#I have just concocted a fantasy AU

[squalodinoappreciationsquad]

Not me putting my blorbos in AUs and situations to cope.

[comfortless]

All That You Don’t Want

PAIRING: witch!fem!reader x apprentice!König

CONTENT: 18+! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. oneshot. obvious au— so not canon-compliant!, questionable morality, mutual pining, animal death (it’s still alive! but not!), minor character death, power imbalance? technically teacher/student, forced proximity, smut; unprotected piv, creampie, cunnilingus, cockwarming.

NOTES: title from this song! (i will never stop titling my König fics after The Twilight Sad lyrics sorry) i have never written smut in my life i apologize if this is rough!! cover: Robert Bresson, 1951 wc: 7.7k

You never wanted an apprentice, never had the need for some bright-eyed whelp shadowing you for their own benefit. The kingdom had enough competition as far as your craft went— green magic, potion brewing and enchantments, why in the world would you risk teaching someone your secrets only for them to outdo you at every turn? Those with the propensity for magic weren’t treated human, anyway. You saw the looks, uneasy and disgusted, unless of course they had need of you.

The Guild keeps your protected, scrawl your praises in every fresh sheet of parchment passed about, brings in new clients for you to keep yourself afloat without you ever having to leave your little cottage in the forest just beyond the towering walls of the kingdom. So, when you receive the damned letter, how can you refuse?

Green magic couldn’t protect you from the King’s headsman, nor could it keep you hidden away from the constant threat of bandits and other malevolent forces, but the lines in the small letter detailing your new apprentice’s abilities are enough to make you swallow back some of that displeasure.

“… proficient in offensive magics…” and “… formerly in service to the King as a worthy candidate for knighting…” even “… a skilled huntsman…” all tell you that whoever this enigmatic pup is, he would have no qualms hissing at and chasing off a few rogues if they dared step too close to your territory. You picture some ruggedly handsome and charming gentleman arriving at your door with a sword of the finest steel hanging from his side and you loathe the way that your heart seems to flutter with excitement at the prospect.

A fortnight after the letter arrived at your doorstep, you realize that fantasy is often far sweeter than the reality.

You’re busying yourself sorting out a towering shelf with haphazardly placed vials, some labeled and others… well, if you had to guess based on the color of the fluid inside, you should probably toss lest you accidentally poison the next poor woman that comes by simply wanting something to charm the cute farmhand while her piece of shit husband, far too old for her, is off on another brothel visit. You may not be equipped to defend yourself in battle, but you know very well how to make nightshade and wolf’s bane taste like milk and honey.

It’s when you turn with your arms burdened by a heap of unlabeled, possibly poisonous concoctions that you see a figure just outside your window— tall, face shrouded with a blackened veil with only two holes cut out for his moonstone eyes. You curse the way the sight makes you nearly jump out of your skin, dropping everything you were holding onto the wooden floor, brightly colored fluid and glass shards staining a nearby rug you had spent an entire month painstakingly hooking yourself. The specter just tilts his head at you before inviting himself inside. Why bother pretending to be civilized when you look like that, anyhow?

You crouch to collect the shards of glass and wipe away the mixture of maybe-poisons as he enters, not sparing him a glance even as his footfalls lead him to stand uncomfortably close. Perhaps if the entire ordeal hadn’t pissed you off you would have the sense to be afraid, consider the fact that this titan of a man could have been a thief, but something tells you that this is the bright-eyed whelp you had anticipated. The man doesn’t even bother to greet you, let alone kick his muddy boots off at the door, he just hovers over you with his face tilted downward as you scrub up the mess you tell yourself he had caused.

“Leave it to The Guild to send me a dolt,” you mutter below your breath, barely audible as you move to deposit bits of broken glass into a wastebasket at the corner of the room.

“Ja?” The man huffs amusedly.

“Ja?” You question.

“Yes.”

You give him a look, one that suggests you’re in no mood for whatever this is and he seems to stiffen. Any mirth in those haunted eyes of his is quickly snuffed out, replaced with his gaze darting from perusing your backside to the corner of the room, then back up to your face.

He introduces himself as ‘König’. No surname, no title. Though, you supposed in his language, his name was a title in itself. Perhaps your disappointment is more notable than you realize, because the man seems almost nervous around you as you introduce yourself in turn. His fingers curl into his palms in repetition at his sides, and it’s impossible to tell by the small glimpse of his face whether or not he wants to strangle you or bury himself instead.

You rise to your feet, feeling acutely defeated as you lead him around the home, showing him to each room before stopping at the door to his own and crossing your arms over your chest.

“You’ll stay here,” you say quietly, avoiding his eyes as he lowers himself to look at you, thanking you graciously as his hand lingers a bit too long on your shoulder. You gently reach to pry it off, only to feel him grip at your fingers running his thumb over each knuckle before finally drawing away.

You watch from the doorway as he inspects the room. A bed a size two small for a man such as himself sits in the middle, a desk cluttered with spare vials of ink and a few quills made of swan feather, and a towering bookshelf filled with books on simple magic that you haven’t bothered to touch since you were a girl. He seems pleased, despite how very little effort was made for him. As much as you wish otherwise, you almost feel the sting of guilt when you watch him seat himself on the small bed and his eyes light up as he looks to you.

It didn’t take much perception to see the world hadn’t treated this brute too kindly.

He hunts your dinner, bringing home several rabbits that he took his time to skin and prepare for cooking in the yard. Even more, he roasts them over a fire he stoked up for you in a display of gratitude. You watch him from the fogged window as he seats himself by the fluttering flames, watching the meat with a focus that speaks volumes about his own discipline.

“Have you lived on the land for long, König?,” you ask him when the two of you are seated at the table, wiping away the remnants of your meal from your lips with a small handkerchief.

He’s only rucked up his hood enough to eat, the scars lining his jaw run deep, the skin pasty there. He looked far too pale to even be a living thing at all, but his thin lips pull into a grin at your question. “You can tell?” He asks with a slight tilt of his head, the tone of his voice suggesting sarcasm. “Perceptive little witch.”

You furrow your brow at him, surprised by his sudden arrogance. You would have sooner expected the man to tear a hole through you than meet your little question with a cocky response if his twitchy behavior was anything to go by. But… his voice sends a shiver down your spine, the amused lilt mixed with his accent, some natural charm that makes areas of you ache that haven’t been touched in years.

“A man must know to feed himself, ja?”

“Well, I don’t hunt.”

He huffs out a laugh at that, raising a hand to readjust his hood, pulling it back down over his face. König is not pretty, far from it from what you could see, but you almost find yourself downtrodden that he’s hiding himself again when you were only just starting to find yourself curious.

“I will teach you,” he suggests as he clears your table, depositing both your dishes and his own into the washbasin at the far corner of the kitchen. He’s helping, and your eyes merely track him dumbfounded.

“You don’t have to, König— I, um. I’m supposed to be teaching you, remember?” You’re trying to sound authoritative, like a proper mentor but it’s fruitless, really. How long had it been since a man was this close to you, living out in the forest? You had clients, sure, but in your craft you came to know about their proclivities, their ailments, and any interest you may have had died with their innumerable requests.

The Guild had set you up, surely, you decide as your eyes wander over to the man washing your dishes, the man who had prepared your dinner, who had stared openly at your ass. The man who smelled of dew and timber and fire smoke. The man with the most beautiful, tired eyes you had ever met.

You can see the muscles of his back through his tunic, tightly bundled up from where he’s drawn his sleeves to his bicep to wash up the remnants of dinner, mind almost numbing from the sight alone. It felt like some divine torture, to be sent something you adamantly did not want only for that very same thing to make your pulse quicken and throat dry.

“I want to teach you,” he tries again.

You feel sinful for the place your mind goes then. Do the ladies in the kingdom often allow monsters to bed them? Is his size comparable to the stature?

“Okay.” Your voice was tight, barely a whisper.

He finishes up his cleaning and turns to look at you as he wrings his hands over the washbasin, his eyes narrowed and crinkled at the corners. Grinning again like a wolf knowing he’s got his claws in you.

— — —

You go over the standard protocol when dealing with customers seeking remedies with König as you hear the approaching horse whinnying out in the yard. Simple, standard. Most people had a wariness for those who were touched by magic, understandably so. It’s human nature to fear what isn’t fully understood. With König’s imposing height and the veil over his face, you needed him to be extra careful in these situations. He doesn’t seem to take offense at your fretting, merely smiles beneath the veil as you speak and all is settled and well by the time your client wraps lightly at the door.

You swing the door open with a polite smile, hands clasped at the lap of your dress. The smile is maintained even as you catch sight of his face, scars from a horrific burn covering over half of it, his right eye filmed over and sightless in its socket. He wasn’t here to charm a lady or conceal his face with glamours, only for a balm to alleviate the lingering, phantom pains that stretched from his scalp down to his neck. A decent man, and a damned good blacksmith from what you had heard. He was one of your favorites.

König observes from the corner of the room, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest without a word as you fetch the jar of balm for the client, accept his coin and send him back on his way.

“Oh.. I don’t know how he got that nasty burn but it’s hard to look at isn’t it?”

König gives you a look, something unsaid hinted at just beyond the surface of his icy eyes, and you realize it’s a little too late to pull your words back.

— — —

Days seem to pass by with an awkward tension in the air. It’s not because of his tutelage under you, either, because he’s doing surprisingly well with his studies. Potion crafting is a tricky, fickle sort of thing. One mistake and an entire batch is ruined and the gods only knew when you would stumble upon what was required whilst foraging again. König is careful, attentive as he follows your instruction. He studies diligently, spending his free time reading through his books, often out in the foyer and if not for how skilled he was, you would assume it was all for show. Wishful thinking, a vicious yearning settling in between your breasts that wants for him to try and impress you, to court you.

It’s tense because you’ve found you can’t keep the man out of your head. In the late hour when the house has fallen silent, you could often hear his desperate grunts through the thin slats of wood separating your own room from his. You’ve imagined the sight of him fisting his cock, biting down onto his scarred lip as he whines through his release more times than you would ever confess. The gods themselves couldn’t pry the admittance from your lips that you wait up sometimes to hear him with your own hand between your thighs.

And König had this look about him now, more confident as he walks about. His hands don’t twitch as much when the two of you speak.

It’s the seventh morning as you’re preparing tea for the both of you that he enters the cottage entirely nude (apart from the hood; he seems insistent about keeping it almost entirely on in your presence). His body drips with river water, looking more like the skillfully carved statues that took residence in the castle courtyard than any man at all. You can’t help your staring, and he seems unperturbed by it as he slips behind you to set some freshly plucked milkweed on the wooden countertop. So focused on the cords of tight muscle layering his body, the obscene thing swaying between his legs, you hadn’t even noticed he had bothered to collect an ingredient you so desperately needed.

A man such as he should be seated on a throne, worshipped by a harem of pretty ladies, all pawing at his lap. Yet— he merely had you, ogling him as openly as he seemed to do to you.

“For the elixir,” he hums, sounding amused as he tilts his head to look you over as he had a striking amount of times already.

“Yeah.” You try to subtly clear your throat, cursing yourself for the way your reaction prompts his eyes to dart to the swell of your breasts beneath your dress. “Thanks.”

“You look pretty today.” He’s making everything worse. Turning your quiet life around and filling you with some horrid feeling you’ve avoided for years out here in near-isolation. “You look pretty everyday,” he corrects himself before you can speak. The obscene pillar between his legs seems to grow at the sight of you, and if you were not certain before, you know assuredly now that something has cursed you.

A good, knowing witch would tell him that his compliments were inappropriate, unwarranted. She would tell him to not walk around with his cock on full display and send him off to practice mundane spells as punishment. You are not a good, knowing witch at all if the warmth on your face is anything to go by.

“How was the river?” You ask instead, graciously retrieving a towel from the cupboard to hand to him. Despite how orderly you tried to keep things here, it’s not the water he’s dripping all over the hardwood that has your mind spinning.

“Gut.” He says words in his native tongue, often, and you’ve already grown accustomed to deciphering them. They sound prettier on his tongue than your own. He accepts the towel and merely draping it over his broad shoulders. “Come with me next time,” he offers, all but innocently.

God damnit.

“I made tea.” You’re trying to avoid his undressing stare, busying yourself with the tea kettle. The scent of mint seems to calm you as you pour the tea into your own mug, careful not to spill it out onto the counter with your trembling hands.

“I like you.” Blunt as always, you wonder if he even has any sort of control on the things he says.

God damnit all.

“I like you too, König. You’re a good apprentice,” you respond, your nerves alight with something that you can’t quite place; a twig on the verge of snapping under its weight.

He laughs soft, and graciously gives you a reprieve from well… that as he steps out of the room to finally dress himself.

Later that evening as the elixir is fully prepared and the client arrives to pick it up, you realize that König is no where in sight. It’s not uncommon; the man certainly lacked his social graces, but he hadn’t seemed to mind the shopfront side of what you do before until you had spoken so carelessly. The client is a nervous little thing, a girl not yet a woman, anxious and shaky as she takes the vial from you with an abundance of thanks. It’s no wonder why she had requested such a thing meant to put a patch over her anxieties and communicate better now. You steal only a spoonful from the cauldron as you empty it, praying that it silences the buzzing of nerves and the fluttering in your heart as you bed down for the night.

— — —

You wake to a door slamming shut in the dead of night, followed by the quieted hiss of what you believe to be a curse in a language that is not your own. It immediately sends you on high alert, thinking back to the threat of bandits and enchanted wildlife or whatever else. Jolted from your bed by the kick of adrenaline, you tiptoe down the stairs to see that… nothing is out of place. The den is as homey as always, every vial and potion bottle in its place on the shelves. The only thing that appeared to be missing at all was a book on your shelf. You knew that book, too. It was a favorite of many of your customers, the ones with weathered skin or features that were not the golden standard of delicate, royal beauty. A book on glamours was not something that would be stolen away by any thief in the night, seeing as it wouldn’t be of much help at all without a dedicated practitioner.

It only really settles in for you that your apprentice snatched it away when you take a peek out of the window and your eyes settle on a darkened corner of the garden. Tall sprigs of lavender sprung up from the earth there, and an even taller man sat, legs crossed with your book in his lap beneath the milky glow of the moon.

König looks… agitated. Even from this distance, the glass and wall and several meters of organized plant life separating you, you can see his hands shaking as he ghosts his calloused fingertips over the pages. His shoulders tense and a fiery look in his eye. He reads the incantations aloud with proper annunciation, forced through his thick accent. Repeats them, several times over. Not a thing changes.

But you leave him be, return to bed, because despite him being your responsibility, his private matters are still his own. As much as you would like to snatch the book from his hands and confess through tears that he haunts your dreaming just as he is now, you can’t bring yourself to do so.

When the book is in its place the following morning with König still in his bed, you read over the pages heavily scented by lavender. The ones that tell you how he sees himself in truth without a single word from his own being. Too tall, too ugly, too ruined.

It’s not enough to say your heart breaks. You feel it shatter somewhere in your chest, little pieces crumbling down into the darkest pit of your middle. Perhaps he’s only doing this due to your careless words about your client the other day, perhaps he wants to be seen as something beautiful for once.

The day is spent with a heavy weariness in your eyes. König picks up some slack for you as you fester in a sadness that should not even be your own; prepares something meaty for you both to eat, incorrectly sweeps some dust from the wooden floors that you know you’ll have to properly clean later on, and even tends to the garden. He’s good with the plants, gentle as he plucks berries from their stems and cuts away only what was required with a sharp dagger.

While you’ve thrown yourself over a cushioned chair, König kneels before you to speak. He’s just finished telling you some gory tale about when he squired for Ser… something, a name you don’t even care to remember. It was a rare occurrence for him to open up, you’ve come to realize that. Maybe it was simply too soon for him, but then again, he seemed to have no qualms allowing you to hear his desperate howling at night or walk about after a bath with his cock fully erect in your line of sight. If words were too much then what the hell was all of that?

“How come you didn’t become a knight, König?” you ask him, your tone sounding a bit more dead than intended. It wasn’t that you weren’t interested in his stories, you were simply still coming to terms with one of his likely innumerable secrets. “The Guild said you were a good candidate, so why?”

You ask your questions, his eyes light up. He’s not used to this, it seems, and the fact that you want to know him at all makes him giddy. His fingers drum against his thighs, eyes creasing at the corners as he smiles beneath that veil and you wonder… wonder how the world could be cruel to someone like this at all when all that you want to do is bundle up with him beneath your thick quilts and kiss him in places only lovers would.

He doesn’t respond to your question, though. Another secret for some other time, you supposed. Instead, he asks his own, “Why are you so alone?”

