "fired" for discovering Hiccup and not wanting to keep him quiet.

She was so kind, Hiccup hopes it was quick at least.

Gods, he hates himself right now. Not that it's a new feeling. He feels responsible for what happened to that poor woman and so he hates himself. And for getting caught in the first place, for drawing attention everywhere he goes, for everything he's had to do just to get through the day.

He's been performing his role as some kind of obedient... He doesn't want to think about it. Like a dog, he's expected to bark, roll over, play dead whenever his master commands him to and he's done it all. He's done it all. Because he's already figured that fighting Viggo and Ryker physically just doesn't work. And then there are those invisible fences to keep him trapped, like he's some pretty bird in a golden cage and Viggo is the master who makes him perform just for him until the day he dies.

It's sad and he hates it, but sex is a handy tool. The youngest Grimborn is a smart man who likes a smart partner, he's reminded Hiccup several times of this fact. But he, too, can be persuaded with the pleasures of the flesh, especially if the person offering is Hiccup.

Tonight, Hiccup pretended they are a couple and offered his body to lessen his anger when Viggo came searching for him after the party and found the bedroom door to be locked. Just as he predicted earlier, locking the door on top of everything else he'd done was the final straw for that night. And it didn't help that the party had left Viggo drained and even more easily agitated.

Hiccup doesn't want to think about how trading himself for his own safety makes him feel like. He doesn't want to be alone with his thoughts either and yet here he is.

Astrid was his girlfriend and they've only done it twice. They were a young couple that thought they had plenty of time, so they didn't rush. That is far, far less than what he's done with his current... "lover".

They were both inexperienced, simply exploring, finding things out together, garnering experience together. He doubts that has changed much for Astrid, but his experience has skyrocketed since their separation. Another thing he hates. So much he's had to learn that he wants to unlearn.

Before pretending that they are in love, he's tried to pretend this was Astrid he was with, but that never lasted long. A 19-year-old young woman and a 30 to 40 something-year-old man aren't the same things, after all.

And then there is another little thing that he's heard the brothers talk about, eavesdropping in on a conversation he was never meant to hear and probably would've been punished severely for. But that is for when Viggo's broken him enough to when they can be sure Hiccup won't run away given the chance.

It'll be the final insult, the last chain that is meant to keep him here, the end goal so to speak. When that guest made his joke earlier, he probably didn't guess the meaning behind Viggo's look correctly, but Hiccup knows what that smile was about.

But he's not going to let it come to that, he can't. Even if he's never found, he has to get out of this situation somehow.

Or maybe he's too optimistic for his own good and his kidnapping will end like so many other cases before him have. Namely, with him in a shallow grave somewhere far away from home. Nothing but skeletal remains and forever remembered as the tragic golden child who went missing when he had so much promise.

Once again, not him, just like that reflection wasn't him.

Hiccup wishes he could sleep. He's so, so tired and he wants his thought process to finally stop bringing him places he doesn't want it to go. He can't even use this time to think of a way out, his mind too preoccupied with hurting itself. He closes his heavy eyes, but they won't stay closed.

How dare Viggo sleep so peacefully when he's the one harboring a missing person that he stole and exploits in every way he wants to.

Glaring down at him, Hiccup curses him for leaving him alone with his thoughts like this.

The nights are arguably the worst in this aspect. Days are bad, but at least there's stuff he can keep himself busy with. House stuff usually, since he's not allowed to do anything else, and they somehow always manage to keep his list of chores full. It's almost like he's a child in a strict household.

But now there's nothing stopping him from thinking, from feeling, from missing. And what he feels is discomfort, fear, heartache, and loneliness.

A well, he'll just have to bear with it. Despite Viggo's methods and his way to beat him down and tire him out, Hiccup does have a plan.

[kmomof4]

The Moon... Tells the Sea

Oh y'all!!! I can’t tell you how excited I am to finally share this fic inspired by @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ were-mermaid aesthetic for the @cssns​!!!! When she showed me what she was working on back in February, an entire outline of a story just spilled out of me. And with her blessing and tremendous excitement, I wrote it! I truly hope you enjoy it! Please make sure and give Kayla lots of love!!!

Muchos love and thanks to @searchingwardrobes​ for her outstanding beta services. I am truly embarrassed at how all over the place my tenses were before she got ahold of them 🤦🏻‍♀️. Also to @hollyethecurious​ for her help in brainstorming early on, and last but not least to Kayla herself for making this GORGEOUS and PERFECT aesthetic that inspired the entire fic!!!!

Fic Summary: Nearly a century has passed since she became what she is when a new figure enters her lonely world. Who is he? And more importantly, WHAT is he?

