#Event: Chapter 2 - Seeping Through the Cracks

[retiredcultistredux]

Do any of you guys have a strategy to beat or hinder Void Termina? No one so far has actually THOUGHT about what to do if Termima's revived.

Flamberge: "We'll deal with whatever happens! You worry too much, Magolor."

Magolor: "I...I'd rather be safe than sorry, that's all..."

[arteastica]

early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (24)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (25) | (26) | (27)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)

wc: 4.4k

As it turned out, taking the post-winter inventory was just as tedious as the winter stockpiling itself, if not a little worse. Your entire arm, from the shoulder down to the pinkie, hurt from holding the heavy logbook; your eyes, from counting every dusty bolt of unused cloth; your back, from bending over to pick up all those fat boxes of untouched grain; and your hand, from writing down all those confusing numbers that had been relentlessly thrown at you all afternoon.

Yes, spending all day inside the storage shed was taxing enough, but you weren’t sure it was worse than what awaited you in your office: The daunting, dragging, and without doubt, ridiculously time-consuming task of condensing all those jumbled up numbers into a detailed log, one that was extensive and comprehensive without turning incomprehensible, so that it could actually be of some use to any ill-starred soldier who found themselves in such dreadful time of the year, when the consultation of dusty old records became inevitable. But hey, the dusty old records left by your predecessors had definitely saved you a frustrated cry or two, so it was only fair you kept the chain going. It was the fair, decent thing to do. Especially when life was so generous to you.

Generous like the orange beams of light seeping through the wood cracks, shining unsparingly on the old cabin walls, as the sun presented its final act of the day. Generous like the ample chorus of cicadas, or perhaps katydids… insects had never been your area of expertise really, performing for free outside the window, announcing that dinner was most likely being served at the castle right now. And you didn’t need to be there to know that the banquet would be generous too, as plentiful and bountiful as the pain all those poor soldiers who spent their day with you at the shed must be enduring at the moment, wincing in pain as they sat down in front of warm meat pies and creamy onion soups. And again, you didn’t need to be there to know that the first comment of the conversation would be something about their feet and how bad they hurt and throbbed inside their boots.

Just like yours did right now.

Yours hurt and throbbed too, but you couldn’t complain.

No, you didn’t feel like doing so. Not even when everyone had already left for the castle and you were still in the shed, in the middle of the woods. Not even when, according to the setting sun and the sudden temperature drop, your shift was supposed to be over by now.

No, you couldn’t complain. Not at all. Definitely not. Especially not when he would kiss you like that, softly and unhurriedly, like the early spring breeze playfully disheveling the tree crowns outside. Not when he would pull away slowly, a smile decorating his glossy lips, admiring you like you belonged in one of those fancy museums your father liked to pretend he visited often. And then, when he seemed to be done memorizing your features, he would pull you in for another kiss, only for the cycle to start all over again. And no matter how many times it had repeated that afternoon, the flutter of butterflies in your stomach was very much ever-present. Without fail, they would show up just as you were about to close your eyes, exactly when his lips were only a hair’s breadth apart from yours. That’s when the butterflies would flutter the most, tickling your insides, and making you giggle.

Making you giggle despite the uncomfortable pile of hay you were sitting on, and the way it was poking your skin through the fabric of your jeans; despite the chilly wind furtively slipping through the cracks of the wood and the way it was making your skin bumpy.

Or maybe it was him the one responsible for that. Maybe it was him, and not the cold, the one responsible for making your hairs stand on end. Yes, maybe it was him and the comfortable hand he kept on the small of your back, gently holding you as yours held his face. Or maybe it was the pleasant way in which the warm sunlight would shine in through the window behind you, artistically gilding the prominent bridge of his nose, masterfully tracing the sharp contour of his jaw, delicately sprinkling the mesmerizing blue of his eyes with gold, making them look like the forest stream from your cabin fantasy, happily glimmering under the sun.

Is this how it was going to be in there, in your little cabin? Kissing in the kitchen, after he comes back from work. His lips on yours the moment he walks in, effectively cutting the words ‘welcome back’ short, promptly trapping them between your lips and his. A reassuring arm wrapped around your waist, telling you how much he missed you. And your hands, cupping his face, telling him how much you did. A wide smile present on your lips the whole time he kisses you, tempted to call it a day already and retreat to the room you share, where you could cuddle under soft, warm covers for the night, but deciding not to when you remember about the pie in the oven. The pie in the oven, you better go check on it. Old-fashioned apples for dinner, because you know how much of a sweet tooth he has, and even though he never asks for it, you always bake something to surprise him with at the end of every meal. Sometimes sugar cream, sometimes orchard pear, sometimes layered pumpkin when you have some extra time, or simple rice pudding when there is none. But always something sweet, sweet like him.

Sweet like the gentle way his lips were cherishing yours back at the dusty storage shed. Softly, unhurriedly, naively, like you had all the time in the world. As if there were no flesh eating giants lurking behind a wall not too many miles away. As if he wasn’t the Commander of the Survey Corps. As if he was just your lover. Simply your beloved and nothing more, the owner of those soft lips now making wet pops against yours, those velvety lips now softly trapping your bottom lip between them, pulling away deliciously slowly, just to start all over again.

Yes, when he was standing between your legs like that, warm chest rising and falling against yours, hand gently holding you close to him, and yours lovingly caressing the bristly skin of his cheek as if it was the softest thing you’d ever get to touch, he became less of a military leader and more like your lover.

“We should get going before it gets too dark.” You said somewhere in between the sugar pecks he was lavishly indulging you with.

“I could kiss you the whole day.” He said, lips puffy and a little red from dancing with yours.

And I could kiss you my whole life. You thought as you stared into his eyes, allowing yourself to travel back to your fantasy cabin for a moment, running a finger across his swollen bottom lip, moist and coated with your saliva. “Well, you can keep kissing me in the office. I happen to have all night as well as a very nice boss who, I’m sure, will understand if I don’t finish this report today.” You smiled cheekily, tapping the papers you had placed in the pile of hay next to you.

“Is that so?” He smiled back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Is he good to you?”

“Very good.” You smirked, emphasizing that last word with a sultry whisper. “He buys me my favorite treats, takes me to fancy parties and then walks me home, doesn’t like it when I work extra hours, puts more wood on the fire as soon as he notices I’m getting cold; oh! and during expeditions, he lets me hug him if I’m scared.” You reminisced fondly of that day, wondering if sometimes he too found himself thinking about the first time you were in each other’s arms, in the Forest of Giant Trees. “He treats me like I’m his princess. Especially when I lie bare on his bed and he makes love to me.”

He stared at you in silence, his attention shifting between your eyes and your lips, and his smile mirroring yours. His demeanor reminded you of the strategic leader he would become at the meeting room, always unpredictable, always ahead of everyone and everything, an experienced chess player meticulously evaluating what his next big move should be. And for a moment, you thought it would involve his lips colliding with yours again, devouring you, your face, your body, as well as your clothes in the process. Making you his right there in the middle of the storage shed, on top of all that prickly hay, like in one of those steamy novels your mother would pretend she didn’t keep under the bedroom mattress. But no, he was too much of a gentleman to do so when you were still in the middle of a conversation.

“Well, maybe because you are.” He finally said, his hand traveling back to your waist and, in a sudden and rather possessive manner, bringing your body closer to his, causing an excited whimper to escape your lips. “His princess.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, the words tickling your ears and making you feel as giddy as you remembered your teenage years to be. And like so, you let yourself melt into his embrace, head resting on his chest, and his lullaby heartbeat tempting you to tell him.

About the cabin in the woods.

Who knows? Maybe he knew of a vacant one, where you could move together. Maybe he had also been thinking about it lately, about moving somewhere quiet and remote. Somewhere where the title of ‘13th Commander of the Survey Corps’ didn’t mean anything. Somewhere where he could wake up after eight on rainy Sundays, grab that old history book, or that blue one with the golden title he was always re-reading, a warm cup of something, and lose himself until lunchtime. Somewhere where he could settle down. With you. The white ceremony in the garden, and maybe later, not too long after that, the very same garden becoming the playground where blonde-haired, blue-eyed toddl-

“Would you be interested in visiting the capital next weekend?” He asked, the sudden question pulling you back to the present moment, and making you sit straight so you could come eye to eye with him. He didn’t have any scheduled meetings in Mitras until the end of next month. “My good friend Hansel will be celebrating his Golden Birthday and he asked me to join.”

You knew he wasn’t particularly keen on those types of gatherings, not only that but, with so much on his plate, he didn’t have the disposition nor the freedom to attend that sort of event. So you figured Lord Koch must be a truly remarkable friend for him to consider attending.

“When he came to deliver the horses last week, he also extended his invitation. Admittedly, I did find it odd at first, that he came all the way down here instead of sending his nephews or assistants like he always does.” He explained, his warm fingertips absentmindedly drawing patterns on the small of your back.

Having grown up listening to your father’s stories about Lord Koch, and never really meeting him formally until recently, you had formed your very own ideas about the man. He seemed to be one of those people who would gladly sell their soul if it meant sorcery could multiply them. One of those folks who wished they could, and since they had money… always could, be a part of everything, everywhere, at the same time, and multiple times. Cutting the ribbon at the latest museum inauguration in the morning, accepting the community leader award at his local temple before noon, participating in both a regional chess tournament and a charity auction by four in the afternoon, feeding the poor in the underground cities at six, attending his grandkid’s academy play before speaking at the annual gala for his family foundation, and then finally getting to take his wife on that lavish trip they planned for commemorating their over-thirty years of marriage. Yes, it made sense he never came down here.

“I was told the bearer of the invitation could bring a companion.” His husky, velvety voice gently brought you back to the shed. Once again, you had gotten lost in your own head. It was particularly easy to do so these days.

“Is that so?” You teased, the butterflies in your stomach already flapping their colorful wings, as your heartbeat began to mirror those of a hummingbird. But he would never be able to tell, if the only thing he had to go by was the manual dexterity your fingers displayed as they straightened up the collar of his shirt. “Are you going to invite Captain Levi? I’m sure everyone at the reception would be delighted to meet Humanity’s Strongest.”

“They most certainly would, but Levi would be less than thrilled.” He smiled innocently, clearly playing along with you. “Not to mention the unfortunate remark I found at the bottom of the invitation, which only acts as yet another deterrent to Levi’s participation: ‘feasting and dancing to follow, the right company is advised.’” He looked you in the eyes, a serious expression suddenly taking over his previously soft, amused features. “I’m afraid Levi doesn’t enjoy dancing.”

You let out a hearty laugh that your mother would have undoubtedly found inappropriate, tickled by both the words as well as the disappointed tone he had chosen for delivering them. And he just looked at you the whole time, letting your laughter fill the room, allowing your joy to warm up the frigid evening air. A sweet smile on his lips as you struggled to regain your composure; once again making you feel like the most absorbing of art works, and making it even harder to forget about your forest fantasy.

“That’s why I’m asking my princess.” He said a little later when your laughter faded down. “For the pleasure of her company.”

You weren’t sure he could hear the champagne popping, the frenzied flutter of the butterflies, or the fireworks show he had started inside you; but you knew, because of the way your ears started burning, that he could definitely see the flustered pinks that had taken over your face, as well as the beaming smile you were trying to hide. Yes, you had made love a couple times already, his lips had spent entire nights on yours, his fingers had explored and conquered places no one else’s had before, he had met you at times of the night where friends, and let alone bosses, never do. But this… this was the first time he had straight up asked you to go somewhere together. Not only that, but in the place that husbands usually reserve for their wives. So all things considered, you couldn’t blame your lungs for their sudden inability to hold air, nor your imagination for all the crazy detours it started to take.

“What does she say?” He asked softly, a small, irresistible smile on his equally tantalizing lips as he pointlessly re-tucked an already perfectly tucked strand of hair behind your ear.

“Hmm.” You raised a finger to your chin and pursed your lips, pretending to think. As if there was something to even think about in the first place.

You weren’t too keen on that type of social gathering yourself, or any type for that matter, but you had endured your fair share of frivolous socializing and marble ballroom occasions during your teenage years, for no reason other than your mother telling you to attend. So, why wouldn’t you do it one more time? This time for him, and for the rare opportunity to see him gift-wrapped in something other than his uniform, for the chance to feast on the sinful way the fabric would most definitely cling to his firm biceps, his rock-solid chest, that delicious ass and the matching pair of perfectly designed thighs that came with it. And when your mind began to explore the possibility of seeing his hair slicked back again, a pulsating warmth started radiating from between your legs

“I think you will encounter no difficulties at the party, Mr. Commander.” You said, your eyes watching your fingers as they fiddled with the emerald oval in his shirt. “Bet there will be lots of fair ladies eagerly waiting for you to extend your hand and lead them into the dance floor.” Your lips curved slightly, enjoying the feeling of his hard muscles under your hands as you glided them down his broad chest. “I don’t know. Maybe even some old lover, trying to make up for lost time.”

“I don’t consider any of those to be likely scenarios.”

“Really? No past lovers wishing to pick up the threads? I don’t believe that.” You smiled, feeling his eyes on you, but choosing to keep yours on the patterns your fingertips were now drawing on his chest. “Something tells me you were quite the charmer when you were a cadet.” You said, finally looking up to meet his eyes before comfortably wrapping your arms around his neck. “Tell me, did you break a lot of hearts back in training camp?”

“Quite the opposite actually.” He replied, something about his demeanor, probably the contrived innocence you found in his eyes, making you question the veracity of his answer.

“So, you’re telling me that all those skills are the result of sheer talent, and that assiduous practice wasn’t a factor at all?” You asked, unable to believe that all the skill he displayed in bed, all the delicious things he did to you, and all the delightful ways he made your body feel, all that came from natural talent alone.

“It’s a long story.” He answered, his hand going back to the spot he liked, at the small of your back.

“I have time.” You said, despite the logbook and the fat pile of papers beside you suggesting the complete opposite. “You can tell me about it now, or…” Your smile mirrored the one that suddenly took over his features, telling you that he already knew what your words would be. “You can tell me next weekend, when you walk me home.”

His eyes traveled back and forth between yours and your lips, reminding you of both your late-night chocolate cravings and a wolf stalking an innocent prey. And then, reluctantly letting your arms drop from their comfortable position around his neck, you added:

“Oh, my bad. How pretentious of me to assume without asking first. Would you please be so kind as to walk me home this time too, Commander Smith?” You asked, already knowing the answer, but pretending to wait for it, as your fingers fiddled with the strings of his bolo tie.

“Even if you lived on the other side of town.” He replied, his rich, irresistible voice making you think of crackling campfires under vast, starry skies.

“Really? I heard Lord Koch’s Mitras estate is in the very outskirts of town.” You teased, playfulness making your lips curve into a mischievous grin.

“I’d walk you home even if it was in Wall Maria itself.”

“Wow, that’s very far to go for someone, Mr. Commander. Especially when that someone is just your assistant.”

He shook his head lightly before replying. “I’d think of it as another felicitous opportunity to spend time with her, which would be heaven-sent indeed, considering I just miss her all the time.” He confessed, bringing your body closer to his, and making the tips of your noses touch. “Even now.”

And you had to fight the overpowering urge to kiss those lips, the urge to behave in very unladylike manners and ask him, beg him, to do equally indecorous things to you with those beautiful, perfectly round, sinfully soft lips that were smiling so prettily at you right now.

“Is that so?” You smirked, wrapping your legs around his waist and trapping him between your thighs. “There, now you can’t escape her.”

“Wasn’t trying to.” He whispered, his voice so deep and so smoky it made you think of the fireplace back at the castle, not the one in your office however, but the one in his room. In front of his warm, soft, tempting bed. As familiar and homelike as the one in your very own room back in Mitras.

And you stole a peck from his smiling lips, before happily returning your arms to their favorite position around his neck, where your fingers started playing with the short hairs on his nape.

You weren’t the biggest admirer of Leon’s uncle. Not that he had done anything bad to you. In fact, you had barely interacted with the man. Admittedly, you did remember cursing his name on an occasion or two, but that had been so long ago. So long you had almost entirely forgotten about it.

You started to reminisce, discovering your own reflection in the beautiful sapphires now staring back at you.

During your academy days, perhaps? When you were still living back home, and your father used to come back late every Thursday. Because Thursdays were his anticipated ‘chess nights’ with Lord Koch, which you had always suspected to be just a façade for their conspiracy theory club. You see, there was only one thing, other than your mother’s green tomato pie, that would make your father’s eyes sparkle the way they did on Thursday nights, and that was royal conspiracy theories.

He believed King Fritz was just an impostor, a very apathetic an alcoholic one, a puppet king placed on the throne by the council for some questionable reason, for the sake of some secret agenda they were trying to hide from the common folks. And that very reason, and not chess, was what his little club sat down to discuss every Thursday. There was no way your father would enjoy a chess club, because if there were two things everyone knew about him was that, one, he hated losing, and two, he never won at chess.

But that’s besides the point. You remember growing to dislike Lord Koch over the years because he used to keep your father for far too long at those so-called ‘chess meetings’, which usually translated in your stomach growling for hours until he finally decided to come home, because your mother always insisted that ‘eating together as a family’ was important, and that the loss of such tradition was slowly leading to the demise of society. But those days were long gone and forgotten, and you liked to think you weren’t good at keeping score or holding grudges against random people.

So no, it definitely wasn’t that. The disfavor you, inadvertently, still regarded Lord Koch with was more irrational than anything else, similar to when you would find a classmate, either from academy or training camp, insufferably annoying but could never give a valid reason why. Maybe it was because Lord Koch always wanted to be a part of everything. Maybe it was because everyone seemed to be obsessed with him and you didn’t understand why. Or maybe it was because he had happened to show up then, when the Commander and you were going through difficult times. Yes, maybe it was that. Maybe it was your brain unknowingly associating him with the bad memories from that day: the Commander coming back after spending the whole day riding out in the field with him, asking you if there was something between you and Leon. Why would he even-

“What is it?” He suddenly asked, bringing you back to the dark shed, making you realize that night had fallen over you, and that the moonlight sparkled way more prettily on his eyes than it ever did on the surface of the water. “You’re so quiet.”

“Nothing.” You replied, the corners of your lips instantly lifting at the sound of his voice. “I was just thinking about how much my father sucks at chess, about the King’s seemingly worsening alcohol problems, about how nicely the moonlight complements your features, and about my dresses and which one would be the easiest for you to take off me.”

“Wow.” He blinked a couple times as if trying to understand how were all those things related to each other. “That’s- that’s a very interesting, very peculiar association of ideas. Each one more thought-provoking than the other. Especially the last one.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled.

“Erwin.”

“Mhm?”

You weren’t sure if this was the moment to talk about it, but you found the loving way his eyes were studying your features, as well as the soothing thumb he was running across your cheek rather encouraging. So, you decided to go ahead.

“Did-” You took a deep breath. “Did Lord Koch tell you something back then?”

He didn’t respond and you took his silence as an indication that you could ask more.

“Did he mention anything that made you think there was something between his neph-”

“That doesn’t matter.” He hushed you just like he had back then, when you had tried to ask about the same thing. “All that matters to me is what we have.” He took your hand and brought it to his lips. “Right now.” His eyes were crystal clear, and what you saw in them was exactly what he was telling you. “Whatever happened yesterday, whatever happens tomorrow…all that matters to me is that we had today.” He kissed your knuckles, letting the pleasant warmth of his lips linger on your skin, closing his eyes tightly as if trying to carve the moment into his memory. “And I will always remember it.”

“Me too.” You said, nostalgia suddenly infusing the air of the cabin, creeping into your heart and burdening it with unexplainable melancholy.

I love you.

You confessed in your head as your fingers played with the soft, golden strands on the back of his.

Perhaps all that matters is that I love you. That I love you even if you didn’t say it yesterday and even if you don’t say it tomorrow.

You said in your thoughts as you pulled him closer.

Even if I never get to hear it back from these very lips.

You told him without words, as your lips welcomed his.

Even if they never return these words.

You surrendered without a fight as his tongue claimed what was rightfully his.

I love you just the same, Commander.

You promised him in silence, tasting in his kiss both the bitterness of the lemon and the sweetness of the honey you never forgot to add to his warm cups in the morning.

And I will always do.

Including busy mornings like today's, when it remained forgotten on his desk, still silently waiting for him in the middle of the cold, dark office.

-

next chapter

taglist: @mysticalnightbeliever @aliasrising @elnyrae @mchlist @apts2000 @angelaevangelion @depitaangeline @ynackerman9499 @afatalheat @pumpkin-toffee @velouria17 @gassytritis @goddessinsweats @nube55 @jeanboyjean @crazychaoticizzy @braunsbabe @erwinawesomeness @lucifers-nipple-piercing @karmabyfernando @thicc101q @shittyprofilebutfuckit @dilfenthusiast-union

[reginarubie]

Kissed by Fire ~ Kissed by Steel 1: What inspired you to write the fic this way? 2: Which scene did you put on first? 3: What is your favorite plot? 4: What's your favorite line of dialogue? 5: Which part was hardest to write? 6: What is your fic special or different from all your other fics? 7: Where did the title come from? 8: Did any real person or event inspire any part of this? 9: Was there an alternate version of this fic? 10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story? 11: What do you like most about this fic? 12: What do you like least about this fic? 13: What song did you hear that made you want to write this story? Or if you haven't heard anything yet, what do you think readers should hear to keep us reading? 14: Is there anything you would like readers to learn from reading this fic? 15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

Hi nonny,

These are very throughout, I hope I manage to satisfy you on all of them!

I was inspired by some friends here on tumblr who were all like, “you like Aemond, you like Sansa, why don’t you write a fic about them?” and by that time there were very few fics about them so I thought “why not?”. About writing it that way, the thing about me is that I go “braccio” which is that usually I go with the flow, this way it felt best, it felt the most plausible.

What scene did I put in first… this is kind of hard, because I don’t usually put scenes down. I imagine them though, and the first few I imagined were: how Sansa was pushed back in time, so the prologue; Sansa waking up and Aemond telling her that he would show her his scar because he had seen hers.

I think I have a few favorite plots: AemondSa being the first one for how it’s going to play out, close second Daeron/Symon and last… well I won’t tell because it’d be spoilerish 😉.

My favorite line of dialogue … I think this one is hard, but I think the whole convo between Aemond and Sansa after she managed to be naturalised as a Whent. “I told you I could not tell you everything, told you I was willing to work beside you. I did not work behind your back, I did what I had to do to ensure your family came off clean from this. Lord Strong has no lawful way to pursue me anymore and it’s not any of yours fault!” she said “that was the goal and I reached it. If this is not enough for you to believe me, then what are we talking about?” Aemond let his hands fall at his sides “I don’t know” he said at last “what are we even talking about?” Why do I love this convo so much, you may ask, it’s because it’s a relationship cracking under pressure, like coal becoming diamond under pressure. It was part of their journey, and it was so overwhelmingly real to me that made it one of my favorites convos in the entire series.

I think the hardest are Rhaenyra’ chapters because I feel out of place in her mind, but on the all the most taxing one to write was Rhaenycent cold end.

This story is special to me, if confronted with others, because it’s the first one I have written about a time-travel plot and the first one I have felt the need to expand creating a whole AU universe.

The title actually comes from a poll I opened, the idea was because Sansa is kissed by fire for her hair and Aemond is kissed by steel because of his scar, plus Aemond kisses Sansa and represents fire whilst instead Sansa represents steel. Instead, the subtitles usually come from songs that inspired me during the writing.

Not really. Though some of the relationships dynamics I have seen in my life seep through the writing at times. I think a bit of my own sarcastic sassiness seeps at times in the characters, but that’s mostly it, really.

Is there an alternate version?, not that I know of, not written by me. 🤔 though perhaps there will be in future, whose to say?

This pairing sort of was suggested by @sansaissteel and @maddiethefashionista and I kind of became hooked, it made sense for the time-travel plot and I thought that if Sansa was pushed in that time Aemond would be the one to whom she’d naturally shift her attention and love.

I like the most how many great characters I could explore and how many interesting dynamics. I think I love especially — beyond the AemondSa and the way it weaves with Sansa’ original timeline — the Starks of that time and little Celia and the Royces.

I like the least the character of Lord Strong. But not much anything else.

I actually have a Spotify playlist (which I’ll link down below) though not all songs I listen to are there — I have been a bit remiss on updating it tbh — and tbh, the songs I use in the edits are pretty much the song I listened to on repeat when I wrote that particular chapter.

Oh, I did not start to write this to teach readers anything, but I think I’d like them to put their attention to the way the dynamics shift and the way characters can have or not redeeming arcs or qualities if treated correctly and mostly how to be able to set boundaries and learn to work together as a team which is what Aemond and Sansa are currently doing.

What I learned? I like the way the dynamics between Daeron and his brothers and between the Targtower siblings is flawed but still good, I think I learned much more about my own dynamic with my sibling than I consciously knew by writing these complex siblings dynamics.

I think that’s all! Hope you enjoyed and thank you for showing so much interest in me and the story!

Firesteel instrumental playlist

Firesteel playlist

[that1emowitch]

Fire #2 (Jason Todd & Child!OC)

Summary:

Jason decides to adopt Nile (yay!) but DANGER LURKS AROUND THE CORNER

Rating: Teen & Up Audiences (there might be some swears and graphic descriptions of violence)

Word Count: 2,795

A/N:

It's longer than I expected, kinda got carried away (hehe) ANYWaY enjoy some more fluff while you can

Chapter 2: My kid?

As Jason stepped into the dimly lit safe house, the hushed silence enveloped him like a protective embrace. He cradled the sleeping child in his arms, her innocent face relaxed in peaceful slumber. Every step he took was cautious, his movements slow and deliberate, afraid that the slightest sound might disturb her fragile rest. 

The safe house was a sanctuary hidden from the prying eyes of the world—a place where he could retreat from the relentless chaos of Gotham's streets. It was here that he felt a fleeting sense of solace, but tonight, it was different. With the little girl in his arms, the silence seemed amplified, and he couldn't help but feel an inexplicable vulnerability that touched a place deep within him.

Gently, he laid her down on a makeshift cot, carefully arranging the softest pillows he could find to ensure her comfort. A blanket draped tenderly over her small form, cocooning her in warmth and safety. He watched her for a moment, her chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath. It was a stark contrast to the unforgiving world she had been thrust into—a world where danger and darkness lurked around every corner.

The weight of the night's events clung to him like a heavy cloak, and Jason knew that he, too, needed a moment of respite. Deciding to take a quick shower, he silently stepped away, mindful not to disturb the sleeping child.

As soon as he stepped into the bath, a chilling sensation gripped Jason's chest, and his heart seemed to race in sync with the haunting memories that clawed their way back to the surface. Scenes from his tortured past flooded his mind like a relentless barrage, each image etched with the malevolent brushstrokes of the Joker's sadistic games. The bomb ticking, the deafening explosion, and the inferno engulfing the warehouse—the flames he had witnessed today mirrored the horror of that fateful day. They danced before his eyes, mesmerising in their deadly beauty, poised to claim lives within seconds.

He stumbled backward, his hand gripping the doorknob for support as though trying to anchor himself in the present. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, a testament to the turmoil that churned within him. His vision took on an eerie green tint, but not just any green— Not just any green—the vile, poisonous Pit green. 

"No, no, no..." he whispered hoarsely, trying desperately to keep the memories at bay. But they were relentless, seeping through the cracks in his defences like a malevolent force he could not control. He hurriedly flipped on the shower, focusing on the cold water running down his back. That’s where most of your scars are, a voice reminded him.

His mind reeled, the anguish and desperation clawing at his sanity. In a desperate attempt to ground himself, he tried to focus on the here and now, the cold water serving as an anchor to reality. He glanced down at his own body, the intricate web of scars serving as a chilling testament to the horrors he had endured.

"NO!" The anguished cry tore from his throat, a raw and primal scream echoing in the confined space. He needed to keep it away. He crumpled to his knees, the weight of his past bearing down on him like an impenetrable darkness. It was a battle against an unseen enemy, a relentless struggle to keep the pit of despair from devouring him whole.

Gasping for breath, he clutched at his chest as though trying to keep his heart from breaking free of its cage. The intensity of the memories threatened to swallow him whole, and he found himself teetering on the precipice of his own shattered psyche. He let out a strangled scream, falling to his knees as he desperately tried to ground himself.

The sudden noise from the living room jolted Jason out of his turbulent thoughts, yanking him back to the present with an urgent sense of concern. "Nile," he murmured. Wasting no time, he hastily threw on some clothes, determined to ensure her safety, despite the persistent green hue that lingered at the fringes of his vision. His mind remained a battlefield, but the need to shield her from harm gave him a sense of purpose amidst the chaos.

He rushed into the living room, his senses sharpened to every detail. There she stood, a vision of curiosity and innocence, perched precariously on a chair, her tiny hands reaching for the guns he had carelessly left on the counter. Panic surged within him, and he closed the distance between them in a heartbeat.

"Oh, no—no!" he exclaimed, his voice laced with worry and urgency as he swooped in to lift her gently from the chair. He placed her securely on the sofa, making sure she was out of harm's way. "No touching guns, sweetheart!" he implored, his eyes locking onto hers with a mix of sternness and tenderness. "They're very dangerous and could give you a big boo-boo!"

She looked at him with questioning eyes, and asked quietly, “Why?”

With a steadying breath, he crouched down in front of her, his voice gentle as he sought to explain. "Those things," he motioned towards the guns, "they're not toys. They can hurt people, and we don't want anyone to get hurt, right?" he asked, hoping to instil in her a sense of caution without scaring her further.

She shrugged, staring longingly at the shiny guns.

Jason sighed. “Okay, what about this? When you’re old enough, I’ll teach you to use guns, ‘kay? But stay away from them for now. Deal?”

She smiled, making her look even more adorable. “K-k!”

He had hoped for a bit more time to conduct a discreet DNA test and unravel the mystery of Nile's past without causing her further distress. Yet fate seemed to have other plans. It always did, when it came to Jason.

He watched her for a moment, taking in details on her skin he hadn’t noticed before. There was a thin white scar right below her lip, with several more on her arms. Rage filled him instantly. Someone had hurt her! He shook with anger, but one look into her innocent brown eyes grounded him to reality, letting him know she was okay right now. He could figure something out later, he needed to care for the child in front of him right now.

What do children need? He thought to himself. Toys? Not possible right now. Clothes? Also, not possible immediately. Food? That’s it!

“Nile,” He asked, breaking the silence. “You hungry?”

She shrugged.

He was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

She looked down timidly, as if someone was going to scold her, and whispered, "Ma'am says I can't eat 'less she tells me to."

As soon as the words reached Jason's ears, his heart plummeted like a stone sinking into dark waters. Worry etched deep lines across his face, but in an instant, it morphed into an overwhelming surge of anger and disgust. How could anyone stoop so low as to control such a young, innocent child? The very thought of someone preying on her vulnerability and manipulating her filled him with an unbridled rage, the fires of which burned in the depths of his being. 

He had no doubt that whoever controlled her had also been the one to hurt her. His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white with the force of his emotions. Whoever it is, they’re dead, he decided.

“Sweetheart,” he started, keeping his voice soft and controlled. “This Ma’am. She ever hurt you?”

Tears pricked her large brown eyes as she nodded slightly. “Please don’t tell her,” she begged so softly he barely heard it. “She’ll lock me down there again…”

Images of his own time in locked rooms flashed before his eyes, but he ignored them. Someone more important needs me right now. He scooped her into his arms and hugged her, trying his best to comfort her. Things like these didn’t come easily to him. He soothingly stroked her brunette hair, and she buried her head into his chest, finding solace in his embrace.

“Well, she isn’t here right now,” He reminded her, trying to lift the mood. “I’ll make us some pancakes. Everyone likes pancakes.”

After about 15 minutes of bustling around the kitchen, they finally settled on the counter, a plate of scrumptious pancakes placed before them. Jason couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment—seeing the little girl's eyes light up with anticipation was worth all the effort.

He carefully picked up a pancake from his plate and smiled warmly at Nile. "Alright, kiddo, time to dig in!" he said cheerfully, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine fondness. But before he could even offer her a fork, he hesitated, glancing at the metal prongs thoughtfully. It was definitely not baby-friendly. Nothing in this safehouse was. He couldn't bear the thought of her getting hurt or struggling with the utensil. "Hmm, better not risk it," he mused to himself.

Instead, he picked up the pancake and expertly cut it into small, manageable pieces. The knife sliced through the fluffy pastry with ease, and he arranged the bite-sized morsels on a separate plate. "There we go," he declared, feeling rather proud of his makeshift solution.

"Alright, open wide!" he cooed playfully, holding a piece of pancake between his fingers as he leaned in toward her. He offered it to her like an airplane flying into the hangar, making a swooshing sound for extra effect. Nile giggled, her eyes alight with joy and trust as she opened her mouth eagerly, her tiny hands reaching out for the offered treat.

"There's a good girl!" Jason praised, his heart swelling with affection as he watched her relish the taste of the pancake. “Yummy?” He asked.

“Yup!” She cooed happily, her tone completely different than it had been just some time ago. She seems to be trusting me!

Laughing, he continued to feed her, keeping a happy exterior, but inside, his mind burned with unanswered questions. Who’s Ma’am? Why was she in that warehouse with those goons? How was Nile unscathed by the fire?

He shook away the questions. He’d figure it out later. Right now, he’d have to do something to protect Nile. He didn’t have much information right now, but he did know that if this Ma’am was her caretaker, he couldn’t let her go back home. The mere thought sent a surge of anger through his veins.

His mind raced with the limited options before him. He couldn't bear the thought of sending her to an orphanage or into the unpredictable hands of the foster care system—he knew first-hand how cold and indifferent the system was. It was out of the question—Nile deserved better.

His gaze softened as he looked at the innocent child who had unknowingly captured his heart. She deserved a chance at a safe and loving home, a childhood filled with joy and security. She deserved everything he didn’t get. And if the world had failed her, then he would be the one to shield her from its cruelty.

"I won't let you down," he whispered, as if making a solemn vow to the universe itself. The weight of responsibility rested heavily upon his shoulders, but he knew he couldn't turn away. Nile needed him, and he was willing to step up—to be the guardian she had never known she needed. He’d be her dad.

She deserves better than you, the voice whispered in his head. You’re too broken. You’ll only end up hurting her.

He let out a heavy sigh, and decided mentally, “I’ll take care of her until I can find a better family for her.”

He made a mental list of all the things they’d have to do today if she really was to live with him for a while. He decided to start off with getting her cleaned up. He quickly ordered a set of baby clothes online, making sure the delivery could come within an hour, so that she could have something to wear that wasn’t singed at the edges by a fire.

The morning sun cast a warm glow through the windows as Jason prepared to give Nile a bath. We’ve been up through the night, he noted. He had set up the bathroom with a small tub and some colourful towels, ensuring that the space felt safe and inviting for the little girl. As he approached her, he smiled reassuringly, wanting to make the experience as enjoyable as possible.