König speaks freely, you knew that well enough but the words that escape his lips cause you to freeze all the same. His tone is neutral, not accusatory or mocking, but there’s something— something there you can’t properly uproot.

“I’m not lonely.” A little white lie couldn’t be too terrible, yet the thought of betraying your companion in even such a small way, hurting him like you assumed so many others had before is just unthinkable. “I am sometimes, but I like living here,” you correct.

“But you are alone,” he insists.

“I am not. You’re here.”

Your words are like a charm, really, and any rationale König may have had immediately dissipates when you speak them. He climbs over you, the chair creaking under your combined weight as he looks down at you with this hope-filled expression that tugs every one of your heartstrings at once. “Let me kiss you.”

His shallow breathing flutters his veil, the hunger in his eyes more than apparent, and you’ve the sense that a mere kiss would not suffice, turning into a long night with an impossible soreness between your thighs come morning.

You shake your head and he backs off immediately, returning to sit on the floor before you instead with a simple, “Okay.”

The room falls silent for a moment. You wanted to. You’ve been longing to. And yet the opportunity had gone and went; for any normal, sane person your rejection would have been enough. Weeks spent in his company should have taught you that König was a far cry from normal. The man treats you like you’re a doll, not a seasoned witch. Takes to hiding away from any company you may have and spends his nights outside in the dark wishing and failing to change what he was.

“If I tell you why I am not a knight will you kiss me?,” he tries again as you shift to sit upright in your seat.

“What? König, no… that’s not how—”

“I will court you,” he interjects quickly, rising to his feet to stare down at you. The man was practically buzzing with excitement, and you wonder if he intends to bolt out of the house right then to bring back ample gifts of flowers and fine silks just for a chance to mash his mouth against your own.

“You’re not here to court me,” you huff with a pinched brow. Stop making this harder! Why must you always make this harder?!

“I think about you at night.”

The giant professes his affections by telling you that he’s fucking his fist to the thought of you with all the simplicity of idle talk. Somehow, that seemed less alarming than the fact that you don’t even seem horrified. Words fail you when you desperately need them most, merely gaping up at him so dumbly you must have actually belayed interest, because he continues.

“In the river too.”

“König… that’s inappropriate,” you manage to find your voice then. You know that you’re a plaster saint, too, because the thought of bathing where he spreads his seed sends a swell of warmth from your tummy to the aching blossom between your legs.

“Ja, it is… why do you tease me? The way you look…” He trails off with a shake of his head, his blue eyes narrowing in confusion. He was trembling as though afraid, so violently you almost fear he’ll come crashing over you like an ocean wave. You would catch him, drown in salt water and foam, a curtain of sharp teeth and darkness.

He fidgets as he waits for an answer that never comes. What could you say? Admit that the way he feels is a mirror of yourself, that the two of you are only seconds from diving into a pool that you could never resurface from.

But just like before, König retreats up the shadowy staircase, up to his room. Another reprieve, another stone weighing heavy in the recesses of your mind.

— — —

Secrets are stupid, evil things you decide.

You’re staring into the glazed eyes of a dead buck as it stands before you on it’s hind legs. It’s head hangs limply from its broken neck, mouth gaping with each fragile intake of breath. It’s bloated belly leaks it’s own entrails as it takes a shaky step towards you, trying desperately to kick at you with the stiff limbs tucked against its chest.

“I don’t know how to make it go away,” König pants at your side, and despite his shallow, rapid breathing there’s this calm look in his eyes. This has happened before. This has happened before and to a far worse extent than a deer.

It makes sense, now, why something as trivial as casting a glamour simply didn’t work for König. The man was touched by something darker, something the King’s men would happily cut his head from his shoulders for. Necromancy was immoral and frankly, horrifying. Seeing it now, it was really no wonder why this sort of magic would send one directly to the headsman.

The deer huffs a breath, too long and ragged. It’s not used to breathing any more, after all. König steps between you two, his dagger raised. “Just… close your eyes.”

It’s over as quickly as it’s manifested and König does well at shielding you from the aftermath, your face pressed to his chest as he pulls you into his arms and walks you back home. What was meant to be a simple practicing session, resulted in chaos, and you’ve no words to give to fill the silence hanging over the two of you as he finally deposits you by the door.

You stand on shaking legs, a million questions swimming through your mind, but even as you part your lips to speak not a single sound comes out.

He looks exasperated when he finally remedies the quiet. “You’re afraid of me.” It’s not a question, only a resounding fact.

“No,” you lie immediately with a firm shake of your head.

“I will go.” König’s eyes are tired, always tired. He’s already slinking back towards the door when you reach for him, almost clawing at the length of his sleeve in your own desperation. If you were cursed this man was, tenfold, and you couldn’t bear the thought of sending him back out into a world that had hurt him so. One that would assuredly end his torment should this ever happen again. You don’t know whether you’re being merciful or selfish anymore; the definitions all a blur. You only know that the thought of König leaving your side feels like the ache of a thorn embedded in your heart.

“König, please— We can figure something out, we’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again,” you huff as you bury your face against his shoulder. He’s both tense and trembling beneath your warmth. “I just need time to think.”

He cocks his head, a resounding twinkle of mirth breaking through the listlessness in his eyes. “Why?”

König isn’t dull-witted. He knows the words you never have a chance to speak. No one’s ever held fast to his side like this; no one has ever truly wanted him.

You know that the second he pushes his veil up and presses his mouth to yours. It’s clumsy, the force he uses, as if he’s trying to headbutt you instead of give you his affection, but you reciprocate in turn. You breathe shakily against him when you finally bring yourself to part your lips and he immediately begins to languidly lap into your mouth, drawing his arms around you; one finding the base of your neck as the other settles on your lower back, his fingers digging into your velvet dress, bunching up the fabric enough to reveal the meat of your ass.

You both moan as though you’re already having sex, caught up in a tangle of limbs he tastes your mouth as though it were sweet wine; his tongue flicks against your own before pulling back, lapping at your lip, pushing back in in some steady repetition that makes your knees weaker. Your hands find the hem of his tunic, slipping beneath it to feel a wall of muscle layered over his abdomen and he groans into the kiss with such fervor you would think he’s already come. He tears the cloth off the second you thumb over his nipple and drops to his knees clutching at your thighs.

“I need to taste you.” He sounds so desperate, looks so pitiful as though he’ll cry if you don’t allow him to fuck you with his tongue. You’re too far gone to give him anything more than a nod, and he all-too-readily lifts the skirt of your dress, hooks his finger around the seat of your panties and buries his face between your thighs. The first sweeps of his tongue are almost punishing; he wastes no time plowing the muscle into your cunt, writhing and grinding it against your velvety walls. The sound is already obscene, but then he begins to moan.

He sounds even more desperate than those nights in his lonely room, somehow, as he paws at his own erection straining against his trousers and drives into your pussy at a feverish pace. When he finally moves to take your clit between his lips, you grasp at the top of his head to keep yourself upright, moaning so loudly you’re certain that the entire kingdom could hear. He hums, amused at this, places his hands on your ass and pushes your hips for you to grind against his tongue.

When he jerks your panties aside again to rub circles against your asshole, the tautly pulled coil inside of you finally snaps. You curl over him as you mewl, cradling his head as his tongue pushes against your labia and your slit to lap up every bit of your essence. He releases his grip on your ass as you tremble, strokes himself freely below you as he pants against your pulsing cunt. Graciously, he gives you a moment to recover before he’s rising to his feet, tearing off your ruined panties and lifting you in his arms just enough to rub his leaking tip against you, you give him a strangled cry of his name when his length brushes against your swollen clit.

“Let me fuck you,” he rasps, his eyes wide and pupils blown as you squirm in his arms. “Bitte. Please. Let me fuck you.”

“Yes— Please, please fuck me König,” you whine as your arms curl over his shoulders. He doesn’t hesitate when he lies you back against your rug and pushes your knees up to your chest. His fingers flex against your flesh at the sight of your pussy still twitching from aftershocks, soaked down to your ass and pleading to be filled by him. He drops a hand to spread your lips, groaning deeply from his chest as he watches in awe as the tip of his thick cock sinks into you.

You hadn’t realized just how dirty König was until you see that look in his eye, pulling his head out only to repeatedly push into you with a choked whine of sheer bliss. You hadn’t realized how filthy you were until you find yourself tucking your arms beneath your knees to keep yourself in position so he can grope at the flesh of your ass as he does it.

“So— fuck— so schön,” he mutters as he continues to tease you like this. It’s almost hell the way he still hadn’t filled you entirely when you ache to have that long, ugly pillar buried so far it’s bruising your very womb, and it’s almost heaven the way you squeeze against him with each shallow thrust, your pussy desperate to devour his weapon of flesh.

“König…” You’re breathing his name as though it were a prayer, and as though a gift from the heavens his calloused thumb begins to rub over your clit the moment he finally sinks himself into you. There’s resistance, your cunt wasn’t meant to take a cock so large, you’re certain, but he bottoms out after what feels like an eternity, parts your knees with one hand to see your face as he gasps. You take him all, enveloping him in a vise grip and he hissed something in his native tongue, a string of words you can only imagine are praise because the way he’s looking at you now is as if he’s found a goddess all for himself.

“I’m going to fill you,” he declares as he lowers himself atop you, his weight almost crushing. “I’m going to… feels so…” His words fall short as he begins to move, groping at one of your tits as his other hand remains over your mound, flicking your clit. König’s fingers trace against your nipple before pinching it just hard enough to draw a choked mewl from you as your back arches. “Ja, liebling… you need it..”

His pace picks up, thumb deftly rolling over your clit until you spasm around his cock. It’s savage, the fervor he puts into fucking into you, grinding the tip of his cock against your cervix until you cry out, only to draw back enough to bully against your g-spot until you shiver. Your orgasm hits you so unexpectedly and so hard your bite down on your lip enough to draw blood. König licks at your mouth as your sex pulses around him, groaning in tandem with your pretty cries.

He trails small kisses along your throat before biting down as his own climax hits. He alternates between spitting out words that sound like pure venom and moans that make him sound weak as he gives you one more thrust. His cock twitches so violently inside of you as he presses against your cervix your mind entirely blanks. You can’t tell if it’s his semen or your own slick spilling past his cock, painting your thighs when it all ends. You hang limply against him as he carries you over to the chair, keeping you plugged as he pulls you into his lap.

He fully unclothes you as he peppers your face and neck in sweet, open-mouthed kisses, pets you from the crown of your skull down to your back, brings a hand around your waist to pull you close as his other squeezes and squishes at your breasts. König’s gaze is adoring as your eyes meet his, he’s looking at you with a love you’ve never even known, the warmth of summer somehow still present in those eyes like glaciers.

“Will you stay?,” you force yourself to ask as if the answer isn’t already clear, his cock’s still buried in you and the man seemed utterly in love after merely having a sweaty, adrenaline addled session.

König presses his face into your hair, nuzzling at you as he kisses your temple. “You want me to stay?” He sounds bewildered, so fucking broken that he’s confused by the prospect anyone would even want him around, even if he just gave her the best fuck she’s ever had, even if she’s been staring at him adoringly since he found his way to her door.

“Of course I want you to stay!”

“Then… Ja, I will.”

It’s a declaration of love, in a sense.

König drops his hands to your hips as he kisses you again. The desperation has been strangled, buried someplace in your core. It’s sweet now when his kisses become sloppy and overwhelming. He shifts below you as he maneuvers your hips to grind against him, his length already hardening within you again. He noses at your jaw and pressed kisses to your cheeks when you take a moment to breathe. You curl your arms around him and bury your face into the crook of his neck as your ride him, the both of you moaning soft and panting against sweaty flesh. He finishes inside of you once more just as you lift his veil and kiss along his scars.

He bathed you in the river, carrying you down to the rocky shore as though you were a treasure, his hand stroking through your hair as the water laps over your bodies. It’s not enough to simply hold you, either, because one bath becomes two after he’s bent you over a stump and licked you to completion again before rutting into you like an animal.

Nights are no longer spent with a wall between, he takes to your bed without question, ensures you’re comfortable and warm as he holds you through the night. There’s a sort of desperation in you both, two outsiders that have finally found sanctuary in one another.

“I love you.” Followed by: “I love you.”

You’re not entirely sure who says it first.

— — —

“A deer?”

There’s a man in your home that you don’t recognize, looking you over as though you were well-bred cattle rather than a human being at all. Says he’s concerned about a potential necromancer after something foul slipped its way past the castle walls and paraded itself through an annual ball, sullying a few too-expensive and uncomfortably layered dresses and goring a man with its antlers.

König was seated in front of him, rigid with a forced calm you had never seen on him before, hands clasped and unmoving. You know he’s nervous anyway, his shallow breathing speaks volumes for what the veil keeps from you. You round the table to bring them both tea, trying your best to play the part of indifference as the two men speak.

König had said he didn’t know how to make it go away, and of course he didn’t, because how do you kill something that’s already died? Neither of you would have anticipated it finding its way there of all places, and in retrospect, you’re not even certain that the thought came to mind at all, you had lost yourselves in one another the moment you arrived home. Seeing as you both were the only magic-touched folks roving these woods, it was obvious why The Guild had sent this creep to question you.

“Yes. A large buck, it was,” the man continues, winking at you as he takes a sip of the warm liquid in the mug. You wished you had poisoned it, ridding the world of a man that made your skin crawl like this surely wouldn’t be too sinful. Looking to König, you realize that there’s no need for poisons, because the look in his eyes suggests that before this interrogation is over your rug will have a more stubborn stain than spilled potions and come.

“We use green magic,” you chime in flatly, giving König a moment to quiet his fury as the man turns his attention back to you. “Maybe a traveler slipped into the kingdom, it has nothing to do with König and myself. Why are you here?”

If he hadn’t already told you a thousand times earlier that morning when he took you in the garden, laid you down in a bed of blue and purple wildflowers, König would have told you he loved you right then. You were true, protecting him and risking your own head as well.

“That’s the thing,” the man begins with a laugh entirely devoid of amusement. “Your apprentice here was under similar scrutiny while he was in service to the king. A dead man brought back to life…” he waves his hand as he speaks, staring up at the ceiling as though he’s recounting poetry instead of listing the reasoning why he wanted to have your lover decapitated. “… killed ten good knights. We never suspected him at the time, but all of this…” He shrugs his shoulders and raises his brow, looking somehow even more insufferable than before.

You cross the room to gather the letter signed off by The Guild, detailing your apprentice’s arrival and thrust it into the man’s face. “He would have never passed any sort of eligibility exam if that were the case, and you sent him here.”

The man takes the letter with a click of his tongue before he laughs again. “We didn’t,” he says as he taps the signature at the bottom, hardly a signature at all, only a messy scrawl, the guild master’s name even spelled incorrectly.

König didn’t meet your gaze when you looked to him then.

You made a promise to him you would figure this all out, and you would. You just needed to buy some time, slip some wolfsbane into his tea—

“On behalf of The Guild, I do apologize for the trouble this monster has caused…”

There is no time.

“I’ll be sure that he and his rotting pets are disposed of prop—“

You’re clutching at the dagger König had left on the side table without even thinking it over, fingers curled so tightly around the grip, your knuckles felt alight. The man’s voice is silenced the moment he notices as he takes a wary step away from you. It’s not, really, that you could ever even see yourself taking a life, you never have, but the thought of losing König over a horrible chance in the stars that some uncaring god cursed him with makes bile crawl up the back of your throat and white hot fury course through your veins with all the subtlety of a stampede.

It wasn’t his fault.

König places himself between the two of you and curls his arm around you protectively. If lying for him hadn’t already resigned you to the same fate, drawing the dagger assuredly had. He gently pries the dagger from your hand and tucks your face against his chest, just as he had before when he tried to correct the accidental gift of life he had bestowed to the deer, only this time… you feel the pull of his muscles, you hear sounds of the dagger meeting it’s mark as he cuts through the interrogator’s tender flesh. It takes mere seconds for you to know his blade has struck true, the dying man eliciting a weak gurgling cry from his torn throat as König drops the dagger to the floor with a clatter and strokes your hair.

He makes you stand outside while he cleans up his mess.

A sane woman would run, she would count her losses and look back on her time spent with this unhinged man with criticism. You find that you are not a sane woman when you realize the tears falling freely down your cheeks are not of fear or anger at your own situation, but at the knowledge that he’s suffered being shunned on his own for so long; that he’s killed without remorse because this is what it takes for someone like him to survive at all.

When he finally returns from burying the body and scrubbing the blood from your floor, you readily embrace him and he nuzzles into your hair.

“Es tut mir leid,” he huffs out against you, pulling you so close to him you think, pray, he’ll never let go. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It’s not and you both know it, but you reassure him with your words and soft kisses to his cheeks as he wipes away your tears. “We can not stay here.”