Rating: M (Violence and smut)

Words: Nearly 7100

Tags: Werewolves, Mermaids, Kidnapping, Smut

Find it on ao3 here

Tag list: @hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @snowbellewells​ @stahlop​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @jennjenn615​ @kingofmyheart14​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @branlovestowrite​ @thisonesatellite​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @flslp87​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @let-it-raines​ @shireness-says​ @kymbersmith-90​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @bethacaciakay​ @searchingwardrobes​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @aprilqueen84​ @qualitycoffeethings​ @superchocovian​ @artistic-writer​ @donteattheappleshook​ @doodlelolly0910​ @seriouslyhooked​ @tiganasummertree​ @lfh1226-linda​ @nikkiemms​ @xsajx​ @klynn-stormz​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

Under the cut unless Tumblr ate it.

He appeared for the first time just after the full moon. The pale moonlight shone down on his face, turning the dark hair on his head to almost a silver. He was tall and lean, and the scruff on his face lined a perfectly sharp jawline. The melancholy on his countenance was achingly familiar and somehow soothed the restlessness and agitation in her soul. She felt a drawing to him that she couldn’t explain, a kinship, a connection. He walked back and forth along the beach of the lagoon where she made her home, sometimes keeping his eyes on the white sand beneath his bare feet, other times gazing out at the water. She hoped that he saw her beneath the gentle waves, a flash of gold from her hair or the moonlight reflecting off the sea green scales on her tail. Alas, after several circuits on her beach, he turned back into the woods in the direction of the village that she once, long ago, called home.

It was nigh on a century ago when Emma walked this beach and splashed in this lagoon as a sixteen year old girl. There wasn’t much time allowed for leisure in her life, but she and some of the other girls were able to come down to the beach on occasion for a modicum of recreation. They would remove their shoes and wiggle their toes in the sand and splash in the surf which would inevitably devolve into a water fight, competing to see who could get who the wettest before they inevitably had to return to the tavern of their employ.

It was on one of these excursions that the most lovely music reached her ears. Music from across the water. When she walked further out into the lagoon seeking the source of the tune, she was suddenly pulled under. Her companions stared in shock, too far from her to even attempt a rescue. The water closed over her head, turning her screams into a gurgle, as she reached out for anything that would keep her from being carried away. Once underwater, she became aware of what exactly had pulled her under. The orange arm of an octopus was all she could see wrapped around her ankles and working its way up her body, pulling her away from everything that she had ever known, further and further away from the sunlight on the surface of the lagoon and closer and closer to the dropoff marking the boundary and the open ocean beyond. The sense of flying under the water intensified as the melody continued on, and even became louder the deeper she went. It was working its way into her heart and mind, telling her to not resist, that she was safe, that she would live forever. The assurances did nothing to assuage her fear and anger, even as a creeping lethargy enveloped her limbs, halting her struggles against the iron grip of the tentacle. Finally arriving at the bottom of the ocean, the tentacle released her to join its brothers as part of the most horrifying sight she had ever beheld. A green skinned man from the waist up, while below, a multitude of orange tentacles waved lazily in the deep water currents.  

Neal had taken advantage of her passivity, brought about by the melody that apparently he had sent to lure her into deep enough water that he could take her and make her his own. Upon her arrival in his underwater home, he immediately gave her fins instead of legs. He spoke words of love and tenderness to her, thinking to woo her to his side, but when he was unsuccessful after several weeks, his supposed love descended into a violent possessiveness, making her his by force. It was at this time that the full moon rose high in the sky and even though its light didn’t reach the depths, she still nearly drowned in her wolf form. If she hadn’t been fighting for her life, Neal’s surprise would have been comical. His surveillance had obviously been incomplete as he had no idea that he had kidnapped a werewolf. His magic placed her back on land where she’d be safe from drowning, but he warned her when the sun rose and she reverted back to human form, that she belonged to him and that his eyes would always be watching her when she was on land. He would not hesitate to kill anyone that tried to take what was his, including her, should she try to escape from him. Resigned to her fate, she endured the transformation each month and returned to the lagoon from whence Neal had taken her when the cycle came to an end. At least he allowed her that, only summoning her to his side when he wanted to remind her who she belonged to, which was, thankfully, relatively seldom all these years later.

She shuddered as the memories washed over her. Pushing them back down where they belonged, she looked back in the direction that the man had gone. She could only hope that he might come back.

The next night, he did come back. And the night after that, and the night after that. Every night, about an hour after sunset, he arrived at her beach. Some nights he would simply walk. Back and forth. Back and forth. She wished that she could speak to him, bring him some comfort in his distress. Other nights, he would sit on her beach and stare out at the sea for hours, tears tracking down his cheeks. It was those nights that the desire to reveal herself to him nearly overwhelmed her. But then she remembered Neal’s threats. She would not put this man in danger.

The next night was the first night of the full moon. She swam to the shallows as the sun set and she could feel the first stirrings of her change coming upon her. It was one thing to endure the pain of the transformation as a human, but as a mermaid, it was so much worse. She first had to face the agony of becoming human before she became the wolf.

Once the transformation was complete, her wolf still trembling with the aftereffects of the torment that had lately seized her, she ran for the shelter of the woods, desperate to hide herself among the foliage before he came for his evening constitutional. Tonight, being on the land instead of the sea and possessing the enhanced acuity of a wolf, she became aware of his presence before he was even beyond the borders of the town, about a mile away.