"Alright, Nile, it's bath time!" he said cheerfully, kneeling down to her level. He held out his hand, encouraging her to come with him. The three-year-old hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering with uncertainty, but she eventually took his hand, trusting him enough to follow.

Gently guiding her into the bathroom, Jason ensured that the water was warm and just the right depth for her. "You ready, kiddo?" he asked, his voice soft and soothing. Nile nodded, her small frame tense with anticipation.

With great care, he helped her undress, his touch gentle and respectful of her boundaries. He kept up a steady stream of conversation, talking about how much fun they were having—playing with bubbles and splashing in the water. She giggled and splashed soap foam on his face and squealed, “You’ve got a beard!”

He laughed along, glad she was having fun. They quickly finished up her bath, just in time for the clothes to arrive. He helped her get dressed and sat her down on the counter once more, giving her some papers and pencils to play and draw with while he got ready to go outside.

In a few minutes, both of them were settled on his motorcycle (she was wearing a helmet, Jay didn’t want her to get hurt). They made their way to the nearest mall. To be honest, this was his first time going to a mall since he’d died. It wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be. In fact, Nile seemed to be enjoying the experience. Her curious gaze flickered across every detail of the mall. She’d point her chubby little finger at anything she didn’t recognise, and ask, “What’s that?” Jason would smile and answer her questions.

They made their way to a baby store Jason had researched online. He let her pick out her own clothes and toys, putting anything and everything she liked into the basket. Money really wasn’t an issue here, his time as a crime lord had served him well. He placed the basket filled with various stuffed toys, interactive toys, cute clothes, picture books, pillows, blankets, and diapers on the cashier’s counter and quickly paid for it. Holding the shopping bags in one hand and lifting Nile in the other, he set off towards the parking lot.

Suddenly, she squealed, “Jayy! Look!” Surprised, he turned around to see her pointing at an ice cream parlour and giving him puppy eyes. “Pwease???”

He sighed, unable to resist it. “Okay, why not?”

Minutes later they sat in a nice corner of the parlour, enormous sundaes in front of them. Nile really seemed to like chocolate ice cream. They were just talking about the new toys she’d got when a ring chimed, signalling that someone had entered the store.

Jason whipped around to see a very familiar face— blue eyes, black hair. Pale. Definitely a Wayne.

Tim Drake walked into the parlour, holding a taller, more muscular dark-haired boy’s hand. Tim and Kon El? They’re finally dating? He dismissed those thoughts, suddenly very aware of his surroundings. 

He may have made peace with the Bats, but he knew deep inside that they still saw him as a reckless villain, the Robin who died and came back all wrong, the failure of the family. If Tim saw him with a child, he’d immediately report it to Bat, and Bruce would likely try to take her away from him.

Even worse, Bruce would adopt Nile and turn her into a soldier like he did with every kid he met.

Panic flared in his chest. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let him hurt her. He turned his gaze back to Nile, seeing that she’d just finished her ice cream. “We need to go, sweetheart,” He whispered softly as he picked her up. She must have sensed the urgency in his tone, for she did not argue. He quickly made his way out of the store but made the mistake of looking back to make sure Tim hadn’t noticed him.

He locked his gaze with icy blue eyes. Tim stared at him questioningly, looking between him and Nile.

Shit.

He knows.

A/N

I can't stop thinking about Jayyyy AGHGHGSHGDHASDGSADH also im a high key TimKon shipper idk if u noticed

Up Next Chapter 3: Unravelling Secrets

[hrefna-the-raven]

Soul love

Masterlist - DD2 masterlist

Summary: a few drabbles that will be loosely connected to each other about the pawn falling in love with his Arisen

Notes: gender neutral version right after the original chapter :)

Warnings: this turned a bit dark due to the theme of that scene in the game, despite changing the scene a bit there might be possible SPOILERS if you haven't done the coronation quest yet

Part 1 - Part 2

Part 3

The event unfolded with such alarming speed that by the time your senses registered the clamour and you swivelled around, he was already on his knees. He was grimacing in pain, his fingers gripping the sides of his head so fiercely that blood began to seep from the self-inflicted wounds.

"M-m-master! Pray leave this place! My body, it refuses to obey", he managed to utter between gasps of agony, "there is a voice with my mind...it commands me - sways my very will!"

You rushed towards your pawn, nearly crashing down on the ground as you missed the last step. You kneeled next to him, frantically attempting to pry his hands from his head to stop him from inflicting further harm upon himself.

"How can I help you?", you shouted, the desperation of this new found helplessness almost breaking you. The warm droplets of blood stained your hand as they tightly held his, pulling them away from his head with all your strength. The moment you touched him you sensed a dark magic, akin to a hex propelling your mind into the abyss of deathly shadows, an almost irresistible yet alluring pull towards something dwelling within the palace. You reckoned that this must be the same force tormenting your pawn although its influence seemed to manifest differently in you.

"Master", his voice now was barely a whisper, pained and exhausted, "I don't want to loose myself, don't want to listen to the voice, I want, I want..."

Frightened eyes found yours, staring with such intensity that it became increasingly challenging to convince yourself that the being before you was bereft of his own spirit. Your trembling hands let go of his and clutched unto his tunic, tears now streaming down your face while anguish overwhelmed your thoughts. "Please, please, please", was all you could manage to choke out through sobs, your voice fractured by your grief.

You yearned to voice your desperate need for him - not merely as an Arisen would require her pawn, but as someone who needed him for his very existence and yet, this plea remained unspoken, held captive by your lips. Instead you were forced to watch helplessly as an invisible spell stole away the one person who mattered more than anything else in your world. The growing cracks in his heart threatened to shatter it into countless pieces upon witnessing your despair.

To him, you were more than the Arisen and even when the sinister voice would inevitably seize command of his form and compel him to inflict pain upon you, he'd still be certain that it could never truly destroy the growing love he harboured for you, guarded away safely within the depths of his heart. A sudden thought crossed his mind, a last wish of his own before he'd loose himself within the coming darkness - if he were to become a slave to the voice he'd steal one true kiss from you. With the last shred of defiance remaining within him, he took control over his body one last time, teeth grinding and with a deep growl resonating from his chest, he lunged at you. His arms wrapped tightly around your body and he mustered one final smile as his lips crashed on yours. One kiss before the death of all that was him, all the passion he did not comprehend pouring into this final act that was truly his. After the initial surprise, you kissed back, realising that this would be the last moment you had with him. None of you had foreseen that this would be what would break the spell, it was merely a final desperate act of an unspoken love, unsuspectedly powerful enough to chase the darkness away. The mark on his palm began to shine brightly in tandem with the one on your chest and the curse tormenting you, your body feeling weightless as though you were floating in an ethereal lake while the commanding voice in his head fell silent, bereft of all power, leaving only the faint tingle of a lover's embrace before all around him succumbed to darkness, his consciousness slipping into a foreign void.

His now lifeless body crumpled onto the pavement and time seemed to crawl at a torturous pace around you. Brant appeared in the corner of your eye, rushing towards your unresponsive pawn sprawled before you and hoisted him onto his shoulder. The guard captain’s head turned towards you, his lips moving but no sound rang to your ears. You felt his fingers wrapping around your wrist, lifting you back on your feet and guiding you forward. Mindlessly your body followed, not stopping until the three of you finally reached your house in the lower city. "Your Majesty, I have to attend the coronation to not raise any suspicions", Brant cradled your face to gain your attention, "I will be back by the morrow. Will you be alright?"

You simply nodded and your eyes following Brant as he reluctantly departed, leaving you in the silent, shadowy confines of your home with your unconscious pawn lying on the bed. The glow on his scar was faint but still present, the soothing warmth emanating from it intertwined with yours. Your hand instinctively moved to your chest, taking in a deep breath and all the sorrow and despair of earlier dissipated. Nothing in this world held any importance to you any more, nothing but the bond shared between you two, delicate threads of one soul woven into the love of two. You settled next to him, tenderly holding his hand and resting it on your chest, scar against scar.

"We'll manage, whatever comes. We always do, don't we?", you whispered, a faint glimmer of hope that he might actually hear your words of comfort.

The pathfinder's ghostly presence by your bedside was barely a blip in your weary consciousness, gently smiling down on the two of you as you succumbed to the deep slumber, worn out from the harrowing event that unfolded before the entrance of the palace.

GN version

The event unfolded with such alarming speed that by the time your senses registered the clamour and you swivelled around, they were already on their knees. They were grimacing in pain, their fingers gripping the sides of their head so fiercely that blood began to seep from the self-inflicted wounds.

"M-m-master! Pray leave this place! My body, it refuses to obey", they managed to utter between gasps of agony, "there is a voice with my mind...it commands me - sways my very will!"

You rushed towards your pawn, nearly crashing down on the ground as you missed the last step. You kneeled next to them, frantically attempting to pry their hands from their head to stop them from inflicting further harm upon themselves.

"How can I help you?", you shouted, the desperation of this new found helplessness almost breaking you. The warm droplets of blood stained your hand as they tightly held theirs, pulling them away from their head with all your strength. The moment you touched them you sensed a dark magic, akin to a hex propelling your mind into the abyss of deathly shadows, an almost irresistible yet alluring pull towards something dwelling within the palace. You reckoned that this must be the same force tormenting your pawn although its influence seemed to manifest differently in you.

"Master", their voice now was barely a whisper, pained and exhausted, "I don't want to loose myself, don't want to listen to the voice, I want, I want..."

Frightened eyes found yours, staring with such intensity that it became increasingly challenging to convince yourself that the being before you was bereft of his own spirit. Your trembling hands let go of theirs and clutched unto their tunic, tears now streaming down your face while anguish overwhelmed your thoughts. "Please, please, please", was all you could manage to choke out through sobs, your voice fractured by your grief.

You yearned to voice your desperate need for them - not merely as an Arisen would require their pawn, but as someone who needed them for their very existence and yet, this plea remained unspoken, held captive by your lips. Instead you were forced to watch helplessly as an invisible spell stole away the one person who mattered more than anything else in your world.

The growing cracks in their heart threatened to shatter it into countless pieces upon witnessing your despair. To them, you were more than the Arisen and even when the sinister voice would inevitably seize command of their form and compel them to inflict pain upon you, they'd still be certain that it could never truly destroy the growing love they harboured for you, guarded away safely within the depths of their heart. A sudden thought crossed their mind, a last wish of their own before they'd loose themselves within the coming darkness - if they were to become a slave to the voice they'd steal one true kiss from you. With the last shred of defiance remaining within them, they took control over their body one last time, teeth grinding and with a deep growl resonating from their chest, they lunged at you. Their arms wrapped tightly around your body and they mustered one final smile as their lips crashed on yours. One kiss before the death of all that was them, all the passion they did not comprehend pouring into this final act that was truly theirs. After the initial surprise, you kissed back, realising that this would be the last moment you had with them. None of you had foreseen that this would be what would break the spell, it was merely a final desperate act of an unspoken love, unsuspectedly powerful enough to chase the darkness away. The mark on their palm began to shine brightly in tandem with the one on your chest and the curse tormenting you, your body feeling weightless as though you were floating in an ethereal lake while the commanding voice in their head fell silent, bereft of all power, leaving only the faint tingle of a lover's embrace before all around them succumbed to darkness, their consciousness slipping into a foreign void.

Their now lifeless body crumpled onto the pavement and time seemed to crawl at a torturous pace around you. Brant appeared in the corner of your eye, rushing towards your unresponsive pawn sprawled before you and hoisted them onto his shoulder. The guard captain’s head turned towards you, his lips moving but no sound rang to your ears. You felt his fingers wrapping around your wrist, lifting you back on your feet and guiding you forward. Mindlessly your body followed, not stopping until the three of you finally reached your house in the lower city. "Your Majesty, I have to attend the coronation to not raise any suspicions", Brant cradled your face to gain your attention, "I will be back by the morrow. Will you be alright?"

You simply nodded and your eyes following Brant as he reluctantly departed, leaving you in the silent, shadowy confines of your home with your unconscious pawn lying on the bed. The glow on their scar was faint but still present, the soothing warmth emanating from it intertwined with yours. Your hand instinctively moved to your chest, taking in a deep breath and all the sorrow and despair of earlier dissipated. Nothing in this world held any importance to you any more, nothing but the bond shared between you two, delicate threads of one soul woven into the love of two. You settled next to them, tenderly holding their hand and resting it on your chest, scar against scar.

"We'll manage, whatever comes. We always do, don't we?", you whispered, a faint glimmer of hope that they might actually hear your words of comfort.

The pathfinder's ghostly presence by your bedside was barely a blip in your weary consciousness, gently smiling down on the two of you as you succumbed to the deep slumber, worn out from the harrowing event that unfolded before the entrance of the palace.

Part 4 (18+)

[kosmosguk]

Lineage (M) | 3

Pairing: Duke Yoongi x Princess Reader; Duke Namjoon x Princess Reader (one-sided)

Word Count: 8.7K

Summary: When an engagement locks you, the 8th and forgotten princess, to the duke infamous for his cruelty, you find yourself counting the days until your inevitable death. It’s terrifying to think of your end, but when you arrive at his territory, you realize there’s a more morbid reason behind your marriage, and that the duke is much worse than the rumors have painted him out to be.

Warnings:  HEAVY yandere themes, mentions of gore and death, future major character(s) death, near-death experiences, obsessive behaviors, manipulation, SMUT (cunnilingus; a whole 1.5k of pure smut: blindfolded, unprotected sex; exhibitionism; a bit of breeding), 18+, explicit language, self-loathing

A/N: Finally! The banquet scene (and a wonderful helping of Namjoon) is here! I hope you guys stick with Lineage and me to the very end of our journey <3 This chapter took a bit of time to write (can’t believe it’s 3k more words than the last part). Please, if you liked this part, comment or leave a detailed review (reading them makes me super happy and motivated)! Thank you for 2.6k+ followers :)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

“Namjoon?’’

He stood up and turned around to look at you. Though he now had an aura, both elegant and cold, that was similar to the Duke’s, you could recognize that face anywhere. His expression was schooled into a composed and almost frigid look, a look that sent shivers down your spine. However, as soon as you felt goosebumps rising on your skin, his expression turned warm. It almost felt like you were imagining the coldness you had felt from him before. He smiled at you in the same manner that he had done when he had been posing as a messenger, his dimples flashing in his cheeks, though you did not notice that his eyes continued to remain cold.

“Your Highness,’’ he paused in his speaking,’’ Well, I suppose it’d be more proper to refer to you as a Duchess now. It’s been a while, has it not?’’

“It has,’’ your words stiffened as your mind spun in confusion,’’ been a while. I apologize for impolitely referring to you by your first name. If you are a close acquaintance with my husband, then you must be…’’

Your voice trailed off as you looked at him in an unsure manner. Namjoon chuckled at your attempt to mask your apparent uncertainty. The icy coldness in his eyes had melted somewhat.

“I’m of the House of Kim. We are on the same level when it comes to status, so you don’t have to act so…stiff around me, and I will take the opportunity to do the same as well. Last time I met you, you were much more carefree than the you of now, Duchess Min.’’

“I suppose you are correct with that, Duke Kim. It’s rather shameful to think of the way I greeted you back then, but that shame seems to dissipate when I recall the way you had taken on the identity of a servant, Duke Kim.’’ You dropped the stiff façade you had put on yourself, and your tone was light instead of accusatory. Your shoulders, which had been squared in an uncomfortably rigid posture, relaxed a little bit, and you couldn’t help the genuine smile that bloomed across your lips. “Now, what event brings you to a meeting with me? I believe you would rather meet with the Duke instead.’’

Namjoon paused, as if he was thinking of an answer. Whatever answer rang through his head must’ve been amusing, with the way his noble features had tilted up in a slightly playful expression. 

“The Duke is not someone who throws a birthday banquet, or any banquet really. The typical complaint of the people on the territory is that there is little festivity outside of the annual week that celebrates the Kingdom’s establishment. A bit dreary, isn’t it, though I hope you take no offense at my comment.’’ Namjoon’s tone was almost teasing, and you curved your lips up lightly to show that you didn’t. “I owe the Duke a favor, and since the Duke rarely uses a favor, I believe doing something for you would equate the same as paying back the favor. And besides, helping you prepare for the birthday banquet would be the same as helping Yoongi.’’

You paused as you thought over your response. True, it would be very helpful to have a more experienced noble assist you in preparing for your first banquet—it was even more pressuring to hear that the Duke of Min rarely held a banquet, too, as the expectation for the first banquet was always much higher than the ones after and would also prove your abilities as the Duchess. But you worried about the rumors that would emerge if you were too close with Duke Kim. After all, the society you lived in was flawed in this sense of thinking. 

“If you’re worried about any rumors emerging, don’t worry. You are not only the princess of this kingdom but a married woman, and I am but your husband’s friend. Any rumors that come will be easily taken out by the combined powers of both your husband’s House and the royal family.’’

He was correct with that. You made a decision right then and gingerly extended a hand out, your lips carefully curving into the poised smile that you had spent days practicing with your tutor.

“Well then, I will look forward to your assistance, Duke Kim.’’

Namjoon’s charming smile sobered into a more reserved and serious expression as he clasped your delicate hand in his own. You could feel the calluses of his hand, which was different from what you had expected a nobleman’s hands to be like. His touch was cold, too, the kind of cold that seemed less human and more marble. You faintly remembered that Yoongi’s hands were like that too, and your cheeks lightly flushed at the rather intimate memory that unfolded at that thought before you could force yourself back to earth.

Namjoon leaned down slightly as he raised your hand up, his lips brushing against your knuckles. Though this was a common gesture exchanged between those of the nobility, you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. You wanted to pull your hand away, a strange paranoia in your throat that someone else would witness this and view polite courtesy with slanderous eyes, but you forced yourself to keep your hand steady.

You, still caught up in your own thoughts, did not witness the way Namjoon’s lips twisted into a teasing smirk as his eyes flitted to the window and made eye contact with the beady eyes of the crow perched outside of the window. The bird, having been caught, fluttered its feathers in agitation and let out a strangled caw. Then, it stretched out its inky wings, each hollow bone crackling slightly, and flapped away.

Namjoon straightened his back, gently letting go of your hand. You hurriedly allowed your hand to fall back at your side.

“How amusing…,’’ he murmured faintly, his voice barely above a whisper. You blinked rapidly; you were unable to catch the words he had spoken.

“I apologize, but what did you say? I couldn’t hear what you had said just now,’’ you questioned.

Namjoon was about to open his mouth to brush off his comment when the door of the receiving room slammed open with such force that Namjoon would’ve been surprised if there wasn’t a crack in the frame. You spun around to look at who was there, and your mouth dropped slightly open when you saw the Duke standing there.

“Yoongi, what are you—,’’ you tried to speak, but your words were cut off as the Duke marched up to you and grabbed your elbow, pulling you behind him protectively. You tried to take a look at Duke Kim, but the Duke only moved to shield your view.

“If you have any words to say to my wife, you can also speak them in front of me. If you were to come by, it would’ve been more proper to inform me before your arrival,’’ the Duke’s words were like ice. You could feel yourself shiver. You, who had become accustomed to the softer and more gentle tone the Duke had taken with you, had never heard the Duke speak like that before, with such bite and barely restrained anger.

Perhaps the Duke could sense the way you had tensed. The imposing aura around him softened a bit, but he still remained firmly in between Duke Kim and you.

Namjoon smiled good-naturedly, raising his hands to show that he didn’t mean any harm. He had never seen Yoongi so hostile before, not even when he had been on the front of the battlefield soaked in blood. Even when he had the king of an opposing kingdom on his knees, begging and wailing in front of him, Yoongi hadn’t even flinched before he had executed the miserable coward. But now, Yoongi could barely contain the aggression in his eyes as he stared down his closest friend.

Namjoon couldn’t help the desire to just mess around with his friend. After all, it was rare to see Yoongi out of control; Namjoon’s nature, having lived for quite some time, leaned towards anything he found interesting and easy to control. He had never viewed Yoongi as easy to control, not with the power that seemed to overbearingly seep from every pore of the man, but this situation… Namjoon could barely conceal the sheer expression of glee at the thought of what he was about to do. His eyes, which he usually concealed as a dark brown, flickered with a hint of crimson, a shade that strikingly matched Yoongi’s typical eye color.

He stepped closer to the Duke, settling a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder and leaning close to Yoongi’s ear. His voice was barely above a whisper, but Yoongi’s acute senses easily picked it up. You, however, could only look on in confusion.

“Your wife…I can see why you’re so infatuated with her. I hope I can learn more about her.”  

If it weren’t for the years of friendship between the two, Yoongi would have not had any qualms with killing Namjoon on the spot. Yoongi’s pupils dilated, the color of his eyes bleeding brightly, and his hands curled into fists, his blunt nails leaving bloody crescent marks imprinted in his flesh. Namjoon nodded politely to you as he walked past the Duke, his playful eyes meeting your confused eyes. The soft click of the door shutting ascertained his departure.

“My Lord,’’ your voice was soft as you carefully crept towards the Duke. There was no response. You tentatively called out: “Yoongi?’’

Your call of his name seemed to snap him out of his bloodthirst as he quickly turned around and grabbed onto your wrist, pulling you towards him until your body was firmly pressed against his. You gasped as he cradled the back of your head, his hands twisting in your locks of hair, and kissed you. It felt like he was devouring you; in that moment, each breath you had was also his. His lips moved almost brutally against yours, and you felt a whine emerge from your throat as he harshly nipped your soft bottom lip with his teeth. Your lips barely had time to part slightly before his tongue was in your mouth, exploring each crevice. You could only hold onto him, fists curled weakly in his white dress shirt and your mind dizzy from a combined mix of lack of oxygen and heated frenzy.

His hands were about to push down the sleeves of your dress and expose your heated skin to the cold air when a sharp knock on the door interrupted him. He seemed to pay no heed to it, his lips still bruising against yours, but you managed to finally pull a bit away from him. The string of saliva that showed the previous heated connection of your mouths caused you to frantically turn your head away in shame to break it. You sucked in a large swallow of cold air. Your knees were soft, your bones barely unable to hold you up; you were about to tumble down when he caught you and swept you up in his arms. Despite the murderous aura that was pouring out of him, he gently let you down onto the sofa in the room, and you watched with hazy eyes as he stormed out of the room.

That night, as you nuzzled your face into the silk pillows of the bed and slept soundly, the servant who was unfortunate enough to have been sent to interrupt the Duke’s time with his rumored beloved wife would meet his end. After that, no one would ever dare to come near any rooms with closed doors in fear that they would meet their hopeless demise at the end of the Duke’s famous blade.

After weeks of you busily preparing for the celebration alongside numerous lessons, the day of the long-awaited birthday banquet finally arrived. Each important noble was to show up, less they be ridiculed by the rest of their peerage, including those from your previous family. Though you had initially did not want to invite them, your logic won over your heart, and the king and the crown princess were to come to the ball too. Ah, you could feel a headache coming on at the very thought.

Little did you know, you would come to regret this choice later that evening.

But now, in this very moment, you were too busy ensuring that everything was perfect. The hall where the banquet would be held hadn’t been used in what looked to be years, a surprise considering how well-maintained most of the places you frequented in the manor were, and you had the servant staff wipe down every single corner of the hall until it gleamed. Marble and silver, now shining gorgeously in the bright chandelier light, were decorated with luxurious drapes made out of rich crimson cloth and gorgeous arrangements of blooming white and red flowers.

By the time the evening had arrived, the hall was already filled with much of the nobility and a few commoners who were wealthy. The Duke was to escort you in, and you had to admit that he looked even more handsome dressed up. His hair was carefully slicked back, showing off his stern marble-carved features. He extended his hand out for you to take, and you lightly placed your hand into his grasp. He pulled you a bit closer to him, his movement soft so you wouldn’t trip, and you heard his voice, low and a bit rougher than usual, by your ear.

“You look…,’’ he swallowed before he continued speaking,’’ beautiful tonight.’’

You could only look at him, dumbfounded, as heat rushed to your cheeks and a silly euphoria settled buzzingly in your veins. His words were clumsy, a rare occurrence for the man who always remained coolly composed. You smiled widely, and he averted his gaze, though you noticed his ears were tinted a slight red. Then, the doors were opened, and the both of you stepped out into the stairs at the very front of the hall.

“The Duke and Duchess of the House of Min has entered.’’ The steward called out, his voice echoing in the hall.

A hush covered the hall as everyone’s eyes flitted to where you stood by the side of your husband. You heard a soft murmur rise up as their eyes fell on you.

You had paid careful attention to the arrangements of the hall and dressed in a manner that fit it. The seamstress that the Duke had sent you had been the most highly sought in the kingdom, perhaps even of the neighboring kingdom, and her talent resonated in the gown you were adorned in. Billowing layers of deep red, accentuated by bits of sparkling diamonds and pearls and sparkling silver embroidery, swathed your waist, and the sleeves, made out of a transparent material, delicately puffed out around your arms. The placement of the neckline of the dress carefully concealed the mark by your collarbone. With your shoulders set back in a poised posture, you looked much different from the nervous and trembling girl who had gotten married a few months ago. There was no doubt that you were anything but gorgeous, perhaps, though many didn’t dare to say it aloud, even more gorgeous than the crown princess.      

The hold of the Duke on you seemed to tighten even more on you as he opened his mouth to greet the guests, his tone frigid compared to the warm smile you carefully had on. His words were short, almost dismissive in a way, and the moment they ended, the music from the orchestra resumed to brighten up the cold atmosphere.

He carefully helped you down the stairs, ensuring that your heels would delicately sink into the plush carpet instead of slip and send you into an embarrassing, sprawling tumble. You couldn’t help the way your lips grew even bigger into a smile at the gentle way he led you; truly, though he didn’t show his love often outside of the animalistic way he held you in the bedroom, he was sweet to you. By the time your feet hit the floor with a soft clack, the two of you were crowded by many nobles.

They all clamored to get the Duke’s attention, trying to take advantage of the first proper event the House of Min was hosting. The Duke coldly looked at them, and many of them darted away, leaving a select amount of nobles in front of the two of you. When one noble was done talking, he would leave, and another would dart to take his place. You were to smile and nod lightly whenever they were to mention you in a compliment in an attempt to warm the Duke up towards their offers.

After a bit of time, your feet began to ache in the heeled shoes that you had forced them in, and the sides of the shoes viciously dug into the tender flesh of your feet. You tried to shift your weight, but the pain refused to settle. You decided that you were going to fetch a servant to bring you a comfier pair of shoes and rest a bit in the ladies’ powder room.

“My husband,’’ you leaned in close to his ear, keeping your voice low. “My feet are aching. I’m going to the powder room to rest for a little while.’’

He nodded, but as you were about to slightly wobble away, he clasped your hand and, in front of the other nobles, pressed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. You could hear an audible gasp and the rising volume of chatter in the hall as people witnessed the rare sight of affection. The Duke, who many viewed through fearful eyes, was looking at you so gently. Now, it didn’t seem so impossible for the rumor of him being infatuated with you to be true.

“Come back soon, my wife. I will be waiting for you,’’ he spoke into your skin, his lips tickling you a bit. You fondly smiled at him, feeling much like a maiden, as he let go of your hand before leaving to send a servant for better shoes and continuing your way to the powder room.

You settled into the seat in the powder room with a soft exhale, closing your eyes briefly. Finally, you could relieve your poor feet from the aches and pinches of your previous heeled shoes. You heard the door open, and your eyes opened to see who it was.

It was the crown princess.

She was as beautiful as ever, with gleaming strands of hair rolled up in a curling updo and a gown that did little to hide the delicate curves of her body. She wasn’t alone, though; she was accompanied by her usual entourage of three unmarried girls from other high-ranking aristocratic families.

“Must be rather lovely to be able to express such affection with your husband,’’ the crown princess spoke. Unlike the angelic disposition that she exuded when she kept her mouth shut, her tone was venomous, and her words were like hidden blades. You recalled the gossip you had overheard when you had been living in the palace. The crown princess was obsessed with the Duke, your husband, and had wanted to marry him. This was hidden from outside of the palace, but maids liked to talk. She would often go to the manor he had near the palace, but he would refuse on seeing her every time.

In fact, though you did not know this, the King had been planning to marry her to the Duke to strengthen the ties to the House of Min, but the Duke had insisted on marrying you.

You barely could keep back the sigh of exhaustion that threatened to escape your lips. God, having your feet dwell in agony would have been much more preferable than having a conversation with such a… You refrained from continuing your thoughts, not wanting to dirty yourself by using such vulgar language.

“Your Highness, would it not be proper to greet me first before continuing onto a different topic?’’ your lips strained in the forced polite smile you had on.

One girl stepped forward, her face pinched in anger.

“You! How dare you speak to Her Highness like that!’’

“You must be from the Count Park family, correct? To speak so disrespectfully to someone of a higher rank… The etiquette teachers must be rather lenient on their lessons.’’ You could feel the start of a headache throb in your skull. “And, have you forgotten? I am also of the same status as Her Highness as her sister, and I have married into a family that does not take disrespect lightly.’’

The girl flinched before stepping back. She refused to relax the aggressive expression she had on. The crown princess’s demure smile stiffened a bit.

“Yes, my younger sister. We are related,’’ the crown princess stepped closer to you. You kept yourself steady as she halted in front of you and placed a delicate hand on your shoulder. “And as your older sister, I want to provide some helpful advice to you.’’

To the outside, she seemed like she was the perfect caring older sister. But you knew better. This was the same girl who had taken the main part in looking down on you with her mother, the queen, when you were younger at the palace. She hid the darker, more vicious parts of her under a beautiful mask.

“I am grateful for your care of me, sister. Since we are so close, and you didn’t bother using formalities in the first place, you must not mind me talking to you casually then.’’ You watched her with careful eyes, waiting for her to strike.

“Not at all. In fact, I was hoping that we would drop the formalities between the two of us. I am quite worried about the relationship the Duke has with you. You are so innocent, sister, that you are not aware of the way men work. They treat you so well in front of you that you convince yourself that they’re in love with you, but behind you, they commit vulgar acts.’’

“That is a rather unpleasant way to view the world, is it not? Besides, the Duke, my husband, is not the typical man, though you must already be quite aware of that with the way you used to cling onto him, hmm?’’

Her eyes flashed menacingly, and the smile on the crown princess’s face grew, warping an angel’s mask into the face of a demon. The fingers of the hand she had placed on your shoulder tightened its grip, her nails lightly digging into your skin.

“Oh, you are innocent. The Duke is like any other man. Do you ever wonder why the garden in the back of the manor on the territory is so well taken care of? Do you know why he chose to marry you, a forgotten princess with half of the blood from a low wench?’’ Her fingernails were drawing blood, but you couldn’t focus on the pain, not with the way your eyes couldn’t leave from her sadistic face. “You were fortunate enough to look similar to his first lover. No one knows anything about her other than her death, but she’s the reason why anyone who dares to even bruise a flower from the garden is immediately killed. She’s the reason why he even chose to marry you.”

She stood back; you could barely feel the prickling pain of the bloody fingernail marks in your skin. Your throat closed up, and the noble bravery you had feigned earlier seemed to mock you now.  

“Father told me that the Duke, after seeing a picture of your face, wanted to marry you. Why? You know the Duke is not foolish enough to believe in love at first sight. The Duke has never cared for anyone in his life, yet he carries a painting of his first lover with him everywhere. Why would he marry you? You must’ve asked yourself this, too. The whole kingdom has! You should be smart enough to figure out the real reason why. You can check for yourself, but you know my words are true.’’

You couldn’t say anything as she whirled around on her heels and stepped out. You hated the pity you could feel from her entourage. Even the girl who had shouted at you earlier had a glimpse of pity in her eyes, mixed in with a mocking glee, as she left. Did they pity you for being attacked by the princess? Or did they pity you because they agreed with her?

You wanted to shrug off the words of the crown princess. She was jealous. Jealous that you, her younger less blessed sister, got the man she wanted. But some part of your gut told you that there was a ring of truth to her words. You remembered the odd looks the staff had given you when you had attempted to go to the garden.

Your own thoughts seemed to choke you. Was she right? Was she wrong? Could you fool yourself into thinking she was wrong? You could feel the agony of your heart well up and splinter into small fragments of glass.

You wanted to run away.

But you couldn’t.

Somehow, you managed to get yourself together. At one point, you realized that you were spending too much time in the powder room. It would be suspicious, wouldn’t it? You couldn’t bring yourself to return back to the Duke’s side. Besides, he was talking to the king now. It’d feel awkward to face the King after having such an unpleasant conversation with his daughter.

You leaned against the wall, watching the orchestra play and people dance on the floor, twirling layers of sparkling colored dresses and sleek muted colors of suits. Your throat felt dry, and a nausea churned in your stomach.

“Duchess Min, it’s an odd sight seeing you so solemn.’’

You looked up, your eyes widening. Namjoon was standing in front of you, dressed up in an elegant suit. He smiled at you, flashing two dimples. His eyes were warm. Your cheeks flushed slightly from embarrassment as you remembered the last time you had seen him. You had been checking the materials delivered for the banquet with Namjoon when you had stumbled over a box. You had braced yourself for the impact of the hard floor, but you ended up falling on top of something much softer than the floor. To your profound shame, you had fallen on Namjoon, who had thrown himself down onto the floor to avoid you from hitting it. You had profusely apologized once you had gotten up, but he had brushed it off. Thus, you had decided to brush off the memory as well but seeing Namjoon again made you feel extremely embarrassed.

“Nam— I mean Duke Kim. I didn’t see you earlier.”

“Well, I don’t really enjoy coming to these events, but you did spend a lot of time working on it, and I wanted to see the results of your efforts. You can rest easy knowing that your first banquet looks a lot better than the tenth banquet for many families.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that grew on your face. The sickening mixture of nausea and numbness seemed to fade away and settle itself back into the marrow of your bones. If you simply erased the incident in which you had embarrassed yourself by falling upon him, the both of you had developed a more than suitable connection over the time you spent working together. Though the two of you were often surrounded by servants and Jungkook, the quick wit of Namjoon shown through each time you spent with each other.

After all, few men could get into the good graces of your husband. You, although a bit more wary after the troubling incidents you had encountered with your old tutor, found yourself falling into the pace of friendship with Namjoon.

“Thank you, but, Duke Kim, you do know that I could not have pulled this off without your help. The Hall only looks this splendid because the quality of your products is of the finest in the kingdom.’’ Many nobility often used compliments for their own advantage, but in this case, your praise was genuine.

“Then, as a way to thank me, may I ask for this dance?’’ Namjoon charmingly smiled. You noticed that the previous music had stopped playing, allowing time for people to switch their partners. Namjoon extended a hand, bowing graciously. You let out a light laugh at the mischievous sheen in his eyes and reached out your own hand, about to clasp his in yours when…

“My wife, I need to speak with you alone.’’

Your hand hovered in the air as you turned your head to look at the voice; your eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the Duke in front of you. He looked terrifying, even more so than the time he had burst into the receiving room when you had first met Namjoon as Duke Kim. His eyes gleamed a fierce red, and his expression looked murderous, the aura around him seeming to cool the air. The music barely managed to warm the chills rising upon the skin of everyone in the hall.