We. Us. Together.

Something breaks in him at your words, and he shuts his eyes tightly to fight back the tears like claws at his eyes.

“So, tell me where we’ll go.”

He tells you of a place he read about in a book, somewhere across the sea and past a stretch of hills where the accidents he may cause won’t have him looked upon like a monster, where you can love one another in comfort, a place he’s dreamed about since he was a boy and found out just what he was when he reanimated his mother’s beloved cat. He tells you of his father’s cruelty, that a cat’s claws aren’t the only thing that’s left him riddled with scar tissue.

He tells you everything as you pack your things and begin a long walk to a shoddy harbor by the sea, his hand in your own as your board the ship to a new home, a new beginning.

[ggukkieland]

📕BTS Fic Reads - 2022 July - Oct

I’ve been getting messages about my reading lists (because I haven’t been posting monthly and I really don’t have any excuse for not posting for four months lol). Though most of these have been reblogged, commented on, mentioned, etc. and that anybody can just check my archive and tags for the fics, I compiled them all in this list for easy reference (I refer to these lists too 😊). I also notice that it is easier to find fics when they are logged/documented somewhere and when described or properly tagged in the post. I hope this will help readers and potential readers find the fics they like.

💌 Again, these are not mine and we have all these authors to thank -  I really appreciate all of you. I may not get to reach all of you but I hope this can serve as a multiplier and reach other readers to discover your gift of stories and for them to find their favorites  💌

Note: if link doesn’t work, click on author link and go to their masterlist

🥕 Ongoing - most recent chapter [as of date this list was posted]

🥕 Completed - drabbles | one shots | series

🥕 S - smut | F - fluff | A - angst

Mostly Mature, 18+ only please

I read different members, different genres so please take note of the tags, description per fic

Don’t forget to reblog/comment on author’s work, too 😊

No AO3 Fic Recs because I have a more organized system on ao3 and putting it here will take time 😭 sorry.

[around 120 fics] I should really go back to posting per month to avoid this buildup

🥕 [Ongoing Series]

↬ Namjoon

And They Were Roommates @joonsrack​ - two shot [1/2] | 8.4k+ | roommate!taehyung who suddenly left for the summer and had his room rented by Namjoon, strangers to lovers, temporary roommate!Namjoon, unrequited love (OC to Taehyung), unrequited (namjoon to OC), namjoon is so endearing (but destructive lol), humor | f, a

↬ Seokjin

The A-Listers @httpknjoon - drabble series [3/?] | 4.3k+ | actor!seokjin x famous!reader, crack/humor, actors au, rumored relationship but kind of a mystery/guessing game if they are together or not (fun!) | f

To Kill a King @foxymoxynoona - series [7/?] | 100k+ |  historical fantasy, political themes, royalty au, Prince!Seokjin | a, s, f

↬ Yoongi

Control @hxseok-honee - series [00/09] | teaser/background | demon king!yoongi, blind!reader, twin brother!hoseok, royalty au, supernatural | a, f In which a hidden princess, much to her twin brother’s dismay, concocts the most unimaginable of plots for the sake of escaping her world of pain and suffering. OR a demon king meets his maker and learns that the one person who can see right through him is a girl who can’t see at all. | a

Match Made in Hell @ughcore - series [7/?] | 23k+ | enemies to lovers (rivals), arranged marriage, doctor!yoongi, unrequited? (it begins as a mystery what their past was) | a, f

Twirl for Me @gimmethatagustd - series [3/?] | 19k | stripper au, single dad!yoongi, a bit of Jungkook, ballet instructor!reader (yoongi’s daughter takes ballet classes), secret identity (i guess?), strangers to lovers | s, a

↬ Jimin

Doctor Dreamy @jungblue - series [2/?] | 15.7k+ |  exes au, ex!jimin becomes sperm donor, expecting parents | s, f, a

Rumor Has It @jananakookie - series [5/?] | 29k+ | college au, fake dating, “infamous” OC due to bad rumors, Jimin recently broke up and proposed the fake dating | a, f, s

↬ Taehyung

All of our Lifetimes @bangtan-madi​ - series [9/15] + interludes | 34k+ | boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au, kind of crime au, “After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?” | f, a

Magic Shop @seokjiniwithluv - series [2/?] | 3.4k+ | club singer!taehyung, daughter of rich CEO arranged to marry CEO!Jimin, enemies to lovers | a, f

Stars Above @crystaljins - drabble series [4/?] | 9.4k | Alien!Taehyung, roommate au (intergalactic exchange program 😁)

Temptation @j-ungkooky - series? [1/?] | 3.1k | CEO!Taehyung, Office AU, Secretary/Assistant!Reader, sexy + humor, intimidating taehyung but he’s actually sweet, he crouched under her desk to hide from someone but this made everything so darn hot 🥵 (no smut yet) | s, future a

Toxic @jeonsjiddies - series [4/?] | 7k+ | stalker!taehyung, hacker!taehyung (using it to stalk and manipulate OC), coworker au | a

↬ Jungkook

All I Want @sxtaep - series [5/?] | 36.9k+ | bestfriend au, fuckboy!jungkook, nerd!reader, FWB au | s, a, f

Bedeviled @writemywaytoyourheart - series [2/?] | 9.1k+ | enemies to lovers, demon!jungkook, human!reader making deals with the devil - gets accompanied by jungkook to the underworld | a, f

Carved @haliiimede - series [3/?] | 39k+ | demon!jungkook x angel!reader, urban fantasy, dystopian au, enemies to lovers | s, a with Taehyung drabble Dominus

Colour Me In @taegularities - series [5/?] | 71.4k+ |  fwb au, fake dating au, artist!jungkook, college au, rich au (oc/reader) | s, f, a

Free Use @littlemisskookie - series [6/?] | 13.6k | fwb au, unrequited crush (oc to taehyung), bdsm, childhood friends/neighbor, college au, “Your long time crush agrees to be your dom.” | s, f

Hurtin Me @lookingforluna - drabble series [1/?] | 570 words | ex-FWB, fuckboy!jungkook, roommate au, friends to lovers? | a, s

Idol Jungkook Headcanon @magicshopaholic - series (of one shots but can be read standalone) [4/?] | 42k+ | idol!jungkook, staff!OC (named Lia), strangers to lovers, bad dates, idiots to lovers, eventual dating | f, s  The Fifth / Part 2 The Sixth Honey

In Your Eyes @prodgguk - series [00/?] | 1.3k+ (teaser) | widow!reader, detective!jungkook x doctor!reader, past: yoongi x reader (but he passed away) | a, f

Little Baby Bear 2.0 @xddaengx - two shot [1/2] | 5.4k | hybrid!jungkook (he’s a bear hybrid and he’s so cute 🥺), , ex-boyfriend!hoseok who originally owns jungkook but dumped him onto OC, hybrid!taehyung (tiger), hurt/comfort, beginning might be confusing so I read the original version too | a, f

Long Way Home @sparklingchim - drabble series [24/?] | 40k+ |  single dad!jungkook, bestfriend!reader, unrequited love, idiots to lovers, feat. Jimin as OC’s fwb | a, f, s

Maniac @strawbearytae - two shot [1/2] | 3.3k+ | exes au, mutual pining, mutual break up, but not kind of ignoring each other, got assigned for a project/Music Festival | a (so far)

Milestones @valorkook - series [00/?] | 900+ | hospital au, doctor!jungkook, nurse!reader, tsundere!jungkook, enemies to lovers | f, a

↬ OT7/Multi

Double Trouble @bangtanstanst​ & @jooneos - Jungkook x Reader | Christian Yu x Reader

series [3/?] | 59k+ | tattoo artist!jungkook, tattoo artist!christian yu, flower shop staff!reader, roommate au (jk x oc), friends to lovers, bet/dare au (JK bet he’d be better than CY), some jealousy involved | s, a, f  

🌷So I read this years ago and I wasn’t that aware of Christian Yu but then this fic blew my mind and I’m so into this pairing/love triangle/poly relationship even though I still don’t follow CY that much at present time. This is just crazy hot. It doesn’t help that there’s this post years ago predicting that Jungkook’s future state is Christian Yu (tattooed, hot but cool).

Office Hours @softiegguk​ - OT7 x Reader

series [2/7] | 12.2k+ | office bangtan, office au, bts x finance manager!reader, pwp, coworkers au, staff accountant!jungkook, admin assistant!taehyung, project manager yoongi (coming soon), business analyst jimin (coming soon), sales representative hoseok (soon), executive assistant!seokjin (soon), CEO!Namjoon (soon) | s

↬ Themed Series

The Nanny Diaries @btsgotjams27​ - OT7 (individual drabble series)  bts themed series, single mom!reader, accidental nanny!bangtan, humor | f

namjoon | au: neighbors ➥ the reluctant nanny (tba)

jin | au: friends ➥ the accidental nanny

yoongi | au: housemates➥ the i-had-no-choice nanny

hoseok ~ ?

jimin | au: co-workers

taehyung ~ ?

jungkook | au: strangers to friends➥ the unexpected nanny➥ the blind date➥ the weekend trip

🥕 [Completed Fics/Series]

I Love You @ughseoks - drabble } 1.8k | slice of life, strangers to lovers, established relationship, boyfriend to husband, expecting parents au, tooth-rotting fluff, snippets of important moments with Namjoon | f (i love this! I still cry thinking about this drabble)

The Interpretation of Dreams @ppersonna - one shot | 13.8k | PhD Mentor Namjoon, Post-grad, OC/Reader crushing on Namjoon | s, f

Fool Me Once, Fool Me Twice @dalamjisung​ - series [3/3] | 11.9k | unrequited au (oc to namjoon), best friend jisoo went after namjoon too, self-discovery fic (for OC), more on OC and her relationship with Jisoo and discovering her true friends/true self | a, f

Lost in the Funhouse @dovechim - one shot | 9.7k | thriller, prisoner!namjoon, asylum, psych patient, psychological, criminal au, psychiatrist!reader | s

Mission @dreamscript - one shot | 3.2k | spy au, team leader!namjoon, established relationship, coworker, action (slight),  hurt/comfort (oc comforts him when he felt he messed up leading a mission and OC got hurt) | f

Sail @sunshinejoon​ - drabble | 1.6k | strangers to lovers, idol!namjoon, staff!reader, eventual established relationship, boyfriend au, tattooed!reader (which Namjoon got curious of), hurt and comfort too | f

Show me How @imaginationofacrazyfangirl​ - one shot | 3.9k | virgin!reader who decided to hook up through tinder, dating app, strangers to lovers, not sure if this is ongoing but it ended with a vibe that it has a continuation(?) | s

Straps & Chokers @joonsrack - drabble | 2.1k | CEO!Namjoon x Assistant!reader, boss-employee relationship (reader finds him stressful at work), BDSM Club, Meeting your boss in a BDSM club is probably the last thing you were expecting coming here. | s (nothing graphic but very mature themes)

The Body Through Time @yeoldontknow​ - one shot | 10.9k | exes au, falling out/break up, post-grad, professor!namjoon, OC offered graduate assistant position (Art History Dept) and needs Namjoon’s signature but he’s still hurt 🥺| a, s, f

The Wedding Arrangement @sugaurora​ - one shot | 44k | enemies to lovers, turned FWB, neighbor au, medical/health professional (physician’s associate!reader), construction contractor!namjoon, wedding au (seokjin’s), unrequited love (oc to seokjin) | a, f, s

Til Death Do Us Part @justimajin​ - series [11/11] | 49.2k | arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, assassin au/agent au, heirs, action, themes of revenge, some minor ☠️| a, f, s

All an Act @tteokggukk​ - one shot | 10.6k | acting major seokjin and oc/reader, enemies to lovers, college au, humor | f, implied s

Timelines @doyouknowbts - series [8/8] | 27.1k | soulmate au, time travel au/teleporting, time slip, doctor!seokjin, journalist!reader | a, f

Amour Propre  Blind Spot @randombtsprincessa​ - two shot [2/2] | 8.9k | idol!yoongi, break up au | a, f

Bubbles @dreamcatcherjiah​ - SMAU | neighbor au, mutual pining, producer!yoongi x writer!reader, parenting au (they are the usual babysitters of their neighbor’s baby Yoonji), something happened to to Yoonji’s Dad and they got appointed to be the guardians | f, a

The Couples Package @pars-ley​ - one shot | 2k | friends to lovers, fake dating au, vacation au, asked yoongi to join for the couples trip but there is couples therapy in the package (that ended up being too real) | a, f

Dawning Revelation @artaefact​ - drabble | 522 words | police au, supernatural, detective!yoongi, devil!reader | a

Fixer Upper @gukyi - drabble 1.5k | established relationship, slice of life, humor, tooth-rotting fluff, yoongi keeps asking you to fix things in your new apartment, and it’s getting ridiculous.| f

Post-prank Smutty Drabble @btsqualityy​ - drabble | 500 words | pwp, husband!yoongi, just filthy, based on a request “...continuation of a smut drabble of YG and mama min of that bad prank that she pulled on Yoongi” | s

Recompense @vminity21​ - drabble | 2.9k | college au, used to be childhood friends but grew apart after OC moved away, kind of enemies to lovers (just bickering), tsundere!yoongi, themes of grief, hurt/comfort | a, f

The Art Critic @mooniyooni​ - drabble | >1k | established relationship, husband!yoongi, dad!yoongi, parenting (yoongi babysitting the babies)  Idolverse, tooth-rotting fluff | f

The Devil Skates on Thin Ice @vankoya - series [3/3] | 60.3k | slow burn, exes, figure skater!reader, hockey player!tyoongi, enemies to lovers, college au, sports au, falling out +  mutual pining (so I guess this makes it idiots to lovers too), we discover their history and I love the slow burn, a fandom classic really | a, f

Vows aka 10 ways to win your husband's heart @hamsterclaw​ - two shot + drabbles | 28k+ | arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, sort of fwb too, rich au, heartwarming really I just like this Yoongi, bratty!reader (and oh I wanna tag him as the doting husband), Yoongi was dating someone when he was “forced” to marry OC, OC tried to atone for the times she embarrassed Yoongi, seriously one of my favorite OTPs | f, s

Catch Your Death @dovechim - one shot | 5.1k | hybrid au, arranged marriage, proof of consummation, snow leopard!hoseok, general!hoseok, princess!reader, royalty | s

Checkmate @sunshinejoon - drabble | 743 words | fuckboy!hoseok, unaffected OC (in the beginning), I guess playing with hearts, this was supposed to have a continuation (but this is the last) | a

Feral @lovesickjoon - one shot | 4.1k | best friend au, unrequited love, werewolf!hoseok, supernatural, pwp | s

Head Over Heels to Hell @jimlingss - one shot | 27.5k | soulmate au, reincarnation au, enemies to lovers, college (in the present time) to post-college, childhood friends/acquaintance (present time), star-crossed lovers (past lives), past lives themes of: war, historical, thievery, pregnancy, an amazing PLOT TWIST, humor #holygrailfics | a, f

Make a Move @alpacaparkaseok​ - one shot | 4.6k | humor, tooth-rotting fluff, roommate au, strangers to lovers, mistaken identity (OC thought roommate Hobi is a girl) | f

Simmer @gimmeyoon​ - one shot | 17.1k | exes au, falling out, mutual pining, OC came back to town, summer au, coworker au, summer job at a restaurant, eventual angst (why we broke up moment), kind of star-crossed (person with a future vs someone who will hold her back) | a, s, f

Ubiquitous @sunshinejoon - drabble | 1.9k | some parts epistolary, exes au, break up au, OC/Reader discovered a stash of letters by Hoseok when they were still together | a, f

Adonis @xjoonchildx​ - one shot | 3.4k | humor/crack (this is super funny), paramedic!jimin, nosy meddling lady/neighbor who decided to play matchmaker lol, meet cute, strangers to lovers | f

Best of Me @xotoosweet​ - two shot [2/2] | 21.6k | slow burn, slice of life, hurt/comfort (themes of depression), fratboy!jimin, college au, strangers to friends to lovers, meet cute (basically saw her diving into a river), one night stand, adulting themes | f, a, implied s

Cathexis @jkeuphoriadreamland​ - series [3/3] | 27k | thriller, supernatural, firestarter!jimin, OC/Reader used to defend Jimin when he was getting bullied, Jimin comes back to town, a bit mystery (jimin’s powers), slight yandere behavior | f, s

Falling @jvngkook97​ - drabble | 990 words | exes au, reunion -  catching up over coffee, idol!jimin, mutual pining | a, f

Hooked @parkdatjimin​ - series [7/7] + drabbles | 56k | nerd!jimin, college au, fwb au, mutual pining | s, f, a