His steps were a bit slower this evening, and she was able to perceive details of his appearance that had been hidden in the previous weeks. The scruff that lined his jaw was tinged with ginger and his eyes were the blue of the lagoon that she now called home. He was dressed in the garb of a laborer and his hands were filthy. She wondered if he worked in the blacksmith shop.

He made the cover of the trees and her nose twitched with the scent she perceived on the night air coming off of him in waves. It couldn’t be. He turned from the path and disappeared from her sight. She was still over half a mile away from him. She ran to him, desperate to see if what she could smell was correct. Jumping over the detritus and long fallen, rotting trees that lay along the unseen paths used by the inhabitants of the forest, she raced toward her goal, her salvation. Arriving at her target, she came to a sudden stop. There, nestled in the bracken of the forest floor, was a wolf. A wolf dark as midnight under a new moon. His transformation was complete, but he had not yet recovered enough to make any sort of move against her.

She trod gingerly over to him. A low growl, full of menace reached her from deep in his chest. He may not be quite recuperated from the transformation, but he was far from defenseless, if the strength of that growl was anything to go by. He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. Electric blue met verdant green in a dance as old as time. He rose from his forest bed and nosed along her muzzle. She held as still as she could while he nosed along the length of her, pausing below her tail to scent her. His tongue flicked out and the vibrating tension that had held her still since their eyes met broke. Emma spun away from him and mouthed gently at his muzzle before taking off through the woods. She didn’t need her heightened hearing to know that he was following her lead. The blood sang in her veins as she unleashed a howl at the full moon up above. He joined her in a chilling duet that carried both to the village and to the lagoon. She made to jump over a huge decaying log across their path when her back leg was caught in the rotting bark. A surprised and pain-filled whine was torn from her as she landed on top of the log. Mere seconds passed before the other wolf was by her side and ripping at the disintegrating log. Finally free, she jumped off the log, landing gingerly on the injured leg. The pain speared through her with each step she took, so she walked with a slight limp. He was by her side in an instant, bumping into her, supporting her as she tried to walk off the pain.

It took a few minutes, but the supernatural healing did its work and she resumed the chase through the woods until they burst through the foliage onto her beach. Suddenly mindful that Neal would have a much easier time seeing her and her companion when they were this exposed, she ran back for the cover of the forest. She came to a stop and turned back towards him, just as he burst through and tackled her. They rolled a few times until Emma laid on her back. The black wolf hovered over her before he lowered his face to hers and stretched himself out, half on top of her, half along her side. A wolfish sigh left her as she tentatively licked his muzzle. The crystal blue eyes half shut in pleasure and a pleased low growl left him.

She was still coming to terms with the fact that this man she had watched all month was also a werewolf like her, but as she snuggled closer into his solid bulk and her eyes fell shut, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had found her true mate. Now she just needed to figure out how to get away from Neal.

~*~*~

The sun was just breaking over the horizon when Emma woke, back in her human form. She was naked and the huge black wolf stretched out next to her was keeping her warm in the chill of the dawn. She looked around and found that they collapsed under a small copse of trees that the morning light was just barely able to penetrate. She wet her lips as her attention was drawn back to the creature next to her. She couldn’t help but reach out to touch his fur to see if it was as soft as it looked.

She buried her hand in the scruff of his neck, eyes rolling in the back of her head as the softness enveloped her. She came back to herself and studied him again. In the light of the morning, she could see that his fur wasn’t as dark as she thought last night. There was some white mixed in on his head, making it more of a dark grey rather than solid black. His underside was also more grey than black. He stretched beside her and she snatched her hand away, not wanting to wake him. With his back legs stretched out, she could clearly see that he was taller than she was.

She looked around, trying to find a place to hide from him. He’d be awake soon and she didn’t want him to see her like this. Not for a first meeting, anyway. His eyes were starting to open, the deep blue shining through his still half closed eyelids. She stood and suppressed a shiver brought on by the sudden loss of his body heat, and moved to hide herself behind a tall tree just at the edge of their sanctuary.

She hunkered down, trying to conserve her own body heat when she heard him stand in the loam where they made their bed. Peeking out from behind her tree, she was captivated by the full effect of the vivid blue eyes as they met hers. She couldn’t look away as a full body shudder ripped through him and he crouched there without moving as his own transformation overtook him. Once it was complete, he stood before her, in all his glory. He was beautiful. Tall and lean, with a dusting of chest hair leading down to where his hands covered himself. He obviously felt the same way she did about their initial meeting. His arms and legs were strong, perfectly toned muscles that she’d love to feel under her fingers. She knew that he saw her, his blush and heavy swallow testimony to that. Her eyes widened and fell away from him as she felt her own blush spreading over her cheeks.

He moved a few feet away and hid himself behind another tree. Moments later his voice reached her.

“Are you alright, lass? No worse for wear from our romp last night?”