You could barely hear the faint noise of strings dragging themselves out into a sweet melody. No one else seemed to either with the way everyone’s eyes fell upon the three of you.

Was he angry because he didn’t want you to ruin the reputation of the House by getting close to another man? Did he view you as, what the commoners would often refer to, as a wench? You felt hurt at the thought.

Before you could choke out a flustered and indignant response and possibly shatter the noble image of a duchess in the process, the Duke had already pulled you to him with a swift movement that left you clumsily crashing into his chest. Then, he all but dragged you out of the Hall.

Namjoon could only watch as the Duke disappeared with you, no look of amusement painted on his elegant features. Before, he might’ve grinned devilishly at the sight, but now, his chest seemed to twist and pull, an irony considering his true status.

Near Namjoon, standing next to the crown princess who kept gently smiling but had a look in her eyes like she wanted to tear off your face with her pretty nails, the King rejoiced in this new outcome. He was well aware of the nobility’s muttering of taking the king off the throne; with the rumor and proof of the fearsome Duke being infatuated with the royal 8th princess, the muttering of rebellion would die down. Though the King trembled like a coward in front of the Duke, what laid inside his heart was one of a selfish bastard.

When the Duke finally left, carrying the frigid tension with him, the whole room seemed to sigh in relief. But for the three who stood above the crowd, two were filled with envy and one was filled with greed.

You didn’t know where Yoongi was leading you. He had grasped your wrist in his own icy cold grip, and although his pace was unrelenting, he made sure that he wasn’t walking too fast in case you would slip. You didn’t know why Yoongi…the Duke had reacted that way.

If it were the you of the past who frequently indulged in sappy romantic novels in which a brooding male lead fell in love with a witty heroine, you would’ve been caught in a delusion that he was jealous. But the you of the present had lessons that left you stiff and every rule of etiquette and propriety drilled into your brain. The you of now was aware that the intimate nights in which you could fool yourself into believing the Duke loved you was nothing more than a fallacy. The you of now was aware of the truth. Though the crown princess wanted to hurt you and she was many despicable things, you, having grown up with her for part of your lonely childhood, knew that she wasn’t a liar. You fought the bitterness that threatened to envelope your heart.

You broke out of your thoughts just as the Duke had opened the door to your shared bedroom. He had suddenly halted, and you nearly clumsily crashed into his broad back.

“What are you doing, my Lord?’’ you managed to say,’’ The banquet in your honor is still ongoing. We can’t leave our guests like—.’’

You stopped speaking, your words caught in your throat, as Yoongi whirled around. You were taken aback by the look in his eyes. He looked almost feral in this moment, his eyes darkened in a tumultuous mix of emotions that only caused shivers to tremble fiercely down your spine.

“I need to…,’’ he closed his eyes, as if he could calm himself down, but when he had opened his eyes, the emotions in his eyes seemed to be even more heightened.

He suddenly pulled down the front of your gown—you had shouted in alarm, an expression of shame painted over your face as beads and pearls popped off the delicate fabric and hit the floor—and pressed a gentle kiss against the mark on your clavicle. His lips, a rosy pink, were a breathtaking contrast against the distinct red of the mark.

“Duke!’’ you had exclaimed, trying to push him away. “Although we may be husband and wife, you can not behave in such an…outlandish way, not when the banquet is still occurring!’’

His lips had curled up in a small smile, an expression so different from his regular brooding, stoic look that it would’ve left his aids in mute shock at the sight. You could feel the movement of his lips against your skin. He didn’t make any further moment, and you had believed him to be more tame. Perhaps he had regained his senses as a refined nobleman.

Or…perhaps not.

“It is typical here to grant a wish for one’s birthday, is it not?’’ he softly spoke, his lips ticklish against your soft flesh,’’ And I wish to have you.’’

He tilted his head back slightly to look up at you with red eyes shadowed by ink-black eyelashes. The expression in his eyes… You couldn’t put your finger on why they looked so loving but so vulnerable. He was different from the first time you had met him. He was even different from the second time you had met him at your wedding. Why did he look at you this way? Why had he chosen you?

You could only continue to desperately ask yourself this in your heart, but you knew the answer. Your old tutor knew the answer. The crown princess knew the answer. Hell, didn’t everyone know the answer? How foolish and lovesick you were, (Y/n)! But you did not mind the temporary illusion of being his only one love if he could hold you like that was true.

A loud yelp left your lips at the sudden pain in your clavicle, tears filling your eyes. He had bitten you! When you had been distracted with your thoughts, he had slyly dug his teeth into your mark.

“Don’t be distracted by anyone else when you’re with me,’’ his voice was raspy at the edges, almost unhinged in a strange way. “Don’t think of anything else but me.’’

The pain faded into a faint tingle, and you laughed breezily as you looped your arms around the back of his neck. You were the only one he was holding. You were the only one he loved right now; that was right.

“I’ll only think of you. I suppose it is tradition to grant one wish, Yoongi.”

Every restraint Yoongi had been holding back seemed to snap then as he devoured you with his lips. You were faintly reminded of the way he had kissed you in the receiving room after Namjoon had left, how he had seemed to want to imprint the mark of his lips onto yours. You were caught up in the vicious heat of his own touch as his tongue probed deeper into your mouth that you didn’t notice his hand slipping up to your evening dress. He practically ripped off your dress, his strength tearing through layers of silk and sending another shower of tiny sparkling beads to the ground, and you could only make a sound of discontent against his lips as the cold air nipped your flushed skin.

You took a step back to take in a breath, but he matched each of your steps, his lips still firmly against yours. The back of your legs knocked against the bed, and you ungracefully fell onto the bed. The breath spun out of your lungs, and you were vaguely reminded of the time the Duke had taken your purity on the same very bed. You inelegantly climbed back further onto the bed, your palms sinking into the bedding. Yoongi pulled away, and barely a moment later, you felt his hands tie a strip of silk fabric around your eyes.

“Yoongi, what are you—?’’ you sputtered slightly as your sight was suddenly taken away. Your voice was cut off in a haggard breath as you felt his hand slip down your delicate flesh to where your most vulnerable place was. You felt the tips of his fingers against your already soaked folds, and you heard a soft groan from Yoongi.

“You make me want to sin,’’ Yoongi’s voice sounded farther away as he moved down. You fumbled around a bit, trying to figure out where Yoongi had gone, before you realized that he had settled down further down your legs. Your mouth opened to speak, but a moan stretched out of your throat out as his lips closed around your throbbing clit and lightly sucked on it.

“You taste so fucking good.’’ You heard him say, and your cheeks flushed from embarrassment, before your mind went blank from pleasure. He licked your clit in short flicks that left your toes curled before flattening his tongue against your pussy, pressing your soft thighs deeper into the bed as his tongue probed even deeper into your sensitive walls. You could only rasp out whiny sighs, calls of his name that garbled into incoherent squeals, as every nerve in your body trembled. Your senses seemed to be even more heightened by your lack of sight, and you could feel every slight movement of his tongue deep within you.

Your legs unconsciously curled tighter around his head, and before you could collect your thoughts, you were pressing his face even deeper into you. You could hear the soft schlick sounds and the slurping of your essence faintly underneath your wanton cries. You didn’t care about your propriety, not with how good you felt. Your hips raised slightly as you felt yourself tip further near your release, and then you were spiraling and crashing into your climax, your mouth straining open in a loud pitched keen.

When you finally settled down, you felt the lips of the Duke meet yours for a heated kiss. You could taste the mix of your own juices and his saliva, and you sighed lightly into his mouth.

Your breathing was uneven by the time he broke away to let you breathe, and your mind buzzed from the aftermath of your orgasm. You should’ve built up stamina from the many nights you had already spent with the Duke, but the blindfold seemed to rob you of it, leaving you practically limp already.

“Onto your hands and knees,’’ you heard the Duke say. You whined in protest, but your body automatically began to rise up and blindly fall onto your hands and knees despite your mind not wanting to. You felt something hot press against the slicked folds of your pussy, and you barely could open your mouth to protest. You just came; you were too sensitive. These words were lost, replaced with a soft sigh of pleasure, as you felt the stretch of your walls around Yoongi’s cock. The press of Yoongi into you caused your cum and juices to leak out of your sensitive pussy and run down your inner thighs.

“You’re so fucking tight, squeezing around me like this,’’ Yoongi rasped into your ear,’’ You just came, and you’re still ready for more? You’re a whore underneath that perfection.’’

You barely were allowed to adjust to the intrusion before he pulled out and slammed back in so hard that your arms that were holding you up wobbled. Another rough piston of his hips against your ass sent your sprawling onto the bed, your mouth opening in lewd cries and practically drooling. You couldn’t make one single thought beyond the spine-tingling pleasure you received from having him so deep within you and the graze of his calloused palms against your soft breasts. The mix of the gentle feeling of his fingertips twisting your hard nipples and the rough feeling of being fucked so hard made your mind spin.

Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi. Those are the only words you could say, and it’s his name you cried out the loudest when his next thrust caused his cock to bump against your womb. You came a little at the feeling, toes curling in tightly and your hands practically scratching at the sheets. And then you’re climbing again, about to crumble into another orgasm that’d steal the breath out of your lungs and make you forget about the ache of your body and heart. Before you could, Yoongi pulled out, his breath ragged, and you didn’t know what he was going to do, yearning helplessly for him to just thrust in and spill his seed into your trembling womb.

You let out a sharp cry of surprise when he tenderly pushed you onto your back and suddenly picked you up, and you grabbed onto his shoulders, feeling his muscles tighten and flex underneath his soft skin. You didn’t know where he was taking you until you felt something cold against your back. Glass? There was no glass on the walls in the bedroom except for the…window.

“Yoongi, if there are any guests out there who see us—,’’ your next words were cut off by him driving his cock back deep into you, crushing your breath and your next words. He set an unforgiving pace, his hips crashing against yours, and you whimpered and moaned so loud that you could barely hear the raspy groans being dragged out of Yoongi’s throat. You were reaching your high again, and you forgot the fear of being seen by any banquet guests.

You could tell Yoongi was reaching his high too, with the way he throbbed and stretched and hit you just right. You felt his hot breath spill against your sensitive skin.

“I’m going to cum in you, my wife. You’re going to have our child.’’ The Duke’s grip tightened around your hips, and you knew his touch was going to leave marks on your skin.

You let out a choked sob in response, urging him to pound you even further.

“Please, please, Yoongi, please,’’ you sputtered, your mouth dry as you beg for his touch. You were so close, just nearly there.

You wanted to cum so badly, wanted to feel Yoongi even deeper in you, and you wrapped your arms around Yoongi’s neck, letting out an alarmed squeal, as your back slipped slightly on the glass and sent you further down Yoongi’s cock, impaling you. That movement seemed to be both the undoing of you and Yoongi.

Your legs locked around his waist, and you could feel tears leak out of your eyes and roll down your cheeks as you cum hard. Your head slammed into the glass, and your tongue lolled out of your mouth as your walls squeezed and fluttered around his cock. Yoongi groaned, his cock throbbing in you, and you felt his teeth tear into the skin of your neck as he reached his own orgasm. You let out a sound that was a mix of a moan and a sob as you felt him cum deep into your womb.

In that moment, you hoped new life would come forth. With a child, perhaps you wouldn’t feel so empty from thinking about Yoongi’s infatuation with his first love.

He rocked lightly, still buried deep within you, as if he heard your thoughts and wanted to seal his sperm deep within your fertile womb. You were too tired to do anything else as he slipped the blindfold off around your head and sent for servants to get the both of you cleaned. You, right then, were content with pretending that you were the only Yoongi loves.

And with the faint sound of music pulled out of strings humming through the manor and the warmth of a hot towel carefully cleaning you, you fell into an unsettled sleep.

Snow finally made way for the brightness of spring. The pure white of the landscape melted away into cold puddles of water and made way for grass, the vibrant color of emerald, to take a breath and peek into the sun. Specks of color bloomed in the form of tiny flowers, and you, who seemed to grow colder despite the warming of the seasons, were reminded of the garden in the back of the manor.

You were wilting; you could feel it. With nights plagued with dreams that let you bitterly numb in the morning and a head that seemed to throb at the slightest change of weather, it was unfortunate but not unexpected that the beginning of spring came with the beginning of your cold.

It was nothing major, but it left you stuck in bed, bleary eyes clinging to the drops of condensation rolling down the large glass windows of the bedroom. There was little for you to do, most of your work having been taken over by some of the Duke’s aids, and so you were stuck pondering over who you meant to the Duke. Due to your illness, you were kept in a separate room from the bedroom you shared with the Duke, and thus the seeds of the negative feelings you had been hiding in your heart began to sprout.

Many would’ve viewed this rest as a blessing but having time to get lost in your own thoughts to you was a curse.

You felt pathetic. The you who had freely run through the streets, the you who had wistfully sighed over romance novels, the you who had been so naïve would never have been this pathetic. Namjoon had visited you one day when you had started to finally recover from your ailment. You had remembered the shock that you had felt when you had opened the door to the balcony, wanting fresh air without a servant around, and taken a step out only to see Namjoon standing on the balcony.

“Namjoon, how did you get in here?’’ you asked. He smiled mysteriously at you but did not reply to your question, his eyes softening at the sight of you. You recalled the way you looked, so weak; your hair had been in a mess from having laid in bed all day, your cheeks had gotten sickly thin from your cold, and you were scandalously clad in your nightgown. You tightened the shawl you had thrown around your shoulders further around you.

“You don’t seem that well. I heard you were recovering, but I wanted to check in on you with my own two eyes.”

You sighed, trying to look disappointed in him, but the perk of your lip was not something that could be easily hidden from his sharp eyes.

“Well, aren’t you a good friend? But this isn’t proper.’’ You hushed your voice, taking a step back just in case any servants passing below happened to glance up at your balcony. “Does my Lord know you are here?”

“If Yoongi knew I was here, do you think he would’ve allowed me to get so close to you?’’ Namjoon’s smile turned a little bitter, though you did not know why. You nodded mutely, unconsciously pulling the shawl even tighter around you.

“This meeting isn’t proper either. My Lord must be afraid that I will make a fool out of the House of Min if I am not proper,’’ you spoke, your words hollow in your throat. You didn’t know why, but tears began to build up in your eyes and one drop slipped out, rolling down your cheek.

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed slightly in concern, and he took a step closer to you. You took a step back, wiping your eyes frantically with your hands as you fought to keep the tremble out of your shoulders.

“I’m sorry,’’ you inhaled, closing your eyes and using your hands to cover your face as you fought to rein yourself in,’’ My deepest apologies. I can’t…I can’t believe I lost myself like that for a second, in front of my Lord’s closest friend either. Please pretend that you never saw anything.’’

Namjoon’s expression softened; he remembered how strong and carefree you had looked when he had first met you, and now you looked so weakened, both from the cold and the tears you tried to hold back. You were like gold when he had first met you, shining brilliantly, but now you were as fragile as glass. His heart, though he had rarely felt the use of it, began to ache slightly. He reached out, about to touch your head, but he couldn’t. He dropped his hand back towards his side.

“I…,’’ the words Namjoon had never said in his lifetime rose in his throat. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from speaking such human words; Namjoon was not human. He was not kind. But for you, he could be. “What can I do to help you?’’

Your shoulders froze, your palms wet from the droplets of tears. You were desperate now; no sense of propriety made its way to your mind as you reached out and grasped Namjoon’s hand with your own trembling hands. He stiffened at your touch, at how delicate it was.

“Please…,’’ your voice was shakily soft, hoarse from your lack of use and your tears, your head lowered in shame. You were bowing now in front of him, hopelessly unable to meet his gaze. You were so pathetic, (Y/n); you didn’t deserve the title of princess. You didn’t deserve the title of Duchess. Bu your mouth continued to move, rushing words out. “Yoongi…the Duke…This is too much to ask you; I know this is too much to ask of you, Namjoon. I’ll owe you forever. Please, find out who the Duke’s first love, and…’’

You looked up at him, eyes rimmed in red and glossy with tears as you pushed out your last words. “Does he even hold me in his heart?’’

Namjoon’s eyes looked so conflicted then, his smile looking a bit colder on his lips. Even then, you clung onto his hand, shaking and pleading silently. Finally, he grasped your hands with his other hand and gently pushed your touch off of his.

“I will.” The smile he put on next was warm, but it seemed forced, too wide and too happy for what you were asking. “I suppose next time you will owe me a favor, Duchess.’’

You lowered your head back down in shame, and when you finally managed to raise it back up again, Namjoon had been long gone.

You were stuck on the balcony, the spring air, which should’ve been warm, cooling down. The sky faded from a pale blue to a dark gray, clouds rolling in to signify the season’s famous sign of pouring rain, but you could only stand there, frozen, as the wind lifted locks of your hair. When you felt the first droplet of rain against your cheek, rolling down reminiscent of your own tears, you finally broke out of your trance. Pinching the fabric of the shawl to keep it from falling down, you, on shaky limbs, turned around, sliding open the glass door and heading in.

That moment would later turn out to be one of the very few last moments you would ever see Namjoon, your friend, ever again.

And you would later regret ever asking him for the favor.

A/N: As always, if you want to be added to the taglist for part 3, reply with a  👑. I make a new taglist for each part based on the emoji replies, so thank you for understanding and cooperating. If you enjoyed the story, leave a comment or a detailed review below! 

Also, please send any memes/moodboards based on Lineage in! The more there are, the faster I work haha :)

[rivers-rambles21]

The one with the flipping

Part 10 of The one where Bucky has a cute neigbour series!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader (f)

Summary | Reader and Bucky become friends after he saves her from  a creep in their apartment building. Each chapter explores a different point in their friendship - very slow burn!

Warnings | 18+ only, Smut in later chapters (this is a slow burn), swearing, unprotected sex, oral sex, (later chapters)

We’re starting to see more from The Falcon and The Winter Soldier - there are some bits taken from the show to help shape the story.

We’ll also be seeing Y/N & Bucky texting whilst he’s away

Chapter 10 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 1 | Masterlist

It didn’t feel right with Bucky away. Although he’d only been gone for just over a day you felt the void he left. Over the past few months you’d become inseparable, seeing each other every day - whether it be hitting the gym together, cooking or just hanging out.

After coming home from yet another terrible day at work, you wanted nothing more than to open a bottle of wine and binge watch TV with Bucky who was undoubtedly now your best friend. 

You were two glasses in when you heard a banging outside your apartment door. 

Stepping out into the hallway you were greeted with two cops hammering away on Bucky’s door, nearly breaking it clean off. “Excuse me, can I help you?” 

Both officers quickly spun on the spot and reached for their guns, stopping when they saw you were on your own. “Do you know the man who lives here?” 

“Yes, do you?”

“Ma’am do you know where he is?” 

“No I don’t” You lied, not trusting the two men infront of you. 

One of their radios suddenly turned on “-he’s is now in custody in Baltimore” 

Both cops nodded to one another before turning back to you. “Nevermind ma’am” 

You watched as they left as quickly as they arrived before running back into your apartment, grabbing your phone and frantically calling Bucky. You tried a few more times before stuffing your wallet into your purse and heading for the door. 

Fortunately you managed to catch a last minute flight to Baltimore after confirming with the police precinct they were holding him in . You hadn’t thought twice about going to him, your heart ached at the thought of him being confined to a cell, trapping him like an animal. 

After paying the cab driver your fare, you sprinted into the precinct heading straight for the desk. 

“Hi, you’re holding my friend Bucky -  I mean James Barnes.” You panted, tired from the sprint to the officer behind the desk.

“Who the hell are you?” 

Turning around, you came face to face with someone you instantly recognised. “Falcon” You grinned, a little bit star struck at meeting an actual Avenger. 

Sure Bucky was one too but to you he wasn’t some superhero on the evening news who fought aliens and terrorists, he was just Bucky - your friend who stole your food and listened to your never ending rants. 

Realising you hadn’t answered his question, you continued. “I’m Y/N, a friend of Bucky’s.” You extended your hand out to him which he shook. 

“Sam” He replied, releasing your hand from his. 

“The one who believes wizards are real” You joked, trying to remove the tension. 

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told the cyborg, a wizard is a sorcerer without a hat!”

“Uhuh” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Have they said when they’ll let him out yet?” 

Sam gestured you to the seating area and sat down. “Once his therapist arrives they’ll let him out.” You sat in comfortable silence for a few moments as the busy precinct bustled around you, cops and civilians passing through constantly. 

Sam was the first to break the silence. 

“Do you want to watch a funny video?”

The first time you watched the video of Bucky jumping out of the plane you were worried sick he’d hurt himself with his terrible landing. But by the fifth time watching it you’d found it hysterical as you laughed along with Sam as you watched the video over and over again from different angles to kill the time. 

Reluctantly, you left the waiting area and headed to the restroom to relieve yourself. When you came back you were stumped to find Sam wasn’t where you’d left him. 

“Excuse me, do you know where the man that was sat there went?” You asked the officer behind the desk. 

“Therapy session” She replied, pointing towards the double doors before returning back to furiously typing on her computer. 

“Thanks” You muttered before returning back to your seat, patiently waiting. 

You didn’t have to wait for long before Sam came back with an annoyed look etched across his face. “He’ll be out in a minute” he said as he passed by you, heading for the exit. 

With a sigh of relief you stood from your seat and adjusted your clothing as you watched the door with eager eyes. 

The moment you saw him through the small windows you felt all the stress and anxiety of the day seep out of you as you saw he was relatively okay. 

Bucky must have been distracted as he didn’t notice you standing in front of him until his eyes landed on you, his mouth hanging open in shock. 

“Hey Buck” 

“Doll what are you doing here?” He asked as he strode over to you, pulling you into him in a tight hug, your face pressed against his warm chest. Your arms wound around his back, pulling him in closer, his scent overwhelming your senses. He left a kiss upon your head before pulling back slightly to look down at you, searching for answers. 

“Cops came to your apartment looking for you, and then I heard they’d got you and I just panicked. Are you okay?” Reaching up, you cupped his face in your hand, your thumb stroking his soft cheek. 

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment before he opened them again, suddenly aware of where you were. 

“C’mon lets get out of here.” Taking your hand in his, he led you out of the station and into the fresh evening air. 

A shiver ran down your spine as the cold air hit your bare arms. In your rush to go after Bucky you’d foolishly foregone a jacket. 

Instantly noticing your discomfort, Bucky dropped your hand and shrugged his jacket off and wrapped it around your shoulders, the leather swamping your form. 

“Thanks” You said shyly, Bucky merely smiled back at you in response. 

“Well I feel better” Sam’s voice broke you out of the moment as he walked up to you both. Bucky opened his mouth to respond before being interrupted by the sound of a siren and flashing lights.

“Gentlemen!” You recognised the voice from the news - the Captain America knock off. “Good to see you again.” 

You felt Bucky's hand slide down your arm to grasp your hand once again as he walked towards the imposter, angling you behind him. 

“Look, if we divide ourselves, we don’t stand a chance, you guys know that.” 

“So what do you got?” Sam asked, rolling his eyes. 

“Well the leaders name’s Karli Morgenthau. We’ve been targeting civilians who’ve been helping Karli move from place to place.”

“They geotagged a location then scrambled the signal. But our satellites have found their symbol popping up in various displaced communities all across Central and Eastern Europe.”

“We think she’s taking the medicine she just stole to one of these camps.” 

“Well, there are hundreds of those all over the planet since The Blip so I guess you’ll have to look real hard.” If it wasn’t for present company you’d have rolled your eyes at Bucky’s sarcasm.

“Good thing I have 20/20 vision, huh?”

“Where is she now, Walker? Do you know?” 

“No we don’t know Bucky. It’s only a matter of time before we find out”  

“Things are really intense for you, aren’t they Walker” Your lips twitched as you fought off a smirk.

“Take it easy. Look Walker’s right. It is imperative that we find them and stop them. But you guys have rules of engagement and all kinds of authorisations you have to get. We’re free agents. We’re more flexible. So it wouldn’t make sense for us to work with you.” 

You all turned to walk away, Bucky squeezing your hand as you did before fake Captain America stopped you in your tracks. “A word of advice then… stay the hell out of my way.” The two men turned and began to walk before Walker stopped again. “Nice to finally meet you Y/N” 

You felt Bucky tense as he turned back to the two men, his eyes glaring at them. Gently, you squeezed his hand and tugged his arm, pulling him back towards Sam, not bothering to respond to dumb and dumber. Looking down at you, he sighed before complying. 

With one last glance behind, you raised your hand as though to wave before smirking and flipping them both off instead - earning a chuckle from Sam.

A few blocks later, Sam hung back to give you and Bucky a moment alone. 

“I can’t believe you came for me doll” Bucky couldn’t keep his hands off you, he kept switching from rubbing your arms to keep you warm and tucking pieces of hair behind your ears. After the day he’d had you was a welcome sight, reminding him that not everything in his life was terrible. 

“Of course I did” You replied, confused as to why he would even doubt it. “I’d do anything for you.” Your confession came as a shock to both of you. You weren’t quite sure as to why you voiced your feelings, maybe it was the day of stress finally getting to you, or the realisation what Bucky and Sam was up to was dangerous and you feared losing him. But regardless of your reasoning, you didn’t regret saying it. 

Bucky's breath hitched as his blue eyes searched yours, looking for the moment where you’d crack a smile and make a joke out of it. But that didn’t happen. 

Gently, Bucky leant forward and pressed his lips against your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “I don’t want you getting caught up in this doll.” His right hand cradled the back of your head as his eyes sought yours, trying to memorise every part of your face, committing it to memory. 

“I’ll stay out of it, I promise. I just couldn’t bear the thought of you caged up again-” Your voice had become erratic as you processed the days events. Bucky pulled you into another hug, silencing you as he did, his metal hand rubbing up and down your back. 

“I’ll be fine y’know that right? But I have to stop these people Y/N, the serum can’t end up in the wrong hands. I need you to trust me, to trust I know what I’m doing.” 

You merely nodded in response, too caught up in the feeling of being in his arms. 

Bucky pulled away from the hug and stroked your cheek, wiping away the tears you hadn’t realised had fallen. “Cmon, where’s that smile?” 

You couldn’t resist his boyish charm and smiled back at him, although weakly. 

“Attagirl”

__________________

If you’d like to be added to the tag list let me know!

 @xpurpleglitter​

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Blood of the King

Chapter 1

⚠️Warning: Talks of abortion, violence⚠️

Note: This is my second attempt at a Royal AU series. Inspired by Roo’s work. Don’t want to tag her to my garbage LOL... Not the best here at world building, but like i think i’m getting better each time. Any critiques are WELCOME.

Summery: Loki has a plan to be King.

Dark Loki x Black Reader, Royal AU

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Today the palace was a buzz with festivities. His royal highness Stark decided on a whim to throw a celebration yet again. The occasion you couldn't recall as he had thrown so many just this month.

*Boom

The commotion outside was loud and eventful. King Stark's lavish party had no doubt gone out of control again. You remembered one evening the royal court drunkenly shot cannons into the royal shire using the sheep and cattle as targets. Scaring half the Kingdom into thinking it had come under siege.

Though something seemed very different then the sounds that you were accustom to.

*Boom

There was a faint whistle in the distance and crashing sounds. Suddenly the chamber shook and the walls rattled. Crumbs of ceiling splintered and bits trickled down leaving dust to coat the hall.

You were on your way back to the chamber with fresh sheets and   a canter of fresh water when you heard  struggling. The muffled cries of your mother bellowed out through the cracked door.

Peering in you see two men, one holding her in a choke hold while the other stood in front blocking your view and watched. Their armor unfamiliar to you, you watch them frozen in horror.

----

Your mother let out a loud shriek followed by a gurgling that decreased in volume the longer it went on. The man blocking your view stepped back that's when you saw it. Your mother's body hit the floor with a thud, her throat sliced open blood pooling on the floor around them all.

"Where is the younger one? There should've been two"

"We need her alive" the other said as he sheathed his blade.

Dropping everything a loud clanging drew their attention, turning away you ran down the corridor.

Immediately you were met with another body. Crashing into it, his arms secured you in place as you shrieked and screamed. In your frenzy you looked at him and to your relief when you saw Barron Obadiah, an alley to the crown.

"M-men your lordship...S-strange men have killed m-my m-mother" you sob out.

---

"Shit that bastard! Come with me." Obadiah ordered, wrenching your arm he dragged you through the hall. His touch pained your forearm, but it was a pain you would great-fully bare to escape those men.

There was a frenzy of servants running up and down the halls. Screams and the strong stench of smoke enveloped in every direction. You looked to him for answers when he stopped to survey a corner hall, but he said nothing then tread onward.

You were scared. The castle rocked and shivered. He marched you down the hall. Mail clinked and clacked from all around along with the familiar smell of copper. Known to you to be most definitely blood.

Was the kingdom was truly under siege?

*Boom

An explosion raddled the walls with such force that Obadiah almost fell to the floor taking you with him. Luckily he caught himself on a wall and hurried through the crumbling castle.

You could feel the birth of a bruise under the stead fast grip of Barron Obadiah. The pain mixed with the clouded air irritated your eyes and filled you will nausea and dizziness.

"You brainless cow hurry!" he barked at you.

He sprinted and turned down so many hallways you found yourself lost despite your tenure. Obadiah suddenly stopped short of a door, opening it thrusting you inside. Latching it closed behind himself. The room was spars, nothing but a table and map tapestries. The far wall held a Stark banner. He made his way to it moving the banner aside revealing a door. He passed through first and you followed after. The dimly lit passage whined down in a spiral pattern. 

There was a dim light that grew the closer down you went. You huffed and panted with every step and he cursed your sluggishness. The ruckus could only faintly be heard the further down you went. You were a sweaty mess by the time you reached the last rung of the stone steps.

The stairwell turned into a narrow hall. Awaiting at the end of it a meek fellow with a horse drawn two wheeled cart.

You looked at Obadiah confused as to what was to transpire here. He sprinted down the corridor so fast that you would have found it humorous if you weren't so scared and confused. He reached the  man and by the flailing of his arms you knew it could not be good.

Why was he yelling at this man? What was going on? Was he to ride in this meek two wheeled cart? Would he make you walk behind the it?

You could barely keep pace with him doubtful you could keep step with a mare. This whole thing was preposterous.

After the barrage of insults the man walked to the back of the cart and lifted the tarp. The cart was filled with barrels.

Obadiah called your name as he marched over to you.

"The castle is under siege we must hurry" he said flatly. There was no time for questions and even if you asked you doubt he would’ve answered.

"Keep your head down and follow close behind him. Do you understand." He barked as he loaded himself onto the cart.

Looking at him worried, you trembled as you shook 'Yes'. "As soon as you see the docks I want you to knock on this barrel." You watched as he pointed. The owner of the cart tossed the tarp over Obadiah once he seated himself. His broad frame mirroring one of the many barrels in the cart.

---

You were not royalty, but your clothes where of the royal brand. Even to the untrained eye you would surely be seen as a royal slave. Walking with this man would've been out of place. With the madness going on about the kingdom you only hoped that the invaders cared not for slaves.

The stranger said nothing, only leading his mare by its reigns. You lowered your head and followed behind him.

Quietly he marched past the markets and crumbled houses. The reign of Stark was coming to an end. There was fire and destruction everywhere. Blood painted the streets. Unfamiliar banners flew through the air.

The city was burning.

You kept your head down as the man lead his horse through town toward the gate. How the horse did not become skittish or fazed by the carnage was an amazement.

"AAAAAHHHHH" a man's screamed out. Your head sought to find its owner. Feet from you an unfamiliar soldier of Stark's lay as you cross the gates out of the Royal court. His throat slashed, convulsing on his own blood as he choked it up.

You trembled at the sight of it all. More horses with strange banners flew past. Wringing your hands in your chest you said a silent prayer for safe passage.

The kingdom did not reside too far from the docks. Eventually the smell of the salty sea mixed with the smokey air. When the docks finally where in your line of sight you knocked the barrels.

As you approached you could see a soldier posted up at the entry way to the docking ships.

"Oye cargo for the Laufeyson" the meek man announced.

The soldier was covered in armor, but it was not embroider with the logos you had seen about your kingdom. He grunted then side-stepped letting him pass.

The owner of the cart walked straight to a bridge leading up to a massive ship. Lifting the lid Obadiah exited. He handed the man a satchel and sent him on his way.

When you looked back at the horizon it looked as if the sun had set upon the town. The fire was so bright you were sure nothing could survive it.

"Do not dawdle" he grumbled. You kept your head low and followed him up the gangway.

---

As you two boarded the ship a crewman appeared on the deck. He called to Obadiah and beckoned him to follow. Leading you both through the ship, he stopped short of a massive open door.

Obadiah walked through with you following close behind. The crewman did not enter the room only retreating from which he came.

To the north of the room a wall made of windows, but with the  moon already high, it offered barely any light. A thick melting candle added to the illumination. It flickered slightly from the air that seeped through the walls.

The candle planted on a table in the middle of the room and sat at it a man unknown to you. His garb was unlike any you've seen before. His pulchritudinous had you almost breathless.

---

"Prince Loki! I see the sea hath treated you well."  Obadiah's voice boomed. At the mention of his title your eyes widen and you bow sharply, praying that he would not find insult in your insolence.

"Ah yes the Lord doth bless us with a safe passage. And howbeit your journey through this perilous night?" He spoke. The foreign intonation sent an unfamiliar heat within you.

"It was a trip taken sooner then expected" his annoyance shown through every word as he marched to the table.

"We agreed to wait did we not? So why pray tell do I find myself blind sided by your recklessness? I barely escaped with clothes on my back" he spat out.

Obadiah snarkiness didn’t go unnoticed. Through your lashes you caught the slightest tick of the Prince's eye.

If Barron Obadiah had been a servant surely he would have been laid out on the floor. Beaten within an inch of his life for such insolence. But he was so unaware of himself due to Stark’s own lax policies.

"I do apologize my brother is quite unalienable when it comes to war. His spontaneity is one of which I can not control. Your life should suffice for now surely." He quipped, but there was something to his tone that sent your nerves awry.

You could feel Obadiah control his ire a sight you were accustom to when he talked to King Stark.

"Let us partake in some wine and toast to officially solidify our alliance" The prince suggested. Barron Obadiah took his place at the wooden table across him.

The Barron had a hand in treason. Would you be fated to treason too?

"Maid do you forget your duties?" The prince called out to you.

You had forgot yourself, but how could you not. This was not your Prince, from what you knew this was not your king's ship. But you were being made to serve a traitor and the invaders royalty.

Looking about the room, wooden cabinets were built into the east walls. In your unfamiliar surroundings you prayed as you rushed to them, hoping to find something.

Opening the higher doors first you find chalices set atop a shelf and a decanter. Grabbing two and the wine you bring them over to the table you place them in front of the men. Shakily you pour in both cups to their fill and set back against the wall.

"To small victories" they rose their goblets and drank.