Insatiable + Illusion @artaefact - drabble | >1k | fantasy, angel!jimin x demon!reader, star-crossed forbidden romance, “when he still comes back to you” | a, bittersweet f

Midnight Munchies @yoongihime - one shot | 2.2k | humor, strangers to lovers, college au, delivery boy!jimin, customer!reader, from the prompt: “i made my special request for my pizza for them to send their cutest delivery person and you showed up and apologized that you were the only one delivering tonight and i blurted out that they still got my request right”  | tooth-rotting fluff

Rhythmic @darlingwoes - drabble | 2.2k | established relationship, boyfriend au, dancer!jimin, practice room setting, oc/reader hates the song and Jimin danced with OC to make a new memory (uWu) | f, s

The Girl Next Door @alpacaparkaseok - drabble | >3k | strangers to lovers, amusement park, mascot!jimin (he’s chimmy T_T) | f

Jimin Birthday Reblogs

a reblog of my favorite Jimin fics with this hashtag #Happy Jimin Day Fave Fics 2022

about 40+ fics 🙀

5 Times He Said I Love You @n3onguts - one shot | 5k | different versions of ‘i love you’ told throughout the course of a relationship, established relationship, break up or dissolution of a relationship, angsty | a

Armful @ughseoks - drabble | 1.2k | werewolf!taehyung, hairy arm taehyung (something I didn’t know I’d find hot but thank you dear writer), established relationship, boyfriend!taehyung, pwp | s

Broken Rings & Queens and Things @gukyi - one shot | 24k | arranged marriage, kind of fuckboy!taehyung, royalty au, enemies to lovers, prince!taehyung x princess!reader | f, slight a, slight s

Cipher @alpacaparkaseok - one shot | 14.1k | supernatural-ish, mystery, humor too (the two characters have funny exchanges in the beginning), so kind of enemies to lovers vibes too,  some plot twist, fairy tale/folk tale reference (Peter Pan & Pied Piper), fortune teller!taehyung, it’s also thrilling though it’s not the usual thriller | f, a

Cold Husband!Taehyung + Kissing each other breathless drabble @leefics​ - drabble | 1.3k | CEO!Taehyung, arranged marriage au, first kiss prompt, taehyung picking up drunk wife who got emotional thinking taehyung doesn’t like her | f (super cute)

Dickless @monimonimoon - one shot | 11.1k | OC with a boyfriend who can’t satisfy her in some ways, fwb taehyung, cheating OC (unapologetically) | s

The End of Us @angelseokjinnie - drabble | 3.4k | sugar daddy au, four years as sugar baby (by contract) - starts to develop feelings for Taehyung, just  graduated!reader  | a, s

Good Girls Go Bad @jkstompers​ - series [3/3] + drabbles | 46k+ | slow burn, hurt/comfort too for Don’t Watch Me Cry drabble, mutual pining, strangers to lovers, then friends to lovers, bad boy au, college au, intimidating taehyung x chirpy cute!oc who asked taehyung to teach her how to be bad, makeover au? | a, f, s

Higher @ppersonna - one shot | 3.8k | strangers to lovers, mile high club, airplane setting, pwp | s, slight f

Locked & Loaded @justimajin​ - one shot | 10k | action, secret agent au, coworkers, unrequited (for OC), oblivious taehyung (jungkook had to spell it out for him ugh), humor/comedy, boss!yoongi | f

Lost @salvejoon​ - one shot | 4.7k | enemies to lovers, fuckboy!taehyung, only one bed trope, getting lost, vacation au, stranded au, their best friends are dating (Jimin x OC)  but Taehung x Reader don’t like each other (or don’t they? 😉) | a, f, s

Moneyball @oshbluepacific - drabble | 2k | mafia!taehyung, husband!taehyung, arranged marriage, casino setting, some girls thirsting over taehyung and being rude to OC (not knowing she’s the wife), gambling | f

Only One Bed E2L Taehyung drabble @taestefully-in-luv​ - drabble | 3.3k | humor, e2l, only one bed trope, coworkers, rivalry since college | s

The Only One @jjungkookislife​ - one shot | 8.7k | best friend au, fuckboy!taehyung, fwb, Taehyung is from the You Up? universe (JK’s story) | s, f

Picture It @dalamjisung - one shot | 4.9k | strangers to lovers, coffee shop setting, photographer Taehyung who job hops, hurt/comfort (adulting & surviving despite parental expectations), mutual pining (they are each other’s muses and OC would write about this Taehyung she just sees at the cafe) | f (really cute and heartwarming too)

Poison Apple @jooniyah - series [3/3] | 82.36k | thriller, mafia au, yandere and psychotic behavior from Taehyung (he’s just…insane), happy ending for OC (or, for now), OC originally married to Yoongi, MIND THE TAGS!!! (not for the faint of heart) | a, s

Restart @yuudetama - drabble | 740 | break up, divorce au, taehyung and soon-to-be-ex-wife talking about turning back the clock over coffee | a (angsty but beautifully written)

Sea Star + Beside You @koyamuses​ - two shot [2/2] | 6.4k | pirate king!!taehyung, established relationship, LDR (he’s away at sea), kind of historical, childhood friends, fantasy, sex on a ship 👀, eventual proposal au, husband au | f, s

Trace the Colours of Our Skin @youmistme​ - drabble | 2.5k | artist au, blind date where they go naked and paint each other while interviewing/getting to know each other (like one of those Youtube, hurt/comfort fic | f

Under the Cloak @jungblue - one shot | 7.7k | Hogwarts AU, enemies to lovers (one-sided from OC), quidditch player!taehyung *gryffindor, tutor!reader, bet/dare themes (if he gets an A, agree on a date), use of the invisibility cloak for smutty purposes 😉 | s, slight f

Verboten @97erstan - one shot | 3.6k | cop!taehyung, best friend's boyfriend, twisted characters, themes of manipulation, plot twist | s

Your New Boss @dreamescapeswriting - one shot | 5k | CEO AU, Exes au, VP!Reader (but she doesn’t know about the new CEO which is really rare in reality but let’s assume Taehyung didn’t want the VPs to know about organization changes first), stuck in the elevator, kind of bad break up (accusations of cheating on her) | s, f

Waterloo @kinktae​ - one shot | 13k | slow burn, meet cute, strangers to lovers, artist!taehyung, art student!oc/reader, college au, vacation au, Paris setting, kind of tsundere-ish taehyung in the beginning, tourist au (oc toured him around so he can find inspiration) | f, a, implied s

(Un)welcomed Addition @joonscypher​ - one shot | 9k | neighbor au, one night stand, noona!reader, some form of bet/dare themes, college au, fuckboy!jungkook, OC/Reader already working, humor, really cute | f

A Night and a Year @dulce-jpm - one shot | 3.6k | briefly ex!yoongi x reader, arranged marriage au, past business scandal that led to cutting ties with Min family, Yoongi also broke up with her, arranged marriage with Jungkook to save “family” rep, ex-girlfriend!Sana, accused Jungkook of cheating, talks about this business/marriage | a, slight f (I still think these two deserve a drabble to see if they end up falling for each other 👀)

A Nugget of Comfort @madbutgloriouspond​ - drabble | 2.1k | established relationship, hurt/comfort fic, OC grieving over their pet hamster | f, a

Aftermath @whatifyoulivelikethat - one shot | 12.2k | exes au, stages of post-break up, accidental stalking from jungkook while OC is on a date, sub!jungkook | s

Anti-Romantic @chemicalpink​ - one shot | 4.7k | childhood friends, unrequited love (jk to oc), but his bestfriend *Sungho) ended up with oc, sungho actually cheating, oc revenge sex (with jungkook), bad decisions (like why OC why did you go through the wedding T_T) | s

Azaleas @randombtsprincessa - one shot | 9k | enemies to lovers (rivals), coworker au, lawyer au, hot intense lawyer!jungkook | f, s

The Bad Guy @ggukachuwu​ - drabble | 671 words | tattoo artist!jungkook x CEO!reader, bad boy!jungkook, secret identity (though we never know his work or why he is the bad guy) | a

Bittersweet @citrustan​ - one shot | 2.8k | ex-fwb, unrequited (oc to jungkook), falling out (oc didn’t know jk started to have serious relationship w someone else) | a

Castaway @hamsterclaw - one shot | 8.3k |  enemies to lovers in the beginning, stranded au, beach au, survival au (plane crashed on a deserted island), strangers to lovers, humor, super cute ending | s, mild a, f

CEO Junior @mooniyooni - drabble | >3k | humor, strangers, son of CEO!Jungkook, office au, meet cute, music/artist but got stuck in office work, boss-employee | f

Comfortable, Bare, and Hungry @jinkookspencil​ - drabble | 2.6k | established relationship, boyfriend au, hurt/comfort fic, they ate pizza while naked | f, suggestive s

Denial = Desperation @adonis-koo - drabble | 3k | drabble from the series Wicked where Jungkook is just fantasizing about OC, series tags/genres ➡️arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, historical, royalty au | s

Drive @sunshinejoon - drabble | >1k | FWBs who are pining for each other, idiots to lovers, angsty beginning | a, f

Duty Before Love + Part 2 @blue-jade - two shot [2/2] | 10.4k | royalty au, agreed infidelity (jungkook’s wife chose OC/reader to be the child bearer), pregnancy au, historical, forbidden/star-crossed (royalty x servant!reader), unrequited love | a, s, f

Echoes of Love @moonlightchildz - one shot | 2.5k | exes au, break up au,  jungkook broke up with OC and we don’t know why T_T, feat. best friend!taehyung | a, s, f

Exposed @getitinbusan - drabble | 2.1k | photographer!reader, dispatch photoshoot, idol!jungkook, tattooed!jungkook, pwp and really filthy | s

The Hardest Part @kimnjss - one shot | 2.5k | bestfriend au, unrequited (for OC), jungkook is getting married, extra angsty, something I probably read 3x now T_T | a

Heat Rises @dreamyjoons - drabble | 1.1k | boyfriend au, established relationship, pwp, hair pull + shower sex, that curly Jungkook from 5th Muster | s

Kinktober 2022: October 1 corruption kink with jeon jeongguk @seokgism - drabble | 3k | corruption kink, virgin!jungkook, experienced!oc, happens during the family dinner lol | s, pwp

Late Night Assignment @writeformesinpie - one shot | 2.7k | CEO!Jungkook, boss-employee, office au, OC/Reader has a date and Jungkook couldn’t function a bit at the thought lol, very funny banter and JK with wild exaggerated imagines about OC and her date, humor | s

Like Stars in a Constellation @taegills​ - one shot | 20.9k | sci-fi, star-crossed love, time travel au of sorts only they are meeting in reverse (one timeline is forward while the other is backward), strangers to lovers at one point, established relationship at one point, kind of bittersweet | a, f, s (implied)

The Love Bug @jungkxook - one shot | 20.6k | neighbor au, childhood friends (more on acquaintance), college, secret identity (duh, he’s spiderman), adaptation: spiderman au, superpower/superhero au, spiderman!jungkook | f, s

Lover Boy @ughseoks - drabble | <1k | humor, heartwarming, established relationship, lots of dick jokes lol, boyfriend!jungkook x oc in a romantic bath together (tub scenario) | f

Nanny @jjungkookislife - drabble | 700+ words | nanny!reader, single dad!jungkook, pwp| implied s

On Camera @agustdiv1ne - one shot | 3.1k | established relationship, boyfriend!jungkook, gamer au, youtuber!jungkook, pwp about jungkook recording their smutty moments | s

Ours @v-hope - drabble | 2.3k |  best friend au, also childhood friends, now roommates in college, tooth-rotting fluff, domestic vibes, living with your best friend turned longing for exclusivity (just read my reaction I poured my entire giddy heart into it) | f

Pardon the Interruption @strawbkoo - one shot | 4.4k | established relationship, coworker seoyeon keeps interrupting their sexy time/moments, pwp | s

Perfect Coincidence @smilingleoo - one shot | 4.7k | DJ!reader, football team captain!jungkook, popular jungkook who was having an affair with the Math Teacher (uhm police alert 👀), party au (they did it on Hoseok’s couch), Hoseok is OC/Reader’s best friend and it’s his party | s, pwp

Picture Perfect @upinthestarsx3 - one shot | 879 words | best friend au, photographer!jungkook, needs to take photos of her nude for a magazine but turned smutty | s, pwp

Risk it All @httpjeon - series [5/5] | 14.1k | hybrid au, wolf!jungkook, I included this in the werewolf fic rec list though he’s not really a werewolf lol (he doesn’t shift), alpha!jungkook, a/b/o dynamics, predator-prey dynamics in this au, OC got thrown in a warehouse filled with predators and there’s also jungkook | f, a, s

Save You @mimikookie​ - drabble | 4k | supernatural, fantasy, post-apocalyptic, a bit of action, star-crossed vibes, archangel!jungkook x human!reader, it’s just intense and feels like some epic scene, war? (the angels were fighting and some creatures attacking humans), badass OC | a, f

SPF 50 @gimmeyoon - one shot | 10.6k | coworker au, strangers to friends to lovers, summer au, lifeguard!jungkook, slow burn, kind of bittersweet (because summer love stories usually are) | a, f, s

Strangers to Lovers @kissmetae​ - one shot | 3.2k | uhm strangers to lovers, gym crush!jungkook, gym setting, role playing | s, f

Symmetry @adriftmoonchild​ - one shot | 10k | enemies to lovers, fwb au, hogwarts au, mutual pining, secret relationship, rich!OC/reader, magic, kind of forbidden relationship (pure blood!oc x half-blood jungkook) and OC arranged to marry someone else | s, a, f

Vampire’s Kiss @immabiteyou - one shot | 4k | bartender!reader, bar au, vampire!jungkook, jk in all black | s

When We Were Sixteen @seokjiniwithluv - one shot | 10.3k | moments with jungkook told per year, best friend au, parts namjoon x reader & jungkook x hana, a bit taehyung x reader, high school to college to working, unrequited, falling out of some sort,jungkook leaving the country and friends jimin/taehyung checking on OC, angst with happy ending for OC | a, f

posted: 2022 Nov 5

link to other reading lists

other fic rec lists (by theme)

feel free to message me about fics! (leads to @ggukkiereads 🌷)

.

[xoxoladyaz]

AU-gust, Day 5: Pet Sitting

“Nope, no way. Absolutely not.”

Six sets of puppy-dog eyes stared back at her. Lucas, the ham, even pretended to start whimpering.

“Stevie, please,” Dustin whined, “Eddie needs a safe place to stay.”

She stared at Dustin for a few seconds before glancing down at the shoebox in Dustin’s hands. Inside the shoebox surrounded by a few of Claudia’s oldest and fuzziest kitchen towels stood a bat, a small black bat with big black eyes that looked almost just as pathetic as the rest of the kids.

(Almost.)

“I’ve done this song and dance with you before, Henderson, and I told you when you got rid of the alien lizard - ”

“D’artagnan was a cryptid, Stevie!”

“ – alien lizard that I wasn’t going to help you keep playing monster vet. I still haven’t recovered from seeing Mews’ corpse!”

“Mews was my cat and I’m fine! Besides, Eddie’s just a normal bat!”

“Dustin, he has a full head of hair!”

Stevie and Dustin stared at each other before looking back down at the bat (Eddie). Who was running his little claws through his hair and preening. (Stevie could have sworn that he winked at her, but she wasn’t crazy; it was definitely just a trick of the light.)

Dustin’s face started to flush like he was going to argue with her but El (sweet, precious El) cut him off before he could really get going. “Stevie’s right. He is not normal,” El said, stepping forward to run her fingers against Eddie’s head. Eddie rubbed up against her fingers and chirped. 

“See, I knew it - ”

“But he is a friend,” El said and fuck, the full force of El-most-likely-a-changeling-Hopper’s big brown eyes was something Stevie would probably never learn to resist. “And he needs someone to care for him while he gets better.”

“Better? What do you mean, better?”

“Bad man,” El replied matter-of-factly and, well, shit. She didn’t need to say much more than that.

Stevie sighed and turned her attention back towards the “bat” in question. “How long?”

/////

Just a few weeks, maybe a month or two, Dustin had said. “I would have kept him myself but Mom was worried that he’d eat Tews – ”

(“Oh, and you don’t care if I get eaten?” Stevie had replied. Dustin had just rolled his eyes and ignored her.) 

So yeah, two months tops, just until Eddie was “healed” or what not. (He didn’t have any visible injuries that Stevie could see but then again, she was just a cosmetologist, what the fuck did she know about bat anatomy?) Until then, Stevie was going to have a tiny flying roommate who apparently “only likes to listen to metal music, so I’ve brought a few tapes and oh! He loves fantasy so you’ll have to read him this as a bedtime story,” at which point Dustin handed her The Lord of the Rings, “and he gets lonely at night so don’t lock him out, he likes to cuddle, and he should be able to fit in your jacket pocket when you go to work during the day - ”

“No, nope, no way, none of that is happening,” Stevie argued and she really had been planning on sticking to that – no metal music, no bedtime stories, no cuddles, and definitely no work trips, no way, no how.