His accent seemed to wrap around her and draw her to him. She peeked around her hiding place once again to answer him.

“Oh, my leg?” She moved it just to make sure. “Yes, it’s fine. Thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Silence reigned for a long moment. “I’m Killian. Killian Jones.”

“I’m Emma,” she replied.

“How have I never seen you in the village, Emma?”

“I’m not from the village. Not now, anyway.”

“What do you mean, lass?”

“I’m originally from the village, but I haven’t been there in many years.”

“I see.” He obviously did not see. She knew for a fact that he hadn’t been aware of her presence in the lagoon all month, and without that essential piece of the puzzle, there was no way that he could understand exactly what she meant. “Do you need anything? Since you’re hiding yourself from me, I can only assume that you’re also nude. Do you have clothes to put on?”

She blushed even harder at his perceptiveness. “Uh, no. I don’t.”

“May I bring you some from the village? My clothes are where I left them last night and I have some time before I’m expected in the blacksmith’s shop.”

“That would be lovely,” she breathed, utterly flabbergasted that he’d want to help her in this way. “Thank you.”

“No problem at all, Emma. I’ll return shortly.”

It was only about thirty minutes before he returned to her hiding place, bearing a white shift in his arms.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you anything more substantial, but I didn’t have much money with me.” He reached behind her tree, where she was still hidden, and held it out to her. She took it and let the soft cotton slide through her fingers. She hadn’t felt anything like it in so long, she couldn’t wait to feel it against her skin.

She slipped it on and came out from behind her tree. She swallowed heavily before looking up at him from beneath her lashes, feeling very exposed and bashful now that she was face to face with him. He reached up and drew his knuckles down her cheek as he looked into her eyes. He smiled gently at her.

“It’s very nice to meet you face to face, Emma.”

“You too, Killian.” She couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Will I see you tonight? The blacksmith doesn’t close down until the sun sets, and I’d assume that since you were already a wolf before I was last night and were human again before I was this morning, that you’ll be in your wolf form before I return to the woods tonight?”

She nodded. “Yes, I turn with the sunset and rise.”

“I can control my turning,” he shared with her.

“So that’s why you didn’t turn until you were in the woods, and were still a wolf when I woke?”

“Aye,” he acknowledged. “So will I see you again tonight?”

“Yes,” she answered, looking back up into his incredibly blue eyes.

He looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the town. “I have to get to work. Until tonight, Emma.” He turned back toward her and placed a tender kiss on her cheek.

Her hand raised to where the place he had kissed her still tingled as he walked away. “Until tonight, Killian,” she murmured.

~*~*~

Emma was never far from his thoughts the entire day. It’s a wonder he didn’t lose a hand, given the work he was doing and the level of distraction he was dealing with.

He may have only just met her, but the connection he felt with her last night and then this morning could not be denied.

A connection that made the wolf inside of him howl with delight and filled him with a joy that he hadn’t felt in ages. Not since long before he’d wandered into this small village about a month before.

Killian had been traveling from kingdom to kingdom, village to village after losing his brother almost three years before when he was only 15. He and his brother had been raised on the ship where their father had taken work after their mother had died when Killian was only a toddler. Today, he couldn’t imagine how hard it had to have been for his father to lose his wife and having to take work anywhere he could find it while raising two boys on his own. Two boys that were destined to become wolves when puberty hit. By the time his own time came, their father had passed and Liam was the one to help Killian through the transition and teach him how to control his shift.

It was the following year when Liam had been lost at sea during a storm and Killian had gone ashore. Life on the sea was in his blood, but with the painful memories that came with it, he decided to forge his own path on land.

Since then he’d drifted. Never staying in one place for more than a few months. Never long enough to form a connection with anyone, never long enough to put down roots. But meeting Emma last night changed everything.

She was the most beautiful wolf he’d ever laid eyes on. Fur as white as the freshly fallen snow. Green eyes that glittered under the full moon. He remembered the scent that had flooded him as he still lay recovering from his shift. The scent of were. He knew when he finally gazed upon her that she was not just a wolf. She was also a werewolf like him. He knew as they ran through the forest under the light of the moon that she was his and he was hers. His true mate.

Beholding her beauty in the flesh this morning, it was no wonder that even now, thoughts of her had his blood running south. Blonde hair that looked kissed by the sun, green eyes that had so captivated him the night before, firm muscles still supple with youth. She looked to be about a year younger than he was, or no more than two. She had said that she was from this village originally, but hadn’t been there in many years. How many years? Where had she been in the meantime? And why didn’t she have any clothes? The mysteries surrounding this woman swirled around in his brain until the sun finally set and he was free to leave.

Reaching the edge of the village, he looked up to the tree line. There she was. Mostly concealed, but the large pupils flashed under the light of the full moon allowing him to see her. He quickened his pace until he joined her under the canopy of the forest.

“Emma?” he asked. He knew it was her, but he just wanted that little bit more. Confirmation that she was what he thought she was. Her expression softened before she turned her back to him and moved forward. A grin broke out on his face as he followed her deeper into the woods.