----

When he gulped down the wine Obadiah winced and shot up to his feet. Dropping his goblet to the floor, clawing at his neck as if to rip out the contents.

You looked at him in horror. Then your eyes sought Prince Loki for guidance, but his reaction was not what you expected. A smile was adorned on his face so pleased and joyous of the sight.

Baron Obadiah dropped to the ground foaming, spasming, puking and turning colors. Loki continued drinking his wine unfazed.

"You bastard!" Obadiah choked out as bile spilled from him.

You stepped back when Barron Obadiah's arm reached out to your skirt. His fingers barely missing the hem of your dress. The sight horrified you as he convulsed. When his gasping stopped you knew he was for the worms now.

Would whatever had bewitched him would possessed you too?

"Right" The Prince leered at you as you pressed yourself into the wall. You were normally slow, but this was quick to put together. It was his doing.

This must’ve been some test of loyalty to the crown you thought to yourself. Now because you escaped with Obadiah you would be seen as a traitor too. Even if you tried to explain your innocence, you doubted highly that the Prince would believe a slave.

Looking at the now dead Obadiah then to Prince Loki, you knew what was next. Death. Clasping your hands you fell to your knees, squeezing your eyes closed tight. You spoke your last rights to which ever god that would hear it. You were no fool. Begging would be pointless you rather speak to the gods to grant you safe passage to the next world.

"I do say dear that prayers like that would have you condemn as a heretic" he admonished as tears streamed down your face.

---

You could not hear him. You continued to pray.

Let it be swift. Let it not hurt. Forgiveness please I beg of thee.

Hoping against hope that this would wash away all your sins as tears burst through your tightened lids.

"It is said that Stark despite his rumored infidelity never had a whisper of a bastard." He recalled as he took a sip from his cup. The mention of a bastard broke through your prayers. A sudden sense of nausea bubbled up within you.

"Then... At my brothers wedding to your princess, our then queen, your king's lips became loose as the wine flowed through the night." As he spoke you looked up at him through your clasped hands. Your prayers lowered to a meager whisper so that you could hear him.

You swallowed deeply. You knew exactly what he was getting at. Your hands drop to your side and you quieted yourself. His steely eyes staring into your soul. He knew what you were and what you did.

Were you being brought to the high church? Why would a Prince be labored with such a task? Was the church the cause for the anarchy tonight?

To be brought before the high church meant death, that one should never wish upon any enemy. You had seen the burnings before, the screams of the unholy, the sounds of which would visited you at night. The way the writhed in agony as the flames lapped their flesh.

Looking over to the Barron's lifeless body the thought of his death seemed more humane. So you turn on your knees and jump to the spilled chalice. Before you knew it the Prince was on you.

Pinning you to the floor, your head bounced off the floor sending you into a daze, his hands engulfed your wrist. Looming over you his silken hair tickled your face, the tendrils brushing at your tears. Despite his overpowering your body strained and clawed for the spilled cup.

"Find yourself honored girl. I do not make a habit to lowering myself."

"Please your highness... I'm merely a simple chambermaid" you try and reason, still fighting his hold.

-----

He got up still with your wrist in hand and dragged you to Obadiah's empty chair. The more you pulled back the harder the grip he held on you. Pushing you down on it, he enclosed you, his hands resting on its arms forming your prison.

"Your highness I implore you I know not what you mean?" Your voice quaked. Your vision doubled as the salty tears pooled on your eyes.

His stare was paralyzing as he lifted to straighten himself, you could not bring yourself to move. Racking his fingers through his dark main, watching as he walked around the table, taking his seat again across from you.

"How did you come about this trade" his tone was flat an ominous, he cradled his chin with one hand, stroking it with his slender fingers.

Your shoulders sagged forward and stomach knotted. This Prince was here to interrogate you on behalf of the church you knew it.

Then he would take you to them to be burned. An example to be made in front of The High Church.

"I asked you a question girl." His tone lacking patients.

----

"My mother..." As he held your sullen gaze you knew he wanted you to continue. "The women of town would come to her pregnant and leave...." You swallowed thickly "virginal."

It was not a flawless procedure often women have bleed out. But they would be good as dead if they were to arrived home pregnant unmarried in the eyes of The Church.

"And how did you find yourself as a dutiful servant to Stark?"

"Lord Rhodery knew of my mother by means of his sister. She was carrying the king's bastard." You said looking down to tug at the loose string of your dress.

"A month later my mother and I were sent by cover of night to the Royal castle.  From there on Stark had us stay under the guise as chambermaids."

"Who knew of this?"

"Very few just King Stark, Barron Obadiah and Lord Rhodery. They would bring the maidens to an east tower. People rarely ventured there. Our face was covered all throughout."

"So you know how to hold your tongue. A feature I admire.”

----

 "When we dock you will be taken to the servants quarters in your new Kings castle" Prince Loki spoke so softly, his calmness somehow setting you on edge.

You wrung your hands together in your lap, tapping your heel as he pulled something from his clothes. It was a bit of folded parchment with a wax seal. You could not read, but you always were fond of the squiggles that decorated paper.

"A portly woman will be there to greet you when you arrive. Give this to her." He out stretched his hand that held a parchment to you. Reaching for it, but Prince Loki pulled it away suddenly.

"Hide it away.” He ordered, you hesitated as you thought of where to stash it. You jumped when he rose again and stood in front of you once more.

“If anyone asks where you are from. Tell them you are from a province just out side my domain.” As Prince Loki spoke you stiffened and gasped.

The Prince's hand glided down your collar bone tracing down to the crack of your bosom. The folded paper clipping your chin as he moved. When he shoved it forcefully down bypassing your breast with the parchment you yelped. 

The paper edges poking at your softness made you fidget uncomfortably. Your eyes were larger than saucers as he caressed your breast when he pulled away.

"You will be a wall. A piece of furniture. An unassuming figure amongst the abysmal castle life. Listen for everything. Ears open at all times. The minorist of details commit them to memory as you never know when the slightest detail would come into play.”

You did not respond, still stunned and confused. If he wasn’t bringing you to the church you weren’t sure what he had planned for you.

Prince Loki called out to someone beyond you. The squeaks on the floor boards announced their entrance. Turning you find the man that guided you to this room. Bowing his head towards the prince.

"Take her and make sure she arrives to my brother’s safely."

XXX

Chapter 2>>

[retiredcultistredux]

(long post)

Void Termina turned around to face Prince Fluff, frowning. This was that one angry blue guy with the big eyebrows who got his arm ripped off, right? ...That could be a problem, and not one he wanted to deal with.

In fact, Prince Fluff had already rushed forward, only to completely miss Void Termina, instead rushing beneath where he was floating. ...So that wasn't a great attempt on Prince Fluff's part. Not to mention Ester and Javez were there looking like they'd just kill him if he tried anything else. ...So what was there to do?

Well, Void Termina answered that question.

He then floated up into the air, beginning to glow brightly. There was a flash of light followed by two separate lights forming around Ester and Javez, bright enough that they couldn't even be seen through it. Everyone had to shield their eyes once more.

[...Meanwhile...]

After flying through a rift, dealing with the dizziness that came with it and drifting through space for a bit, Magolor, Flamberge and Francisca had made it to Jambandra. They started to make their way through the halls, each having a different demeanor.

Francisca was calm and determined, Flamberge was a little more impatient and loud, floating ahead of the others, and Magolor was moving a little slower, his anxieties starting to creep up on him again.

Magolor: "...I know, but...n-now that we're here, I...f-feel this...dread...s-something b-bad is h-happening..."

Francisca: "Well, we need to be strong. For the sake of Hyness and everyone else."

Flamberge: "Yeah! And we'll back you up if things get dicey!"

Magolor: "...Th-Thanks, you two. I appreciate it."

[The focus has shifted back to Magolor, Flamberge and Francisca for a bit as they make their way through Jambandra.]

[otonymous]

Kissed By The Baddest CEO (MLQC Victor x KBTBB - NSFW)

Description: Old flames and prospective lovers threaten to derail your budding romance with Victor before it even begins.  How will you extricate yourselves from a web of misunderstandings?

Warnings:

NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Potential Trigger Warnings: profanity, jealousy, angst, exes, mentions of alcohol, bone fetishes, rough sex, 69 sex position (oral sex), mirror sex, vaginal intercourse, swallowing, size kink

Mild spoilers for Victor’s family history (MLQC); slight bending of MLQC & KBTBB canon universes via creation of original side character

Word Count: ~10K words (please set aside a good chunk of time for some fluff, angst and smut 🤣)

Author’s Notes:

First of all, a GIANT thank you to the super gracious @lin-ful​ for commissioning this Victor piece from me.  You are an absolute joy to work with and I really appreciate the fact that you gave me carte blanche to basically do whatever I wanted 🤣  I really hope you enjoy the read!  (P.S. I would never be so sadistic as to ever make you choose between Victor and Eisuke, so please rest easy 😆)

This story is especially significant to me as a writer because it represents the culmination of a number of milestones: the first time I’ve created an original character, my first attempt at writing a crossover story, the first time I’ve written in both first- and second-person perspectives.  It is also the longest single piece I’ve ever written.  That being said, please note the warnings listed above and happy reading! 😊

Nb. This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, and incidents are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1: Hello Diana

“Really Vic, I thought you were beyond name calling by now.”  

Her voice is sultry and low, smooth in your ears like the whiskey in her tumbler.  Completely at ease in a couture Givenchy pantsuit that likely cost more than one of your production budgets, she sat with her legs elegantly crossed in a leather armchair, tipping her glass to vermillion lips.  And as the flames danced in the imposing marble fireplace of one of Shanghai’s oldest and most exclusive supper clubs, they reflected off an enormous ruby ring gracing her middle finger.

Victor scoffs, taking a sip of his own whisky and glancing at you as you follow suit with the virgin cocktail he ordered on your behalf while you were in the restroom.

He was so infuriating at times, but at least it wasn’t warmed milk.

“First of all, you weren’t meant to hear that.  Secondly, I hardly consider ‘dummy’ name calling.  Far worse exists when it comes to options, as I'm sure you can attest to, Diana. You’ve used quite a few in your day.”

Amusement spreads across her fine features as she throws her head back in laughter, the sound enticing even as it disrupts the low chatter in the room.  However, none of the men looking her way seemed to mind.  She was brimming with so much joie de vivre that even you weren’t immune to her charms, smiling despite the anxiety that sat heavy in your chest from the very moment Victor introduced you to Diana Shum that evening.

You didn’t quite know why you felt ill at ease, especially towards someone who was doing you a favour by brokering a major deal on behalf of your company.  Well, more like doing Victor a favour, since he was the one who made the request.  Perhaps this was how all men felt in the presence of such a woman: elegantly confident and unapologetically vivacious, drawing attention everywhere she went.

“Are you still dredging up stories from our Oxford days, Victor?  Not very gentlemanly of you.  How do you put up with him?”  Diana turns to wink at you and the spotlight of her attention makes you feel like the only other person in the room.  “Let me assure you those boys deserved every insult in the book; one-track minds and transparent to boot.  They should consider themselves lucky I even acknowledged their sad existence.”  

“Di, you made the Prime Minister’s son cry.  You should’ve seen those puffy eyes the next morning at the swim meet against Cambridge."  

Victor raises his brows, subtle amusement colouring his expression.  And simple though it was, the sight of his handsome face so transformed by the faint smile on his lips made your heart race.  

No, there’s no way.  It’s probably just the fatigue catching up to you.  The flight to Shanghai from Loveland City must’ve been more taxing than you initially thought, even though Victor had graciously offered to let you hitch a ride on his private jet.  You place a hand on your chest, trying to calm the frenzied rhythm of your heart.  The gesture goes unnoticed by Diana but Victor throws a worried glance in your direction.  You smile to ease his concerns.  He furrows his brows.

“Oh please, I should’ve ripped him a new one with the way he tried to get frisky on our date.  He’s lucky I didn’t call Soryu to deal with him and his wandering hands.”

A sudden change seeps into Victor’s eyes, dark irises softening as if focused on something miles away.  “Soryu.  How is your cousin doing, by the way?”

Diana leans back, taking another sip of her drink.  “You’ll see for yourself soon enough.  I take it you are accompanying this lovely producer to Tokyo to meet with Eisuke and wherever the Ichinomiya heir is, Soryu isn’t far behind.  In all honesty though, Vic, surely you would know better than I.  Weren’t the three of you thick as thieves during prep school?”

You perk up at the topic of Victor’s childhood.  It was a rare chance to learn about the formative years of this stone-faced man before he became the slave driver of Loveland Financial Group.  

“I was only there for a year and a half with Soryu and Eisuke before…before my mother passed.  My father sent for me shortly afterwards.  I haven't seen them since.”

Deep voice trailing off, Victor’s gaze shifts to the fireplace where it remains, as if hypnotized by the flicker of orange flames.  And as the silence stretches on, you become disconcerted to see him so uncharacteristically lost in his thoughts.  You reach out to touch him but Diana beats you to it, laying a delicate hand on top of his much larger one as it rests on the leather armrest.

The gesture is ridiculously small for how much it blindsides you — the sight of her hand on Victor’s dazzling like the light reflecting off her ruby ring.

He blinks at the touch, long lashes fluttering in the split-second it takes for him to compose himself and suddenly, the unflappable CEO is back again.  

“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and we should probably call it a night.  But you have my thanks, Diana, for setting up this meeting with the Ichinomiya Group.”

It was Diana’s turn to scoff.  “Can we please dispense with the formalities, Victor?  Soryu mentioned Eisuke was having difficulty finding the right people to make this documentary on the anniversary of his Tres Spades Tokyo hotel, so it was serendipity that we bumped into each while on business in London.  It’s a win-win situation.  Meant to be.”

Meant to be.

There is a spark of something in Diana’s eyes when she makes that last statement.  It stays with you long after you part ways with Victor for the night, lying awake in your hotel room as you wondered whether the LFG CEO was already asleep in his.

Chapter 2: SOS

“You’re awfully quiet.  Should I take this to mean that you already know everything about Eisuke Ichinomiya and his chain of luxury hotels?"

Victor speaks without raising his head, leafing through the documents on his lap and stopping periodically to leave his signature with the same gold pen that marked up your reports. Its barrel glowed warm, reflecting the soft lights of the cabin of his private jet, en route to Tokyo from Shanghai.

Letting out a shaky breath, you try to steel yourself despite the rising heat in your cheeks.  Because after a night spent tossing and turning in your hotel room, you arrived at a conclusion so absurd it could only be true:  

You were in love with Victor Li.

Against all odds, the bane of your life had become your biggest ally and mentor.  All the pieces of the square puzzle that was the LFG CEO had fallen into place to form one coherent and beautiful picture:

His exacting demands transformed into standards of excellence, his workaholism a paragon of commitment and dedication.

And though you were loathe to admit it, each soft utterance of “dummy” leaving his lips made the corners of yours turn up in the goofiest of grins.

Oh god, how did it ever come to this?!  Where and when along the rocky path of your working relationship with the slave driver did you fall in love with him?  But that wasn’t even the worst of it.  If your intuition about the previous night’s events served you well, the beautiful Diana Shum was also enamoured of him.

You turn to Victor, meaning to inform him with utmost confidence that you had already conducted extensive research on the Ichinomiya Group’s charismatic CEO and his chain of casino hotels.  You even thought to throw in a snarky reminder that he himself had been marginally impressed with the presentation you gave on the topic back in Loveland City.

“Are you close to Diana Shum?”

Was NOT what had you meant to ask.  Especially in a voice that cracked like a 12 year old pubescent boy’s.  And if there was a way by which you could’ve drowned in a bottle of water, you would’ve gladly done so.  Instead, you settle for gulping it down, trying to keep your stupid mouth from spewing more nonsense in front of the man who was your de facto boss.

“Ahem.”  Victor clears his throat, long legs uncrossing as he shifts in his seat.  Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the muscles of that chiseled jaw settling firm.

“I-I’m so sorry.  It’s none of my business.  You don’t have to answer-"

“I’ve known her for a while, if that’s what you’re asking.  She’s a classmate from university and also a cousin of a friend of mine from prep school, as you’ve probably gathered from yesterday’s conversation.  Since graduation, she’s taken over her father’s role as CEO of Shum Property Developments and we’ve partnered periodically on various business ventures…”

He continues and you nod at the appropriate times, half listening as a million thoughts filtered through your head: your surprise at how unusually verbose Victor was being, the relief you felt to see that he was as determined to avoid your gaze as you were his.  Because the truth was that the longer he went on about Diana — so beautiful, polished and charming that you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate her even if you tried — the harder it was to keep the clouds from darkening your face.  And when Victor says,

“Not like it has any bearing on anything now, but we also dated for a short period of time…”

…It hurts to breathe.

Finally turning in your direction, Victor fixes you with a scrutinizing gaze.  “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, um, I just…wanted to know a bit more about the person who helped me and my company.  So I can better thank her later.”

You speak without meeting his eyes, hoping to placate him with a quick smile as you pretend to rummage through your purse.  Thankfully, he drops the topic, returning to his documents.  And though the rest of the plane ride is spent in near silence, the thoughts in your head have never been so loud.

Chapter 3: Sexy Bones [Victor]

She wore that dress today.  The same one she had on when she impudently stormed my office to insist that I give her company a final chance before pulling funding:

Fitted to conform to every curve, yet formal enough to be professional.  Beautifully sensual in her usual understated way.  My favourite shade of red.

“It’s my go-to outfit when I need a confidence boost,” she told me once in between bites of pudding at Souvenir.  “It makes me feel like a queen, like I can do no wrong.  Perfect for business meetings I just have to nail, you know?”

“Dummy,” I had said then, feigning dismissiveness so she wouldn’t pick up on the way my eyes kept drifting towards her lips, so soft and plush I couldn’t help but wonder if her kisses would carry a hint of caramel sweetness.

It was true that the girl could be incredibly dense at times, playing at being queen when she already ruled my heart.  Or how oblivious she was to the fact that the British doctor was completely smitten with her during today’s meeting at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel.

Dr. Luke Foster.

Completely absorbed in reading through what looked to be like a stack of medical journals, Dr. Foster had largely ignored us while Eisuke and Soryu made quick work of introducing the eclectic mix of other associates in the room:

Ota Kisaki, the so-called “Angelic Artist” whose work I was well-acquainted with, having previously spent a small fortune on his painting, Koro of My Kokoro.

Baba Mitsunari, a charming man whose handsome features were made all the more striking by the black fedora and red suit he wore.  The girl pointed out that he bore an uncanny resemblance to the cashier we saw at a convenience store earlier that day and I had to agree.

They glossed over a man named Mamoru Kishi, apparently sound asleep in one corner of the room with his face covered by a newspaper and a full ashtray by his side.

Finally, they came to Luke Foster, a blond-haired man with the air of an English gentleman.  Eisuke explained that Dr. Foster was the hotel’s on-site physician as well as a fellow alumnus of our prep school, apparently having left for reasons no one wanted to articulate the year before I transferred in.

And when the doctor finally looked up at us from his readings, his eyes took on an almost maniacal quality to see the girl standing by my side.

“Those proportions, those angles….perfect…absolutely perfect!”  He exclaimed as if in a daze, standing up suddenly and causing the reading materials to spill from his lap in the process.

He looked completely unhinged, almost like a zombie as he reached out a pale hand towards her collarbones of all places.  I stepped in front of her on reflex, only to have the doctor fix me with a piercing gaze as if he had just become aware of my existence and found it thoroughly offensive.

“Annnnd there he goes again,” Ota’s tone was one of exasperation, but there was no mistaking the amusement in the smirk that spread wide across his face.

“Ooh, Lu’s got a new victim!  Maybe now he can finally stop staring at the Boss’s girl every time she comes in to clean the penthouse!”  Baba chimes in, fingers stroking at his chin as if hatching some mischievous plan.

“Will the lot of ya shaddup!?  I’m tryin’ to sleep over here…zzz…” The man with the papers over his head gave a muffled shout before promptly rolling over onto his side.

Soryu just sighed, running a hand over his face.  And just when I began to worry that the girl was scared out of her wits, having wandered into this strange den of wolves, she surprised me by chuckling under her breath.  

Did the dummy find this funny?

“Tch, ignore them, Victor.  Let’s just get on with the presentation,” Eisuke said as he took his seat at the head of a long table.  The girl straightened up and immediately got to work, transforming into the consummate professional she always was when it came down to business.  I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as I watched her nail her pitch.

Taking a surreptitious glance around at her rapt audience, I stopped at Luke.  The intensity of the doctor's stare made me uneasy, the way those blue-grey eyes hovered above the scooped neckline of her red dress, tracing along her collarbones as if he were caressing them with his gaze alone.  I mentally berated myself for not putting my suit jacket over her shoulders before she got up there.

And though it was spoken under his breath, Dr. Foster’s murmur of “sexy bones” rang loud and clear in my ears.

Chapter 4: In A (Traffic) Jam [Victor]

“Victor, you won’t believe my luck!  Not only did we cinch the Ichinomiya account, I also found the perfect candidate to appear on our Mystery Finder show!”

The girl was practically breathless on the other end of the line, words jumbling together as they came a mile a minute.  And though her enthusiasm is as infectious as it is adorable, I remind myself to play it cool.  “Really.  And who might that be?”

“Dr. Foster!”

HONK!

I swerve back into my lane on reflex, narrowly avoiding an accident as the driver next to me flips me the bird before speeding away.  My heart raced, beating fiercely against the cage of my chest, but it had little to do with my near brush with death.

At this moment, I was more concerned with a man who looked like Death himself.

“Oh my god, Victor, what was that?  Are you okay?”  The concern in her voice is palpable and it makes me think of how kind and tenderhearted she is, of how easily someone could exploit that to their advantage.  “This is a bad time, isn’t it?  I’m so sorry, I’ll call you ba-”

“Don’t worry about it, just some idiot not paying attention on the road.  And what's this about, ahem, Dr. Foster?"  The name itself was unsavoury, sticking in my throat until I spat it out.  I hoped the vitriol escaped her notice.

“Okay Victor, get this: it’s like the man has X-ray vision!”

She whispers for dramatic effect, and my grip tightens on the steering wheel as I picture those slate grey eyes sweeping over the curves of her body, a lewd expression falling over the doctor’s features.  He was a handsome enough man, that much was true; intelligent and a first-rate surgeon according to Eisuke and Soryu.  Goldman confirmed as much when I had him dig up all available information on Luke Foster.  On that basis alone, many women would find him to be an extremely attractive suitor and ludicrous though it is, I can’t help but think the worst.  Luke had been quite open in his admiration of her, especially her collarbones.  What if she returned the sentiment?

In retrospect, it was a horrible idea to leave her to her work (and that wolf) in Tokyo while I returned to mine in Loveland City.  While she had the company of her coworkers, clearly none of them sensed the danger in Luke Foster that I did.  I no longer had the right to call her a dummy when I was obviously the idiot here.

“I’m telling you Victor, he can just look at somebody and tell you everything about their bone structure.  It’s too accurate to just be guesswork!  Apparently, he can remember anyone he's ever laid eyes on based on their bones.  It’s incredible.  I’d love for Professor Lucien to meet him.  If only he had the time to fly out to Tokyo…”

The girl continues and I catch sight of my furrowed brows in the rear-view mirror, deepening the longer she goes on and on about men who weren’t me.

“…He’s already agreed to be a guest on the show!  But…he did make a rather strange request."

For a moment, I can barely breathe.  The skin over my knuckles blanches as it stretches tight, my grip on the wheel growing harder as I brace for unwelcome news.  God knows what she would’ve agreed to in my absence.  Filled with a sense of dread, I had to know all the same.  “Which was?…”

She pauses, the hitch in her breath subtle but speaking volumes nonetheless.

“Just say it, dummy.”  I soften my tone in encouragement though my mind was already racing, thinking of all the ways my legal team could dissolve a contract should the girl have already signed papers.

“Well, he…he asked if he could examine my body in lieu of payment for appearing on the show.  You should’ve seen him!  He was so desperate he was practically begging and I…I just couldn't say no."  

MOTHERFUCK!

Chapter 5: Role Model

“STUPID VICTOR LI!”

You had meant to throw the rolled-up magazine in dramatic rock star fashion, sending it flying across your suite at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel to give at least a resounding smack as it hits the wall.  Instead, it flutters to the carpeted floor, barely a few feet from where you lay sprawled out on a bed much too large for a single person.

And from the surface of that glossy cover, Victor’s handsome face — all sharp eyes and chiseled jaw - staring up at you from beneath a headline that read: "Man On Top: How Victor Li Conquered The Business World.”

Man on top.  What a tease if there ever was one — especially since you’ve developed the recent habit of falling asleep to the fantasy of having the broad expanse of Victor’s muscular chest hovering over you.

“The only thing he should be on top of is ME!”

Your voice echoes in the room, empty save for you.  Even still, your cheeks burned from embarrassment over the absurdity of your current situation.  Victor Li didn’t belong to you.  Not when he had someone like Diana in his life.

Victor and Diana.  Diana and Victor.  A perfect match regardless of how the pieces fit.  And for an instant, your anger flares to remember the nonchalance in Victor’s voice when he told you that their past history as lovers had no bearing on the present, as if they didn’t look like they belonged together when you saw them just now in the lobby of the hotel, moments after you purchased the magazine with Victor’s face gracing the cover from one of the shops.

Practically ecstatic in your surprise to see him there at the Tres Spades, you were just about to call out to him when his name died in your throat, choked by the sight of the woman at his side.  Victor was escorting Diana to a limo waiting just beyond the revolving doors.  And the last thing you saw before the chauffeur pulled away was the two of them slipping into the vehicle together.

He hadn’t even told you he was coming to Tokyo.

It was only after you became aware of the fact that you were blocking the entrance to the shop that you recovered from the shock, murmuring apologies as you pulled yourself together just enough to make your way back to the safety of your hotel room.

Rising up off the bed, your feet sink into the lush carpeting as you pad over to where the magazine lay.  You pick it up and smooth out the crinkles, fingers tracing the outline of Victor’s profile as you do — gentle, as if you were touching the man himself.  And when your nose begins to tingle, you know it won’t be long before you feel the familiar sting of tears behind your eyes.

“Think you could stop being so nice to me, Victor?  You’ll give a girl the wrong impression.”  

Heaving a sigh, you slip the magazine beneath a pillow on the bed.  A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told you it was almost time for your dinner date with Dr. Foster.  Sitting around moping wasn’t an option, at least not tonight.  Lightly slapping your cheeks, you push the image of Victor and Diana out of your head and get ready to step into the shower.

Chapter 6: Hard To Swallow [Victor]

“I’m glad you remembered that you owe me a dinner, Victor Li.  And though I practically had to drag you to this restaurant, I guess the means don’t really matter if the end result is the same.  But still, what a lucky coincidence that we bumped into each other again at the Tres Spades of all places.  Now that’s something to drink to.”

Diana holds up her glass, Cabernet Sauvignon swirling as it meets mine with a delicate clink.  Under the table, the tip of her stiletto pushes against my oxfords before sliding past my ankle, inching its way up my leg.  I pull away, watching those red lips spread into a smile as I do.

“You might be the first man who’s ever been able to resist me.  Has anyone ever told you you’re one stubborn asshole?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She laughs at that, taking another sip of her wine before setting it down.  “So, tell me about her.”

“Her?”  I focus on cutting into my Kobe beef, already aware that Diana will see through my bluff.  She always did.

“Surely there must be another woman if you keep turning me down over and over again, Victor.  A girl has her pride too, you know.”

“We are not getting back together, Diana.”

“Tsk, you’re no fun, Vic.  All work and no play, all the time.  I’ll have to remind myself of that the next time I start entertaining thoughts of calling you up again.”

She pouts, but it isn’t long before her eyes take on that familiar spark of mischief as she continues.  

“But seriously, tell me about your cute little producer.  That is the girl you keep rejecting me for, I presume.  I need to know about the woman who’s finally managed to infiltrate the entirety of Victor Li’s notoriously impenetrable heart.  She must be quite the lover if she’s got you wrapped around her little finger like that, pulling strings with all your friends left, right and centre.”

It annoys me to no end that the mere mention of the girl is enough to reduce me to a swooning idiot.  I fight to keep the smile off my face.

“You’ve got the wrong idea.  She’s not my lover.”  

Diana begins to protest, but her words are lost on me because I’ve stopped listening.  In fact, the only thing I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, propelled by the adrenaline racing through my veins to see him enter the restaurant.

Dr. Luke Foster.  

WITH MY DUMMY, NO LESS.

And my dummy looks…absolutely gorgeous.  Her hair is done up, leaving her graceful neck and collarbones exposed in a little black dress I’ve never seen her wear before, I realize with not an insignificant amount of jealousy.

But wait…collarbones?!

Sure enough, that surgeon is staring at her clavicle like some kind of pervert.  The sight alone incites the beginnings of a dull throbbing in my temples, no doubt exacerbated by the vice-like clench of my jaws.

I follow them with my gaze as they are led to a table for two; fixate on Luke’s face even as the sommelier arrives to make his recommendations to the pair.  The doctor stares at my girl like he couldn’t care less about the meal, as if the only thing he hungered for was precisely what I myself had desired for so long: the woman.  And she—

Just looked my way.

Surprise etches itself onto her beautiful features — the brows I had dreamt of one day lightly running a fingertip over while she sleeps lifting into a delicate arch.  And why shouldn’t she be surprised?  I had given her no indication that I had rushed over to Tokyo from Loveland City as soon as I heard what Luke had requested of her.  

But there is no nod of acknowledgement, no smile in greeting.  Just her, looking away as if she hadn’t seen me at all, her smile apologetic when she retrains her attention on the doctor.  And while it was only for a fraction of a second, I could have sworn her eyes carried a hint of sorrow.

Or perhaps I’m projecting.

Because her obvious avoidance feels like a rebuff, a sucker punch to the gut.  She’s never blatantly ignored me like that, no matter how wound up she was even during those times when I verbally tore her sub-par proposals to shreds.  The feeling of rejection sits heavy on my chest, the tie around my neck much too tight.

“Victor, are you all right?”

Diana’s voice cuts through my thoughts.  She is looking at me curiously.  I reach for my glass of wine, suddenly feeling like I was on the verge of choking.  “Of course, what could possibly be wrong?”

“ ‘What’s wrong’ is the fact that you haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said for the past ten minutes.  Even if there’s no chance we’ll ever get back together again as you so adamantly insist, the least you could do is pay attention to the person you’re sharing a meal with.”

I take a deep breath, more than a little disconcerted by the girl’s ability to affect me.  “Of course.  My apologies, you’re absolutely right.  Please, continue.”

Across the candlelit table, I look Diana in the eye, resolved to keep up at least the pretence of being interested in what she had to say when all I wanted to do was storm the table where Luke sat with my girl.  With each sideways glance in their direction, my grip tightened on my utensils to see them chatting, seemingly engrossed in the world’s most interesting conversation.

And when she hands over a manila envelope to the doctor, my heart skips a beat.

Could it be…marriage documents?!

One tiny corner of my brain berates me for how ridiculous I am being but when it comes to her, I simply can’t help it, and the fantasy in which I casually stroll over, flip the table onto Luke Foster and steal my girl away in a bridal carry becomes so vivid in my mind’s eye, it almost seems like a good idea.

Diana excuses herself to use the restroom and I pounce on the opportunity to send the dummy a text:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR.  DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 7: Choked Up

“Is there something wrong, Dr. Foster?  You haven’t touched your meal.”

You do your best to school your expression into one of polite neutrality as you take in the strange sight of the pale, blond-haired man shaking out an alarming number of pills onto the palm of his hand, tapping loudly on a bottle seemingly produced out of nowhere.  He pops them all into his mouth at once and you pray you won’t have to perform the Heimlich maneuver as he chases them down with a few gulps of water.

A smile spreads across the doctor’s lips as his eyes fall upon your collarbones once more.  You were used to feeling like a third wheel by now, even when alone with Luke Foster, given his penchant for carrying on conversations while staring intently at your bones.  But you took no offence at his behaviour, especially after Baba’s attempts to give you insight into Luke’s peculiar mannerisms:

“Try not to take it personal, Miss.  Lu will look at anyone who’s got beautiful collarbones.  It’s a well-known fact that he’s obsessed with the boss’s - he's even framed the X-ray films of Eisuke’s bones.  He likely just wants yours to add to his collection.”

Strange though it was, the request that Luke be allowed to have X-rays films of your collarbones in exchange for appearing on Miracle Finder was innocent enough.  Certainly nothing that warranted the stony silence you received on the other end of the line when you called Victor the other day to tell him that Dr. Foster wanted to examine you.  After a brusque “I have to go,” he had hung up.  No goodbyes, not even a mutter of “dummy.”  

But Luke Foster had been nothing short of a perfect gentleman, never once laying a hand on you.  Moreover, he even insisted on paying for tonight’s meal despite the fact that you had invited him as thanks for appearing on the show.  

“Please, just call me Luke.  Vitamins and water are all I need to survive.  I only ordered because Eisuke said it might be awkward if you seemed to be the only one dining.”

“I-I see.”  You smile, taking another bite of wagyu.  And for a moment, you are too wrapped up in the blissful way it seemed to melt on your tongue to be disconcerted by the strange events of the evening.

You weren’t, however, too distracted to continue throwing surreptitious glances in Victor’s direction, fighting to keep composed each time Diana’s laughter carried over to your table.  What were the chances that you’d find yourselves at the same restaurant in all of Tokyo?  You know that he knows you are here; even Chik couldn’t put on a performance convincing enough for the LFG CEO to believe for a second that you didn’t see him.

With your dismal acting skills, you definitely didn’t stand a chance.

“You’re in love with him.”

COUGH, COUGH!

You clear the steak lodged in the back of your throat with a few hacking coughs, half of your face hidden behind your napkin as you tried to be as discreet as possible, the words “Death by Wagyu” flashing through your mind.  After soothing your throat with a sip of wine, you ask:

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re in love with that man sitting just over there with the woman dressed in red.  That Victor fellow who accompanied you to that first meeting with Eisuke.”

For someone who seemed to pay very little attention to matters that didn’t concern bones, Luke Foster was surprisingly perceptive.  Or maybe you weren’t as discrete as you thought you were and it was obvious to all but yourself that you were staring at the golden couple.

“I…how did you...what makes you—”

“Please pass this message on to him for me.  If he doesn’t treat your collarbones with the respect they deserve, he can’t blame me for swooping in to take his place.”

Then, for the very first time that night, Luke Foster looks you in the eye, the intensity in blue-grey irises making your breath hitch when he says: “Until then, I hope you find happiness with him, Sexy Bones — especially since he also seems to be exceedingly fond of you.  Quite the annoyance, really.”

And for the very first time that night, you smile freely, naturally, at Luke, blushing hard as you contemplate his words.  Suddenly bashful, you drop your gaze only to catch sight of the manila envelope you brought with you.  You pass it across the table to him.

“Here.  Your payment for agreeing to appear on Miracle Finder.”