(She’d folded by hour two of Eddie’s stay at Casa de Harrington.)

/////

“You get this is weird, right?”

“Hmm?” Stevie was cutting apart some strawberries to blend with whatever “protein drink” Dustin kept dropping off at her house. “What’s weird?” She turned to look at Robin, who was watching Eddie shimmy up and down the dining room table to “Rock Me Like a Hurricane.”

“Stevie. This is not normal bat behavior.”

“So? It’s normal Eddie behavior,” Stevie shrugged. She tossed the berries into the blender and, once it was a fine red concoction, put it in a little cup with a little straw and walked over the table. Eddie slid his way across the polished wood and wiggled when he saw her, chittering happily before going to town on his fruit smoothie.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t also normal Stevie behavior!” Robin threw her hands up in the air. “You’re letting a wild animal sleep with you in your bed!”

(She’d tried to encourage Eddie to stay in the guest room that first night all those weeks ago but she’d barely laid in bed for all of two minutes before a dark shape flew through the dark and landed on her chest. She’d screamed and leapt out of the bed but Eddie had somehow managed to grip his claws into her shirt and no amount of arguing with him was able to get him to let go. 

“Fine,” she’d finally growled, “but if I roll over and squish you, it’s not my fault.” 

When she’d finally woken up the next morning, she was still lying on her back and Eddie was still nestled onto her chest. They’d been going to sleep every night that way ever since.)

“Hey,” Stevie replied defensively, “he’s not a wild animal, he’s totally tame.”

“Uh huh,” Robin replied queasily, watching as Eddie happily slurped up his smoothie. “Just because you play dress-up with him doesn’t mean he’s tame, Stevie.”

The tiny vest was from El and Will, something about how Eddie looked “wrong” without it (whatever that meant. Stevie had to admit it did look really cute on him.)

“He looks adorable, Robin!”

“He’s totally taken over your life,” Robin shot back dramatically. “He goes shopping with you, you take him to work – Stevie, he sits with you when you take bubble baths, for Pete’s sake!”

(Hey, Eddie was a gentleman, he always waited until she was covered by bubbles until coming in and sitting on the little nest of towels she’d made for him on the set of drawers by the bathtub and okay, maybe Robin had a point here.)

“And that’s not to mention that I’ve been trying to get you to read a book for literal years now and this bat shows up and suddenly you’re reading Tolkien to him every night?”

“It’s actually a good book, Robin,” Stevie said defensively.

“I know that, Stevie, I just can’t believe that you’re not seeing this! Like, there are so many red flags! He’s literally drinking blood right now!”

Stevie huffed and leaned over the table, like she was physically covering Eddie from Robin’s criticism. “It’s rude to judge somebody else’s eating habits, Robin. Or did you forget our conversation last month when you tried to go vegetarian?”

“That’s different and you know it!” Robin exclaimed. 

Eddie, because he was a little drama king, took the last sip of his smoothie while making eye contact with Robin before letting out an exaggeratedly content sigh. 

“See?!”

Stevie rolled her eyes and set her hand down. Eddie scurried onto her palm, letting out a series of happy chirps. She lifted him up and set him on her shoulder where he waddled to her cheek and pressed his little face against it, like he was giving her a little kiss. “You’re being overdramatic, Robin.”

“Fine, whatever, just don’t come crying to me when he makes you his eternal vampire bride or whatever,” Robin huffed before getting up and stalking out of the kitchen.

“He’s just a bat!” Stevie called after her. Robin responded by slamming the front door after he on the way out. 

Sighing, Stevie turned to look at Eddie, who was currently making a home for himself in her curls. “You are just a bat, right?”

Eddie turned and shot her a wink before wrapping his little body in one of her ringlets.

“Yeah, that’s probably fine.”

/////

One of the best parts of having Eddie around actually was nighttime. She hadn’t gotten so many nights of uninterrupted sleep in years. He was like some sort of nightmare repellent or something; in fact, the only dreams she’d had recently were of a shrouded figure with long dark hair and a sexy laugh and teasing cool hands and other things – 

And when she woke up a month and a half into Eddie’s residency in her home, she probably should have been more shocked at the fact that her bat had turned into a very pale, very sexy and very naked man with long dark hair and cool skin and – 

“God, Robin’s never going to let me live this down,” Stevie murmured as the man stirred above her. He opened his eyes and yep, yeah, those were her bat’s eyes. 

Eddie’s grin grew sharp as he pressed her further into her bed. “I’m sure I can find some way to make up for it,” he said as he drew close enough to kiss her. 

“How do you feel about a Halloween wedding?”

[carpetbug]

ML Feline Blue AU Chapter Three: Origins pt. 1/2

1 • 2 • 3

read below or on ao3

Each step back to the Pont des Arts was petrifying. All the muscles in her legs contracted in protest, begging her to stop or for the still fresh soreness to bring her to her knees. What had been an ache in her lungs was now a relentless screaming, and the sound of rushing water in the seine was making her head hurt.

But she had to know. 

It wasn’t like the streets of Paris would be crowded so early in the morning, but Marinette had expected more than the occasional elderly couple or jogger on a morning run. There were no sirens, no policemen barking orders at each other with megaphones like she had pictured in her mind. No one had noticed the bloodbath left behind. Which only made it feel all the more fictional, like some elaborate, fucked up fantasy she had concocted in her mind. 

She had to go back and know if it was real. Know if she had any right to feel as burdened as she did.

There was no reassuring kwami hidden in her pockets, no magical jewels that made her a superhero. No, those had all been tucked away in her closet, where no villain could find them. It was just Marinette, bundled securely under a thick gray hoodie, mind running wild with worst case scenarios. They didn’t stop when she arrived at the Pont des Arts, and only seemed to get louder when she took in the freshly cleaned condition.

She walked the length of the bridge, then did it twice more. It was pristine, easily wiped of the brash color it was stained the night prior. Marinette wasn’t even sure she could remember where exactly on the bridge it had been. The wooden walkway looked almost polished, the entire platform was the spitting image of perfection. It made her fucking skin crawl.

It was too easy, too tempting, to sit on one of the benches sprinkled across the bridge and let herself peel apart. The panic had long set in, leaving her feeling lost and unraveled. This sudden enemy was already plucking away at the careful seams she's used to stitch her confidence together, and he didn’t even know she existed. Sitting on the bench for a few hours, her mind wandered aimlessly on autopilot, yet always circled back to ‘Guardian. Miracle Box. Guardian. Guardian. Miracle Box. Guardian.’ It was still on loop in her head when she picked herself up off the seat and went home.

The idea of doing a mad dash through the bakery and to her room crossed her mind, she had to admit, but it was quickly dismissed. The bakery had already been open for almost an hour now, she didn't want to cause a racket amongst customers. Plus, it’s not like her parents would let it slide either. Then again, Marinette had entered her home in many weirder ways.

She pulled open the doors of the bakery, skirting the customer line and bee lining for the ‘employees only’ labeled door. If she was really lucky, her mom would be too busy to even notice her slipping in.

“Welcome back, why were you out so early?” Sabine commented nonchalantly as her daughter awkwardly tried to creep past, eyes not leaving the cash register as she tapped away at the buttons.

What a fantasy. The idea of Marinette Dupain-Cheng having a single moment of luck. “Sorry Mama, I woke up way too early and couldn’t fall back asleep so I wanted to go out for a quick walk. Then I may have fallen asleep on a bench at the seine…” She trailed off, hands flailing wildly around her as she explained to her mother. It honestly wasn’t too far from the truth, and it also wasn’t too far from something Marinette would do.

Sabine quirked an eyebrow, giving her daughter that questioning look only mothers can, before sighing and smiling to herself. She reached out and stroked her face gently, then pinched her cheek. “Go get changed and enjoy the last week of summer break. No more falling asleep on public benches.”

Marinette nodded in relief, turned to leave, then spun back around and planted a kiss on her moms cheek. “Love you too!” She hummed, bounding through the kitchen with a passing hello to her dad, then up the stairs.

Her mother had helped clear her head momentarily, but it all came crashing back down when she came into her bedroom. It all felt too bright now. The rosy tones and cluttered surfaces were bringing on a migraine, and the nauseating box of magic hidden she knew was in her closet was not helping. Still, she reached for the doorknobs after allowing her eyes a moment to adjust. She had built a nest of fabric around the miracle box, bundling it away in the corner of her closet. The box felt lighter than it had yesterday, maybe because the wood dried during the past day, or because Marinette had a night to sleep on the heavy new burden. Well, a few hours, really. The lid opened easily, and out flew all the kwamis. Tikki and Plagg settled calmly in front of her, both curiously inspecting the room with their eyes. The other kwamis didn’t have such etiquette, and instantly began to wreak havoc on her belongings.

Her lips parted, about to protest, when her voice failed her. Instead she let out a quiet sigh and rolled her eyes, allowing them temporary free reign, then made her way to her desk. The kwamis weaved through the air around her, almost ignoring her presence all together as they discovered the wonder that was her room. They screamed, shrieked, and squealed— Marinette had never been more relieved her parents were in the bakery, too far to hear— about each new unearthing, but she tuned them out into white noise.

There needed to be a record. A journal, a book, she’d even call it a diary. She needed to start writing these things down, making a physical trail of everything that’s happened so far. Documenting about the kwamis, the miraculous, this villain, Master Fu, her total number of panic attacks (three and counting), etc. The important things. It seemed as good a place to start as any.

“Marinette?” The ladybug kwami had followed her across the room and now sat atop her computer, intently watching her write with cautious eyes.

“Mm?” the girl hummed in response, enthralled in her furiously scribbled notes. Her tongue peeked out from her lips just slightly as she wrote.

“What... what are you doing?”

“Screw that, where the hell did you go?” The cat cut in, tail lashing from side to side. His lips were pulled back in a slight hiss, sharp teeth glinting from in his mouth.

“I-I went back to the Pont des Arts.” She mumbled, pen stilling in her hand. It was silent for a second before their voices erupted.

“You did what?!”

“I would have come with you!”

The kwamis were instantly rambling, Plagg listing off all the ways she could have died on his claws while Tikki pressed her for a play-by-play retelling. It was suffocating.

“I’m fine, okay?! I’m alright!” She huffed, slamming the pen down and pushing against the desk to send her chair rolling backwards. Marinette brought her hands to her face to gently rub her eyes before taking a breath. “Nothing happened.” She said flatly, arms falling to her lap. “I just wanted to see why no one was talking about the blood. But it was entirely clean. The whole bridge looked fucking polished.”

The kwamis exchanged a look between them before Tikki quietly repeated, “I would have come with you.” with a small frown and eyebrows knitted together in worry.

Marinettes building frustration melted. She hadn’t even thought the kwamis would worry about her, nevertheless be upset she had gone alone. A small part of her had honestly thought they would prefer she do the dirty work herself. She pinched her eyes closed and tried to shrug off the guilt blanketing her shoulders. “I wanted to go alone. Plus, it’s my job to keep you all safe and hidden now, I couldn’t risk taking you back there.” She explained softly, returning to the desk and plucking the pen from the surface to fidget with.

“It’s your job to stay safe with us!” Plagg hissed, unaffected by her gentle tone. “It’s our job to train you as guardian! You have to work with us, Marinette!” his voice wavered as he went on. “Let us teach you how to be a guardian before you try doing it on your own.

She listened carefully, gaze locked downward on her feet. After a few moments she spoke “I just want to be able to protect you guys.”

Tikki lowered through the air until she rested in Marinettes lap, looking up kindly at her eyes. “We know, Marinette.”

“But, c’mon Pigtails—“ the new nickname caught her by surprise, making her look up at the cat kwami. “We’re not the only ones who need to be protected right now.” he huffed.

“Let us keep you safe as well,” The ladybug kwami pleaded enthusiastically. “You’re not alone.”

Marinette nodded weakly as she reached a hand forward to rub the red kwamis cheek. “I’ll try to remember that. But if I'm going to do this safely, I need to be prepared.” She clicked her pen, pushing out the inky tip. “Tell me everything, from the beginning.”

An annunciatory cough caught her attention, and she turned to see the rest of the kwamis had settled in a small, patient audience around the three as they talked. It was easy to forget just how many of them there were. Seventeen miniature gods living in her room.

“I think I can help with that,” A light green kwami with a shell spoke up. His sclera was a saturated yellow, and a thick antenna sprouted from his head, ending in a round bulb. “The man you met was Wang Fu, the g— uhm.. The previous guardian of the miraculous.” he spoke, wincing slightly as he messed up his wording. “I am Wayzz, the kwami of protection.” a small tail flicked from the bottom of his shell.

Marinette took hasty notes as the kwami spoke. “Wang Fu.” She echoed the name, feeling the heavy way it rolled off her tongue. “I think I remember him saying that.” It felt wrong to say his full name only now, after everything he sacrificed for her.

“Wayzz was Master Fus personal kwami, so he knows the most about the guardian.” Tikki explained, zooming through the air to float by his side. Wayzz gave her a soft smile, but a heavy gloom lingered in his eyes. He tilted his head to lean against hers slightly, making Marinettes heart twist for the creatures.

“You must have been close.” She said gently, giving the kwami a sympathetic smile. “How long had he been guardian?”

That question gave the kwamis pause. Wayzz blinked before awkwardly clearing his throat. “Well, similar to you, Master Fu had to become sole guardian at fourteen because of… a-a tragic event, leaving him the only living member of the Order of the Guardians.” He stuttered. Marinette's throat went dry and she was immediately buzzing with questions, but he went on. “But that happened many, many, many years ago. Master Fu lived to one hundred and eighty six.”

Her mind went blank, all questions gone in a moment's notice. “One hundred and eighty six?” Marinette repeated. She frantically looked from kwami to kwami, eyes wild. “Am-am I going to live that long now?” her voice was tight with panic. Being fourteen felt burdensome enough, how was she supposed to do this for another century— and possibly longer?

Plagg was the first to respond, and he did so with pure amusement. “Fear not, Pigtails. Master Fu only lived that long cause he was a crazy old man who did crazy old man shit.”

Wayzz glared at Plaggs vulgarity, but began to explain further. “It was simple really, he ate a very specific and controlled diet, practiced rigorous healing and meditation practices, and he’d even-”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll live a normal human amount of time.” An orange kwami barked, long fluffy tail flicking back and forth. He resembled a fox, but with purple eyes and long antennas on his ear tips. “Maybe take the anxiety down a level or two. We need you to stick around for a while.”

“Ha-ha.” Marinette said bluntly, rolling her eyes at the fox kwami. She turned her attention back to her journal, pen gaining motion in her hands once again. “What else can you guys tell me about him?”

“A lot, Master, but in due time. First, I think introductions are in order.” the turtle kwami responded, side-eyeing a few kwamis to his left. That’s what made Marinette finally notice some of the creatures literally shaking with excitement. A velvety purple feline and floppy eared dog most notably, both the creature's tails lashing at an intense speed. They looked like they were about to explode.

“You’re right, I don’t even know half of your guys' names.” She realized, and a dull feeling of guilt dawned on her at not having asked about them. She gestured a hand towards them, prompting them all to share.

They went around, one by one, introducing themselves. Tikki and Plagg, the ladybug and black cat, who Marinette was familiar with after last night. Wayzz, the turtle, Master Fus kwami. Trixx, the name of the fox kwami that had spoken earlier. Sass, a snake. Pollen, which is quite a fitting name for a bee kwami. Roaar and Barkk were the tiger and dog kwamis, the two exploding with excitement. Kaalki, Ziggy, Orikko, Mullo and Daizzi, being a horse, goat, rooster, mouse, and pig respectively. A blue ox named Stompp, which reminded Marinette of the story of Babe, the blue ox. A dragon by the name of Longg, and a ditzy bunny named Fluff. Last but not least, the loudest and most chaotic kwamis of them all, Xuppu, a small light brown monkey. According to them all, the butterfly and peacock kwamis, Nooroo and Duusu, were the only missing gods. One was held captive by the butterfly villain, but the other was lost alongside its miraculous.

She wasn’t sure she would ever remember all that.

“Your turn!” The tiger kwami roared in delight.

“Oh.” Since they had known her name and age, Marinette had assumed they had known everything else about her too. That what it had seemed like with Fu, why should tiny animal gods be any different? “I’m just Marinette.” They already knew that. “Uhm- My parents have a bakery, that’s downstairs, we live on top of it. Right now we’re in my room, obviously.”