She led him back to the same copse of trees that they slept in the night before. She turned in a circle a couple of times before curling up on the ground. Even with the white of her fur, he could barely see her in their safe haven. The light of the moon didn’t reach this deep into the forest, much less through the intertwined boughs of their shelter. It was more that he heard her settling and the pants of her breathing that told him where she was.

He settled down next to her and reached out to try and touch her. His hand found the deep, thick fur of her scruff. Never had he felt anything so soft. He moved his hand until it reached her ears and he could feel her raise her head, seeking more attention in that spot. He chuckled and proceeded to scratch at the sensitive area. After a few moments of the activity, Emma giving a contented low whine as he continued his ministrations, she stood from her spot, moved in front of him, and jumped up on him, placing her paws on his shoulders, pushing him backward into the earth. A laugh broke out of him as he lay still and waited to see what she would do next. This close, he could finally get a good look at her face. Her green eyes sparkled in the low light as she brought her muzzle close to his face and nuzzled into his cheek before she surprised him with a slow lick. He grabbed her scruff and nuzzled his own face into the softness that he found there. Pulling away from him, she turned around right above his head before she laid down again, scooching as close to his head as she could. When he raised up, trying to catch her eyes, she slid herself underneath his head, so that when he lay his head back down, it was the softness of her fur and underbelly that met him rather than the hard ground.

“Is this comfortable for you, Emma?” he murmured. His position allowed her to reach his face with another lick. She continued licking, as if she tasted something good along his skin. Laughing, he finally pushed her away when he’d had enough of her affection. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Laying there in their own safe place, he gazed up through the branches trying to see the night sky above. There was one area off to his left that was completely unobscured both by their little den and by the forest at large. He looked that way, seeing just a sliver of the full moon. He was pretty sure that he had time to tell her about himself before the whole of the full moon flooded their hideaway. Once it did, he wanted to turn and run with his mate.

He told Emma of his earliest memories aboard the ship and how he didn’t remember his mother at all. He told her about his father and brother, how they taught him about his wolf nature, and how he lost both of them. By the time he got to the current time, the full moon lit up their retreat. He raised himself up and looked at the beautiful wolf beside him.

“Are you ready to run, darling?”

She lifted her muzzle to the sky and let out a ringing howl. He raised his own face to the moon and joined her in her wolf song as he gave his shift full rein over his body. Short minutes later, his wolf senses much more attuned to the exquisite creature by his side, he tore through the underbrush of their oasis into the forest, Emma right on his heels.

They ran like the wind, indulging in their delight at being together. The scent of a rabbit crossed their trail causing them to run back toward the village that was Killian’s temporary home. Catching up to the terrified creature, they made short work of their meal before engaging in a game of tag that ended when Killian was so caught up in the presence of her that he lost track of where he was and instead of jumping to sidestep the edge of the ravine they were running along, lost his footing and fell to the bottom of it. Landing on his feet, he looked up at where Emma stood watching him, tongue lolling, her green eyes filled with mirth. Running back up the side of the ravine to her, he pounced, his front legs laying across her shoulders and neck, mouthing gently at her snout in a sign of affection. Her head turned toward his as she accepted his overtures before he got off her and she turned back toward their secret hideaway.

Once they arrived safely, they snuggled together and slept.

~*~*~

Emma was awakened by a hand rubbing up and down her naked back. She was snuggled into Killians side, head on his shoulder and the rest of her body flush with his side. She buried her face into his neck and let out a distressed moan.

“What is it, Emma?” he asked, gently, never halting his light touch.

“I should have awakened and hidden before you woke up. Like I did yesterday.”

Killian chuckled. “Why? I don’t know about you, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m yours. All of me.” He took her hand in his other one and brought it up to his lips where he kissed each finger tip before looking deeply into her eyes. “I’ve never met a female werewolf, darling. How could I possibly be with anyone else?”

“But you don’t know anything about me,” she protested. “You only met me yesterday! At least I had the benefit of hearing your story last night and watching you all month when you walked along the beach. I knew that there was just something about you. When I watched you walk along the beach or sit and stare out at the water, I wanted nothing more than to reveal myself to you. Comfort you. Be with you.” The last part was a whisper as she looked away from his piercing gaze, only to be met with his naked body.

“So tell me,” he encouraged her. “When I felt you turn with the sunrise, I allowed myself to turn as well. I thought it might be comforting for you and I to have a few minutes together as humans before I had to go back to the village.”

She looked up into the azure blue of his eyes that she thought she would surely drown in. Seeing nothing but honest sincerity in his gaze, she began her own tale.

“I was born in the village, but abandoned as a baby. I was raised by Granny along with her own granddaughter, Ruby.” Killian’s brow furrowed at the mention of the names. “They were werewolves and owned the Red Wolf tavern. Granny somehow knew that I was were and took me in because of it. Granny taught me everything I needed to know about being a werewolf. How to live as a wolf during the full moon, how to keep my secret the rest of the month. Ruby, the other girls employed at the tavern, and I would come to the beach on occasion for some fun. Just a chance to relax, play, forget our troubles. Just for a little while…” her voice trailed away into a whisper.