The expression on Luke’s face can best be described as euphoric when he takes the films from you, momentarily excusing himself from the table as he murmurs something about requiring brighter lighting to examine them.

That is when you hear the buzz of your phone from inside your purse.  And when you finally fish it out, you see a single text from Victor, commanding as always:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR.  DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 8: Green-Eyed Monsters [Victor]

“Another whiskey on the rocks for you, Sir?”

I nod to the bartender, watching as he chips away at a block of ice to produce a perfect crystalline sphere — still spinning in the glass when he pours the amber spirit over it like a libation.  It almost takes my mind off the fact that the girl is late.  By exactly ten minutes, according to my watch.  And for a moment, I’m gripped by a sense of panic when I consider the possibility that she might not come.

She never did answer my text though I knew she saw it — having witnessed her reaching into her purse to pull out her phone seconds after I sent the message.  And while the logical part of my brain is telling me I’m being an absolute idiot, worst-case scenarios are already running through my head: the girl is side-swiped by a car while crossing the street, or somehow managed to fall into an open manhole and is currently standing knee-deep in sewage.

Or maybe she is pinned to the wall in a dark corner somewhere, hemmed in on either side by the gifted hands of a world-class surgeon by the name of Luke Foster.

I lift the glass to my lips, too impatient to even savour the smooth burn of the drink as I reach for my phone to send her another text.  That is when I see her:

Cheeks flushed and chest gently heaving as if she had rushed to get here.  An errant lock of hair falling from her up-do, framing that beautiful face like I had dreamt so many times of doing with the palm of my hand.

She makes her way towards me in that dimly lit bar, and though I’m aware of the faint ticking of the second hand of my watch, time may as well have stood still.  Because I could have lived in that moment forever, gazing upon the light in her eyes as if they held every last star in the sky, as if those heavenly bodies had fallen just for her in precisely the same way I had: deeply, irrevocably.

And I know there is no turning back.

“Victor, sorry I’m late!  What are you doing here in Tok—”  

“Why did you ignore me?”  My voice comes out stern, even to my ears, and I curse myself for losing my cool around her yet again.  The girl furrows her brows, eyes dropping from my face to the half-empty glass of whiskey sitting on the counter.  And when she looks up again, something in her countenance has changed — soft surprise giving way to a hardened expression.

“If it’s the text you’re referring to, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

She looks away, refusing to meet my gaze as she perches on the stool beside me.  “Surely you wouldn’t have wanted me to interrupt your dinner date, especially when you and Ms. Shum seemed so intimate.”

Intimate?

The bartender approaches, interrupting our conversation before I get the chance to formulate a reply.  “What can I get for you, Miss?”

“She’ll have a glass of warmed milk—”

“Whiskey.  On the rocks, please.”

She speaks over me, turning slightly in my direction as she does.  I ignore the murmur of “Ladies’ choice” from the bartender as well as the smirk on his face as he begins preparing her drink.  The thinly veiled challenge in the girl’s expression — elbow propped up on the counter with her chin resting atop a loose fist — only serves to highlight how incredibly alluring it is when she pushes back.

“Hmm.  Bold.  Since when did you start drinking whiskey?  I don’t think you need me to remind you of your non-existent alcohol tolerance.  Besides, didn’t you already have enough to drink at dinner?”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Victor Li,” she says, reaching for the glass the bartender sets down before her.  She takes a moment, staring at the rich, golden hues before finally taking a sip.  I fight to keep the smile off my face when hers pulls into a grimace from the sting of the alcohol she clearly wasn’t familiar with.  Dummy.

“I’m surprised you even noticed me at all, not with the lovely Diana there.  But I guess old wounds really do have difficulty closing, no matter how much we say they’ve healed.”

“You’d have to ask for the expert opinion of your overly friendly doctor about that.”

“Excuse me?”  She sets her drink down a bit harder than likely intended, sending the liquid sloshing about the glass to kiss the pink of her lipstick imprinted on its edge.  

I don’t like where this conversation is going, the ill-disguised barbs only serving to increase the tension between us.  It was foolish to have what should’ve been a very private discussion in a public space but, as always, the thought of her and Luke together is enough to make me forget my place and position, throwing caution to the wind and behaving with reckless abandon.

And still, the heat beneath my collar goads me on.

“Luke Foster.  The one you’re so enthralled with that your manners seem to have been completely swept from memory.  I presume that’s the reason why you didn’t acknowledge my existence when you saw me in the restaurant.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief as she leans in close, voice dripping with sarcasm: “Just like how you didn’t remember to tell me you were coming to Tokyo?  Or maybe you weren’t planning on telling me at all, since it clearly looked like you weren’t here on business.  But then again, I guess your business is none of mine.”

I don’t know whether I want to push back or kiss her senseless.

Instead, I settle for a deep breath, trying to keep my frustration in check.  Having a heated argument with her was not how I had intended my evening to go.  In fact, my entire day had not proceeded as planned, and if I hadn’t been accosted by Diana as soon as I stepped foot in the Tres Spades hotel, I would have been having dinner with the woman who occupied all my thoughts, all the time.  At the very least, I could’ve saved her from the clutches of a pervert doctor.

I glance in her direction, study the beautiful melancholy of her silent profile as she watches the ball of ice slowly melt into her drink.  Then I take another sip of mine, steeling myself for reparations I desperately needed to make.

“I am only going to say this once, so listen closely.  Diana Shum and I dated shortly after graduation for all of two months before we decided to part ways on amicable terms.  We make for much better business partners than we ever did romantically, and while she has expressed occasional interest in rekindling our relationship, I have never been of the same mind.  I can assure you this will never change.

“The reason I came to Tokyo is not because of her — professional or otherwise — but because I was in a rush to prevent a certain dummy from doing anything she’d regret later on.  But…”

I knock back the rest of my whiskey, emptying the glass.

“…I’m afraid I’m too late.”

She looks at me now, eyes wide as if she were still processing the words.  Her next question comes on a whisper: “Why would you be too late?”

And it is my turn to look away.  

“Well, you seemed to be pretty intimate yourself with Dr. Foster during your dinner date.  I can only presume that…”

The girl moves closer and I can’t help the way my eyes are drawn to her mouth — the tremble of her lower lip, full and pink and lush.  Without thought, I allow my gaze to trace along the graceful column of her neck, settling at the delicate notch between her collarbones and in that instant, I come to a visceral understanding of the extent of Luke Foster’s obsession, for mine was magnified a million times over:

I yearned for the entirety of this woman before me — needed her for myself, now and forever.

“Presume what?”  Her voice is low, shaking.

“I can only presume that you’ve already allowed him to…examine your body.”

There is a moment of silence — each torturous second seeming to stretch into eternity to smother the last embers of hope.

“I have…”

Oh god.

“…given him X-ray films of my collarbones as he requested.  That is all.  He’s never touched me, not even once.  I took him out to dinner tonight so I could give them to him as thanks for appearing on the show.”

Petty.  Sheepish.  I felt all these things, but none so powerful as the staggering sense of relief that washes over me to hear her say these words.  Closing my eyes, I let the revelation sink in, finally feeling like I can breathe for the very first time that night.

Chapter 9: The Big Bang

You don’t quite know what made you do it.  

The ambience of the bar, perhaps: sultry jazz and flickering candles purposefully placed to create just enough shadows for a veil of privacy.

Or maybe it was the crestfallen uncertainty that painted the handsome features of Victor Li’s face, his sudden display of vulnerability both novel and endearing.

Most likely however, it was the way in which his downcast expression morphed into one of ecstatic relief when you told him that Luke Foster had not laid a single finger on you.

Because when Victor tilts his head back, eyes closed and sighing deeply as if some unfathomable burden had been lifted, you cannot help but bring your lips to the Adam’s apple bobbing along the length of that strong, thick neck.

Cedar wood and pine.  

The notes of his cologne are so familiar you didn’t realize how much you missed his scent until you literally came face to face with it.  Victor is warm, so very warm beneath the skin of your lips.  And under your touch, you become vaguely aware of the fact that the rise and fall of his chest has stilled.

At any other time, you would’ve questioned your sanity for how boldly you were behaving, especially towards someone who was your boss.  You had never been one to put yourself out there when it came to matters of the heart.  Something about the moment however, about Victor, made you feel like the one thing you could not do was let this chance pass you by.

So when you hear that shuddering breath, feel the faint scratch of his five o’clock shadow when he nuzzles against you in return, you know you’ve made the right gamble.  Being with Victor Li feels right.  And the surreal sense of belonging you find within the embrace of his muscular arms gives you the courage to say, “You must really believe I’m a dummy if you think I’d let any man other than you touch me.”

He slides a finger beneath your chin, gently lifting until all you can see are those jet black eyes, swimming with heat and emotion.  The sudden silence of your surroundings sinks in: no more music, no idle chatter.  Not even the rustle of limbs moving about in the dimly lit bar.  And there, in the strange privacy of suspended time…

...Victor kisses you.

                        *                                     *                                      *

“Are you sure…this is…what you want?”

The deep timbre of Victor’s voice sends a thrill vibrating along the surface of your skin as he questions you between kisses — laid on your mouth, the line of your jaw, the pulse of your neck.  His firm body presses you into a corner of the elevator, empty save for the two of you writhing in unison against a mirrored wall.

Each movement of his soft lips against yours is purposeful, imbued with meaning: longing in the gentle teeth that nibbled on your lower lip before drawing it into his mouth, in the sensual slide of the tongue that sought yours.  Affection obvious in the hands that rose to cup your face, thumbs tracing circles on the apples of reddened cheeks to tell you in no uncertain terms that Victor Li belonged to you as much as you yearned to belong to him.

So you had no qualms about answering in the affirmative, nodding your head because the press of Victor’s muscular thigh between your legs already left you breathless and wondering whether he could feel your wet heat seeping through your panties.

And all he really did was kiss you.

Ding.

The elevator stops at your floor and even before the doors slide open, Victor has hoisted you up, wrapping your legs tightly about his tapered waist and whispering into your ear, “Which room?”

You knew Victor was fit, had seen him move fast and effortlessly through the waters of his Olympic-sized swimming pool that one time he had you deliver a report to his mansion on a Sunday.  And yet, you could not help but admire the sheer perfection of his physique — the bulk of his biceps, flexed beneath strained layers of clothing; the ease with which he carries you all the way to your suite.

And when he sits you down upon the king-sized bed, you wonder if it is, in fact, too small for all the things you cared to do with him.

The LFG CEO shrugs off his suit jacket, loosening his tie just enough to pull it over his head before dropping to kneel at your feet.  You watch him reach for you, shiver when he caresses the sensitive skin behind your knee with a light graze of gentle fingertips.  Large hands trail down your calf — touch barely there and teasing — until his palm finally cups the heel of your stiletto to slide it off your foot.

He looks up at you then, the intensity in ebony irises rendering you still and mute as you patiently await his next move despite the frenzied pounding in your chest.  There is a stroke of something almost feral in the dark depths of the gaze that falls heavy upon you — searching your eyes, lingering on your lips…tracing the neckline of your dress.

“I’ve never seen you wear this dress before.”  Victor says, taking the same amount of care to remove the shoe from your other foot.

And if you were able to think straight under the influence of his touch — the hands that pushed back the hem of your dress as they roamed higher and higher up your thighs towards your heat — you might have found it strange that Victor was choosing now, of all times, to comment on your wardrobe choices.  As it was, you answered without second thought: “It’s new.  I bought it especially for tonight’s dinner.”

Victor stills and when he speaks again, there is a faint tremble in that voice, as if fighting to contain some unfathomable emotion.  

“The doctor couldn’t stop staring at you.  I know because I was the same way.  I couldn’t look away from the moment you stepped foot in that restaurant.”

The revelation leaves you silent, waiting with bated breath for Victor to continue.

“Forgive me…”

Fingers entwine with fabric, gripping tight.

“…but I can’t stand the thought of you looking so beautiful for anyone else.”

RRRIIIIPPPP!

You fall back, wincing at the sound even as you feel your body respond to the sudden shock of having your dress torn right down the middle.  Victor’s display of brute strength was so at odds with the façade of composure he was synonymous with and yet, there was no denying that you were incredibly aroused by this show of power — by the fact that he was now straddling you on all fours like some wild beast, tearing away the rest of your undergarments to leave you completely bare.

You’ve never been so desperate to feel him inside you, deep and rough and untamed.  The thought throws you into a frenzy of lust.

Digging your fingers into the front of his dress shirt, you yank it open to send buttons flying in haphazard directions, but the only thing that concerned you was the sight of that broad chest and muscular torso, so impressive it actually elicits a moan from your lips and a smile from his in return.

Propping yourself up onto your knees, you press against him, flesh to flesh — one hand running over the burning surface of his skin even as the other tugs at the buckle of his leather belt, impatiently moving to palm him when his dress pants fall and gasping to finally see and feel the full extent of the LFG CEO:

Victor Li is rock hard and intimidatingly large.

And the sight makes your mouth water.

Sinking onto your heels, you trail your lips along Victor’s chiseled body, tongue teasing at his nipples as you do and relishing the catch of his breath in his throat.

But just as you begin to lay kisses along the deep V of his abdomen with the intent of tracing lower and lower, Victor stops you, puling you up for a kiss before laying back on the bed and positioning you above him…

…with his face between your legs.

“This way,” he says, voice muffled, and you might have commented on his inability to relinquish control even in the bedroom were it not for the sensation of his flattened tongue sweeping hot and wet along the seam of your already dripping pussy, teasing from end to end.

The sensation is so intense it’s almost unbearable.  You throw your head back, mouth dropping in a silent scream as you sink onto Victor’s face, fighting the instinct to grinder lower onto that talented tongue despite the encouraging grip of Victor’s hands, strong on your hips and thighs.

“I’ve wanted to taste you…for so long,” he murmurs, sucking the swell of your clit into his mouth and humming in approval against moist flesh to hear you moan above him.  “Your flavour is absolutely exquisite.”

Gathering your wits, you fold forward — intent on giving just as much pleasure as you were receiving.  Victor twitches once within your grip, not quite contained by the circumference of your palm and fingers, running up and down the sizeable length of his cock, hot in your hand like his breath on your slit.  And after placing a few wet kisses on the smooth, hard head, you open your mouth to taste him.

The tepid salt of his arousal.  The groans originating from deep within Victor’s chest each time your lip brushed past the tender underside of his cock.  The subtle rhythm of his pelvis, lifting in time to your mouth swallowing more of that solid shaft, quickly becoming slick with your saliva.

And then you catch sight of your reflection in the mirrored closet.  See the bulge of Victor’s bicep as he grips your hip, the flex in the muscles of his neck when he lifts to bury his face deeper into your folds.  See yourself: hair disheveled and eyes half-lidded, drunk on sex.  Observe the messy smear of your lipstick as your mouth stretches to accommodate more and more of your boss’s cock.  And when the tip of Victor’s tongue begins its relentless tease of your clit, you watch as a most debauched expression falls over your features, the tension in your body breaking as you find release on his lips.

You are still shaking when he enters you, sensitized by an orgasm that left tiny sparks of electricity running along every nerve, priming you for second helpings.  A true paragon of patience, Victor Li takes his time, deliberately slow as he pushes — savouring the sensation of drenched, swollen flesh parting just for him.

It was almost unfathomable that you could experience such extreme pleasure, each powerful swing of Victor’s hips driving him deeper into your body — hitting just the right angles until your very senses were extracted along with your second release of the night, running slick between your legs to ease the slippery slide of your bodies.

It draws out Victor’s own, your lover moving to pull out moments before you surprise him by taking him once more into your mouth — gaze locked onto those dark eyes from below as you taste him on your tongue, euphoric to see him bite his lips when your lick yours to swallow every last drop.

Chapter 10: Pillow Talk

Beep Beep Beep Beep.

You roll over, eyes still closed as you reach out to hit the snooze button on the alarm clock.

Except your palm comes down on warm flesh with a resounding smack, echoing throughout your hotel room and accompanied by a deep voice that says, “Are you finally awake, Dummy?”

Your eyes shoot open to see Victor lying naked in bed next to you, a splotch of red blooming on his chest where he had been attacked.  He sets his phone down to hand you a glass of water from the bedside table, and even though memories of the previous night come rushing back to burn your cheeks, you cannot help but notice how glorious he looks bathed in morning light.  You hope he doesn’t see the way your hand shakes when you accept the glass from him with a meek “Thanks.”

Victor clears his throat, waiting for you to finish drinking before he says, “That was the fourth time you slept through the alarm.  I’ve already informed your colleagues you’ll be taking the day off.  We didn’t get much sleep last night and I think you’ll need some time to…recover.”

You bite your lip, turning sideways to feign a sudden interest in the curtains so he wouldn’t see the giant smile spreading onto your face.  It was almost surreal that Victor Li was your lover, and if it weren’t for the exquisite soreness you felt between your legs, you would’ve been hard pressed to believe it for yourself.

The sheets rustle and before you know it, Victor has his chest pressed up against your bare back, laying a soft kiss on your shoulder before he rests his chin on it.

“How are you feeling?”  He asks.

“Okay.  Pretty good, actually.”  It was too early in the game to tell him you were already doing cartwheels in your mind.

“Good.  I’m glad to hear that because I found this under your pillow…”

He places something in your hands.  Your eyes widen when you recognize the magazine with his face on the cover.

“…And this ‘man on top’ wants to know what it feels like to have this woman on top of him for the rest of the day.”

You’ve made it to the end! 🤩 Thank you so much for reading!  Check out more of my work here! 📚 

[lunewell]

The Lunewell Saga - Natura: Chapter 2

Can also be read on ao3 by clicking here

First part is here (:

Third part is here

Book Sumary:

Zarifa Birch, an antique shop worker with an unusual past, has made a home for herself in the sleepy town of Lunewell. Though the shop she works at is not exactly ordinary, with cryptid items and odd occurrences, she has managed to carve the normal life she always desperately wished for out of it.

However, all that comes crumbling down, as a woman from Zarifa’s past throws everything into chaos. Faced with unimaginable horrors, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, and returning repressed feelings and memories, Zarifa along with her coworkers, must find a way to return the balance- and escape the cruel hands of death in this eldritch horror mystery

Chapter 2:

At 03:45 in the morning, under a night sky covered in a thick blanket of storm clouds, Zarifa was woken, not by any natural phenomena, or by her antique alarm clock, but by the sound of her phone screeching out what was effectively deafening trumpets. Though this had never happened before, Zarifa knew instantly what it was, and threw off her warm, cotton duvet immediately. 

 Grant, who frankly was the only one who had anything even close to technology related competence, had wired up an alarm system in the shop not too long ago, and connected it to Zarifa’s phone. He had also, of course, been the one to design the hideous sound. As she gripped her phone with a speed that almost made it go smashing to the ground, she turned it on to see that the alarm of Thorn’s Antiques had, in fact, just gone off.

 She rubbed her temples, shivering slightly. Neither the room nor the outside world were particularly warm, with a chilly wind seeping on through the wall and around the room. Her bed was a haven of heat, and a place that could soothe the ever-growing, tired ache in her bones, and her entire body protested when she turned on her heels and began walking towards the closet, shuddering.

 Zarifa threw on clothes at an impressive haste; a warm turtleneck and a pair of jeans that were just the slightest bit too small, then snatched her phone and purse, and put on her necklace, before rushing out the door. 

 She wasn’t all that worried about the robbery, not really. While they were an antique shop, they didn’t have anything really valuable, at least not that she was aware of. 

 Besides, if anything of value truly had been stolen, there was pretty much only one culprit, and lucky for them, Zarifa knew exactly where to go should that be the case.

 No, her haste came not from a place of fear of the robber, or worry over the supply, but from Valour’s reaction. Valour, though usually apathetic, had an overprotectiveness of the shop, and any damage to it, might lead to the new rising of a mass murderer. The butterfly over her turtleneck saw one last glimpse of the light, before it was covered in a thick, black coat, and slipped outside into the shadowy night.

 The breeze was particularly strong, fiery trees not so much swaying in the wind as almost being knocked down by it. Zarifa pulled her coat tighter, shivering as a cracking whip of gust slammed her face. The stars above, usually visible in the dimly lit dirt paths, were shielded behind towering, puffed-up storm clouds, almost menacing in their own way. 

 She walked onto the pavement, passing her small and worn car parked outside the small cottage. She debated on taking it, before deciding it really wasn’t worth it. Lunewell was so small anyway, and the shop hidden in the far corner was but a ten-minute walk. Though driving should technically have been faster, navigating her way around the roads and towards Lune Lake, where the shop lay, would take just as long as walking there. Even after living there for five years, Zarifa still found the roads and paths an absolute maze, like the village was purposefully trying to trap its inhabitants.

 As she rounded a corner, and headed towards what had become a very small street of other local shops and one bar, a wave of newly baked pastries broke through the ozone-scented air, sending yet another hard hit of a gust that pushed her back ever so slightly. She didn’t mind the wind though, as her tight expression morphed into a delighted smile and her body became infinitely more aware of how long it has been since she’d eaten.

 Zarifa relished in the smell for just a little longer, though she kept her pace up, before she froze in place at the edge of a lamppost light. Mr. and Mrs. Carr, both bundled up in striped, hand-knit scarves, were walking towards the bakery hand in hand, clearly preparing to open for the day. Zarifa stood almost inhumanly still in place, as though the Carrs were hunting predators and she was their prey, her breathing having grown shallower and tighter. 

 Taking a step back further into the shadows, she hoped the light was poor enough and their eyes old enough that she would slip under their senses. Or, at least, that was the plan, until her feet knocked against an empty can on the ground, sending a rattling sound that resonated through the street.

 Their heads snapped up, landing first on the can that had rolled into the light, and then on Zarifa herself, who was still holding her breath, even her heartbeat muted. Mrs. Carr, who had never particularly liked Zarifa for whatever reason, gave a wave and a slightly tight smile as her greyed hair blew haphazardly around her head.

 Her husband turned to see what she was looking at, lighting up when he saw Zarifa, who had edged herself into the event horizon of visibility. “Zarifa!” he greeted enthusiastically, but quietly, “Hello dear. What are you doing out here at this hour?”

 Zarifa rubbed the back of her neck, shuffling further forward. “Good morning Mrs. Carr, Mr. Carr-”

 “As I’ve said before, just Harold’s fine love.”

 “Apologies,” Zarifa said, hands moving from her neck to the gold that hung around it. “I’m not in the best mindset right now,” Mr. Carr sounded an ‘Oh?’, as Mrs. Carr headed inside slightly huffy, “you see, the alarm for Thorn’s Antiques just went off.” 

 Mr. Carr’s eyebrows shot up in concern, wrinkles bunched on his ever-balding forehead. “That’s dreadful,” he exclaimed, “not the kind of thing you’d expect to happen ‘round here. You better be off, Lilly and I’ll drop by with some of the baked goods later in the day.”

 “Oh, that’s very generous but you don’t have to,” Zarifa reassured in a slight panicky tone, “no point in dragging you two into this mess.”

 “Nonsense,” he said, “everyone needs some baked goods in situations like this. Besides,  I’m sure that young lad of yours with the glasses - Graham? Brant? - would be very appreciative.”

 “If you’re positively sure it isn’t an inconvenience, that would be lovely,” Zarifa said, finishing it off with a warm if anxious smile. Any lingering silence was broken by the sound of Mrs. Carr calling for her husband and co-worker in a way fit for a dictator. Mr. Carr turned towards the door 

 “Yes, I’m coming, I’m coming!” he shouted, back, a stark contrast to the gentle lull of his tone before. “I believe my wife needs me. We’ll stop by later. Good luck!”

 Zarifa took off like a jetfighter, sprinting away with a wave and footsteps that bounced into the streets. At her speed, it wasn’t long before she was no longer landing on cobbled streets but on overgrown dirt paths covered in damp leaves. The shop, a small stoney thing with dirty windows that practically looked abandoned, came into view, and her eyes moved to the door, which was in fact left just the slightest bit open.

 Sliding inside, she closed the door behind her, though the shop remained equally cold. It looked almost eerie at this time, the furniture remnant of old times, empty and abandoned, a few vases smashed on the floor from where someone had been in a rush, and a stillness so quiet that it was deafening to her ears.

 Picking up a blue floral patterned shard, she continued onwards, keeping her footsteps as light as a ghost. Well, as light as a ghost that could not sneak past a deaf person, but she digressed. Pushing open the door to the back, wincing as the door hinges made a shrieking creek, reminiscent of a whining child, she made her way in. 

 The employees’ lounge looked, as she had expected, fine. Everything was exactly as they had left it, slightly disjointed, except for Bruin’s desk that had been organised meticulously. She began heading for the downstairs, to see if any of the inventory had been stolen, when she heard a muffled thud from upstairs, releasing the pressured silence in her ear and exchanging it with dread.

  Thud, thud, thud , multiple slamming sounds, equally light, equally muffled, radiated from upstairs. She could track the being’s every movement from the sound alone, see the continuous patterns of thuds make their way through the upstairs rooms. Her eyes trailed them vigorously, pupils jumpy, as she tightened the grip on the shard. The fact that it dug into her hand, almost piercing through her thin bicoloured skin, didn’t register.

 The shop yet again went quiet, though any illusion of silence was broken by Zarifa’s hammering heart. She glanced around the room, gaze going to the cellar where she could take her hiding, to the second exit, and back up to Valour’s personal floor. She looked up, waiting for any more signs of life, before snailing sneakily up the stairs with the shard held out in front of her. 

 The steps, normal stairs instead of the never ending spiral leading to the basement, stayed as silent as herself throughout the ascent, as though they themselves were afraid of the intruder above. Zarifa tipped-toed up them, the yellow stained walls that the stairs were encased in almost suffocatingly tight, and ever closing in. 

 At the top of the carpeted steps sat a black door crested in a slightly lighter shade, with a pair of Bobby pins stuck in the lock. It was the only entrance Zarifa had never taken in the shop, looming above her and guarding a floor that even so much as seeing would lead to great punishment. 

 It was too dark to peek into the room, and there was no sound but her own swallowing and the wind that had picked up outside. She took another step up, and reached for the handle as though it was shatterable glass. With a prayer directed more towards the cosmic force of luck rather than anything specific, she gave one push of the door.

 Luck, it seemed, was on her side, as the hinges opened without the slightest squeak. She took the final stairs up, giving one last glance to where she came from, and stepped inside what was effectively Valour’s house.

 Even through the fog of darkness, she could see the layer of dust, and the sheer amount of things thrown astray on the floor. Outlines of books with unreadable titles spilling over the carpet, sheets of aged papers crumbled into what she assumed had once been a paper bin, and antique knick-knacks placed in tall piles, disfigured by the low lighting.

 At first glance, it seemed disorganised, but as her eyes adjusted more to the lightless room, it became clear that similar items were bundled together, and that there was some kind of system. She just hadn’t quite figured out what that system was.

 Looking away from the silhouettes of mess that seemed ever-shifting, she turned her eyes downward, looking at where a path had been cleared. Whether it had always been there, or whether the dear intruder had made it, she was unsure about. She walked across it like a minefield, eyes trained on the ground and not looking at the piles which were getting higher as she went along and spilling further towards her. 

 She stopped at a hallway, leading in two different directions, which was deserted compared to the room she had just arrived in, only containing a painting, a few near empty shelves, and a drawer. Though equally riddled with swirling, sand-like dust, it felt cleaner, and had a little bit of light poking through a curtained roof window. It shone on the portrait hanging large and proud above the wooden desk, enough so that she could see the illuminated face of a younger Valour with colour still in her hair and a rather androgynous person she couldn’t quite recognise. They invoked the same familiar feeling she had felt yesterday, albei more distant.

 She took a step closer, staring intently. The person, a sickly pale figure with light brown hair and odd, pink, heart shaped sunglasses, was almost entrancing, to the point she had barely realised just how close her hand was to the canvas. 

 The trance was broken not by the touch of the oil canvas, but by a sound that Zarifa, when asked at a later point, could only have described as bounding . It was the sound of a constrictor wrapping around its prey, of tight ropes encircling a wrist, of becoming trapped and helpless.

 A flash of light blue light, ever so faint and ever so quick that one couldn’t be scolded for mistaking it with a hallucination, appeared in the corner of her eye. Her head snapped towards one of the doors, hair on her arms rising, as she made her ways towards the source.

 From the outside door, she could hear whatever was making that sound wrap further, deeper, and for a second, her mind cleared. She considered walking out; walking safely home, telling Valour that she couldn’t find anything stolen, and not getting involved. Letting this, whatever this was, live its life or death peacefully. 

 After all, was that not why she had come to find herself here in the shop in the first place? Was that not why Grant, Bruin, or even to an extent Valour herself had found themselves in this antique shop? To escape a past of unexplainable events, whilst simultaneously saving others from having the same brush with the eldritch, the unexplainable?  To, for even just a split second, live in the illusion of normalcy, the lie that nothing had ever been wrong?

 Zarifa turned on her heels, sneaking past the portrait of Valour and Heart-Glasses, which almost seemed to be judging her choice. Valour wouldn’t have turned away, which perhaps explained the scars and bruises. She couldn’t, however, bring herself to care, as her ever growing frantic footsteps made their way down the hall.

 Now, what must be understood for the following sequence of events to make sense, is that Zarifa, deep down, was one thing; caring. She sees her fellow employees as great friends, always up to help or let them take breaks, she handles her books with delicate strokes and gloves hands, and she is always up to help.

 Whether Zarifa’s caring nature always outshined her cowardice and self preservation is debatable, and a subject she preferred not to dwell on. However, in the word always , lies a hidden, implied one; sometimes.

 Like when Zarifa, halfway down the hallway, heard a cry and groan of pain that was so distinctly Lottie , that she would have recognised it even if her ears got chopped off. As though someone had a pressed a button, she turned right back around, sprinted with loud thuds, and pushed the door with a speed that almost broke a whole in the wall.  She stood panting in the doorway, all fear evaporated into a feeling that was not quite protectiveness, not quite caring, not quite pity, and not quite anger, before the muddled emotion transformed back into fear as her eyes landed on the strawberry blonde. 

 Lottie sat on the floor, legs dug into by long vines dressed in a barrier of thorns, arms tightly pressed against her body in a twisted bend that no human should have been able to achieve, and a streaming, jet black smoke arising from the leaf engraved ornate box in front of her and travelling right into her deep green eyes. Zarifa moved towards her and the box without even thinking, making her jerk, digging the thorns even deeper into her skin. “Don’t… to-touch a thing,” Lottie commanded, voice unbelievably hoarse, as though she had been shouting for hours, and Scottish accent more intense.

 “I can’t sit by and watch… whatever’s happening!” Zarifa shouted frantically, panic stirring in her. She crouched down to the floor, even as Lottie made a sound of protest. “How can I stop this?”

 “Y-you can get the fuck out,” Lottie managed to gasp out meeting her eyes. Her brows were stern, but her expressive emerald eyes were scrunched and her face was in a grimace that drew at Zarifa’s heart strings like a wound bow. All the while, the black smoke from the box-

 The box. Of course. If she just closed it, Lottie would, theoretically, be fine. She began reaching for the moonlight-reflecting gold leaf, one of the only items visible in the otherwise almost pitch black room. She stopped as she heard her name called desperately from beside her, followed by a string of curses.

 “Don’t touch it!” Lottie pleaded with a tone laced in anger, voice teetering on the edge of death, “Just get out of here, butterfly!” And oh, if her heart didn’t skip at that slip-up, “Don’t want to…” she gasped again, not quite managing to bite down another whimper, “d-drag you into this shit again.”  

 Zarifa looked at Lottie, her pained glare, the arms that looked like they had been put on backwards, and the pierced legs. She took a breath; “I’m sorry,” she said, and before Lottie could say so much as a word, she snapped the lid shut with a snap that hit like an atom bomb.

 As soon as the bomb landed, everything went quiet. Zarifa moved quickly, as Lottie fell limp into her chest like a stuffless ragdoll, arms clicking back into the place with an audible sound, and eyes fluttering open to give one last angered, intense stare before shutting. The smoke, escaping Lottie’s eyes in a violent manner, balled itself up into the center of the room, the thorns vanishing and joining it to create a rotating, black and dark green, spiral-patterned sphere.

 Keeping a close eye on the orb, she scrambled further backwards, pulling Lottie along with her. Her mind raced as she scanned the thing, trying desperately to decipher what it was, what it could possibly be. Though she wanted to leave the room, to drag Lottie and herself outside and never enter again, her eyes were entranced in the beautiful, indescribable spiral. It was, Zarifa thought grimly,  a bit like the train incident all over again. Or the summer camp, for that matter, but she preferred to keep a lock on those memories. 

 The orb continued spiralling, room still quiet except for Zarifa’s heavy breathing, and the wind outside. It was then that she saw something in the spirals, something beyond the mist of black. She squinted, though in the light and with the colour it was hard to see much of anything except the swirling pattern. She began leaning in ever closer, though recoiled almost instantly as soon as the orb came to life.

 A hand, pink and fleshy and clearly human, pushed against the pattern, stretching the orb to translucency like a tight latex glove. It pushed against the swirls, followed by another, then three hands, then 10 hands, and then an uncountable number. Everywhere you looked where skin covered fingers, all trying to break the barrier that had slowly stopped swirling.

 Though they pushed and pushed, hands clawing with the ferocity of a starving lion, pounding with all the force of a hurricane, the barrier refused to move, just stretching to expose the arms further up. It had gotten to the point where Zarifa could clearly see knobbly elbows bending robotically, aimlessly through the cover. She regarded the arms from where she sat, eyes trailing their every movement, before she turned over, head still on them, and took a single, crawling movement towards the door.

 All the hands stopped pushing, falling limp into the orb as though their strings had been cut. They were dragged back jerkily into the core, pulled out of sight as quickly as they had appeared. Zarifa held her breath watching the orb move towards her and out of the moonlight, the colours fading to nothing but a monochrome silhouette, and the shape morphing into something reminiscent of a bald human, albeit with arms just the slightest bit too long. She could not see its face, or any details on its body, even as it took an unsteady tumble towards her.

 When Zarifa was twenty-one, and visiting Lunewell for the first time since the train incident, a seventeen year old girl, younger than herself, but already the owner of a shop, named Valour Thorn had taught her a very important lesson; When faced with the unexplainable, always close your eyes. At that time, Zarifa had yet to see what that would do. After all, simply ignoring danger when it was so close seemed like a sure fire way to get yourself killed, but a method of saviour.

 Now, however, faced with an ever-approaching, vaguely human-shaped blob, staggering towards her like a drunken man with a concussion, she realised that situations like this could only have two outcomes, and closed her eyes. She kept her breath and body stiff, even if she knew she had already been spotted by the sound of bagged, wet meat slapping against the ground. The sound stopped completely mere inches in front of her, and everything went quiet, on what could very well have been the last moment of her life.

 A breath, muffled as though it was coming through fabric, though no less warm and moist than what would have expected, blew against her cheek. It sounded strained, as though it’s lungs were thick as needles, but the breathing was rhythmic and distinctly alive. The breath inched closer, warming by the second as she squeezed her deep brown eyes tighter, mind caught in a loop of prayers to all the gods she could think off.