“We want to know about you, Marinette!” Tikki chirped, returning to perch happily on her computer again. 

“What’s your favorite color!”

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“-Or a girlfriend!”

“Why are you so small?”

“What’s your deepest darkest secret!”

The kwamis were a shrieking chorus of voices, all piling up questions without waiting for answers. Marinette watched, eyes wide, until they eventually quieted on their own. Her life was going to be a lot louder from here on out.

“Uh-uhm, my favorite color is pink.” Her face was burning as she waved a hand around her rosy room. Why is talking about yourself so embarrassing? “I don’t have… either of those things right now, the last boy I fell in love with was- uhm- w-we went swimming and-” Marinette wasn’t even sure where to begin explaining the horrific prank she’d been victim to last school year. “He just didn’t feel the same way.” She said quietly, clicking the pen in her hands a few times anxiously. What had the other questions been?

“WHY ARE YOU SO SMALL?!” That question was repeated, much louder and much closer to her face. Xuppu had sprung up in front of her, big ears nestled on the side of his face and a long monkey tail curled beneath him. 

“Cause I’m fourteen?” Marinette slid back in her chair to get some space from the kwami. “I’m not exactly done growing.” She explained in a high pitched voice, somewhat confused by his demeanor. The monkey kwami would take some getting used to. But, then again, they’d all take some getting used to.

“And your deepest darkest secret is?” Plagg purred, his tail lashing playfully.

“You guys. Obviously.”

The kwamis all went silent for a second— which seemed almost impossible to her— and exchanged looks before bursting into laughter.

“Good answer, Marinette.” Tikki giggled. ---

“What do you mean It’s not my box?!” Marinette looked up from her journal at the kwamis and groaned loudly before burying her face in her hands.

“He means technically.” Tikki corrected awkwardly.

“I mean it’s not yours!” Plagg jeered in response. “Look at the Miracle Box. What does that look like to you?”

“I don't know! A box!” Marinette whined, throwing her arms forward and herself back onto her comically large cat pillow, before sliding down into the nest of blankets she had gathered over the week. He gave her a sharp and unamused glare. She sighed and heaved herself back upright. Studying the box carefully, she traced the design with her eyeline; staring so intensely she felt like lasers would beam from her pupils and burn through the wood. The box sat, just barely a foot away, carelessly in the corner of her bed where she had left it the night before. It looked the exact same as the first time she saw it. Still just as unsettling. She was almost scared to touch it. Thankfully, the latter feeling was fading slowly with each passing day. “It looks the same.” She muttered, before tentatively leaning forward to grab the box.

“Bingo. That's not normal Pigtails.” his tail flicked impatiently as she held the box in her lap. “Each Miracle Box has a distinct guardian, and should change to reflect their personal desires and deepest truth. This piece of junk-” Plagg flexed a single claw towards the box between them, “doesn’t look like your miracle box in the slightest.”

Tikki sighed before chiming in “He’s not entirely correct, but his point makes sense.”

“Does it?” Marinette questioned unenthusiastically, palms pulling at her cheeks.

“How do I explain this…” the bug mumbled to herself while scrunching her face in thought. Funny, people always said Marinette did that. “It’s like the box is only considering you a temporary guardian, and so it isn’t entirely connected to you. If it were, the box would change shape, size, color, even its own rules and structure.”

“MY SITUATION DOESN'T FEEL VERY TEMPORARY?!” Marinette wailed in immediate response, arms thrashing wildly at her sides.

“You’re not Marinette, don't worry! It's most likely the box can somehow sense your unease and won't allow you full guardianship… or…” Tikkis gaze took a hard turn to bore into the cat kwami to her right, who shrugged it off easily.

“That's right, I stopped it.” He yawned dismissively. “Kid, you've barely even used a miraculous, you're like nine years old, and you’re going up against an actual murderer. You should be thanking me right now.”

“You don’t think I should be guardian Plagg?” 

“Not what I said.” Plagg huffed, but Marinette wasn’t following. “I understand Fus’ situation was… sudden, but you shouldn’t have to pay for that. I do believe you would make a good guardian, Marinette, but I don't think you should have to be one.” Plagg did a weird thing as he spoke. His voice softened, his gaze became glued to the floor, and his ears pressed gently back against his head.

Her lips broke into a warm smile, and she brought her hand up to the cat to run her fingers across his soft fur. He purred, very quietly, in response. “Thank you, Plagg. It's nice to know you've been looking out for me.”

His eyes widened suddenly before he jerked away and shook out his fur, repressing his growing purr. “Too cheesy, even for me.” He fake gagged, then settled comfortably on her knee. She gave him a breathy laugh before ruffling his head with a careful fingertip and turning her attention to Tikki.

“I think I understand. So, how do I prove myself?”

“It’s not about that, Marinette. The box doesn’t think you're not good enough, only not ready.” Tikki sighed.

“I thought Plagg was the one that stopped it?” Her head tilted in confusion.

“I stopped it from granting full guardianship to you once, but I don't control the damn thing. It's in your hands from here, so take it up with the box.” Plagg huffed, beginning to groom his paws.

“You just need patience and focus. Keep preparing yourself, and the miraculous will tell you when it's time.” Tikki reassured.

Marinette let the words sit for a few moments as the kwamis flew off in search of other activities. Patience and focus. Marinette wasn’t known for either. ---

School was supposed to start on Monday. Two days to finish her studies on the miraculous, which Marinette knew she wouldn’t be able to accomplish. How could she get the flu in the next couple hours? Also, how could she make it last for a month?

“Maybe I could be of some assistance, Master?” Trixx offered playfully as he drifted towards his guardian, her hair unkempt, eyes heavy with dark bags, and body curled over her notebook, taking intense notes. An array of dirty cups and plates littered the space around her, many reeking of old coffee. “Using the miraculous of the fox you could make an illusion of yourself being sick to trick your parents! Free extra long summer break.”

She paused writing to look up at the small fox with skepticism. “Really? And it would work?” Marinette questioned, like such an easy answer was too good to be true. “Also, just Marinette. Not Master.”

“So long as no one touches the illusion, it should. It’ll disappear when it comes into contact with anybody else.” The kwami gave a nonchalant shrug.

It was hard not to roll her eyes, but instead she opted for letting out an impatient huff and pouting her bottom lip. “Thanks for the offer, Trixx, but that won’t work. The second I mention being sick to my parents, they’ll want to take my temperature and feed me soup, it would be a literal nightmare if their daughter disappeared when they touched her.”

“Your loss.” He shrugged again, but his tail lashed in a way that said ‘Don’t come crawling back to me’.

“You’re welcome to my miraculoussss.” Another kwami hissed, bringing Marinette's attention to Sass, the snake kwami. “The power of intuition will allow you to rewind time at your command, letting you try any number of ssssolutionssss until one workssss.” A long, forked tongue flicked in and out of his mouth as he spoke.

This one she gave more thought to before declining. “I would only be able to do that if I transformed.” She frowned, “My parents would definitely have some questions if I was in some random snake get-up.” then began chewing on the already heavily dented cap to her pen.

“My offer sssstandssss should you change your mind.” He nodded politely. “Perhapssss the other kwami with a time related power can help. Fluff!”

The cotton white bunny bounced through the air towards them, big ears flopping with the movement. “Yes, yes, yes, what’s happening?” She was holding a baby carrot between her paws, indicating they had interrupted her lunch.

“Do you know of any way to convince the parents our Master is ill?”

“Just Marinette, please.”

“Of course, Marinette, my mistake.”

Fluff sat on a tomato shaped pincushion on the desk, abandoning her carrot and considering her options. “I can use my power to burrow back a few days ago and find some way to get you sick?”

Sounded weirdly horrific. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not, but please, please don’t do that. Please.”

To Marinette's surprise, the fluffy kwami bent over giggling in response. “I won’t, I won’t, besides it would cause some horrible catastrophic event.”

“What?”

“If a kwami uses their powers without a holder to channel them, the concept that kwami represents in this universe will ‘break’, causing some calamitous event, which can usually only be fixed with the ladybug cure.” Tikki chirped, joining Fluff on the pincushion.

“Good to know.” Marinette bit down on the pen again, pressing it between her molars as she took in, well, everything. For about the millionth time.

Crack.

Ink exploded into her mouth, coating every taste bud and slipping down her throat in seconds. She gagged instantly, choking on the putrid tasting liquid, as the kwamis around her gasped.

“SHE’S DYING!” Xuppu screamed, a little too loudly, because instantly Maman shouted back.

“What? Who’s dying?”

In a hurry, the kwamis flushed through the air like a flock of birds interrupted by a hunter, all diving for the safety of the concealed Miracle Box. Marinette forced her lips together to contain the ink, a plan forming in her mind as she moved towards her vanity and its sink, pushed against a wall in her room. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was a plan nevertheless.

As her parents flung open the trapdoor to her room, she made a big show of dramatically spitting out the ink and starting the faucet with exaggerated gags.

“Me! I’m dying! I was chewing on a pen and it exploded!” She whined, taking a mouthful of water from the faucet and swishing it aggressively through her mouth. It came out a murky dark gray, and Marinette had to grit her teeth as she swallowed the remaining half still in her mouth. It felt just as foul in her stomach as it had tasted in her mouth, but it was a necessary part of the plan. If she was going to fake a debilitating stomach ache, she needed a bit of honesty behind it. 

“Oh, Marinette, I’m constantly telling you to stop chewing on your pens! If you have to do it, at least use a pencil or something.” Sabine said, half joking, as she walked up and gently rubbed her daughters back. 

Marinette nodded in agreement as she continued sipping and spitting mouthfuls of water to clean out the remaining ink. Eventually she stopped the faucet and dried her mouth, then turned to her fearfully observing parents. Tom was fanning his eyes like he was on the verge of tears, for some reason.

“Papa! Don’t cry, oh my god—”

“I was worried you were choking to death!” Tom replied, dramatically stretching out his arms to gesture at his daughter. Sabine continued rubbing her back, then bit back a laugh at the sight of a dark blue ink stain on the corner of Marinette's lip. “How do you feel?”

“I’m alright,” She brought a hand to her stomach and clutched it before pulling her mouth down in an exaggerated frown. “But I think I swallowed a lot of the ink. I don’t feel very good.”

Her parents exchanged a look before sending her up to her lofted bed for some immediate rest and recuperation. The last thing Marinette heard before the door closed was her Mama starting a pot of tea, and her Papa frantically running downstairs to the bakery to make treats for his little girl. Never mind the fact she was supposed to be having a horrible stomach ache right now.

“You got a little something right there.” Plagg flew to his holder's side when the door was closed, his tail flicking at the ink stain on her face. 

She flicked her tongue across her thumb and pulled out her phone, quickly thumbing to the camera, and began to scrub at the mark. “That should get me a few days off at the very least.” She sighed, wiping at her skin more and more aggressively. “I don’t know what I’ll do after that though, it’s not like my parents would let me drop out of school. I doubt they’d even let me miss more than a week.”

Tikki joined the guardian and black cat kwami with a tissue in her hands, and she silently took over cleaning the girl's face. “Don’t worry about that now, Marinette. What’s important is you have time, and we’re all here to help teach you.” The small bug pulled back, taking in her guardian's freshly cleaned appearance. “There, all better.” ---

Marinette's week with the kwamis was busy, extensive, and overall exhausting. When she wasn’t feigning stomach pains to her parents, she was taking thorough notes on the complexities of each individual miraculous, wrestling with the Miracle Box, and not getting nearly enough sleep.

Instead, she spent her nights rotating through the different jewels, pinpointing all the different strengths and weaknesses they had. Some could see in the dark; the black cat, the tiger, the fox, and some others. Some were faster and stealthier, others were sturdy and solid. Each transformation gave her new abilities, but they all made her feel strong, refreshed and ready to fight.

They all allowed her to bounce between rooftops easily, to swing across the city, and balance like she weighed no more than a feather. Her energy was endless. Marinette wondered if it would feel that way when she was face to face with the butterfly’s latest villain. For now, she was focused on finding a good level of understanding of all the miraculous, as well as fostering a relationship between her and the kwamis.

Which she had been able to do, for the most part. She’d use part of her time with the miraculous to transform and use its powers, of course, but the rest of the time she'd spend bonding with the kwami, getting to know their favorite foods and past holders. They’d even play a twenty questions style game to get to know each other. Most enjoyed it, or at the very least tolerated it.

She had learned a lot.

Ziggy is the ‘youngest’ of all nineteen, with Tikki being the ‘oldest’. Mullo likes to spend their time pranking and teasing their fellow kwamis, while Longg prefers to stay observant and silent, surveying and keeping others in check. Trixx talks like he’s constantly trying to scam you into some sort of pyramid scheme, while Kaalki has a thick, prissy accent. Wayzz, Pollen, and Stompp are more on the quiet and calm side, unlike Roaar, Barkk, or Xuppu who can make a sold out Jagged Stone concert sound like a chill lofi playlist. Every kwami had a boisterous presence, regardless if they tried to keep calm or not. Marinette was slowly falling in love with each of them.

But most importantly, she learned the true powers of the earrings of creation and the ring of destruction.

“When combined together, the miraculous of the ladybug and black cat can grant their holder the ultimate power, any wish they ask for. This comes at a terrible price; however, the universe will be destroyed and rewritten in accordance with the request.” Tikki nodded solemnly as she explained, small eyebrows pressed together in sincerity.

“What—What does that even mean?” Marinette asked.

“If you use my ring and tikkis earrings, you get a single, all powerful wish. Could wish for anything you want. Let’s say you wish for a lifetime supply of camembert, as one does. To make that wish come true, someone else would be devoid of its cheesy creamy goodness for the rest of their life! And y'know, existence itself is destroyed and remade.” The cat kwami had an annoying habit of simplifying the most important things.

“That’s… not the example I would have used, but I guess it works.” Tikki shrugged. “That’s why the butterfly wants our miraculous, and why he killed Master Fu.”

“Well… what’s his wish?”

“Fuck if we know,” Plagg scoffed, settling on his guardians shoulder. “It happened too fast. Wayzz had a horrible feeling when the butterfly was activated, and—”

“Wait— only Wayzz? Why not all of you?” 

“It’s not allowed within the order, but should a guardian become a permanent wielder to a miraculous, their kwami will transform and have more intricate and sensitive powers.” The ladybug explained, “Wayzz was able to provide warning due to his connection with Master Fu.”

Marinette glanced at the Miracle Box resting on her chaise lounge chair, and at the kwamis resting around it. The turtle was asleep on top of the box, limbs all tucked inside his shell while his head poked out just slightly. Curled around him were Pollen and Barkk, comforting him with hushed words and soft fur. It made her heart sore.

“And that’s what’s going to happen when I pick one of you.” The realization dawned on her.

Tikki and Plagg looked at each other for a few seconds, a wordless exchange, then turned back to her. “Yes, it will. A guardian has never wielded the ladybug or black cat, since they are the most powerful miraculous, but you are in a… difficult position, so it’s inevitable.” Tikki mumbled in response.

“There’s no way of knowing what will happen when the kwami of creation or destruction is transformed, Marinette. Could be nothing, could be everything. It could hurt you.” Plagg said, pressing his front paws against her hand softly. His eyes were clouded with concern.

“I’m sure it can't do anything worse to me than what that…  butterfly did to Master Fu.” Marinette said softly, petting the cat's forehead with a gentle touch. “Don’t worry about me, Plagg.”

There was only so much Marinette could learn in the short time she'd had so far with the kwamis, and taking on too much was leading her to anxiety attacks and paranoia. Holding up so much all at once was crushing her, it was obvious, but she refused to sit and breathe. Everything needed to be put in the right place for when things went wrong. Everything needed to be prepared, everything needed to be written down. It was the closest thing she had to a guide. 

Because of this, she could tell the kwamis were holding back. There were some things they knew she wasn’t ready for, and Marinette didn’t think she was prepared to challenge them for it. But knowing there was potentially vital information right out of her reach made her heart race, it made her hands start to shake. How could she be ready for anything if she didn’t know everything? It was best to reassure them all that there was nothing to worry about.

There was a blur of motion, then she watched the black cat kwami zip through the air in front of her to the skylight overhead, then out to the balcony above. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was shaking as he flew.

Marinette looked at Tikki, who was also starring after Plagg with a sad frown. “Did I say something?” She asked softly.

Tikki shook her head, “Not in the way you think.” she tried to comfort, then lifted into the air and began towards her fellow kwamis. “I think you should check on him, Master.” The bug flew away before she could correct her.

She reached up and pushed open the passage.

The night air felt fresh, blowing through her unwashed hair and tingling the smaller hairs along her arms and legs. A slight chill flowed through the breeze, raising goosebumps across her skin.