Killian had gone very still. “Yes, Emma?” he questioned, “Keep going. I’m listening.”

“I was 16. I had apparently attracted the attention of a merman, Neal. The girls and I  were just doing what we always did when I heard the most beautiful music. Music that he sent to lure me to deeper water so that he could take me. When I was far enough away from Ruby and the others, he kidnapped me. Brought me to his underwater home, turned me into a mermaid, and tried to win my affections. When I refused him, he forced me to remain with him. When he realized that I was a werewolf, he allowed me to spend those days and nights on the shore, after making sure that I knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to kill anyone that tried to take me from him. Including myself, if I tried to escape from him.”

Emma could feel Killian’s fury rolling off of him. “I’ll kill him, Emma. I’ll kill the bastard. When was this? How long ago were you kidnapped?”

She buried her face into his neck again, not wanting to see his face when she told him. “It’s been nearly one hundred years.”

Killian grabbed her shoulders and lifted her away from him. It was all she could do to meet his eyes as he scrutinized her. “I knew that it’d have to have been many years, because the Red Wolf tavern and most of the village burned down 70 years ago. By that time, Granny was long gone, and Ruby was killed in the fire. The old timers still talk about it like it was yesterday. But I had no idea how long it had been for you.” He pulled her to him and held her gently as the tears that had gathered in her eyes started to fall.

Once her tears were spent, she looked back up to him. Raising her with him, he sat up, tenderly cupped her face within his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. A soft moan worked its way out of her mouth as she opened beneath the cautious questing of his tongue. He was so gentle and loving that she never wanted this to end. Her arms wrapped around him, her hands plunging into his raven locks as they rocked together. He lay back down with Emma atop him, never releasing her lips as his hands began to roam her naked body. Her nerve endings fired wherever he touched, leaving anticipatory shivers in their wake.

When air became necessary, they broke apart, both panting heavily. “As much as I’d like to continue this, Emma, I’m expected in the village soon.”

“I know,” she murmured into the space between them. She was loathe to let him go, but knew she must.

“We’ll continue this tomorrow morning,” he assured her.

“But I’ll be a mermaid again with the sunrise!”

“Then we’ll wait until next month.” He pushed back on her shoulders until his fierce blue eyes bored into hers. “We will be together, Emma. I swear it. I will always find you.”

“I will always find you,” she whispered back to him. She pressed another kiss to his lips and rose from their makeshift bed. Donning her shift, she turned back to where he was pulling his own clothes on.

“Until tonight, Emma,” he whispered, pressing his lips to hers and running his fingers down her face.

“Until tonight, Killian.”

~*~*~

That night passed in much the same way as the previous night did. Killian arrived shortly after the sun set and joined Emma in their wolf form. They ran together under the full moon, played a game of hide and seek (Emma could only stand playing one round, her white fur making it very difficult to hide from another were), and hunted for their meal before they finally collapsed together in a fluffy pile in their temporary home.

It was about an hour before sunrise when she felt Killian change beside her. Still mostly asleep, she barely remembered him whispering to her that he’d be back in a bit before pressing a kiss into her scruff and leaving the copse. She had gotten so used to having Killian beside her the last two nights that she couldn’t fall back into the sleep that beckoned her. She finally gave up and rose to go look for him.

His scent led her to the beach. Was he walking along the beach waiting for the sunrise as he had been doing all month after darkness fell? She came to a sudden stop at the edge of the forest, just before it met the beach when she heard two voices raised in anger. One beloved, the other a voice that she would have been quite happy to never hear again as long as she lived. In the gray morning before the sun rose, she could see Killian, as a man, standing before Neal, his tentacles undulating on the surface of the lagoon. She could hear Neal’s laughter as Killian’s voice rose in a shout demanding her freedom.

Several things happened at once. Neal’s face morphed from taunting mirth into a sneer as one of his tentacles surged forward and wrapped securely around Killian’s middle, squeezing tightly and dragging him toward the water. Emma could no longer remain hidden. She knew that Neal meant to drown Killian and she couldn’t let that happen to her love. To her mate. She burst from the trees and raced to the shore where Killian was being dragged. He was transforming within Neal’s grasp, perhaps thinking that Neal would lose his grip on a wolf instead of a man.

She could see the fury in Neal’s eyes as she arrived at Killian’s side. His turn halted as his arms reached around her, resulting in a tug of war between herself and Neal. Killian’s arms grasped desperately and she pulled back with all her might, trying to get him away first from Neal and second from the dangerous waves that seemed to nearly be an extension of Neal himself. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but they seemed to be grabbing at Killian as well, trying to drown him within their depths. She was able to get close enough to one of Neal’s arms that she clamped down on it, biting all the way through, a clean amputation in between the adversaries. Neal roared, releasing Killian to fall to the beach, gasping for air. She leapt at her captor, heedless of his other tentacles writhing in agony and the waves where he could easily drown her.