 Lottie, who had previously been nestled comfortably against Zarifa’s jacket, let out a slightly pained groan. Her heart stopped, as she felt the creature's breath pan over her face, and towards where the pigtailed girl rested. In a flurry of movements that made Zarifa flinch violently against the wall, she felt the weight of Lotie lifted off her in one sharp movement. A dazed whimper once again admitted it from her, but it sounded distant compared to the one that had been right against Zarifa’s ear. 

 She desperately wished to open her eyes, to see what was happening, to make even a singular heroic movement to save Lottie, but she stayed in her prey position; paralysed and blind. It was a grim but realistic reminder that she had and would never be a saviour, nor a survivor, just lucky. Regardless of prior experiences, she was no more competent or threatening than a shot deer.

 The squishy sound returned, just as the warmth where the creature had poised left her neck. There was a distinct dragging sound on the floor, a sharp leather and zippers scrapping on wood, as the wet splotches rounded around her. She still didn’t dare open her eyes, until the footsteps and dragging vanished. 

 As the house and flat quiet, her eyes opened slowly, the lids still recovering from the glued fear. She glanced down to her hands, and realised that somewhere along the way, they had reached up to grip the necklace, which she squeezed as she took a shuddering, shallow breath. She reminded herself that both she and Lottie would be okay, that they’d both been through far worse, but the comfort only resonated on a surface level. 

 Looking around the dark room, she noticed the outline of a light switch right by the door, which stood more ajar than she had previously thought. With a final, semi-deep breath, she flicked it on. The room burst harshly into a bright yellow lamp, her eyes burning at the harsh contrast. She blinked rapidly, trying to blink away the tears that at first came from brightness, but as her vision cleared, came from a true realisation of what had just happened.

 In the light, it became clear that this tiny room was a study. There was a dust laden desk with old, leather-bound journals, a desk light with a shattered bulb, and a computer just slightly more modern than the one downstairs, a corkboard with images connected by different coloured strings that looked like a conspiracy theorist's wet dream, and lots of shelves populated with antiques and books. However, Zarifa was not so much focusing on the small glimpse into Valour’s elusive personal life, as the floor where the encounter happened.

 Splattered across the planks were puddles of a black, tar-like liquid, intertwined with small specks of blood. The ornate box itself had at some point been knocked over, tilted on its side, spreading a few small, thin sheets of ancient looking paper out. Zarifa gently made her way over, stepping past the puddles with a scrunched up nose, before reaching the papers. She didn’t pick it up, nor touch it, instead tilting her head to read what the dull, brown ink said.

  To whom it may concern…

  In this letter lies the seal, which I fear must not be opened till The Dawn. If the time is not right, you must close this box, and ignore this. Do not read onwards, or you will bring upon yourself the cruelest of fates.

  In a worst case scenario, if the seal has been unsealed before The Dawn, if doors ideally locked stand open, you must be prepared to make a key. 

  A key is forged by fragments of Touched sanity eating a sight of one that Sees, dipped in water oh-so divine. Once the key has begun, the fragments must sew themselves between the fabric, letting all webbed light shine on them. As they are blessed by the minute, and after the final step of-

 Zarifa’s eyes widened, turning the page frantically looking for the continuation of where the text had been ripped off. She glanced around the room, looked once again inside the box, only to find it an empty chasm. With a shaky breath, she wiped away her tears, determaimly, and pulled up her phone.

 Zarifa furrowed her brows as the time, reading precisely 06:00, appeared onto the screen. Had it really been two hours already? Nevertheless, she decided to ignore it for now, opening up her contacts, and quickly clicking the one person who she knew would already be up at such an early hour.

 “Hey Grant? I need you and Bruin to come in as soon as possible. We have a slight… situation on our hands.”

[multifangirl69]

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo Prompt: “Too late to save them” Relationships: Ciaran aep Easnillen/Iorveth Rating: M Content Warnings: Blood and Injury, Hurt/Mild Comfort, Ambigious Ending Summary: Iorveth tries to save Ciaran from the ship during the events of The Witcher 2. AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31390580/chapters/77628305

_____________________ Another soldier dropped and the elf slowly stood up. 3 bodies in total, he couldn’t see anyone else moving. His eyes narrowed. There was someone inside the captain’s cabin. Soft candle light spilled from the windows, but whoever was inside didn’t seem to have noticed anything. Iorveth looked down on the soldier before him and caught sight of a bundle of keys. He snatched them off the belt, soon locating the trapdoor to the lower decks. A heavy lock kept it close and Iorveth had to try a few of the keys before it clicked open, his nerves and muscles tense the whole time. A pitchblack maw opened up to Iorveth, who waited for a moment as he held up the trapdoor just high enough to get a good look. Not a single noise reached him and he slipped inside, slowly closing the trapdoor again and then he moved down the stairs. Every step was well calculated, his hands pressed to the floor for some direction. Soon he hit a wall and felt his way up the moist wood until his fingers slipped around the handle of a torch. He pulled it off the metal holster, taking a piece of flint from his bag with his other hand. A low groan filled the darkness and Iorveth breathed in deeply, heart skipping a beat. “Ciaran?” Iorveth whispered into the darkness and something scraped on the wooden floor. “Ior...Iorveth...why…” Iorveth grimaced. How weak Ciaran sounded, just a whisper, his consciousness barely there. The elven commander pressed his lips together and knelt down, placing the torch between his thighs to have both his hands free. “I’m here to save you,” Iorveth replied and a small chuckle filled the space, followed by a cough and more scraping against the wood. The commander swallowed, pulling out a small piece of metal. He hit it against the flint and a spark lit up for just a moment. Another hit, another spark, but the torch didn’t catch fire. “You shouldn’t have…” Ciaran whispered and Iorveth shook his head out of sheer instinct. “I should have come earlier, but I didn’t know you’re still alive.” Another spark and the torch finally caught a little flame. It spread all over, Iorveth had to be quick with taking it from between his thighs and holding it away. The light broke through the darkness and the lower deck was revealed to the elf. Cages surrounded him on both sides. All empty except for some “beds” and bowls in one, pieces of potatoes still sticking on the insides. Iorveth stood up and walked a little further. The fire spread in front of him, hugging a figure lying at the end of the room on the floor. Sweaty, black hair revealed the tips of pointy ears and glimpses of a neck tattoo. “Ciaran!” Iorveth walked closer and the other elf shifted, pulling his hand off his eyes and rolling onto his back. The older elf frowned. Bruises decorated the bit of skin revealed and Iorveth didn’t need a great imagination to picture how it looks underneath the dirty, ripped clothing. Blood soaked the lower part of Ciaran’s shirt, but he was holding a hand right over the source. Iorveth swallowed and let his gaze wander higher. “How did you find me then?” Ciaran questioned, voice barely a whisper through his cracked lips. More blood tainted the skin right between nose and mouth, the nose crooked, one eye was swollen and discolored. “The witcher.” “I’m surprised he told you.” Iorveth huffed and a small smile curled his lips. He put a hand on Ciaran’s hair, slowly stroking over the dark hair, ignoring the grime and blood sticking to his palms. The younger elf sighed and his eyes fluttered shut. “Only because you told him about Letho…” Ciaran opened his eyes again and stared up at his commander. Iorveth stared at the blood soaked hand still pressing onto the open wound. “Good good, you know. I’m glad. I was-” Ciaran coughed and shivered, more scarlet dropping down his chin, “-I was worried.” “You need to stop talking. I’m sure we can make some temporary bandages from the blankets in the cells and-” “Iorveth…” The older elf stiffened, only his hand still stroked the dark hair. Silence befell them. A suffocating silence that forced tears into Iorveth’s eye as he fought against his throat tightening and chest straining. He didn’t want to think. Not about the warm scarlet sticking everywhere and the eerie pale skin illuminated from the torch. “I’ll get you out of here. I promise. I-” “Iorveth!” Ciaran looked up at him, expression firm. Iorveth still didn’t move. “You can’t save me, it’s too late,” the young elf continued and grabbed the hand on his hair, pulling it to his lips instead. “Don’t say that…” Iorveth’s voice trembled, resonating so weakly, no one would have heard the words if not for the silence hugging them tight. He dropped his head and squeezed his eye shut. Ciaran tightened his grip on the hand, pressing his lips against the delicate fingers, the heat crawling right up Iorveth’s arm. “My love, I’m glad I get to see you before I die.” “Please-” Iorveth choked on a sob and shook his head. “They broke my leg. No, not just broke it, they completely ruined it. I can’t…” Ciaran squeezed Iorveth’s hand, expression twisting. “I can’t live like that. Even if I recover. I just can’t.” “You can! I’m here for you! I-” “No!” Ciaran coughed again, lips and hands trembling. Iorveth pressed his lips tightly together and lifted his gaze to his lover’s face. A sickly green shimmered through the crimson flush. “How can you just give up like that?” Iorveth asked and Ciaran huffed, smiling just a little, just enough to soothe the other elf. “I couldn’t protect my unit. I was useless even before-” “Don’t say that.” Ciaran sighed and moved his free hand. Iorveth twitched away, opening his mouth to protest further, but warm fingertips brushed along his cheek and he fell silent. “Don’t let me live like this.” “I give the orders here…” Iorveth said, lips trembling around every word, breath uneven, betraying his firm tone. “Let me give you one order. Just this once.” Ciaran’s fingers stroked further along the other elf’s face, down his jaw, ghosting over his lips. His palm settled pressed against Iorveth’s cheek and his thumb wiped away the first tear daring to fall. “Just this once,” Iorveth repeated. He tilted his head, kissing Ciaran’s wrist. Blue and purple painted the skin there, crushed by metal and probably boots. Searing red bubbled before Iorveth’s eyes and he bared his teeth, burying his face further in Ciaran’s hand. His own hand slipped free from the elf’s grip and he curled his fingers around the discolored joint. He held just tightly enough to feel the skin, so hot against his own. “Then I order you to-” Ciaran coughed and his whole body shivered, Iorveth gripped the wrist tighter. “I order you to kill me.” “Please no…” Iorveth shook his head, squeezing his eye shut. More tears ran down his cheeks, wetting his lips and Ciaran’s palm. Salt and iron mingled on his tongue and he cringed, his guts twisting. The red darkened before his eyes, boiling hotter. He blinked a few times and dropped his gaze onto his lover again. “You can’t refuse an order!” “Don’t use my words against me!” “I demand that you-” Ciaran gagged and turned on his side. Iorveth didn’t move the torch, didn’t look, didn’t <em>want</em> to look. Hearing the coughing and retching was enough. Somewhere above them, someone shouted and both elves turned their heads to the ceiling. Footsteps followed and Ciaran dug his nails into Iorveth’s cheek, pulling his attention back. “You can’t get me out!” Iorveth shook his head. “I’ll come back for you,” the old elf said and the nails dug deeper. “No! No, just…” Ciaran loosened his grip, but Iorveth’s slender fingers around his wrist didn’t allow for his hand to fall. Voices seeped through the ceiling. Panicked yells about a possible intruder and someone calling for a medic. “There is no time,” Ciaran said, breathing deeply, his whole body relaxing against the ground. “Tomorrow, I will-” “Tomorrow, I will be dead.” “You don’t know that. You’re strong, your body is strong, you…” Iorveth drawled off, voice breaking. More tears damped his cheek. “They won’t allow me to stay alive. Let me-” Ciaran swallowed and pulled his hand from Iorveth’s grip. “Let me at least die on my own terms.” “What are your terms?” Iorveth dropped his hand on his thigh, his cheek cold despite the lingering warmth of a familiar palm. More shouting. More footsteps. The hot red strained Iorveth’s chest and he gritted his teeth. “Death through your hands, my love,” Ciaran said and tilted his head back, exposing his pale throat. “I can’t...How could I…” Iorveth squeezed his eye shut, finding the hilt of his hidden dagger and pulling it out. His hand trembled around the heavy metal. He traced the engravings of vines and roses, the smooth material so cold, as cold as his insides, the burning anger almost forgotten. The flickering flame of the torch blinded his sight. “I’ll do it.” Ciaran nodded with a smile barely there. He closed his eyes and Iorveth laid the blade against his throat, the sharp edge pressing right under his chin. Footsteps reached them again and someone ordered light. Iorveth tightened his grip on the dagger, gaze fixed on his lover’s face. A metal sound resonated through the room and he looked up. The soldiers fumbled with the trap door. Pushing aside the cold, the hot red filled his nerves and guts, twisting his insides until he was on fire. “Ciaran…” Iorveth whispered and the young elf turned his head slowly. “You’re forever in my heart.” “And you in mine.” Iorveth smiled and threw aside the torch. The floor caught the flame, the wood soon ablaze and Iorveth breathed in deeply. The trap door swung open and 2 soldiers stumbled down the stairs. One of them demanded for the elf to get away from the prisoner, but Iorveth slipped his arms under Ciaran instead, picking him up like he weighed nothing. “Drop the prisoner!” Iorveth looked beside them. The flames crackled and swallowed more and more, reaching one of the cells and one of the soldiers bolted up the stairs, yelling about the fire. The other still demanded for Iorveth to cooperate, pointing his sword and finger. “Why…” Ciaran whispered and Iorveth hushed him with a kiss that tasted of blood and berries. “Drop the prisoner,” the soldier shouted again and Iorveth turned around. The dh’oine stiffened, gripping his sword tighter. Iorveth stepped closer and the soldier stepped back. Behind the elf, the flames grew higher and warmer, Ciaran watched them over his lover’s shoulder. “Don’t come any closer!” The soldier’s leg hit the stairs and he staggered, catching himself by putting his foot on the wooden step. His eyes darted back and forth between Iorveth and the fire, both drawing closer, faster and faster. The soldier yelped and turned around. Just when Iorveth reached the stairs, the soldier had disappeared on deck, screaming alongside his comrades. Iorveth stepped outside and almost collided with a young man holding a bucket full of water. Innocent eyes stared up at him. Iorveth growled and the soldier stumbled back, out of the elf’s way. “Scoia’tael! Scoia’tael!” Other soldiers looked over to the young man and two reacted to the elves, drawing their swords and moving closer. Iorveth threw his head left and right. Water or bridge. His gaze snapped back to the young man, who lifted the bucket over his head, expression scared by fear, while his eyes sparked with fight. Iorveth kicked him right under his knee and jumped aside, curling his arms tighter around Ciaran. The elf moaned and trembled. Blood dripped everywhere. A soldier swung his sword, Iorveth stumbled away. Bridge it is. He dodged the next sword swing too and bolted over the deck. The soldiers followed, but stopped when the fire broke through the floor and spread further. One dh’oine screamed bloody murder and Iorveth caught glimpse of the soldier half in flames. He reached the edge of the ship and looked down at Ciaran. Face pale, his lips trembling around the weak breaths. At least he was still breathing. Iorveth tightened his grip and stepped onto the railing. A soldier shouted at him to stop, but the elf jumped, landing right on his feet. It strained his knees and he groaned, but another shout from the soldier and Iorveth moved again. The stars above sparked bright, but the flames growing high behind him sparked brighter and no one else paid attention to the elf running through the village with his lover in arm.

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

This Christmas - A Harry Styles Christmas Series (Part 2)

Two life long friends. Secretly in love. Home for the holidays. Will they risk everything by telling the other how they feel? Or will they spend another year loving from afar? 

Read these first    Prologue      Part 1

**

Harry had never been more grateful to turn down his mother’s street as he was in that moment. He was tired of driving and he really had to pee. He probably shouldn’t have stopped to get that last cup of coffee an hour ago. He was so distracted as he pulled his car into the driveway he didn’t even notice the unfamiliar car parked in it. Turning off the car and grabbing his bag, before heading inside.

He dropped his bag in the guest bedroom connected to the guest bathroom and headed straight for the door. The lit candles and soft music took him off guard as he swung the door open. His eyes quickly scanned the room for a reason behind the setting, when they landed on you in the tub.

“AH!” You screeched when you noticed the open door and Harry standing in the doorway, looking at you.

“Um… I uh… shit,” Harry said, trying not to look at you as he turned himself around. “I uh.. Just going to uh use the other…”

He quickly left the bathroom and headed for the other down the hall. Once he was done, he washed his hands and leaned against the cabinet. Embarrassment shot through him over what just happened and he knew the longer he stayed in there the more awkward it would become.

That was not how he pictured seeing you again and now he wasn’t sure how he was going to save himself for this. He shook his head and finally talked himself into leaving the bathroom, just as you were walking out of the other bathroom. You both stopped in your tracks, looking at the other, embarrassment and awkwardness clearly evident on your faces.

“Uh… sorry… about uh... that,” he said, nodding towards the room.

“Um.. yeah… I probably should have locked the door,” you blushed.

“I didn’t know anyone… that you were here,” he said.

“Oh, um, I’m staying out in the guesthouse… I was just using the tub,” you replied.

“Right,” he nodded.

“So, this is awkward,” you laughed, pushing a stray strand of hair back.

“A bit, yeah,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“Well, I uh… should probably get back to my uh… room, talk tomorrow?” You asked.

“Yeah, sounds good,” he nodded.

You both stood there for a bit before finally making the move to go, you waved goodbye awkwardly before quickly darting out of there. Harry sighed going into the guest room, sitting on the bed. He was beyond exhausted and couldn’t think clearly, but he knew that wasn’t how he wanted his first conversation with you to go. He had so many questions, one being why you were staying with his mum and not your own.

He looked at the window, watching you walk to the guest house just outside where his room was located in the main house. Even with the darkness, he could tell you were just as beautiful as you had always been. It was already going to be hard enough being here in his hometown wondering what life would be like if you two were together, but knowing you were staying only a few feet away, it was going to be even harder.

**

You groaned the next morning as the sun seeped in through the small window of the tiny house. You didn’t know what time it was, but you did know it’s been only a few hours since you finally fell asleep. After your little run in with Harry, you hadn’t been able to fall asleep or write because you kept focusing on what had happened. And of course, all the feelings that came crashing back full force at the sight of him and the sound of his voice.

Since you were up anyway, you decided it was best if you tried to use this time to write before the inevitable of seeing Harry again later that morning. You weren’t sure why you were acting this way, you knew the odds of running into him during your stay were high. However, you also thought that you’d be at your Mum’s by the time he came back. Apparently you were wrong, very wrong.

You slid out of bed, walking over to the coffee maker and making some. You took a mug from the small rack of four and filled it with water to put it in the maker. As soon as the mug was filled with boiling hot energy, you took it in your hands to warm yourself up a bit. Then you headed over to your computer, opening it up to the black page. Looking over your notes, you sipped on your coffee before cracking your knuckles and getting to work.

A couple of hours and two cups of coffee later, you had written the first two chapters of your book and you couldn’t be happier. You could have kept going, but your stomach was rumbling. Even though it was only just after eight in the morning and you were still wearing your pajamas, you found yourself checking your hair and face in the mirror before heading out to the main house.

When you opened the door, Anne was standing there cooking something that was sizzling on the stove.

“Morning,” you smiled.

“Morning, love,” she smiled. “How’d you sleep?”

You blushed at remembering the previous night’s events, “Um, for the time I slept, it was wonderful, but it was a bit of a late night.”

“Oooh writing?” She asked.

“Uh… yeah… I’ve gotten a lot done since I’ve been here,” you answered, which wasn’t technically a lie.

“Oh before I forget,” she said. “Harry was supposed to arrive tonight, but he must have snuck in the middle of the night. I heard him snoring as I passed through the hallway this morning.”

“I don’t snore,” Harry mumbled walking into the kitchen, right on cue.

You felt your cheeks blush and you really hoped it wasn’t noticeable.

“Oh, this is so cute!” She smiled. “It’s just like old times, yeah? Breakfast is almost finished. I have a meeting I need to phone in for, so I’ll be taking mine in the office.”

Taking her plate and a cup of tea, she headed out of the kitchen, leaving you and Harry alone. Neither of you spoke up, simply waiting on the other to grab their food.

“Go ahead,” he motioned for you.

You walked over, taking a plate and filling it up with half of the food before walking over to the table. You poured yourself some water and took a seat as Harry did the same. Both you sat and ate silently making it even more awkward.

You sighed, “Okay, we just need to get this conversation out of the way because this is awkward and it’s driving me nuts.”

Harry put down his fork, looking over at you, “I’m really sorry about last night. I didn’t know you were in there or that you would be here at all.”

You sighed, “I know…”

“Speaking of, why are you here?” He asked.

“Rude, much?” You rolled your eyes. “But anyway, I’m staying here because I’m working on my next book. I have a deadline to meet and my flat wasn’t cutting it, so your Mum invited me here.”

“Oh,” he nodded. “How’s that going?”

“Well, it wasn’t going until after I got here,” you sighed. “I've been struggling with this one for a while and I finally got an idea last night.”

“It doesn’t involve a guy walking in on his best friend while she’s in the tub does it?” He joked.

You glanced over at him, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Too soon?” He winced.

“No, it’s just… you said best friend… I wasn’t aware we were still classified as such,” you admitted.

Harry sighed looking down, “You’re always going to be my best friend, Y/N.”

“Am I though?” You asked. “Harry, we haven’t spoken in years. I don’t know anything about you that isn’t from the internet or from your Mum or Gem.”

“I know… I’m sorry for that,” he whispered. “But I-”

“Harry it’s fine,” you interrupted him. “We’re older now. We have separate lives. It happens.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen with us,” he said, looking into your eyes.

“But it did,” you shrugged. “We can’t change the past.”

“No, I guess we can’t,” he sighed. “But could we… could we maybe change the future? Start over? I want you back in my life, Y/N.”

“I want that too, Harry,” you whispered, reaching over and taking his hand in yours.

“So, does this mean it shouldn’t be awkward anymore?” He laughed after a moment.

“It should, but I feel like it’s going to keep being awkward for at least a few more days,” you giggled.

He laughed, shaking his head as the two of you continued on with your breakfast and catching up.

**

After spending well over an hour chatting with Harry during breakfast, you made your way back to your writing space and got back to work. By the time you finished chapter ten, your neck was aching and so were your fingers from all the typing. You looked outside, noticing it was now pitch black and you realized you spent the entire day writing. It has been ages since you’ve gotten that much done in one day. As a treat, you decided to give yourself the rest of the night off and enjoy some reading. Glancing out the window, you saw Harry and Anne in the kitchen. They appeared to be cooking dinner, so you decided to head over and see if they needed help.

When you walked in, they both were singing and dancing along to Christmas music. You giggled watching them and for the first time, you noticed just how different Harry had looked since you last saw him. Yes, you saw photos of him all the time and could easily see the difference in him, but there was something about seeing him in person. He was definitely more muscular than before and there was a bit of stubble growing across his face. There were more tattoos and his hair was much shorter.

“Y/N!” Anne smiled, catching you standing there in the doorway.

You wondered if she knew you were staring at her son.

“Hey,” you smiled. “It smells delicious once again.”

“This one is all Harry,” she smiled. “He insisted on cooking dinner tonight.”

“I’m surprised you’re letting him even near the kitchen,” you smirked.

“One time. I fuck up one dish and no one ever lets me forget it,” He sighed dramatically.

“It’s because you more than fucked up a dish. You poisoned us all,” you pointed out.

“To be fair there was also a stomach bug going around at school, so it could have easily been that,” he said, pointing a knife at you.

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes. “Anyway, is there anything I can help with?”

“Oh, you can grab some wine from the cellar,” Anne said.

“You have a wine cellar?” You raised an eyebrow.

“It’s actually a wine refrigerator, but she likes the way cellar rolls off the tongue,” Harry joked.

You laughed shaking your head as you headed towards the pantry where the wine was stored.

Once dinner was over, the three of you sat down in the living room to watch a Christmas movie together. Christmas lights lit up the room as the fireplace filled it up with warmth. The rest of the night you three laughed, cried, and drank hot chocolate. After watching two movies, Anne finally called it a night, leaving you and Harry by yourselves once again.

“So, I assume since you’ve spent the last four hours watching Christmas movies, you got some writing done today?” He asked.

“First ten chapters,” you smiled, proudly.

“Wow, congrats,” he said. “I take it Mum was right about you coming here for some inspiration.”

“Guess so,” you laughed. “But I still have about twenty-thirty more to go.. I usually hit another block about halfway through.”

“Do I get to know what it’s about?” He asked.

Had it been any other concept, you wouldn’t have hesitated to tell him, but afraid he would read between the lines, you decided not to tell him.

“Nope,” you smirked. “It’s a secret until at least the first draft is over.”

“Well, damn,” he said. “I was hoping for a little sneak peek. I mean… as your number one fan and best friend… surely I can get a little something.”

“You’ve read my books?” You asked, shocked.

“Every single one,” he said. “Don’t look so surprised.”

“I am, though,” you said. “I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do,” he said.

“I assume this goes both ways, right?” You said. “I mean… surely you’ve been working on new songs.”

“I have,” he nodded. “And I’ll see if I can arrange something,” he smirked.

You laughed, shaking your head as you sip the last little bit of your hot chocolate,”Hmm, I guess I better call it a night,” you said.

“Oh, yeah, it is a bit late,” he nodded.

You took your mug into the kitchen Harry following you. You both put your dishes in the sink and you both stood there, not saying anything yet again. For two people who used to say everything to one another, there are many moments filled with silence between you.

“I had a good time tonight,” you said. “I’m glad we have this time to reconnect.”

“Me too,” he smiled.

You smiled, “Well, I guess this is goodnight.”

“Yeah, goodnight,” he said.

You gave him a small wave before heading out to the backyard. You were halfway to the tiny house, when you heard your name being called.

“Y/N, wait,” he said.

“Yeah?” You asked, turning around.

“Tomorrow… I know… I know you’re here to write and don’t need distractions, but I was wondering if maybe you’d want to hang out or something,” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

You smiled a bit, pushing a strand of hair out of your face, “I’d love to. How about this, give me the morning to write and maybe we can go out for lunch?”

“It’s a date,” he smiled.

You raised an eyebrow.

“I mean… like you know.. That was in a response of agreement, bloody hell,” he mumbled.

You giggled, “I know what you meant.”

“Right,” he blushed.

“Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” he nodded.

When you got back to your room, you shut the door, heading over to your computer once more that day. You couldn’t stop smiling as you thought about what tomorrow might bring.

**

And that’s PART 2!

Check back for Part 3 tomorrow, posted at midnight CST!

[silver-embersss]

Broken Horns and Broken Hearts Chapter 1

@mcyt-bigbang

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

Welcome to part one of my Big Bang fic, also known as why I haven't been writing Mid-Fall, lmao. I'll set up links when I've finished posting the chapters! Also check out my partner for this awesome event, @soot-in-a-box ! Enjoy!

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

Everything was chaos.

Arrows fell from the sky, cutting through the haze of smoke to embed themselves in trees, animals, people.

It was one of these arrows that hit Tubbo in the back as he and the revolution ran for cover, cutting him down instantly.

He never stood a chance.

As he fell, Tubbo didn’t feel the normal warm, tingly feeling that came just before respawn.

No.

Instead, he felt cold, like ice was seeping through his veins - a numb heaviness settling in his limbs. A darkness crept into the edges of his vision as he closed his eyes, not wanting to accept what he knew was happening.

I don’t want to die, I’m scared, pleasepleaseTommyWilburFundypleaseL’Manb-

L’Man…

L’Manburg…

He couldn’t even form a thought anymore as he felt his life drain away from him, like the blood that seeped into the dirt.

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

Everything was chaos.

Tommy could barely see, the battlefield wreathed in smoke, making his eyes water and his throat sore. Vaguely, he saw the faint outline of a humanoid fox, running on four paws through the haze.

“Fundy!”

The teenager rasped to his nephew, his voice barely audible due to the smoke and the sounds of explosions behind them. Luckily, the fox’s sensitive ears, while ringing from the explosions, picked up his faint shout and Fundy spun around, searching for the source of the noise.

Tommy limped along, hissing as the pain in his sprained ankle but painfully aware of the louder hissing of TNT around him.

“Fund-!”

His voice cracked as he screamed, falling to his elbows and knees, swaying. The feathered end of an arrow protruded from his shoulder, but he kept desperately dragging himself forward through the mud, away from the TNT.

Then he was being hoisted over a thin shoulder, soft paws holding him in place as their owner sprinted towards the water’s edge, where Tommy could faintly hear splashing and Wilbur’s voice. As an explosion shook the ground beneath his feet Fundy leapt into the water, his grip around Tommy’s legs tightening.

The teenager’s vision almost whited out with the pain as they hit the water, a strangled noise forcing its way through his sore throat. He heard Fundy mutter an apology before ducking his head underwater to keep him from burning, one paw over his mouth and nose to stop him from inhaling water. The last few explosions fired at the bank, and everyone could feel the heat of them even through the water.

Fundy pulled him above the water again, and Tommy cracked his eyes open slightly (when had he closed them? He couldn’t remember) to see the fox looking concernedly down at him.

Except… there were two- no, three… no, two of him…?

The last thing he could think of was how annoying three Fundys would be before he passed out.

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

“Tommy? Come on, man, you got this. Tommy? Tommy!”

Wilbur smiled in relief as the teenager blinked blearily, his head pounding.

“Dad…?”

He slurred.

The leader of the revolution sent a slightly embarrassed glance at Niki before turning back to his little- well, technically his adoptive little brother. Both Tommy and Tubbo used to call Philza ‘Dad’ when they were very little (and sometimes still did, like him and Techno). He supposed that, in his half-asleep state, the teen must have mistook him for their father figure - something he was surprised to find gave him a slight feeling of pride.

Wilbur squeezed Tommy’s hand reassuringly as he woke properly, a slight blush creeping into his cheeks as well when he realised what he’d said.

“I-I-I mean… Shit, why does my… everything hurt?”

“Well… You got caught in the initial explosion, then someone shot you in the shoulder as we were running to shore…”

“Ugh, bet it was… fuckin’... fuckin’ bitch boy…”

him and he looked around the room, spotting Niki and the Declaration of Independance on the table. "Where are we? Where's... where's Fundy and Tubbo? "

"We rebuilt the van a little... Fundy's next door. "

Tommy swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Where's Tubbo?"

Niki looked like she was about to cry, and Wilbur hung his head.

“Will-”

“He- We’re not sure. He hasn’t come back… but you weren’t out for long, I’m sure he’s respawned and will be here in a minute! I sent him a message to meet here, so we’ll see him soon!”

The teen didn’t look very reassured, but he let it drop - for now.

“What are we gonna do?”

Wilbur Soot, the proud president of L’Manburg, took a deep, shaky breath and said, in as calm a voice as he could manage;

“I’m going to negotiate terms of surrender with Dream.”

[emy-loves-you]

Have Your Name (And Your Back) Chapter 7

Chapter 6 | Masterlist | Chapter 8

Summary: Prince stops by to ask a few questions, and Patton's fears have been confirmed. Or have they?

Warnings:  discussions of beating, taking away food and clothes, and other serious topics. Also mentions bruises and aftermath of a traumatic event, along with a lot of negative self-talk from Patton

After his first day of lessons with Logic, Patton's first few days at the manor weren’t very interesting. Even though he didn’t have any chores or much that he needed to do, his life had quickly developed into a simple schedule to follow. He would start his day each morning by getting up early and taking a long bath. Then he would get a new outfit from his closet and twirl around in it for a few minutes before settling down on his bed. He would then grab Logic's notebook and they would go over whatever chapters Logic had assigned the day before. After that was breakfast with Prince, along with that delicious jam that was quickly becoming Patton's favorite food. Then he would practice either math or English writing. After that Logic would assign him some chapters to read on Fae rules and customs. Prince would end the lesson with lunch and Patton usually took a nap afterward. He would then read over the chapters until dinner, and after that he would change into pajamas and go to bed. It was boring sometimes, especially in the hours between his nap and dinner when it only took an hour or two to read his chapters. He was used to always having something to do, and he could only sleep for so many hours before that became boring as well. He tended to spend that time rereading earlier chapters, since it tended to make Logic happy and made Patton feel useful.

Things were already beginning to change, however.

It started almost 2 weeks after Patton’s arrival. He had just finished eating lunch with Prince (well more like he ate and Prince read his book. Did fairies not need to eat or did he just eat at a different time? He’d have to find a way to ask Logic about that later) and was being escorted back to his room. Patton had expected Prince to say farewell before leaving him to his own devices until dinner. Instead, he stood in the doorway and rubbed his neck, appearing… nervous?

Patton tilted his head to the side, trying not to let his own nervousness show as he silently watched. What could make Prince nervous? Prince was never nervous. The thought made the pit in Patton’s stomach worsen with every second.

Eventually, Prince cleared his throat and looked up at him. “May I come in, Heart? There are quite a few things I’d like to discuss with you.” Patton nodded shakily and his Fairy Godfather quickly stepped into the room, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Patton was nervously shifting from foot to foot but Prince didn’t seem to notice, instead carefully observing the room around him. “Has Logic been teaching you about Fae culture?”

Patton nodded, bouncing on his toes. “I’ve been learning a lot about negotiation magic and what the most common types are from a human’s per...pers…”

Prince chuckled and Patton jumped, startled. “Perspective?”

He giggled, trying to hide his nervousness. “Yeah, that!”

Prince smiled softly, his gaze turning back to the empty room. “Has he taught you how to properly defend yourself yet?”

His smile fell. “Well, not yet. He says he wants to wait until I can write well in English before teaching me, so I can actually respond to his questions.” He looked down at the ground, suddenly feeling queasy as he tensed up. This was a test, wasn’t it? It was a test and I failed. He had wondered why Prince didn’t make him clean or cook. He was good at it, Prince had even complimented him on how clean Hart Manor was the first time they met! Patton had assumed it was just because he had magic instead, so Patton’s skill set was rendered useless. He knew why now. The expectations set on him weren’t to cook and clean. They were to learn as much as possible and defend himself against fairies. And Patton had failed his expectations.

It had been so long since Patton had last been punished, he’d almost forgotten the terror he always felt leading up to it. The ice that traveled through his veins, making his muscles stiff and his mind run on a loop. All he could do was sit there and wonder how he would be punished, hope that he would be able to keep his clothes and bed and bath. Maybe if he was lucky Prince would use his fire magic to heal him after his punishment. It probably wouldn’t happen, but at least he could hope-

“Patton, breathe!” Patton’s eyes snapped up to meet Prince’s gaze, gulping down air as his mind cleared slightly. He hadn’t even realized that he’d been hyperventilating. When the black spots in his vision went away and he was finally able to focus, he turned his attention over to his Fairy Godfather’s panicked yet sheepish expression. “My apologies, Heart. You couldn’t breathe properly and you couldn’t seem to see or hear me, so I did what I had to do to calm you down.” He raised his hand and Patton flinched, waiting for pain. There was a moment of tense silence, and Patton barely suppressed another flinch when Prince broke it with a whisper. “Oh Heart. I will never purposefully hurt you like that. Don’t you remember me telling you that?”