Plagg was curled into a small, black ball in the center of her sun chair, his tail flicking every few seconds. She watched him in silence, until his bright green eyes peeked open from the void to stare back at her.

“What, I can’t take a catnap in peace?” He grumbled, ears laying flat against his head.

“What’s wrong?” She asked softly, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the occupied chair.

“I’m feeling catty, so what.”

“You know I don’t want you guys outside on your own.” Marinette ignored his response, brushing her palm softly across his silky back. “Are you okay, Plagg?”

He shot up with a sudden and violent hiss, batting her hand away. “I don’t know, kid! Am I okay? Are you okay, Marinette?! Is this what we’re doing now?!” He spat, fangs bared.

She flinched back just slightly, unprepared for his outburst. Plagg had just yelled at her. “Wh-what? I don—”

“None of this is okay! And I’m sick of being told not to worry about you!” Plagg floated just above her, black fur bristled out in angry spikes as he snapped. “Why don’t you care, Marinette?!”

Plagg must have known how that stung. “Care about what?! I care about you! I care about all the kwamis, the miracle box, even that old man I knew for thirty seconds! I care about all of it!” Marinette bit back at him, unable to hold her tongue. All she had done was care, how could he say that?

He quieted, then dropped back to the chair without a word. Plagg looked up at her with sad eyes and droopy whiskers, “Why don’t you care about yourself?” he asked.

The words stopped her. Stunned her, really. “I-I… I don’t even— Plagg, I— I care.”

“You’ve been tearing yourself apart, Pigtails. Back-to-back all-nighters studying us, blaming yourself for what happened to Fu, putting our own emotions and wellbeing above your own. It’s too much.”

Water welled in her eyes as she choked on a response. “I didn’t mean… The— I thought I was doing the right thing.”

He watched her for a second, considering her words. “You did the right thing. I just sometimes wish you would do whatever the wrong thing is, too.” he said, then continued before she could question it. “Sit down and do nothing for a while. Go to sleep at nine. Let yourself be selfish, Kid, if that’s what it means to care about yourself. It’s a kwamis job to care for their guardian, too.”

Tears slowly rolled from her cheeks, quickly turning to a steady pour from her eyes. Marinette sniffled, wiping the heel of her palm against her face in a vain attempt to dry her skin. “Th-there’s so m-many of you… and s-so much to do, I-I just want to keep you all safe, and—”

“We’re safe, Marinette. No one else knows where the miracle box is, and you’re going to make sure it stays that way.” Plagg said, tail wrapping reassuringly around her wrist. “There’s a lot of us, sure, but we can manage on our own. And you have all the time in the world to do everything there is to do.” He gently rubbed his face against her hand as he purred, just like a real cat would. “You freak out too much, Pigtails.”

She had no response to that. It was true.

“So don’t tell me not to worry about you.” His voice was weaker now, wavering like he was also fighting against a wave of emotion.

“I’m sorry.” She sighed, still wiping tears from her face. “I just want to do this the right way, so I try to control it all, and I freak myself out. I want to be a guardian, and be there for you all, b-but, I—” Marinette trailed off momentarily, “I just want to be Marinette, too.”

Plagg gave her a small smile. “I’ve been telling you since you saved us, this isn’t your fight. You're not in charge of controlling it all. You don’t deserve to go through this, but I won’t stop you from going forward.” He took a deep breath then gave a resolute nod, before diving back inside the room below. He reappeared moments later with a smooth black ring in his paws, and a crowd of kwamis all poking their heads out of the balcony door. 

Plagg held out the ring to her and spoke, “I, Plagg, the kwami of destruction, ask you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, to wield the ring of the black cat. Using it, you will protect the kwamis in your care, you will reclaim the stolen butterfly and lost peacock miraculous, you will enlist the help of a ladybug holder, and you will rest when you need to.” The words had the same effect as the ones Master Fu had spoken at the Pont des Arts, only both she and Plagg started to gently glow.

Marinette reached out slowly, still convinced the kwami would yank back the jewel at the final moment, explaining to her that she wasn’t worthy at all. Instead, he happily let her take the ring, even purring just slightly when her hand brushed his chin. 

She slid the cold, black ring onto her right pointer finger, intrigued that it had the same weightless feeling that the earrings had. A dim, green glow passed over the jewelry and Marinette watched as it changed to an iridescent silver, and a small flower replaced the paw centerpiece. She twisted it slowly with her thumb, eyeing over the camouflaged details. Unless someone knew to really look, it truly seemed like any other ordinary ring.

“It’s never too late, Pigtails. You can always back out.” Plagg spoke gently, his eyes darting between her and the ring. It was her decision, her choice.

“I accept.” She spoke, igniting a bright change in the steady glow encompassing them. The light burst in a flash, passing over the guardian and her kwamis, solidifying their connection. As it subsided, Marinette blinked open her eyes to find nothing had truly changed. Except for the feeling.

This felt final, like a decision set in stone. She was the holder of the black cat. She was the guardian.

She turned to the kwami audience, smiling softly at them. They returned her smile with cheers and congratulations, some of the more emotional kwamis genuinely brimming with tears.

“Oh, we’re so proud of you!” Ziggy bleated.

“You’re destined for great things, Marinette!” The mouse kwami squeaked.

“Never before have we had a guardian so young and with such potential. Under careful guidance she will go far.” Even Stompp seemed genuinely happy for the girl.

Marinette let herself bask in their praises, just for the moment. A happy laugh rose from her throat, one she didn’t try to deny. “Do you guys think I’m ready?” She smiled, hands passing from kwami to kwami as she pet them.

“As ready as you can be for now. You’ll learn on the job, chickie!” Orikko clucked warmly, pushing his feathered head into her palm. The other kwamis agreed, slowly gaining energy in the space around her. Soon they were bouncing in the air, some singing and dancing in excitement.

“Guys, guys! Shh, come on, let’s take the party inside.” Marinette hushed, waving the group inside. The kwamis giggled among themselves and drifted back into her room, followed quickly by their guardian. “Thank you, Plagg. It actually feels… kind of real, now.” She whispered to the black cat as she latched closed the trapdoor.

“It wasn’t me, Marinette. All I did was ask something of you. You’re the one who chose us, we should be thanking you.” He said, when another squeal rang out.

She huffed in annoyance, gave him a small peck on the forehead, then climbed to the ground floor of her bedroom and glared at the kwamis in warning. They quieted, and she pressed an ear to the floor to listen for her parents. The muffled sounds of a video game sounded from beneath them, signaling they hadn’t heard. Marinette turned back to the kwamis, ready to scold, when she finally focused on what her tiny gods were looking at. 

Where the Miracle Box used to sit, there was now a bonsai tree, nestled inside an intricately designed pot. On thick bands around the vase was the same pattern that used to be on the top of the box, but that was the only thing that looked similar between them.

“What… is that?” Marinette gasped as she crossed towards the plant.

“The Miracle Box! My liege, it has accepted you!” Pollen buzzed with joy, flying in fast circles around her head.

“The Miracle Tree, you mean.” Plagg meowed at the bee while nuzzling into his holder's shoulder. “It’s all yours kid.”

She reached out a hand, rustling the orange-pink leaves that sprouted in eager clusters across the branches. At the base of the tree, engraved into the trunk, was a yin-yang symbol with the marking of the cat and ladybug balanced between each other. Arched above it was the fox, turtle, and bee, with the butterfly and peacock on either end. The growth above was occupied by the zodiac kwamis, each one laying claim to their own bushel of leaves.

The plant was gorgeous. If she didn’t know better, she would have assumed it to be an expensive gift or invaluable family heirloom. In some weird ways, it kind of was.

There was only one blemish.

“It’s rotting.” Marinette muttered, mostly to herself, as she studied the tree. Surrounding the butterfly and peacock markings were deep gouges, threaded with dark veins. They seemed empty and lifeless when compared to the other miraculous along the tree. Corrupted, almost.

“It’s hurt.” Tikki chirped, popping into place beside Plagg. “Nooroo and Duusu are essentially dead– or dying, according to your Miracle Tree, which is what’s causing that damage.” The bug flew closer to the trunk, extending a small arm to test the bark. “We’ve never seen a Miracle Box like this before.”

She almost sounded impressed.

“How do I fix it?” Marinette asked, now fiddling with the scarred wood. The kwamis were all still celebrating, but she couldn’t help feeling like she broke the thing. It hadn't hurt before, afterall.

Tikki turned back to her with a blank stare. “You can’t.” She said, flying back to her cat counterpart. “Not right now, at least. Maybe once the butterfly and peacock are retrieved, but even that isn’t a guarantee.”

“The tree isss now connected to you, Marinette. It’sss deeply aware of your feelingsss, moralsss, and desssiresss. In a way, the only one who truly knowsss how to manage it isss you.” Sass chimed in, settling carefully onto the fork in the center of the trunk.

“Me?! I don’t even know the first thing about plant care! Do I need to go get fertilizer? Wait, first, I need to make a list of everything I’ll need so I can go to the store— Shoot, do we still have those gardening gloves Maman bought a few years ago? Where would she put— No, no, we gave those to Nonna for her birthday…” Marinette started to ramble, already beginning to pace around her room.

“Pigtails!” Plagg interrupted, pausing her spiral. “It’s magic. It’s a magic tree. You don’t need fertilizer, or gloves, or whatever else you’re already thinking of buying.”

“Oh.” That’s simple. Why couldn’t it all be that simple? She went back to the potted plant, then took a deep breath and heaved it up from the floor. Straining, she slowly carried it across the room, then hoisted it onto her desk. She’d find a more permanent place for it later.

A cheerful tune began from the computer behind her, bringing her attention to Fluff, Mullo, and Daizzi fiddling with the speaker and song settings. Xuppu and Roaar were spinning and bouncing in rhythm with the music, tails swaying with glee. Even Longg and Kaalki, always the serious and sometimes uptight, looked like they were enjoying themselves.

“Master Marinette?” Wayzz spoke up from behind Marinette, the seemingly only kwami not partaking in the festivities.

“Hm? Something wrong, Wayzz?” She reached for the chair sitting at the computer, pulling it over and taking a seat as she talked with the turtle. Even in her private time with him, he hadn’t said much.

“Well, Its… uhm… You’re aware I was Master Fu's personal kwami.” He began, settling on one of the miniature cushions. “He wasn’t a perfect guardian. But he tried very hard, and… and he would–,” Wayzz swallowed, fighting emotion. “He would be very proud of you.”

It meant more than she realized it would. When Wayzz looked up to meet his guardians eyes, she was crying again, eyes red and puffy with tears.

“Thank you, Wayzz. I really needed to hear that.” She gave a breathy laugh, happy tears trailing down her cheeks. The turtle kwami flew upwards, pressing himself in a loving hug against the side of her face. Marinette returned it with a cupped palm.

“Its not a real party until theres a group hug!” Barkk yipped from the pretend dance floor, inciting the kwamis to swarm Marinette. They coated her head, arms, and torso, all purring and giggling as they wrapped their tiny limbs around her.

Her first highschool party, and she got to spend it with gods. ---

The idea of going to school felt equivalent to some kind of death sentence. How is she supposed to be the Marinette they had known before? Everything is different now. She is different now.

‘You’re still Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a normal girl with a normal life.’ She reassured herself in thought, but the feeling remained. ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng, guardian of the miraculous, soon to be protector of Paris. Normal girl with a normal life.’

Laying partially awake in bed, her thumb lazily toyed with the miraculous ring that now resided on her pointer. She was quickly falling into the habit of checking to make sure it was still on her hand when she woke up. She found it reassuring. The sun was slowly rising, and was currently settled perfectly to glare through the trapdoor above her bed and into her eyes. Blindingly so. She groaned at the brightness suddenly attacking her vision, but sealing her eyelids shut did little to filter the light.

It was time to get up and get ready anyway. Although, being late was definitely more of a ‘Marinette Dupain-Cheng’ move. She debated it internally for a few seconds before climbing the ladder from her bed to the floor below. Her parents had been nice enough to let her miss the first week, the least she could do was try to be on time her first day back.

Kwamis were already busy floating throughout the room, each fairly settled into their new routine. It was hard to keep track of them all at once, but they tried to stay near the Miracle Tree as much as possible, which helped. Sass and Wayzz were flying from kwami to kwami, scribbling down drink orders for the morning. Marinette had taught the two how to use the kettle and coffee maker in the kitchen, and had shown them any other beverage options they might want. She trusted the two (seemingly) most responsible kwamis, and had made them promise to only use it if her parents were working in the bakery. Longg and Tikki would be in charge of the remaining kwamis. 

“Finally awake, Pigtails?” The recognizable sour meow rang out through the room as the black cat kwami floated through the air to his holders’ side. His eyes were cloudy with sleep, so he clearly had also ‘finally’ woken up. Marinette was too drowsy to tease, luckily for him.

“Mmm… ‘morning Plagg.” She responded through a lengthy yawn, miraculous wielding hand coming up to cover her gaping mouth. She stood herself in front of her mirror, sleep-disheveled hair in messy knots down her shoulder, and eye bags reflecting back to her in all their glory. In all honesty, she hardly looked like Marinette these days. Even worse, she was starting to think that wasn’t a bad thing.

“Wow! You look like shit.” Plagg chirped, stilling in the air beside Marinette and watching her painstakingly comb through her bed head in the mirror.

“Yeah… I do, don’t I?”

He gave her a weary look before responding, “Don’t worry Kid, that’s why I’m here.”

“Oh yeah? You gonna brush my hair for me?” Marinette smirked, playfully batting at the kwami with her free hand as she untangled the last sections of dark hair.

“I was thinking more along the lines of supervi—sing… Marinette, what’s wrong?” The cats voice trailed off as he spoke, and he turned from watching her reflection to floating directly in front of her. 

Marinette watched her reflection closely, eyes wide in what looked like shock, maybe confusion. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, like she was grasping for what to say. She settled for, “Nothing, Plagg.” and gathered her loosely strewn hair in a hand.

“Are you sure?” Plagg normally didn’t sound so… concerned. There was nothing to be worried about.

“Yes, Plagg, I’m just getting ready.” She reassured, voice becoming curt with annoyance. The way she spoke had a sharp edge, as did her movements as she pulled and tied her hair behind her head before stepping away from the mirror.

It took barely a second for Plagg to interrupt again. “Hold up!” He was flying through the air again, a black swarm of magic as he blurred in motion. “No pigtails?”

A bun, just a simple, basic, plain ol’ boring bun had replaced her signature matching pigtails, and a light pink hair tie held it in place. Marinette usually tied her hair with ribbons.

“No ribbons, either?”

“Aren’t they a bit… I’dunno, childish?” Her outfit for the day was being pulled from her closet, shirts being thrown aside after being quickly compared to a pair of pink sweatpants. She was doing anything she could to avoid his almost pitiful stare. She didn’t need to be pitied. “I think it’s time I grow up.”

“I didn’t think they were childish.” Plagg mumbled under his breath before flicking his whiskers, like he could shake off the weird energy his holder was putting out. “Well, my nickname for you doesn’t really work anymore.” He sat by idly as she dressed, considering new combinations or phrases that fit the teen.

“Most people just call me Marinette or Mari. When I was little my parents would call me Nette and Nettie.” The latter brought back nostalgic memories of walking through Paris, both her parents' hands in her own smaller grasp. They used to lift her from the ground and swing her through the air with each other step. Now, she wasn’t sure she could even remember the last time one of her parents had picked her up. Not like that really mattered right now, anyway.

“You sure you don’t prefer Master? Maybe ‘Guardian of the Miraculous’ suits you better?”

She rolled her eyes at him before stepping in front of her full length mirror. Hair pulled back in a bun, but otherwise untouched. Her frame was hidden under a thick, heavy gray sweatshirt, which pooled just beneath her shoulders, exposing a black tank top underneath. She had abandoned the sweatpants in favor of an ankle length white skirt. The silver ring on her finger fit in perfectly.

“It could use more black.” Plagg commented, looking her up and down in the reflection. 

Marinette smiled, made her way to her desk beneath her bed, and slipped a black messenger bag off a hook and over her shoulders. Plagg flew through the air to investigate it. After giving a few investigatory sniffs, he smiled and looked up at his holder.

“I’ll allow it.” He slipped inside the bag and curled into a black ball.

“Ready for our first day of school?”

“Your first day. I plan to sleep the whole time.” the black ball huffed without moving.

“Lucky you.”

She waved goodbye to the rest of the kwamis, smiling and nodding at their niceties and wishes for her to have a good first day back. It dawned on her as she left her home and began down the stairs to the bakery that this would be the first real time the kwamis were home alone. Marinette at school, parents in the bakery, they would have free roam of the home.