Neal was unprepared for her leap, and though he caught her in his arms, her bulk pushed him beneath the waves as she clamped her teeth down on his throat and ripped it out. His blood painted her muzzle bright red as the water closed over them. His arms loosened from catching her and she watched as the light dimmed and was extinguished from his eyes. Blood continued to pour from the gaping wound into the water that surrounded them. Swimming as best she could for the surface, her head broke through just as the sun peeked over the horizon. Helpless to stop her change from coming over her, she nearly whimpered in relief as strong arms wrapped around her body and carried her to shore. Never had she been held in someone’s arms as she turned. Never had she felt so safe, so protected, so loved as she did at that moment. Killian gently lay her on the white sand of the beach, staring into her eyes so reverently as she recovered from her transformation.

When she came back to herself, cradled in her mate’s arms, staring into eyes the exact same shade of her lagoon, she reached up and pulled him down into a desperate kiss. It was when his hands began caressing her hip that realization dawned. She was human! The sunrise should have brought her mermaid form with it, but with Neal’s death, his curse on her was broken as well. She pulled away and stared down at her body before meeting Killian’s amazed and joyful gaze with her own.

“I’m human.”

“Aye,” he agreed, “That you are, lass.”

Her mouth opened and shut several times before she found her voice again. “I’m not a mermaid anymore.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m free,” she breathed, “Neal is dead and I’m free!”

Killian gathered her in his arms and held her close, their heartbeats synchronizing in their elation.

It wasn’t long, however, before they both became aware of Emma’s nude state. Drawing back from her, Killian raised a salacious eyebrow at his beloved. “We need to get you dressed, my love, before my desire overrides my good sense.”

“No one comes to this lagoon, Killian. No one,” she asserted, vehemently. Her green eyes were filled her own desire and her hands were busy opening his shirt and then pushing his trousers over his hips. “Please make love to me, Killian. Make me yours.”

A groan worked its way out of his throat as he acquiesced to her demand and crashed his lips to hers. With nothing but the light of the sun touching her skin, he drew back and drank in her beauty. Her pupils were blown wide in desire, the green only a thin ring around them. Her golden tresses shone in the light of the rising sun. If he was struck blind in that moment, he’d never forget the sight of the sun in her hair as his hands roamed her succulent body, memorizing her contours and all the places he touched that made her gasp, moan, and sigh.

She was not idle as he set about worshipping his love, his mate. Her fingers trailed through his chest hair, sending shivers throughout his body, before following the trail down to where he was hard and aching for her. He thrust his hips into her hands as they began stroking him from root to tip.

He nuzzled into her neck, placing open mouth kisses before sucking hard at her pulse point, drawing heat to the surface of her skin, and causing her to cry out in pleasure. One hand caressed the fullness of her breasts as the other sought out her most intimate place. When he found his treasure, he found her folds drenched in her want of him.

Pulling back from her, he looked into her eyes. “Are you ready for me, my darling?”

“Yes, Killian,” she cried, “Yes, please!”

He lined himself up and slowly pushed into her heat. Twin sighs of relief escaped them both as they were now joined in every way possible. He rolled his hips into her until her gasp told him that he had found that spot inside her. He determined to hit that spot every time until he watched her fall apart. He began measured thrusts into her, seeking the place inside her that would bring her the most pleasure. She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper, meeting him thrust for thrust until he was helpless in her embrace. He drove himself into her, staving off the tingling in his spine as he felt her walls begin to flutter along his length. He reached between them and caressed the swollen nub just above where they were joined until she shattered in his arms.

Murmuring praise into her ear as she shuddered with the strength of her climax, he began to chase his own release. Moments later, his climax rolled through him, joining his mate in the ultimate bliss of their union.

The drift back to earth seemed to take forever. He slipped out of her and rolled to the side, not wanting to crush her with his weight. He drew her back into his arms and placed a kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Still with me, Emma?” he murmured.

“Mmmmmmm,” she hummed, still blissed out from their lovemaking.

Killian chuckled and drew her closer until they were flush from shoulders to feet. “So what now?” she asked, “What do I do now?”

“Anything you want, my love,” he replied. “We can go anywhere you like or we can stay here. The blacksmith is getting on in years and doesn’t have children to take over when he is gone. I think that’s why he was so eager to hire me. He seems to be about ready to hand over his hammer. We could make a life here. Raise children here.” He blushed, scratching behind his ear in an adorably nervous gesture. “If you’d rather leave, I do hope that you realize that I’m coming too. I can’t live without you, darling. Please don’t ask me to.”

She closed the distance between them and found his lips with her own. “Of course, I wouldn’t. I can’t live without you, either. Don’t you know that? You saved me.”

“You are the one who did the saving, darling.” The sincerity in his eyes had her pulling him to her again in a kiss that threatened to spin out of control before she broke it.