Patton blinked quickly as he tried to focus on Prince’s shoes, tears blurring his vision. He didn’t speak up, not wanting to upset his caretaker. A part of Patton knew that Prince would never hurt him, that he didn’t want to cause him harm. But after years of knowing that he was worthless, of being beaten everyday for not meeting standards, it ingrained the idea that he had to be perfect. And he had thought that he was doing it well. He didn’t have any physical chores, but Prince seemed to relax when Patton smiled and twirled around, so he assumed he was meeting his expectations. But he wasn’t. He was dumb and couldn’t even do simple tasks like reading and writing! Maybe the little voice in his head was right and he should be punished-

Patton shook his head, letting in a shuddering breath. Those bad thoughts were wrong! He didn’t deserve it! He deserved to be happy and loved, just like Prince said. But Prince doesn’t deserve me. He deserves a better godson, not some broken kid who can’t even hold a conversation without breaking down-

‘Just because you have bad thoughts doesn’t mean you’re weak or broken.’ Patton forced more air into his lungs, trying to clear his head while he remembered what the Duke had told him on his first day here. He had seen some of Patton’s punishments, and he’s said that Patton didn’t deserve them. That had to count for something, right? Two different people telling him that he didn’t deserve to be punished?

Patton let out a shuddering breath. “I-” His voice cracked and he flinched, but forced the next few words out before Prince could worry more. “I know. I trust you. It’s just… I feel…” He groaned and flopped back on the bed. “Words are hard.”

His fairy godfather chuckled, easing back to lay down next to him. “Words can be such a fickle thing, can’t they?” They laid there in silence for a few minutes before he spoke up again. “Can you tell me why you started panicking?”

Patton starred at his ceiling, the twinkling fairy lights calming his nerves. “I could…”

Prince made an odd sound, and Patton couldn’t tell if it sounded humorous or irritated, or maybe something else. “Alright, will you tell me why you panicked, Hart?”

Patton sighed, the long sleeves of his shirt getting bunched up in his tight grip. “...Promise me you won’t be upset?”

He felt Prince shift next to him, probably to look over at him, but Patton couldn’t tell as he stared up at the ceiling. He couldn’t bear to see his fairy godfather’s face right now. There was a moment of silence, and Patton was sure that he would refuse to promise, or ask why he wanted a promise out of him in the first place. Patton had read a few chapters ahead to please Logic, and he had read about how much promises mean to the Fae. A promise wasn’t as powerful as an oath or vow, but it was still nothing to scoff at. When you promised something to a fairy- or, in turn, if a fairy promised something to you- it couldn’t be broken easily. Not without the person who made the promise suffering some form of consequence. Oh, why did Patton have to be so greedy, asking for something that he knew meant so much to the Fae? He opened his mouth to apologize.

“I promise.”

“I’m sor- wait, what?” Patton looked over at his fairy godfather, who was staring at him with an intensity that made him want to squirm.

Prince maintained eye contact as he took a deep breath, steeling himself as he spoke. “I promise that whatever you say next will not make me upset with you.”

Patton shuddered as he felt the promise wash over him, fueled by his fairy godfather’s magic. It seeped into his skin and made his insides all warm and fuzzy, like a warm hug etched into his very soul. It gave him a feeling of safety and support that gave him the confidence to continue. “I’ve been wondering why you didn’t want me to cook or clean, and at first I thought it was because you could do it better with your magic. But now I think I know why.” He carefully wrapped his arms around his middle, belatedly hoping that Prince didn’t notice the movement as he shielded his sides. Even though it had been almost 2 weeks, the bruises on his legs and sides from where Lord Hart kicked him were still there, the marks appearing like smears of jam against his skin. They still hurt often, and he just thinking about them made his sides throb. “My par- Lord and Lady Hart, they expected me to cook and clean for them. And when I didn’t meet their standards, I got punished. You don’t expect me to cook and clean. You expect me to learn all that I can about the Fae from Logic. And I should know more now, but I’ve been struggling with writing in English. Logic’s explanations leave me all dizzy and confused. Not that it’s his fault, please don’t be mad at him! I just struggle to understand what he means sometimes, and it’s hard to ask questions when you can’t speak or write to them.” He felt his sides ache in reminder as to what would come next. “I know you said you wouldn’t hurt me, but I also know that there’s more than one way to be punished, and that I’d rather get smacked than lose what you’ve already given me. The baths, the food, the clothes… they’re more than what I could ever hope for. And I know I don’t deserve it, but could you use your fire magic on me afterwards? It feels really nice and makes the hurt go away.”

Prince stayed silent the entire time, periodically clenching and unclenching his jaw as Patton spoke. When he finished, his fairy godfather took a deep breath, nearly growling as he spoke. “I wish to go downstairs and break those monsters down piece-by-piece until they’re left begging for death. The only reason I haven’t already done so is because the laws of Fae won’t let me.” His hand reached up to touch Patton and he flinched, squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh, Heart.” Patton nearly flinched again, this time at how utterly broken his fairy godfather sounded. Prince’s hand cupped his cheek and Patton shuddered at the touch, nearly sobbing at the heat (he couldn’t even tell if the heat came from Prince’s skin or his own, but it still burned in just the right way). “Look at me please.” Patton shuddered and forced his eyes open, tears blurring his vision. His fairy godfather was smiling at him, his eyes watering as he spoke. “There’s those adorable blue eyes.” His expression suddenly turned… sad? “Patton, I swear that as your godfather, I will never purposefully deprive you of common necessities. That means I will never take away your clothes, bed, bath, food, or anything else that you may need. I also swear that I will never touch you with the intention of harming you.”

Patton bit back a gasp as the magic sunk into his skin, validating his oath. Earlier, his promise had been comfortably warm, like your blankets when you first wake up. This, however, felt like he was literally on fire. Every part of him tingled with an intense heat that somehow didn’t hurt. It made him feel more protected than he had ever felt in his entire life, and Patton embraced the feeling like a moth would an open flame.

When he was finally able to focus beyond the new heat running through his veins, Prince continued. “Let me make this clear, Heart: there are no expectations beyond trying your best. And even if there were expectations, you wouldn’t be punished for not completing them. Instead, we would sit down and discuss what you struggled with before trying again.If you’re trying your best and still can’t understand the material, it’s not your fault but ours. And I want you to know just how proud I am of you. You’ve been through so much in so little time, and you’ve still managed to defy any expectations that I could ever imagine placing upon you. You are amazing, and smart, and brave, and so, so kind.”

Patton let out a sob at that, and Prince gently pulled him into a hug, slowly so Patton had plenty of time to back out if he wanted. Patton all but collapsed into the warmth, sobbing uncontrollably. When was the last time that someone had said they were proud of Patton? Had anyone ever been proud of him before now? He didn’t know, but one thing was for certain; his fairy godfather was proud of HIM. And that was enough to bring in a new wave of tears as he clung to his godfather’s chest.

Eventually, the heat became too much for the touch-starved boy, and he weakly pressed against his godfather’s chest. Prince immediately let go and Patton scooted back to his previous spot on his bed. “Now,” Prince began, “I came here to discuss something, but I understand if you’d like to wait until tomorrow before we talk about anything else.” Patton shook his head and Prince smiled softly. “Alright. I had already suspected that you were struggling with reading and writing in English. When I was younger I also struggled with it, and I also know that it’s extremely difficult without help. And while Logic can help you somewhat, he isn’t here to physically talk to you or see what you’re doing. So, I was wondering if you wanted me to help you. I would take over your English studies everyday after lunch, and after we finished I would help you with the verbal side of fairy magic.”

Patton stared for a moment in shock before looking away, blushing slightly. “You don’t have to do all of this.”

Prince chuckled. “But I want to. I want to help you learn as much as possible, so one day you can explore this manor on your own instead of staying in your room all day.” He gestured to the room around them. “There was something else that I would like to discuss with you. I was wondering if you’d like any new furniture for your room. A desk for writing, a reading chair, anything you could think of? I’m afraid I tend to think on the extravagant side, so whatever I come up with might overwhelm you.” Patton opened his mouth but Prince beat him to it. “And before you say it, I know I don’t have to give you this stuff, but I want to. And trust me when I say that there’s nothing you could come up with that’s out of the realm of possibility.”

Patton bit his lip as he thought about it. Should he ask for it? He looked up at Prince’s encouraging smile and pushed the words out. “You can see my thoughts, right? With your magic? The Duke told me that he could see my bad thoughts while you could see my good ones.”

Prince chuckled softly. “That’s an oversimplified way to put it, but yes. If I wanted to, I could read your thoughts. But I don’t do it unless I have your permission.”

He looked away, another blush forming. “Well, a few months ago I saw this really pretty desk at the market. I couldn’t touch it or anything because then I would get in trouble, but I’m pretty sure I remember what it looks like. Can you use your magic to take a look at it?”

He nodded. “I can, but I’ll need to touch you in order to see it clearly. Just a finger to your temple should do.” Patton nodded and closed his eyes, feeling a finger against his head a few moments later. His skin burned and itched with oversensitivity but he ignored it, instead focusing on the memory. It had been a short but wide wooden desk, with drawers on each side to hold stuff. It was a pretty off-white color, and the place where your legs went had a pale blue cloth in place for Patton to hide behind (that last part might’ve been subconsciously added, but Prince didn’t need to know that).

When Prince pulled away Patton yawned, utterly exhausted. When he saw Prince’s worried look he was quick to apologize. “I’m sorry, this isn’t boring I promise! I just usually take a nap right after lunch.”

Prince frowned. “Why didn’t you say so? I could’ve waited until afterwards to talk to you.” Patton shrugged and he sighed. “Well, go ahead and get some rest now. We’ll begin our lessons tomorrow afternoon. Just call my name after you’ve read whatever Logic’s assigned to you and I’ll appear to start teaching you. And Heart?” Patton looked up, already starting to fall asleep. “If you ever feel unsafe around one of us, don’t hesitate to speak up. Even if you think you deserve it, bring it up to someone first. You have me and my brother, and when you master writing you can talk to Logic too. Just don’t let yourself hurt for our sake, alright?” Patton nodded and he smiled softly. “Thank you. I’ll let you rest now. Goodnight Heart.” Patton couldn’t respond, already drifting off to dreamland.

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Taglist: @bisexualdisaster106 @self-taught-mess @itawalrus @arodynamic-enby @sanderssides-angst @whatishappeningrightnow @idont-freaking-know @cute-and-angsty-princess @artsy-enby09 @girl-who-reads @drarrymalecsolangelo

[ufuckingpastry]

Amongst Feathers and Emeralds

AO3 Link

Hi, this ended up with a lot of words, so I've split this fic into 2 chapters. This fic takes place after the events of These Bonds We Keep and Stalking Nightmares.

Content Warning: Trauma/Dealing with Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Hallucinations, Derealization, PTSD, Referenced Suicide Attempt, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

This fic is based on the characters in the DreamSMP, not the content creators. Any views expressed in this fic are not a reflection of the content creators in any shape or form.

Note: I do use terms in this that are meant replace terms used in the Homestuck quadrant system with words that would fit in the Dream SMP universe. See the relationship note below.

Relationships: Dream/Technoblade - Soulbleeder/Kismesistude/Rival Shipping Technoblade/Philza - Starfated/Moirallegiance/Platonic Relationship

Chapter 1: Like a Ghost, You’re Haunting Me

Philza bounced the tea ball in the mug, watching the tea steep into the water with dead eyes. His eyes closed slowly before he shook himself awake. No, no, he had to be awake. He had to. Technoblade still hadn't woken from the events with the egg. Philza had slowly fed him slices of the god apple Dream left, hoping to see his eyes open not with bloodlust and snarls, but just… something else. Philza cupped his face with a groan. The only time he slept was when Ranboo visited, but those moments were few and far in between. He didn't want to bother him with this, even as he grew more sleep deprived.

"I brought him home. To you."

Dream's voice remained ever present in his head. To you. Because Philza knew how to take care of Techno. More than anyone, he knew. And somehow Dream knew that too. He had analyzed their conversation, there in the snow. He had to know what Dream meant.

"He never told you."

Told him what? Philza couldn't figure it out. He couldn't go talk to Dream because that would mean leaving Technoblade. And also, Sam had put the prison into total lockdown as he fixed the break Dream managed to worm his way through. Puffy was there. She could help him.

Philza rubbed at his eyes and pulled the tea ball out. He set it aside and took the tray of food up to Technoblade's room. He laid still, his breathing more like pants as he fought off whatever demons plagued him. Philza stepped close, set the tray aside, and sat next to the bed. His own bed rested off to the side, close enough to touch and share warmth. He cupped Techno's cheek, his tension and stress fading as he watched Techno soften under his touch and his breathing slow.

“Techno, please,” he begged, his voice soft. “Please wake up. I need you back.” He rubbed his thumb on his cheek, blinking when a drop of water fell next to his thumb. His breath hitched and he wiped away his tears. It had been days, days, since he had last seen his friend awake. Days since he had last seen his friend not suffering. A sob slipped out before he could stop it. He covered his face, another sob wracking him. His wings flared out and wrapped around his form, as if to hide his sorrow from the rest of the world.

Like the days before, he wondered if Techno would ever wake up. He had been with the egg for three days. Alone. Isolated from everyone except those who wished harm upon him. An ugly sound broke out of Philza and his wings closed tighter. The corruption that burrowed into Techno had faded under Philza’s care, but he wondered about the corruption within. Would he ever see his friend again, the way he was before?

He cried for what felt like hours, unable to help his sobs. The food and his tea had gone cold, but Philza didn’t want to crack open his wings yet. Just… just a little longer. He just wanted a little longer before he had to face the world again.

“Phil?”

Philza’s breath caught. He didn’t dare to breathe, even as he felt Technoblade shift next to him. When his friend called his name again, Philza peeked through the shredded feathers. Technoblade’s head turned towards him, infinitely tired, but awake. Infinitely weary, but whole and not a snarl in sight. Seeing that Philza was looking at him, Techno rested a hand on Philza’s thigh, worry creasing his brow.

“Phil? Why are you crying?”

Philza dove for Techno, dragging him into a tight embrace and heaved another sob. Techno groaned in pain, but he hugged Philza back.

“Phil?” Techno called again as Phil sobbed into his shoulder. He groaned as he tried to sit up in bed. His hand pet over Phil’s splayed wings, his fingers finding the vanes and stroking them softly. His friend shivered under his touch, but rather than move away, he pressed closer, squeezed him harder. They stayed like this for a long while, holding their silence together. When Technoblade broke the silence, he spoke quietly. “Phil, what—what happened?”

“You,” he started with a shaky exhale. He sat back, wiping at his eyes as he settled in next to his friend. “BadBoyHalo and Antfrost trapped you above the egg. Puffy and I went looking for you and—” Phil closed his mouth, biting off the rest of that sentence. Techno’s hand stroked his feathers again and he breathed out. Forgive him, but he still needed time to understand, “And we brought you home,” he lied.

Technoblade pressed a hand to his face, his breath still slow and deep, but… His eyes fell shut as he tried to think, tried to remember all that had happened. He… There was the dark, the blood, the lava popping in the distance, the whispers, the shape of the ghost in the corners of his vision, the laughter and victory in Bad’s voice as Technoblade dropped into the hole. His fingers closed and he could feel the scar on his palm from holding onto the shard of obsidian, the goal of slamming it into his—

His fingers found the scars in his face, the lines of where the egg’s vines had burrowed into his flesh, taking hold of him, taking him into darker and darker places where even the voices couldn’t reach. Places where the ghost put weapons into his hands to put weapons into his/its enemies’ eyes, into their flesh, into into into into—

Philza’s brow furrowed as he watched Techno hands curl into fists, the shaking returning, the snarls cracking across his face, his eyes darkening in rage and fury. His friend’s breaths were coming quicker now. His gaze focused on something in middle distance and. And Phil went cold. No… No, no, not again! No!

“I’ll kill them!” Technoblade lurched from the bed with a roar. “I’ll slaughter them all!” Philza scrambled off the bed, reaching for Techno, reaching for his friend. “I’ll stain the earth with their BLOOD!” Technoblade snarled, his rage propelling him forward towards the ladder. He’d go back, he’d fill that cave with TNT, and he’d—

His legs crumpled beneath him and he dropped to the ground. Technoblade clawed at the floor, his breaths panicked and gasping, pain shooting through his leg and his lungs and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t—!

Arms wrapped around Technoblade, black wings encircling them and hiding them from the world. Technoblade’s breath caught in his throat as Philza squeezed him.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, Techno, stop. You’re safe. You’re home. You’re not there anymore!” Phil closed his eyes and he let some old power seep through the fabric of the universe. Just enough that soothing darkness, the darkness like the space between the stars on a moonless night, enveloped them. Technoblade’s breathing slowed in the space where even time begged for stillness.

And it was in this darkness that Technoblade cried.

---

Philza set aside the tea ball and picked up the steaming mug of peppermint tea. He turned to see Technoblade resting face down in Steve’s fur, his back rising and falling gently as if he were sleeping. Philza knew better though. He still stepped quietly towards his friend and knelt down. Techno turned his face towards the angel and took the mug with soft thanks when it was offered to him. Philza glanced at the almost untouched plate of food. He pushed the plate towards Techno with a pointed look.

“Techno, eat.”

“When was the last time you slept, Phil?”

“Techno,” Philza said.

“Phil,” Techno echoed. They stared at each other for a while, then Technoblade sighed. “If I eat, will you sleep?”

“The bed is too far away.” Philza scooted in close, folding his wings up as he sat up against the wall of Steve. Technoblade grabbed the plate and shifted his position. He tapped the floor next to him and Philza settled at his side. “No feeding Steve your plate, either,” he warned.

“When have I ever?”

“That night I fried salmon?”

“Bruh, you set the plate too close to his face. I did not feed him!”

“I saw you sneaking him bites.”

“He was skin and bones!”

“Well, he’s not anymore!”

The two frowned at each other, challenging looks on their faces. Technoblade broke first, his frown cracking into a smile before ducking in a hearty laugh. Philza joined in with his own airy laugh, falling over into Technoblade’s lap. Philza gazed up at his best friend and smiled. Technoblade smiled back at him, then had to look away from the softness in Phil’s expression. His cheeks warmed and he coughed to break the growing silence.

“Go to sleep, Phil. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?” Phil asked, his voice cracking on the word. Technoblade stiffened underneath him, feeling the weight of his answer before he responded. He exhaled softly, then lifted Phil up enough so they could press their foreheads together.

“I promise.”

Technoblade finished his plate as Phil settled in his lap. Technoblade leaned over, grabbed a nearby blanket, and settled it over Phil's form, being careful not to pinch the wings as he did so. Phil fell asleep quickly, belying how tired he really was. Technoblade pet his hair as he slept, his thoughts drifting. He tried to remember what happened after… After he got away from the egg. He found he couldn’t remember much. He… he barely even remembered leaving that dark room. He tried to kill himself, to trick the egg into letting him go. He remembered it shrieking in his skull. And he remembered it all going dark. He remembered nightmares plaguing him, of stumbling in the dark and snarling threats at those who led him away. He remembered a dark shape, familiar in the form, familiar in how it rumbled at him, but his head ached when he tried to put a name or a face to the feeling.

The nightmares continued. He’d wake to Phil and. And he didn’t know if it was a trick and he would fade like he had every time before, or if it was a trick come to hurt him. And then he remembered waking to feathers brushing his face, feathers curling around a body that hitched with sobs and shuddered with breaths that felt like they ripped his soul from his body. It was Phil crying and Technoblade didn’t understand why.

Except, he did… sort of. How he got from the community area, from the dark room, to his home, Technoblade didn’t know. He would have remembered the nether, wouldn’t he? But no, Phil said he had been passed out, asleep in bed. But how else would Phil have taken him home? It was too long of a trip across the overworld to drag an unconscious body. Technoblade’s fingers found the feathers in his best friend’s hair and stroked them idly. He continued to think and think and overthink until the thoughts felt worn against his skull. At one point, he tucked himself under the blanket, the night air seeping in through cracks in the walls. He made a note to fix those as soon as possible as he dozed off into darkness.

Technoblade blinked awake. Morning light streamed in through the windows, warm on his face. He felt around under the blanket and froze when he couldn’t find Phil. He scrambled to his feet, panic welling under his ribs. Steve grumbled as he shoved at him in his haste. A clattering from the kitchen startled Technoblade.

“Techno?” Phil’s voice called. He appeared in the doorway, a towel in his hands. His face softened when he saw Technoblade’s panic slipping across his uncovered face. “Oh, come here,” he said, ordering gently. And Technoblade went to him. He wrapped his arms around Phil in an embrace more desperate than he meant it to be. “Hey, hey, I’ve got you. I’m sorry I left, but you looked so peaceful sleeping there.” Phil’s feathers ruffled under his fingertips as he carded through them. He relaxed piece by piece, holding onto Phil until he reluctantly let him go.

“Thanks,” he sighed. Phil cupped his cheek and smiled gently.

“All good?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Phil smiled and dropped his hand onto his shoulder. “Now, I need you to undress.”

“Uh,” Technoblade’s cheeks warmed. “What?”

“Techno, you’ve been bedridden for nearly a week. I am going to give you a bath,” he said with an unimpressed look. His gaze dropped to his arm, then to Technoblade’s leg where he had to reset it. “And check your injuries,” he added thoughtfully. Phil’s lip pressed together and his gaze flicked up to his friend. Technoblade’s face warmed even more at that look.

“You’ll take care of me?” he asked.

“Oh, I am going to take such good care of you,” Phil replied, his voice dropping low and gentle. “Now go ahead.” Phil leaned back against the wall, his arms crossing over his midsection as he waited.

“Right here?” Technoblade asked.

“Yeah. Undress for me, Techno.”

Technoblade chewed his lip, then purposely looked away as he started to undress for Phil. He took his time because he knew Phil liked to watch, liked to see his skin flush and warm from the attention. His ears twitched as Phil pushed up from the wall. He walked around Technoblade as he finished, his fingertips brushing along the multitude of scars that crisscrossed his flesh. Phil’s fingers lingered on one on his back, where the anvil hit first. Phil frowned at the scar and rubbed his thumb over the faded mark. His hand pressed fully on his back, radiating warmth on Technoblade’s cooling skin. Technoblade exhaled, not surprised by how shaky his breath sounded already.

"There you go," Phil crooned. "Let's go." The hand on his back applied just enough pressure that had Technoblade following immediately. Phil must have planned this because the bath was already warm by the time they got to it. Steam drifted up from the surface and Technoblade eyed the flowers and other herbs drifting on the surface. He climbed in with Phil's encouragement, a low groan escaping between his teeth as the warm water settled into his bones. He tilted his head back and found a pillow resting beneath him.

"Going all out, huh?" He asked as Phil moved around the washroom, gathering wash cloths and small brushes and more oils to help clean him. Phil simply hummed and settled down beside the bath. His jacket hung by the door, the sleeves of his kimono rolled up to keep from getting wet, and his wings hung relaxed on his back.

"It's you, of course I am."

"Keep me away from the bees. I'm gonna smell like flowers by the time you're done with me. They'll be all over me."

Phil laughed, loud and bright. He picked one of the sprigs of lavender out and dropped it on Technoblade's nose. He snorted out air in an attempt to dislodge it. Phil snickered again and went to work. He scrubbed down where the grime was caked on the most, though Technoblade noted that he wasn't as dirty as he probably should have been. Maybe Phil cleaned him when he first came, passed out and bleeding. The bandages were off his arm, the flesh half healed and scarred over. Phil saw him looking and rested a hand next to the wound. He rubbed his thumb over his skin and gently pushed it back under the water.

Phil was gentle with him as he cleaned Technoblade. He blamed the flush spreading across his skin on the warmth of the bath and not on the soft touches of his friend’s fingers. Phil took his time, murmuring praise when Technoblade obeyed whatever order he gave out. It was nice, to relinquish control to someone he knew he could trust. He couldn't remember much after being trapped with the egg, but Phil was here.

Phil was here and touching him and whispering praises as he cleaned nearly every inch of him. Technoblade couldn't remember a time he was so relaxed. He almost started dozing in the water, his eyes lidded and his mouth cracked in a lazy grin. Wings fluttered above him as Phil bent down. His eyes flickered open just in time for their foreheads to press together. When Phil parted and started gathering up his supplies, Technoblade caught sight of his wings. 

They looked… worn. Weary. Relaxed for now, but the feathers weren't straight and many spots looked dirty. A wing fluttered near him and Technoblade reached out and brushed his fingertips along the feathers. Phil stiffened with a soft gasp. He stroked the feathers gently, smiling as Phil breathed all shaky and wanting.

“I should preen you soon,” he said casually. Phil pulled his wing back and spun on his heel.

“Not until I’m done with you first!” he said with a huff. Technoblade grinned at him. A towel hit him square in the face and he burst out in a loud laugh. “Get dried up. I need to look at your injuries.”

“Am I staying naked for this too?” He asked, pushing out of the water with a groan. He leaned heavy on the leg he hadn’t broken, bracing himself on the wall as he made his way out. He leaned too far one way and Phil caught him with a grunt before he fell.

“Careful, mate.” Water dripped all over Phil’s clothes, but it didn’t look like he much cared, more worried for his friend than for himself. Technoblade thanked him softly. Phil helped him dry off, more focused on keeping him upright rather than doing any actual drying. He thanked him again as they limped to the table Phil set up. Phil helped him lay across it, the towel over his lap for modesty.

Phil checked over him for a moment, to make sure he was comfortable, then left to go change. Still warm from his bath and definitely smelling like lavender and berries, Technoblade dozed off. A touch to his shoulder woke him. He glanced up to Phil’s apologetic face. He was in his undershirt, his arms free of fabric so they wouldn’t get in the way as he worked on Technoblade. In one of his hands was a simple black strip of cloth. Technoblade’s breath hitched at the sight of it.

“Hey,” Phil greeted, lifting up the blindfold. “Thought you might want this.” Technoblade nodded once and Phil tied it over his eyes. Darkness fell and he relaxed immediately. Fake darkness, it might be, but darkness all the same. He could hear Phil walking around the table, gathering supplies. A match struck and the hiss of something catching fire echoed in his ears. The faint smell of incense filled the room and Technoblade sighed.

“What? Don’t I smell good enough after that bath?” he teased. A hand pressed firmly on his chest, pushing him back down to the table.

“Hush,” Phil whispered, dragging out the word. Technoblade went down without a word. His eyes closed behind the blindfold and his ears twitched to listen for his friend. Philza made noise, of course. He knew Technoblade would want to hear something, especially after being alone for so long. But he didn’t really go out of his way to do it. He trailed his fingers along his friend’s skin, watching almost idly as the muscles twitched under his caress. Each breath, each gasp sent another spark of… something down the length of his spine. Something fierce, protective, loving, wanting, and just. Something. He never really understood it, why caring for his friend in this manner felt. Well, it felt so intimate. Just shy of romantic, like a step removed. Something lovers might partake in, or, perhaps, what it felt like to worship a god. Philza snickered to himself; a god, indeed.

Technoblade made a questioning noise beneath his hand and he hushed him again. Philza exhaled slowly, focusing his thoughts again. He started first on the wound on Technoblade’s arm. The bath helped to clean it out, to soften the flesh so he could poke at it some to check the healing progress. It looked fine, but Philza wrapped it in a bandage again. More to protect it from outside filth from infecting it than to stop any bleeding. Next, he checked the small wounds crossing over his body where the corruption burrowed in. Those looked like they would remain as scars, but the corruption had faded for sure. He worried the corruption would return should they get close to the egg before Technoblade finished recovering.

Finally, he moved to Technoblade’s leg, to where he had set it himself. Philza didn’t know what happened to cause that; Techno hadn’t offered that information yet. That was alright. Philza was a patient man. He could wait forever if he needed to. He just hoped it wouldn’t take that long. The bone was set well, nearly perfect, plus it had already started to heal. Philza straightened out the leg, then attached the splint. He let his hands explore his friend, feeling for other hurts, others pains, other injuries that his tired eyes missed. A sniffle caught his attention. He pulled his hands a breath away, worried that he had hurt Techno.

Then, he noticed the tight lines of Technoblade’s body, the way he shook minutely, the tense shoulders, the gritted teeth. Philza felt his old heart melt. He stepped close to Techno’s face, his hand coming down to cup his friend’s cheek.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, stroking the cheek under his thumb. “You’re safe, my friend.” Technoblade sniffled again. Phil cupped his face with both hands, pressing their foreheads together. Slowly, like water eroding away stones, Technoblade let himself go. Piece by shaking piece, the tears came, and Techno cried. Unlike earlier, where he buried himself in Philza’s feathers and squeezed him until his bones creaked under the force, this time he cried in little bursts. Gentle would be the wrong word to use, but he cried gently. The blindfold helped, Philza knew. Technoblade wouldn’t allow himself to cry in anything other than darkness. He hated to let people see him cry, not because he expected others to think lesser of him or because his childhood taught him that he wasn’t manly enough if he cried. It was the vulnerability. The same vulnerability that made him scream hatred upon friends turned enemies. The vulnerability that made each betrayal hurt worse and worse. The same vulnerability that left Philza shaking for days after he plunged his son’s sword through his belly.

Philza sat with him, sat with their hurts together, for what felt like eons. He continued to touch Technoblade, to let him know he was still there, still taking care of him. He waited until Technoblade cried his last tear, then patted his shoulder.

“I’m going to get some water. You’re going to drink it all.” He stood up, but a hand grabbed his wrist. He turned back to see Technoblade with his head turned towards him. The blindfold still covered his eyes, but Philza could feel his friend looking straight at him.

“I’m preening you next.”

They took a break afterwards. Of course, they did. Philza had to make sure Techno was okay, but every time, he was still surprised when Technoblade took care of him back. While the angel cleaned up the table and the bath, Technoblade cooked them lunch. It was mushroom stew, Techno’s favorite. A comfort food for when the comforting became too intense. They ate, then joked with each other, and enjoyed each other’s company. Philza talked about building a house next to his, talked about moving his stuff over sometime so he didn’t have to always be in Techno’s space.

“But I like you in my space,” Technoblade replied, his arms tugging Philza close.

“Yeah, but, mate,” he started. Technoblade’s smile fell a degree and he nodded. He understood what Philza meant. It had been nearly a century that he wandered the overworld alone before he met Technoblade. Solitude was a close friend to Philza, almost like a lover itself. But, that he wanted to make a permanent base here, close to his friend… Well, that meant something. Philza didn’t quite know what kind of something, but he was a patient man. He could wait to find out, even if he hoped he wouldn’t have to wait long.

Once lunch was cleaned up, Technoblade and Phil settled together on a mat on the floor. The piglin would have preferred the bed, but Phil worried about the mess they would make. At least the mat was soft on the stone floor. At least the fire crackled warmth nearby. Phil still hadn’t put his jacket back on. His bare arms showed goosebumps and Technoblade ran his hands down his skin, trying to help warm him back up.

“Relax for me, my friend,” he said as he carded his fingers through Phil's hair, earning him a nervous little laugh. Phil peered back at him through the feathers of the raised wing, checking that it was him at his back. Technoblade smiled reassuringly. He gently pulled Phil’s hair, guiding his head back towards him.

“You’re going to be good for me now, won’t you?” he asked.

“Yeah, mate,” Phil breathed. When Technoblade let go of his hair, he bent forward, splaying his wings for his friend. Technoblade reached into the bag of tools at his side, pulling out the little tool to help with picking out dirt and parasites. He wouldn’t need it yet, but he liked to look at it before starting. Phil huffed out a laugh when Technoblade set the bone tool aside.

“You still have that old thing?” he asked, stalling. Technoblade ran his fingers down the leading edge of Phil’s wing, savoring the gasp that touch got him.

“Of course,” he said, his fingers light as air as he felt over the feathers. He started with straightening the feathers, able to talk while he worked at this point. “You gave it to me the first time I did this.” He glanced at the tool and leaned forward, enough that Phil could feel his weight. It always made him shiver when he did that and Technoblade couldn’t help but laugh. “You were still teaching me words, still some of this language I didn’t know. Covenant, you said when I asked. My covenant.” Technoblade’s words faded in the silence, focusing on his work. Where Technoblade was quiet during care, Phil wasn’t. Sure, he tried to hide the noises, bite down on groans and soft gasps as Technoblade preened him. It was after a particularly sharp hitch his breath that Technoblade tugged his hair back.

“Philza,” he crooned. Phil’s face was flushed, warm and soft and open. “You know I like hearing you.”

“It’s embarrassing, though,” he said with a huff.

“Bruh, it’s just you and me.”

“And Steve.”

“Steve is a polar bear. He has no concept of embarrassment.”

“Oh, you’re an expert on polar bears now?”

“Of course, I am. Have you seen how many polar bears we have?”

Phil laughed and Technoblade let his hair go, let him get comfortable again before he picked up the bone tool. As he worked over Phil’s wings, his friend let him hear all the soft little noises he knew Technoblade liked to hear. Most were real, he knew. There were some Phil just made because Technoblade asked him to be louder. He didn’t mind hearing the fake ones. It gave him something to listen to, something to help stimulate his brain while he worked. It wasn’t that Phil was boring or that he despised the task of preening. The noise helped him focus. Sometimes Phil would talk, or tell stories, but he really only did that when he had regular preening.

This time, though, it was obvious Phil hadn’t preened in a while. A week? Two? He told him once that he preferred Technoblade doing it over his own hands. When he asked why, Phil admitted he didn’t know.

“It’s… more intimate, I guess, when it’s you. No one else, either,” he had said.

“You let others near your wings?” Technoblade teased. Phil had flicked him in the face with the free wing and the piglin burst out laughing.

“Not often, and not just anyone,” Phil said when the laughter died down. Technoblade remembered him pulling his legs up to his chest, a far away look in his eyes. “Before she left, I’d let my wife do it. She liked to do it, in her own way. But it doesn’t feel the same, not like how it feels with you.”

“What happened to her, anyway? It’s been decades since I last saw her.” Phil was quiet for a long time, before he eventually answered his friend’s question.

“Her work keeps her busy. It’s been decades for me too. The last time was when…”

“Wilbur showed up?”

“Yeah.”

Technoblade’s ear twitched when Phil’s breath hitched. He focused back on Phil, turning the memory away. He was straightening a few feathers, the tool catching on one. He whispered an apology and refocused on his task. It felt good to take care of Phil, to take care of someone other than himself. He knew why he felt like this, of course. The word on his tongue so many times, too afraid to ask Phil if he would agree. Technoblade remembered the first night Phil let him preen him. It was a starry night and Technoblade remembered gazing up at the stars and realizing why.

Fated amongst the stars, they were. Technoblade was sure of it. He was sure.

But he wasn’t sure Phil felt the same. They were close, they acted like it, but Technoblade was afraid. Afraid that the second he spoke it into existence, it would vanish before his eyes. As he finished up taking care of his friend, he dropped his head in between Phil’s shoulders. They moved under his skull as Phil turned to look at him.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Technoblade answered as he sat back. Phil turned around to face him fully, pulling him into an embrace. “I’ll be alright. I’ll be alright.”