“I’d be happy to stay here, if you are,” she asserted.

Killian let out a whoop of pure happiness as he hugged her to him. “Then let's go, Emma. We have time to get to the village and get you settled in my lodgings before I have to be at work.”

They rose and made it back to their copse where they dressed quickly and departed for the village. Killian was correct in his speculations about the blacksmith. When they got into town, Killian introduced Emma as his betrothed to his boss, Marco, who was absolutely delighted to hear the news. As soon as they celebrated their nuptials, just before the full moon the very next month, Marco indeed handed the hammer over to Killian in order to adequately provide for his bride and any little ones that God would see fit to grant them.

And so, Killian and Emma Jones built a life in the small village, enjoying their children, and eventually grandchildren in their own happily ever after.

The End

Thanks for reading and sharing!

[threadsketchier]

Hey Sketch! Not to be a pest, but any progress on Libero? It’s my absolute favorite fic for Star Wars or maybe just in general, and I know I’m not the only one on pins and needles!

I KNOW, I AM TOO  (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)

On paper, so to speak, I shouldn’t really have an excuse - @alderaan-babe helped me out a ton with figuring out space battle logistics and all that less fun crud.  This is becoming more like...

...ok, time for Dirty Laundry Posting™, Debbie Downer ahoy

I’m slowly mentally edging toward a Blue Screen of Death because of two primary things:

I’m kind of a full-time caregiver to my mom, who’s dying a slow, gruesome death at home and

I need to find a job.

**I’m not going to get into the personal details of how I do have money to live off of right now, but suffice to say it’s not a bottomless Scrooge McDuck pit, eventually it’ll run out.

Very very ironically, after leaving my toxic job in Sept. 2019, I planned on taking a little hiatus and then looking for work again in March.  Ha.  Yeah, laugh with me.  We all know what happened then.  So I put that off, especially when it was a struggle bus to obtain food and supplies for like 2 months straight with all the shortages everywhere.  The amazing thing is, despite confining myself to my apartment for the past 7 months, the year’s gone by too fucking fast.  It’s already enough to deal with helping Mom, doing household chores, ordering and then meticulously cleaning all grocery items, in addition to wanting to stay in fandom by hanging out in 2 separate chat servers and being on Tumblr and seeing my favorite YouTube channels...

It’s been too easy to put the looming Work specter aside from all that.  But I can’t avoid it forever, or else we’ll wind up homeless.  I also don’t want to rejoin humanity.  COVID will definitely kill Mom if I brought the germ home, and I don’t want to get it either because I do not have a good track record with illnesses.  I don’t want to play that game of Russian roulette and be one of those outlier statistics of young healthy people who somehow still managed to die from this shit, or wind up in extreme medical debt if I survived (because of course right now I’m uninsured).  I’d really really prefer to find a remote job, especially because I’m already accustomed to it; I had to do plenty of remote work for my last job.

I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next few months.  Every day is going by so quickly.  I’m terrified that I’m not going to find anything and we’re going to be out on the streets.  And if I DO secure a job, I may not have time for fandom anymore, or so little time that I can’t write anymore.  Now, you’d think that would motivate me to hurry up and finish barfing out the story so that it could be done ahead of me needing to stop having a life, wouldn’t it?  But that’s all I can think about when I try to open the draft and keep typing.  I even have another WIP I foolishly started but I’ve stalled on both of them.  It makes me feel the nihilistic sentiment of, “why does this stuff even matter?  It’s pointless, ephemeral fan blather on the interwebz.”  Fic and fandom aren’t going to rescue me when my bank account is empty and I’m hungry and shelterless.

(Sadly, this is the very point my mother tried to make to me all while I grew up, but I was the arrogant, reckless dreamer who just wanted Experiences™ and fun, fuck the consequences.  Well, they’re catching up to me again now.)

Alas, I wish I was a Twitch streamer or a slime-maker on YouTube, raking in the dough, or somebody with a million Patreon supporters, but I’m not “special” enough for that.  I gotta get in line with the rest of the world, as much as I don’t want to.  I just want to write fic and draw again and try podficcing and yell across the internet at a bunch of nerds I’ve gotten to know all day, but I can’t.  I have to face reality and stick my resume on a prettier template and spend the next several weeks desperately combing through job listings, hoping somebody out there is willing to exploit and whip me as a corporate slave again so I can keep paying the bills.

This post feels extremely relevant right now, even though I know all my readers are lovely and patient and aren’t pressuring me.  The thing is, even though we’re technically not obligated to anything because this content is free...we still kind of are.  Because I chose to start posting in the first place.  I started stringing people along by making the story public.  I do kind of owe it to everyone to either finish the story or explain the rest of the plot, at least, because it’s doing readers a disservice to leave the narrative hanging when I first made that unspoken promise by posting it.  I’m never going to learn my lesson that I’m better off not posting content unless it’s complete to avoid causing this kind of disappointment, both to y’all and myself.  Yeah, Darth Real Life happens, but I still feel I’m in the wrong here.