And he hoped, against whatever the universe told him, that if he spoke that into existence, it wouldn’t vanish before his eyes. 

---

Ranboo strolled down the main path, keeping his ears open for more ghasts or the magma cubes that always jumped to their deaths. His ear twitched, picking up the sound of hoofsteps. He turned, scanning the area, when he saw a familiar piglin. He started to raise his hand in a wave, but something in Techno’s stance, in the way he held himself as he crossed over the netherrack made Ranboo pause. The piglin was tense, meandering, and the other piglins bolted from him even though he limped heavily. Ranboo glanced back to where he was going, back towards the path, and made a quick decision. He turned on his heel and hurried to catch up with Technoblade.

“Techno!” he called. “Technoblade!” He wasn’t too far back that he couldn’t see Techno’s ears, but they didn’t even twitch at the sound. Oh, oh that was NOT a good sign. He picked up his pace until he finally caught up. Techno still didn’t acknowledge his presence, not even when Ranboo did the wrong thing and came up from behind him in his blind spot. Ranboo caught sight of the glassy look in his eyes and felt his stomach drop out from under him. He readied a potion of weakness he carried on hand, in case Technoblade reacted badly (which he probably would). Ranboo grabbed Techno’s shoulder and pushed him back with all his strength. To his credit, Technoblade stumbled. In that moment, Ranboo put himself between Technoblade and his path, his shield ready to defend against any lashing out.

But instead of the normal response—uh oh—Technoblade blinked a couple times and shook his head. When he lifted his head, the glassy look was still there, but…

“Technoblade?” Ranboo ventured, lowering his shield. This time, the piglin’s ears flicked forward. Ranboo didn’t let himself relax, not yet. “Where are you going, Techno?”

“Home,” he replied softly. He shook his head again, a hand coming up to touch the scars in his cheek. Ranboo’s anxiety spiked with that answer. He couldn’t stop and message Phil and—why didn’t Phil know Techno was gone???

“Home? Techno, do you mean, uh, in the arctic biome?”

“Yeah,” he answered, though he sounded a little far away still. He took a step forward and Ranboo squared up, his shield back in front of his body. “Home.”

“You’re going the wrong way, Techno,” he said. Technoblade tried to take another step forward, but Ranboo pushed him back with the shield. “Techno,” he started again. “You’re going the wrong way. You’re going towards the community portal.” Horror slid into his veins like teardrops into his scars. “Back to L’Manberg. Back to the Egg.”

Of all things, that seemed to wake Technoblade up. The piglin tensed, another blink, and he looked up at Ranboo. There was, oh boy! There was now red twining around in the black sclera of his eyes. OH BOY. Ranboo exchanged his shield for an empty hand, hoping they could stop this peacefully. 

“Let’s get you back, okay? Phil’s probably worried sick about you, Techno.” Ranboo offered. Technoblade eyed the hand. The hesitation before he took Ranboo’s hand had the half-enderman steeling himself. He was not the strongest one here and, if Technoblade decided that he’d much rather bolt the other direction, Ranboo wasn’t sure if he could stop him on his own. But Technoblade took the offer, his own hand grabbing onto Ranboo’s forearm. He returned the gesture and guided Technoblade away from the community portal.

Technoblade released Ranboo’s arm in time, his gaze dropped to the path beneath their feet. He walked just a little behind Ranboo, but Ranboo kept an eye on him, in case he did decide to run back. The red in his eyes eventually faded and Ranboo wondered if it was because of how close he got to the egg. Or because of whatever lingering effects still sat rooted in his mind. Ranboo could relate to that, to being unable to trust your own mind, your own thoughts. Ranboo was so focused on his own thoughts, jotting down notes in his memory book, that he almost missed Technoblade speaking. No, wait. He did actually miss that.

“Uh, sorry. Could you repeat that?” he asked with a sheepish smile, stuffing the memory book back into his inventory. Technoblade was always patient with his memory issues and never griped about him when he ‘spaced out’.

“I said,” he started again, soft and considering. “This must remind you of when you guys brought me back home.”

Ranboo stopped so quickly that Technoblade actually ran into him. Technoblade started to ask if he was okay, but Ranboo’s brain was already gone. The half-enderman whipped out his memory book again, flipping back to the night they found out where Technoblade had gone. He, he remembered that pretty well, right? Right???

And yeah, no, there it was right in front of him.

Techno taken by Ant and Bad? To the Egg

Gone for 3 days

Went with Phil and Puffy to get him back, but Phil sent me home to wait for Techno

Black shape in the sky???? Dream brought Techno home

“Uh,” he said, the memory book lowering. Technoblade was looking at him intently. Ranboo faltered in the face of such an intense expression. Technoblade's demeanor had changed like the wind and Ranboo did not like what that meant for him. Ranboo continued, since he was obviously waiting for him to finish. “We… we didn’t bring you home, though.” Technoblade’s mouth curved down into a frown. But then it brightened back into a smile. Ranboo didn’t know what was going on.

“Right, right. Not including you. Puffy and Phil did.”

Oh, Ranboo did NOT know what was going on.

“No?” That stopped Technoblade in his tracks. He leaned back, speaking very, very carefully. 

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

“Techno,” Ranboo said, glancing around for a moment to make sure no one else was around them. He shuffled closer, eyeing the tusks and the way his hands rested on his belt too casually to not be dangerous. He forged on. “Puffy didn’t come back with Phil. She stayed with Sam at the prison. Phil didn’t bring you home. Dream did.”

Technoblade stiffened. Then, as silent as the moon, he rose to his full height. Ranboo, still taller than him by a head, shrank in response. He chirped in Ender, his anxiety spiking even MORE now. Who told Techno that Phil and Puffy brought him back? Plus, hadn’t he been unconscious??? What was happening???

Ranboo didn’t get a chance to ponder that for long. Technoblade turned on his heel and strode towards the arctic portal, his cloak billowing out behind. If it could storm in the nether, Ranboo was sure he would have heard lightning cracking with each footstep. He followed him at a distance, afraid of what had made him so angry.

Ranboo watched Technoblade hurry to the house, his own steps in the gently drifting snow silent. At the door, Technoblade stopped, breathed in, and forced his shoulders to relax. He stepped into the house. Ranboo considered hovering outside the door, or watching from the windows, but he stopped himself. Phil was in there. He was going to talk to Phil. Ranboo scurried away into his own house, deciding it best to give the two some space. He pulled Enderchest into his lap and started petting her, the fur feeling nice under his shaking fingers.

“Phil?”

Philza turned to see Technoblade leaning in his doorway, arms crossed across his chest. The tension in his shoulders, the piercing gaze holding steady and unblinking, and the firm press of his lips caused Philza’s feathers to instinctually puff up to make him larger and scarier against the threat before him. Technoblade was not wearing the boar mask and Philza felt his gaze pin him in place. He breathed in and shuffled his wings, folded them back down, and held them tight against his back. This was Techno, his friend. He wouldn’t hurt him, no matter how angry he was.

“Yeah, mate?”

Technoblade clicked his tongue and pushed up out of the door. His hooves click-clicked across Philza’s floor until he stopped before him. Philza lifted his head, reminded how tall his friend was now that he was just… there. A voice in his head noted how he was basically baring his throat now and Philza took that thought and hid it away.

“You said,” Technoblade started casually and Philza felt his blood turn to ice by the tone. “That you and Puffy brought me home?”

So. He knew.

Philza held his friend's gaze. If he turned away now, if he didn't stand his ground, if he gave Techno any reason to doubt… then this all would fall apart. He saw it with Tommy. He saw it with Wilbur. He would not see it with himself. Philza pressed his lips together. Techno didn’t offer any more than just that question, but there was no need. Even now, even though he was caught in his lie, there would be no brushing this off. It was his mistake for waiting this long. It was his mistake for lying in the first place.

“Yes, I did,” he replied with a swallow that made his throat click.

“Why?”

Philza couldn’t help the shiver from the deep octave Technoblade’s voice dropped to. It spoke of danger, dripping venomous and deadly. It was not a tone Techno used with him, not since… Philza stowed away the thought. Techno tilted his head, waiting for a response. When Philza took too long, he growled and stalked back.

“Phil, you know I trust you to tell me the truth, right? You know I need you to tell me the truth! So why? Why did you lie?!” Technoblade roared. Philza heard the pain in that roar, the betrayal. And he couldn’t keep calm, because if he let Technoblade keep going like this, he wouldn’t get the chance to defend himself.

“Because I didn’t understand why!” His wings snapped open as he shouted back. “Because I still don’t understand why! Techno, do you think I wanted to? That I wanted to hurt you? I wanted to give myself time to think because—!” Philza’s voice stuttered, breathing quick between his words and his frustration. He paused, hunching his shoulders as he tried to keep his thoughts in line. “You hate him, but then he breaks out of prison to save you? D-do—How else do you expect me to process that!” Technoblade growled and stepped forward again, his gaze glaring down at him.

“That’s your reason? That’s your excuse? That you don't understand?” His exhale was a snarl. “Phil, why didn't you just talk to me instead of lying to my face?”

Philza's feathers now flared out, the full black wingspan like a night sky behind him. He was still shorter than Technoblade, but like hell he was backing down!

"Talk to you? Just talk to you?” Philza almost laughed. Instead, he straightened to his full height, and he felt the edges of the universe shimmer in his anger. “Like how you talk to me about everything? Like how you don’t hide shit from me? Technoblade, Dream told me you were hiding something. That there was something you never told me. Don't rag on me for lying if you're going to hide shit from me too!"

For the first time that night, Technoblade seemed to be at a loss for words. He pressed his lips together and looked away. The fact he didn't have an answer for that, that Philza had caught him in his own mistake sent the angel two steps forward, forcing Technoblade to either back up of his own accord or be pushed back.

"What exactly is your relationship with Dream?" Philza hissed.

"You-you wouldn't understand," Technoblade said as he took a step back. Philza’s eyes narrowed. The irony of that response was not lost on him.

"That's your reason?" He echoed coldly. "That's your excuse?" Philza took another step forward, folding his wings. Though he was smaller now, Technoblade backed up further. When he saw that Technoblade’s gaze was still looking away from him, Philza closed his eyes and breathed in. The darkness that had begun to seep forth faded back into nothingness as he forced himself to calm. When he opened his eyes again, he reached up to touch Techno’s cheek. He hesitated and that hurt Philza more than all the rage and pain. Then, finally, he leaned into the touch and Philza sighed.

“What am I going to do with you?” he asked the universe. Neither it nor Technoblade answered, but that was alright. “I won’t lie to you, Techno, as long as you don’t hide things from me. And I refuse to let this be the thing that drives a wedge between us. Not a petty fight like this.” Technoblade was quiet, but Philza knew his friend enough that a big release of emotion was draining for him. He still held him there, turned his head to look at him. “Techno, I swear. I swear on my wings I won’t lie to you, but I still need you to talk to me. You know I do.” Technoblade shivered and Philza knew that look. He knew that expression deep in his old bones. He coaxed Techno back towards his house, so they could rest up against Steve. Once they were settled up against the bear, Philza tapped Techno.

“Techno, please. Help me understand. What is your relationship with Dream?” Philza watched his friend’s face, watched the worry and hesitation as they passed by until he gave in.

“He’s my… soulbleeder.”

“He’s—” Of all the things he expected Technoblade to say, that. That was. His confusion must have been plain on his face because Technoblade gestured pointedly with his hands. Philza focused again.

"See? I was right!" Techno said. He flopped back onto Steve, who growled softly in acknowledgement.

"Bruh, that's still not a reason to hide things!” He shoved Techno, not enough to harm, but enough to show his frustration. He huffed out a breath and asked, “What even is a soulbleeder?"

"Uh, it’s… This is going to be really hard to explain,” he said. Philza waited and Technoblade muttered, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He took a moment to compose himself, compose the words in his head. Philza was ever patient. He would wait as long as his friend needed.

“Soulbleeders are rivals. Arch-rivals. Your soulmate if they were your rival. Hating each other is the point, but, uh, like if Dream died, there’d-there’d be no point to the relationship. So, if one side is in trouble, then, if you’re trying to be a good soulbleeder, you’re going to go help them. Uh,” Techno glanced at Philza to see if he was still following, to which he nodded.

“So, it’s, it’s about being competitive. It’s about fighting each other, but not in a way that would actually screw them over.”

“So, like your duel with Dream?” Philza asked. He didn’t understand, fully, but. The way Techno was describing it, it… He could see it.

“Yeah, exactly. Sure, there was a reward at stake, but—you saw it. You watched it.”

And Philza did. He reviewed the memory of the duel in his head, what he remembered of their faces and their body language as they fought. It reminded him of the way Techno and him sparred: almost playful, but knowing their partner’s limits. But where Techno and Philza tended not to push those limits, those boundaries, not past what they knew they could handle, that duel… As it progressed, the playfulness gave way to true competition, pushing, pushing, pushing further and further. Pushing past the limits, past the boundaries, pushing and not accepting defeat until they were forced to. And even then, when Technoblade won, he offered his hand, offered a smile. No hard feelings, no sore losers. They were joking with each other afterwards, poking fun and grinning, and Philza remembered it as… strange.

He refocused on Technoblade, now that he was apparently done explaining. And… Philza exhaled and took his time to process. Techno had described it as a relationship. It had a term even. It was not something he could fathom experiencing himself, but. He could see it. And so, Dream was a good soulbleeder, coming to help Technoblade.

“I could hear him screaming.”

Dream’s voice came back to him then. Technoblade rarely screamed. Shouted, yelled, roared, but never screamed. So, if Dream was hearing that… Philza put himself in Dream’s place. Imagined himself trapped in prison and hearing a significant other screaming and—

Philza swallowed the sudden rage, the sudden need to do what he could to save Techno from such a fate—and he understood. He understood. His gaze flicked up to Techno and he huffed out a breath.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Yeah, mate.”

“So, we’re… we’re good?”

“Yeah. We’re good.” Philza cupped Technoblade’s cheek and leaned in. They pressed their foreheads together and Philza finally allowed himself to relax. Like many things with Technoblade, this peace did not last long. About an hour into the chilling against Steve, Techno stiffened. Woken from his dozing, Philza nudged Techno instead of speaking.

“Phil,” Technoblade started. “Did—Dream broke out of prison that night?”

“Yeah, mate,” Philza yawned. He shifted so that he was laying on his stomach, his elbows in Techno’s lap.

“Did… do you know if anyone helped him?”

“All Puffy got from Sam was that Dream was gone. I don’t know if anyone helped him, though I’m gonna go with no.” Philza remembered how Dream looked: half human with wings still dark with netherite. A nightmare from the deepest pits of the Void.

“Phil. Phil, we gotta call Sam.” Techno said, bringing Philza’s focus back to his friend. He moved around in a way that was not trying to dislodge Phil, but still trying to get up. Philza leaned a bit more in his lap, trying to pin Technoblade before he worked himself up.

“Why? What’s going on, Techno?” Sleep still clung to his brain and he couldn’t follow why Techno was acting this way.

“No one visits Dream, not every day. If I was the last person to see him… Phil, Ph—I signed waivers that stated that if something happened after my visit—” Technoblade was still stumbling over his words, but Philza’s brain had finally caught up. Like Tommy, like anyone who visited the prison, Technoblade had signed his lives away if it was found that Dream escaped because of him. Phil scrambled to his feet, panic moving his limbs into motion. He grabbed his communicator, his ears tracking Technoblade as he hurried down the ladder, already going into preparation mode. Philza felt a sense of déjà vu, of breaths held as he watched Quackity and Tubbo and the rest of the Butcher Army hunting down his friend. Philza’s feathers flared on instinct and he swallowed down the urge to run. As the communicator connected to Sam, Technoblade appeared in Philza’s line of vision, Hiasobi Benihime in his hand as he offered the blade.

“Hello, Sam?” Philza greeted as he took the sword and hooked it back in his belt, where it belonged.

“Philza,” Sam greeted back. A bark could be heard over the communicator, followed by a soft shushing from Sam. Philza was thrown off for a moment, but he managed to compose himself before Sam grew suspicious.

“Sam, I know what happened with Dream,” he started. Sam went quiet on the other line, then exhaled in a sigh. Philza took that as a sign to continue. “How did he get out?”

“That is confidential information, Philza,” Sam replied after a moment of silence.

“Do you know who helped him escape?”

“Also, confidential.”

“Did he go back?” Sam didn’t respond and Philza couldn’t bite back the growl of frustration. “Sam, is there anything you can tell me?” The silence stretched until Philza’s impatience neared its peak. He opened his mouth to snarl at Sam, but a hand came down on his shoulder. He stiffened and glanced behind him. Technoblade stood steady, donned in full netherite and the skull mask covering his expression. But Philza knew what would be under there, knew that when Technoblade’s hand squeezed his shoulder, it was in comfort and reassurance. Philza breathed out slowly and his wings smoothed down and folded against his back. Sam’s voice crackled in his ear when he responded finally.

“Puffy and I completed our investigation into Dream’s escape. We confirmed our conclusions and—” Sam cut off momentarily, before continuing with “We are not coming for Technoblade.”

Philza blinked, stunned into silence from Sam’s response. His eyes fell shut and his shoulders relaxed. Of course, Sam would know what he was really asking. Sam was smart. He had to be smart, for the things he did.

“We had suspicions, of course,” Sam said. “But after we completed our investigation, we dropped our charges against Technoblade. We know he did not help Dream escape.”

“Thank you,” Philza replied. The line cut out and he pressed his hands to his face in a sigh. Technoblade put gentle pressure on Philza’s shoulder and he went. Techno guided him into his arms and hugged him. The armor, while hard and an uncomfortable line against his body, was grounding and comforting. He tucked himself in, his stress melting away like iron in lava. Techno’s hand brushed through his feathers and Philza couldn’t help the shiver that ran through his body.

“Phil?” Techno asked softly. “Can I preen you?”

And Philza.

Philza nodded.

They would be okay. If it was the last thing Philza was ever able to do, he would make sure they were okay.

---

Being okay was going to be a lot harder than Philza expected.

Ranboo’s shield shattered under the force of Technoblade’s sword. His mouth opened in a snarl, his tusks flashing as he launched forward. Ranboo tried to block with his own sword, but the angle was wrong and he screamed in pain as the sword broke through his armor as well. The smoke from the splashed potions blew away, giving Philza a clear shot. An Angel of Death, he might be, but not today. Not when his arrow was aimed at his friend. The arrow whizzed through the air, struck Technoblade in the arm. He barely even winced, even as the weakness arrow took effect.

“Ranboo, run!” Philza shouted, dropping from his perch on the half-finished house. He darted forward, his own shield and sword at the ready. Ranboo glanced between Technoblade and Philza and bolted.

“I’ll kill you, Quackity!” Technoblade roared, lurching after him. Philza was faster. He slammed his shield into his friend, throwing him off balance. Technoblade spun on his heel, kicking up loose snow, turned on Philza. Red pulsed in his eyes, the scars glowing brightly. Philza didn’t know what triggered it, what triggered the episode. A few minutes ago, Technoblade and Ranboo were sparring while Philza worked on his house. It sounded like Ranboo got a hit on him; by the cut across Technoblade’s mouth, just under the mask, it was definitely a hit. Technoblade had stumbled back, his hand pressed to his skull. Philza couldn’t hear what he said, but when he heard the snarl, he hurried to the edge of the roof. The shout of “I choose blood!” sent a chill up Philza’s spine.

He had heard that line before, had seen the potions splash on the ground and the smoke rise up before Technoblade had launched himself at Quackity and the rest of the Butcher Army. Now, Philza saw nothing in Technoblade’s eyes but hatred and bloodthirst. He didn’t even look at Philza, didn’t even recognize that he was holding him back.

“They’ve got Carl!” he yelled. Philza shoved him back with the shield again.

“Technoblade! It’s not them! Carl’s here! Wake up!”

Technoblade snarled and Philza put all his weight into the shield again. The piglin stumbled back and Philza readied himself for a fight against his friend. But Technoblade dropped his sword, his hands pressing to his skull. He dropped to a knee, panting and muttering too fast for Philza to follow. Philza waited, waited for his friend to wake up, to see that he wasn’t in danger. To see it was just them. He didn’t want to hurt him. What they had to do already felt like he was stabbing a knife into his chest.

“Technoblade!” Philza cried out, his voice cracking on the name. Technoblade stopped muttering, curling in on himself. Then

Then he dragged himself to his feet, his hand coming up to brush the hair out of his face. He laughed and Philza felt dread take hold of his heart. The vines were growing again, burrowing into his flesh. Philza’s gaze flickered down when Technoblade pulled out his pickaxe. No…

“Did you really think, Quackity, that you could kill me that easily?”

Philza felt the world drop out from under his feet. That Technoblade didn’t recognize him, it—it was too much to handle. Technoblade snarled and lurched towards him.

“I’ve got a pickaxe and I’ll put it through your TEETH!”

Philza jumped back, barely missing the pickaxe strike. Fuck, fuck, no, he couldn’t—!

“Philza! Get back!” Ranboo’s voice cut through the air. The angel jumped back and a potion crashed down on Technoblade. A pearl hit the ground and Ranboo teleported between him and Technoblade. Double weakened, Technoblade snarled at them. Philza stumbled forward, reaching to grab Ranboo and pull him away, but—

Ranboo stood his ground, staring at Technoblade, an axe in his hand, his trident in the other. The two of them stood staring at each other for what felt like an eternity before Ranboo tossed aside his axe. He held out his hand and waited. Technoblade blinked, shook his head, and looked down at the hand. Philza held his breath, hoping against hope that whatever Ranboo was trying to do here would work.

Within the time it took Philza to blink, two things happened. Technoblade lurched forward with a roar and knocked Ranboo aside. The kid skidded in the snow out of Philza’s view. Then Techno’s hand grabbed the front of Philza's coat and slammed him back against the wall of the house. He growled at Philza, not a hint of recognition in his eyes as he readied his pickaxe. Philza's wings flared against the stone, beating up snow between them as if to blind Technoblade. It wasn't working. He eyed the pickaxe, panting as he quickly got over his shock. With a glance at Techno, he muttered a small apology. 

Philza's legs kicked out. One hit Techno square in the stomach and the other swung up over the arm. With the help of his wings, he twisted out of the grip, his shirt tearing. Technoblade cried out in pain, his arm bending wrong and the pickaxe dropped from his hand. The arm didn't snap, but the lapse allowed Philza to dart behind and pin the piglin's arm behind him. A beat of his wings and Philza slammed him into the snow. He pinned Techno by the arms. With how his legs were kicking, he would flip their position soon. He kicked away the pickaxe too, then struggled to hold his friend down as Technoblade kicked. Fuck, fuck! Phil pressed down as he risked moving one of his hands. Down the spine, where, where! Once he found the pressure point, he hit it and Techno's legs stilled. Technoblade still tried to buck him off. Philza used a powerful beat of his wings, forcing his friend down into the snow.

"Ranboo!" he shouted, swinging his head towards the kid. He scrambled to his feet, looking no worse for wear. "Fourth chest down, bottom left, sleeping potion, now!" He ordered. Ranboo jumped, then bolted into the house to find the potion. Technoblade was still struggling underneath Philza, but it was easier to hold him down. Ranboo stumbled out the door in his haste, holding the potion and staring down at the pair.

Philza shifted his position, letting Techno’s head up from where he pushed it into the snow. He snarled and Philza took that chance to stick his arm into Techno’s mouth. The thick leather bracer would protect his arm from the tear cutting through, but if Technoblade tried to bite with all his strength… He wedged his arm in, forcing Techno’s mouth open too wide to bite. His head snapped up to Ranboo, who was still just standing there.

“Well, what are you waiting for?! Pour it in!”

Ranboo startled, nearly dropping the potion. But he dropped to his knees and fumbled with the cork. Half the potion splashed on the ground, but he managed to get some into Techno’s mouth. Reflexively, he swallowed the remaining potion. Slowly, ever so slowly, Technoblade’s body ceased its struggling and he went limp. Finally, Philza relaxed, heaving a heavy sigh. He slid off Techno’s back, then rolled him over so he wouldn’t suffocate, and then turned his head so he wouldn’t choke. Philza gazed down at his friend and caressed his cheek.

“Is. Is he going to be okay?” Ranboo asked, still kneeling.

“Yeah. That potion should last for an hour or so. We should get him into the house.” He tapped his knee, frowning. “I think. It would be a good idea to remove his armor too. And his weapons. And keep him away from any potions. He’s. Right now, he’s a danger to himself and to others.” His gaze flicked up to Ranboo, who was writing in his journal.

“I agree,” Ranboo said as he slowly closed his journal. “We could hide them in my basement? I, uh,” he hugged the journal to the front of his coat. “I’ve been working on a—“

“That’s not necessary,” Philza dismissed with a wave of his hand. “I have a vault of my own we can keep them in. Plus, I mean to move all of that stuff over. I don’t want to take up all your space with ours.” Philza stood to his feet, checking over the brace on his arm. It had some holes where Techno’s teeth tore into it, but not through. He started to take it off, then flinched. Ranboo stood up, hands held out to help or hold or… something.

“It’s nothing,” he lied. “See?” He wiggled his fingers and picked up the axe from the snow. Ranboo didn’t look convinced, especially with the badly hidden wince at the weight of the axe on his arm. But Ranboo kept quiet. “Help me move stuff into my vault?”

It took them two hours to move everything over. Philza threatened Ranboo with a canon life if he ever showed anyone his vault, to which he completely agreed. Philza didn’t want to freak the kid out, but he’d had enough with people rummaging through his stuff. He refused to let anyone do that again. Techno was awake on the couch when he finally turned in, rubbing gently at his arm. Philza startled, his wings flaring, to see his friend wide awake and staring at him. But the feathers smoothed down. The man before him was awake and whole, not a hint of the egg’s taint on him. Exhaustion hit Philza like a roof of gravel knocked loose. He was tired. He was so tired.

Technoblade stood from the couch and stepped over. Silently, he reached out for Phil’s arm. Philza hesitated, but eventually offered it over. Phil’s arm, where the brace had protected it from piercing, did not protect it from the weight of Technoblade’s jaws struggling against him. Bruises covered the flesh like oil on a painting, deep purple like the fading sun at dusk. Pain seeped through Technoblade’s chest, squeezing his heart. How could he have done this to Phil? To his… To his friend? How could he let this happen???

In a move akin to worship, or to accepting execution, Technoblade knelt before Philza. He held Philza’s arm gently in his hands and pressed a line of kisses down from the crook of his elbow to his palm. Phil’s other hand came to his hair, carding through. He guided Techno’s head up to looking at him, the softest melancholy Technoblade had ever seen on his face.

“It wasn’t your fault, Techno,” he said, quiet enough to be a whisper. Technoblade pressed his forehead to the palm of Phil’s hand. The angel above him sighed, then resumed petting him. “I forgive you.”

After the Butcher Army incident, as he started calling it, Philza limited what Technoblade could do. He explained it to his friend, explained that he didn’t want to limit his free will like this, should he get the wrong idea, but he didn’t want to risk anyone else’s safety. If it had gone any other way, Techno could have killed Ranboo. He was certainly fighting like he wanted to kill him. And Philza knew what kind of regret would cling to his bones, to his soul if he had taken a life undeserved. Philza knew intimately what that felt like. He would not wish it on his best friend.

And so Technoblade agreed. Philza took away his armor and his weapons. They had already moved the potions. Philza didn’t tell Techno where he put them. It hurt him to hide things from Technoblade, but it was necessary. They couldn’t have another incident. They could not.

Philza felt hyperaware, always paying attention to Techno and how he reacted to things. He didn’t know what triggers Technoblade had now, what would set him off and what didn’t matter. The worst of it was that Techno refused to talk to him about it. Philza asked, Philza pressed and pried and he tried, but Techno snapped his jaw shut so fast his teeth clicked together and refused.

His nerves felt stretched, tense like tripwire, and exhaustion quickly lined his shoulders. Several nights now he found himself at his table, staring into middle distance, thinking and not thinking until eventually he dragged himself to bed.

---

The axe came down, splintering the log in half. Technoblade straightened with a groan, looking down at his work. Phil just recently trusted him with the axe. Not his armor though, and he had to return to the house the second he saw the sun begin to set. But it was nice, nice to be outside for once. The air was cold, crisp, and barely a hint of wind blowing that would cut through his coat. He leaned back until his spine cracked, then reached down to pick up another log. The sight of two legs in his vision nearby startled him. He straightened, his gaze traveling up to see, of all people, Tommy standing before him. The second Technoblade’s gaze fell on him, Tommy looked away. He hugged his coat close to him, the same one Technoblade had stitched for him when he finally accepted Tommy would be staying with him. He still had the turtle helmet resting on his head and Technoblade felt something sharp and longing break inside his chest.

“What are you doing here, Tommy?” Technoblade asked, hefting the axe onto his shoulder. He glanced at the sky, checking the time, then back to the kid. When Tommy hesitated, he narrowed his eyes. This was a side of Tommy no one had seen. Well, maybe Tubbo. And him, back before his betrayal pierced through his ribs. The seconds stretched into minutes as Tommy searched for words. Finally, he straightened and turned his gaze back to Technoblade. He found himself strangely pinned by the gaze.

“I heard about what happened with you and the egg,” he said. His gaze dropped again to look at some snow, kicking it around. Technoblade shifted his stance and Tommy glanced up immediately at the movement. Good; the kid still knew to be wary even against an unarmored foe. As long as he held an axe, he could be the most dangerous thing in the world. When it was clear no threat was coming, Tommy continued, picking at the fuzz on his coat. “The first time Tubbo met it, he started crying. I joked around and said it was saying slurs, you know, as I do.” He cracked a smile at Technoblade, who returned it with a truly unimpressed stare. He pressed his lips together as his shoulders hunched.

“I don’t know what it told you, but… I…” he trailed off. Technoblade closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment to relive exactly what the egg showed him. Visions of it dragging him down, of handing his weapons, of his friends bleeding out and feeding them to the Egg. He inhaled, his breath shaking against his will.

“If you need someone, Techno, I’m here,” Tommy said, promised. The words made Techno’s heart ache and the betrayal in his ribs pierced deeper. He bared his teeth as his fury ignited and he stomped forward with a snarl.

“You’re here? Now? What about back at the community house? Were you there for me then?” Tommy opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but Technoblade overruled him. “I was there for you! I would have fought them all for you, Tommy!” His eyes stung and he blinked back tears. Not here, not now. Not while light still fell upon them. His tusks flashed in the light as he snarled, “Why did you betray me?!”

“Betray you?” Tommy spat. “Why? You sided with Dream! You and him blew up L’Manberg! If anyone betrayed anyone, you betrayed me! You betrayed us!” Technoblade’s fury quieted, burned inside him as he leveled his glare with the kid. His voice dropped low when he spoke next, barely steady as the axe shook in his hands.

“Tommy. I was always planning to blow up L’Manberg. For what it did to me, to what its people did to me. That injustice was not going to go unpunished, Tommy. I didn’t betray you. Do-do you remember how many withers I have? Tommy, I showed you the vault!” He stepped forward, brandishing the axe. “How many withers did I spawn, Tommy?” Tommy looked away, holding his answer tight behind his lips.

“How many!” Technoblade roared. “I showed you mercy! Dream wanted to blow it to bedrock. I just wanted it to be enough that my message came across. Dream laid the TNT. I spawned the withers. Do you know how many more I can spawn, Tommy? I could wipe out everyone if I wanted to! And I showed you mercy!”

"Mercy?" Tommy's voice was cold, not unlike the ice that encased the landscape when the temperature plummeted. It sounded just as deadly. "Is that what you call it? Mercy? I can’t… You're more lost than I realized, Techno, if you believe what you did was merciful." Technoblade's axe lowered. This… this was not how Tommy behaved. Not…

"I tried to save you!" Tommy yelled, snapping Technoblade from his thoughts. "Big man, walking into hell thinking that you'll just walk out again! I saw Wilbur do that! I watched Wilbur walk into hell and when he came back, he wasn't the same!" 

Memories sparked through Technoblade's head, like flint striking before his eyes. When Wilbur was young, his flair for dramatics, his desire to explore. The day when Wilbur met Tommy and he joined their little group. The tournament they won together. The smiles on their faces. And he saw Wilbur's smile as he slowly descended into madness. Technoblade breathed and dragged himself out of those thoughts before he relived the betrayals that followed after like shadows.

"I tried to save you from that fate!" Tommy shouted, his voice hoarse from the pitch of his screams. Tears rolled down freely as he squeezed his hands into fists and shook.

"I didn't need saving!" Technoblade snarled. "Unlike Wilbur, I know where I stand. I know what I can handle. There's nothing I can't survive!"

"You're not invincible, Techno! What about the Egg, huh? Was that surviving?"

"I'm here right now, aren't I?"

"Are you?"

Technoblade blinked, the mood suddenly shifting. Words were hard to force out, with how it felt like something was wrapping around his throat. "W-what?"

"Are you? Here. Right now. Technoblade."

Technoblade reached up to his throat, but he found no vines curling, nothing choking him, yet he still felt its presence pressing into his mind. He squeezed the handle of the axe, the wood biting into his palm. It was enough to ground him. Just barely. He straightened to his full height, his eyes burning at Tommy.

"Leave," he ordered through bared teeth. When Tommy didn't move, he stepped forward and raised the axe at him. "Now. Before I take your life for trespassing, LEAVE!"

Tommy glared up at Technoblade and didn't budge. Technoblade lifted the axe to make due on his word. He wasn't going back on it now, not even for Tommy, not even if the kid didn't deserve it. Not for the pain squeezing his heart, burying itself into his soul. He would stand true to his word, even if that word would kill him. A sharp gust of winter wind slammed into him. Technoblade slid back with the force of it, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt ice slice through his will, through his strength, through his flesh. When the wind finally died down, he opened his eyes.

Tommy was gone.

Technoblade huffed and picked up the next log to chop down. A soft landing in the snow alerted him, the whisper of wings folding telling him it was Phil. Technoblade swung the axe down, the chop and breaking of wood soothing to the thunder still roaring in his ears.

“Hey mate? You okay?” Phil asked, resting his hand on Technoblade’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Technoblade grunted. “Tommy showed up.” explained, not looking at his friend. Phil’s grip tightened on his shoulder. He assumed it was reassurance. “We had an argument and, er, I threatened him with an axe?”

“Techno…” Phil started. Technoblade frowned at his tone. It was the one he used when he came home too late in the day, the sunset still warming his back. Or the nights he woke up and just. Didn’t go back to sleep. He rolled his shoulders and Phil’s hand fell off it with the motion.

“Nothing happened, don’t worry. I wouldn’t kill the kid. I promise.”

“Techno,” Phil said again. His hand came up on his shoulder again, but this time he pulled, forcing him to turn. Technoblade lifted his gaze to Phil’s face, startling at the open concern. “Techno, I was watching from the window. There was no one here.” Silence followed after; all save for an icy wind chasing after a crow made of void.