No, they know better than that. Or at least, Tikki, Sass, Wayzz, and Longg know better than that, and they could be trusted to keep the others in check. Right?

“Kid, don’t worry about them. They’re centuries old gods, they’ll be alright without you for a few hours.”

Marinette pouted her lip. “I wasn’t worrying about them.”

“You’re stopped on the first step and haven’t looked away from that door once.” Plagg yawned and poked his head over the top of her bag, peeking out at their surroundings. “Really, Marinette, they’re gonna be alright. Sugarcube knows how to keep them in line.” He chuckled.

She took a deep breath and continued down the stairs. “Sugarcube, huh? I think I’ve heard you say that before.”

“Little nickname I came up with a few decades ago for my Tikki. Fits her well, huh?”

“Perfectly.”

Plagg popped his head back in the bag as Marinette swung open the stairway door.

The bakery was bustling, as it always was the first morning of the week. People coming and going, buying their pastries and baked goods, or placing orders and grabbing business cards. Monday mornings were always Maris least favorite shift to work. Though she’d be willing to sacrifice her school day for a few hours work in the bakery right now, if her parents would let her.

“Good morning, Marinette! Hurry up to the school, it’s already nine o’clock— Your alarms have been going off for the past fifteen minutes.” Heavy emphasis on the if.

“Right. Sorry, Maman.” She was heading for the bakery doors when her father shouted out from behind her,

“Wait! Look sweetheart, I made you macaroons! You know, to take to school and share with your classmates,” Tom shifted from foot to foot as he spoke, a chunky cardboard box filed with macaroons balanced in his hands. “Since you’ve been- uh— well, you missed that first week and uh…”

Sabine softly jabbed an elbow into his ribs. “She’s already late, Tom.”

“Yeah, uhm, thanks Papa, but I should go—“

“Please, Nette? At the very least it’s… it’s a good conversation starter. You could even show off 

the logo you designed.” He settled on, big bushy eyebrows pushing together in a conceded frown. “I also packed some of those gougeres you asked me to make, in case you wanted one for a snack.”

“Fine, fine, hand it over.” Marinette huffed, cheeks warming at her fathers show of affection. It wasn’t part of the plan, but macaroons can’t exactly hurt, and Plagg was sure to be elated by the pastries. As for designs, she hadn’t touched her sketchbooks since the night at the Pont des Arts, and she wasn’t sure when she’d find time to do so again. Designing wasn’t a priority right now. She took the box from her dad, was decently surprised by its moderate weight, and placed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Bye, love you guys.” 

She hovered by the door a second more before deciding to add, 

“Also, my room is a mess, cause of a– uh, new… science project… so, um, just please don’t go in there. I’ll clean it when I get home. Bye!” Then jumped out the door before they could question her.

Perusing through the treats her father had sent with her, Marinette started towards the neighboring school. She had always viewed her home's proximity to the school as a burden, like some kind of curse. It meant everyone knew where the weirdo-klutz-baker girl— a favored victim of the Bourgeois— lived, and with her own bad luck, it always meant she was late. Daily.

Popping a lemon macaroon in her mouth, Marinette ascended the school stairs and considered the thought that maybe being late every day wasn’t the worst possible thing.

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t the ridiculous, dusty, dirty baker girl, late as always.” Speak of the devil. Suddenly the tangy lemon flavor turned as bitter and foul as the blonde bully. “Y’know, I was really hoping you had dropped out Dupain-Cheng. Only you would miss the entire first week of high school, and have the balls to show your face right in front of me.”

Chloe stood, waiting for her prey, tucked behind the large entrance doors to the school yard. She wore an expensive, brand name dress that began with a warm yellow and slowly turned to a rosy orange as it flowed down her body. Her patent white and gold themed sunglasses hung from a hand at her hip while the other twirled a pale lock of hair. Hovering just behind her, as always, was Sabrina. Her very own henchman.

Marinette bit back the growing retort bubbling inside of her. Fighting with Chloe was almost entirely the opposite of the plan. “Yup, I’m back from the dead. Could I get to class now?”

Her attacker blinked, before scoffing and drawing her face into a scowl. She threw the sunglasses to the girl behind her, pushed a manicured nail against Marinettes chest, and used the other to smack the box of treats from her hands. “No, you can’t go to class, your pathetic ass shouldn’t have even come to school! I’m the boss of this whole loser school, and now that I finally got Adrien out of that despicable home, I won’t allow you to ruin it for me! For us!”

Marinette was about to ask who this ‘Adrien’ person was, when a new voice chimed in, smothered in ridicule. “Wow, Chloe, I knew you were a bitch but this takes the cake even for you. If you’re the ‘boss’ around here, why have I heard at least seven people refer to you as ‘Blondezilla’?” Now at Marinette's side, with an arm slung around her shoulder, the third girl stood nonchalantly with an award winning, shit-eating grin beaming at Chloe. “I’m gonna guess you’ll say they’re fired, utterly fired!”

Chloe’s face began turning a violent shade of red as she glared daggers at the two girls, mouth opening and closing as she fumbled with a response. “Mind your own business, four-eyes.” She spat out at the girl, reaching out a hand to flick the lens of her glasses.

“Ouch, you wound me,” The girl thumped a fist against her chest, as if she’d been hit by an invisible weapon. Then she wagged a finger at the bullies and said, “If anything that just makes me feel even more sorry for Sabrina back there.”

The sweater vested, red headed girl cowering behind Chloe ignored the comment, opting instead to fidget with her own glasses and have a strict staring contest with the floor. Sabrina said nothing as she studied her shoes.

“If you had any idea what’s good for you, you’d shut up, Césaire.” Chloe’s words came out as a hiss through gritted teeth.

“If only, Bourgeois.”

With a final sneer, Chloe turned and walked away, followed by her henchman and the tic-tac of her shoes against the concrete. Leaving behind Marinette, and her mysterious savior.

“Thanks.” She said as she bent down to gather the box and its contents Chloe had spilled across the floor. Thankfully, a few macaroons had been spared, and the gougeres had been placed in their own packaging within the box.

“No problem. You’re, uh— fuck what was it… Mariette? Right? I’ve heard a lot about you in the past week. Everyone here missed you, a lot.” She stuck out a welcoming hand, helping her stand up. “My name's Alya, I’m a new student in your class.” Alya had warm brown skin, and thick, brown, curly hair down to her shoulders. The ends of her hair were dyed a soft orange-red color, and resting on the bridge of her nose were thick black glasses frames.

‘You haven’t heard enough to get my name right, apparently.’ She thought in passing annoyance before clearing her head with a soft shake. “It’s Marinette, nice to meet you Alya.” She shook Alyas hand with a polite smile. “Thanks for standing up for me, but you don’t have to. Chloe just likes making my life miserable, so I’m used to her bullshit by now. It doesn’t bother me anymore.”

“That’s because you let her, duh! It’s stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

Alya flinched back. “Sorry, that was kind of a mean way to say it, but it’s true. Have you ever heard the quote, ‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good people do nothing.’?” She didn’t wait for a response as she continued, “Its from the greatest superhero ever, Majestia. It means a lot of things, but I like think the most important are; leaving or ignoring someone in need of help will only fuck everyone over in the end, the only way to take down a bad guy is doing it yourself, and if someone’s being a dick you’re allowed to make fun of them for it.”

Marinette blinked, stunned by what she’d just heard. She was not expecting some kind of lesson on the ‘triumphs of evil’ this early in the morning, or from someone taller than a soda can. ‘Alya and the kwamis would be sure to get along.’ She thought for a second before sighing, “I can understand that, but still. I don’t need a new student getting caught up in my drama.”

“Are you kidding?! Please let me get involved in your drama! I’m well aware I don’t need to, I want to.” Alya slung her arm across Marinette's shoulder again, slithered a hand into the box of treats, and returned victorious with a pomegranate macaroon between her fingers. She took a bite and smiled, “That’s what friends do. Friends, right?”

Marinette froze, the question bumbling around her brain. The light kick to her side from her bag told her Plagg thought she’d be stupid to decline, but the word ‘Yes’ wouldn’t quite come out. “Acquaintances, for now. Let’s see how the rest of today goes.”

Alyas eyes widened with surprise, then she looked at the half eaten sweet she was holding, and back to Marinette. The panic and mild guilt was evident in her expression, eliciting a genuine laugh and smile from Marinette.

“Have as many as you want, don’t worry about it. The baked goods don't cost any kind of friendship.” She said, opening the box lid as an offering. Alya helped herself, plucking another three macaroons from its confines. “I should probably get going to class.”

“You mean we.” Alya added quickly.

“Hm?”

“We should probably get going to class. I’m with Mme. Bustier too.”

“Oh, right.” Marinette yawned, still tired from her extensive learning and practice throughout the past week. She took a nibble of another macaroon, this one, strawberry. “I keep forgetting everyone else started last week. I know it’s not that long ago, but— I don’t know— I feel like an intruder. It’s weird.” She said as they began walking through the quickly clearing school yard.

“I’d feel the same way if blondie treated me like that the moment I stepped foot in the school. Don’t get me wrong, she hasn't been friendly, but she's been nowhere near as mean to me as she was to you today.”

“Yet.”

“Yeah, yet.” Alya waved a hand in the air, like she could shoo away the idea of Chloe. “Anyway, don’t let her get under your skin. This is your school too, same way it’s mine.”

Marinette's eyes stayed glued to her feet as they climbed the stairs and headed for the classroom door. “I’m not worried about Chloe anymore. I have bigger problems under my skin to deal with already. I just want school to be school.”

“You…do know this is the start of high school, right? A.K.A the period of time people make entire movies, shows, and books about?” Alya questioned in a teasing manner before swinging open the door and stepping into the busy atmosphere. “The dramas going to happen anyway, might as well try to enjoy it!”

No one stopped to acknowledge their entrance, no burning stares turned onto Marinette and no one was whispering about why she was only just now starting school. ‘Maybe it’s a bit egotistical, thinking everyone in class would spend all their time thinking about you.’ She thought, taking another bite of her macaroon and timidly following Alya to an open table, towards the front-right part of the room.

Alya took her seat and excitedly patted the space beside her for her new acquaintance. “I was told to save you a spot last week.”

Marinette paused, casting a glance around the room at the bustling students and landing on a table in the second row, on the left side of the room. Where she had sat through all of last year, with Soqueline. Now Chloe and her drone resided in those seats, while Nino and…some new blonde boy took up the table in front of them. Marinette gave Nino a sympathetic frown, though he wasn’t looking anywhere near her. He hated sitting in the front of the class.

“Earth to Marinette!” Alya snapped her fingers mere inches away from Marinette's nose, capturing her lost attention. “You do that a lot, don’t you?”

“Sorry. I try not to, just get lost in thought.” Marinette inspected her new spot, noticing the small addition her table mate had added. A bright pink sticky note that read ‘MLLE. DUPAIN-CHENG’ was stuck onto the back, like she had reserved it ahead of time.

“Fancy, huh?” Alya asked, eyebrows jumping up and down with amusement. It was easy to see she found herself hilarious.

“How much did the reservation cost?”

“You don't want to know.”

Marinette rolled her eyes playfully and took her seat with a smile. “I think it's very fancy, thank you Alya.” She removed the sticky note from the back of the chair, folding it carefully to tuck away for later. As she fiddled with the small paper, her attention wandered around the classroom. 

Juleka and Rose, sitting together like always, although now with a lot less space between one another. Mylene and Ivan were on opposite sides of the room, but it didn’t stop him from stealing quick glances at her. Kim and Alix were arguing about who’d win in an arm wrestle, while Max provided the possible outcomes of said wrestling match. At the back of the classroom, Nathaniel was bent protectively over his sketchbook as he drew. She watched him for a few moments before her gaze went back to the table she used to occupy, and its two newest occupants.

Alya stared at her with a weary look, before tapping her shoulder in quick repetition. “I get that he’s handsome, and a famous model, but you can’t be into him that fast, girl.”

Marinette looked back at her, one eyebrow arched in complete confusion and her mouth hanging open, awaiting an explanation.

“Weren’t you just gawking at Adrien?”

Adrien? Adrien. Adrien! “That’s Chloe's boytoy or whatever, yeah?” She questioned, swiveling her head back to the two boys across from them, trying to catch a glimpse of the blonde one— Adrien’s— face.

For a model, his outfit lacked any kind of style. An open, white button up overtop a cool gray shirt. A boring  teal pair of pants, though they were leaning more towards a turquoise. And to top it off, orange converse that burned into her memory like a red, hot branding iron. She could ignore all that though, because of his face. His resplendent expression. His laugh that made her tune out any other noise. His golden hair that looked like he’d been blessed by King Midas himself.

He was definitely handsome, and he was definitely a model. Adrien Agreste, famous model and teen heart-throb, son of the beloved late actress Emilie Agreste and the globally revered fashion designer Gabriel Agreste— one of Marinette's idols in the world of design—, was a new student in her class. She’d have recognized him faster if he’d been wearing one of the famous designs he’d so often advertise, but that wasn’t exactly conventional school attire.

“She’s dating him?”

“It definitely seems that way from her behavior, but the first day she made a big deal about how she and her ‘Adrikins’ are childhood best friends. They practically grew up together, so they’re family to each other. She said something about having to convince Adrien’s dad to let him attend public school for the first time, called him ‘Uncle Gabe’ or something.” Alya said with a nonchalant shrug. “But that did all come from Chloe, so take it with a grain of salt.”

“What the fuck.” Marinette stated with blunt disbelief, making Alya burst out laughing. “That’s literally Adrien Agreste. I had no clue they were so close— shit, I didn’t even know he was going to the same school as me, until now.” Marinette sat back in shock, mind running through all his fathers designs she’d looked up to over the years. “No wonder she took my seat.”

Alya gave her a quizzical stare, one that said ‘Do you not see the amazing chair you’re currently sitting in?’

“For all of eighth grade, me and my best friend sat where Chloe and Sabrina are right now. I thought they’d taken it just to bother me, but I guess even Chloe takes a break from her evil ways.” She explained “I know it’s kind of ridiculous, but I was honestly looking forward to having that seat again. That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Only when you compare that seat to your new fabulous one!” Alya joked, but quickly recoiled when Marinette didn’t laugh in return. “Sorry. That’s not ridiculous, if I’d known I would have reserved that spot instead.”

That one did make Marinette chuckle. “I’ll live, but I appreciate the thought.” She rubbed the iridescent ring with her thumb, eyeing the flower centerpiece. “Anyways, it’s like I said earlier. I have bigger problems than Chloe Bourgeois.”

The bell rang out, and class began, cutting off the conversation. The rest of the day passed along at a sluggish rate, each hour-and-a-half long class slowly boring Marinette to death. Mme. Mendeleiev had rambled on and on about the periodic table without even pausing for air, M. D’Argencourt made the class run laps all period long because Kim wouldn’t stop cracking jokes, and to top it all off, Plagg had eaten all the gougeres by the time lunch eventually came around. So, she sat with Alya, sharing a few pieces of her lunch.

“How do your parents run a bakery, and you don’t have lunch for school?” Alya teased as she ripped open a small bag of salted potato chips, then popped one in her mouth.

“Poor time management skills.” Marinette shrugged, reaching over and snatching a chip for herself. “When we were in second or third grade, Chloe used to steal my lunches.”

“That’s so fucked.”

Marinette let out a small laugh, “Right? Jokes on her though, my mom would make me traditional chinese meals. Imagine eight year old Chloe eating tofu for the first time.”

Alya snorted at the thought, then looked around the room with realization. “Speaking of, where is she? She almost always comes to bother me at lunch.” ---

Public school was almost nothing like he had expected. Even after everything Chloe had told him throughout all the years, nothing would have prepared him. It was… weird being recognized in public. The first day people had flocked around him in crowds, all pleading for pictures and autographs. When class began, he would mess up attendance out of pure confusion, or he’d get lost trying to find a book in the library. Adrien stuck out from the rest of the class like a sore thumb, even though he had joined at the beginning of the school year like everyone else.

Truth be told, he mostly had himself to blame for the latter problem. After a week of his childhood friend endlessly berating his father, Adrien had been allowed to attend school. He had stayed by Chloe’s side each day like she was his security blanket, and when he wasn’t stuck to her, she was undoubtedly stuck to him. Walking beside him in every hallway, sitting beside him in every class they had together, and practically hissing at anyone that approached them.

The other students had been nice enough, asked his name if they hadn’t already known it, and said good morning when they passed by, but they all seemed a bit weary of him. Like he was someone to avoid, to be scared of. Someone you didn’t want to be around. It wasn’t the impression Adrien had been wanting to give.

Despite that, he had made one new friend. In Mme. Bustiers class, a person besides Chloe finally took the seat beside him. Granted, it was because he was assigned to sit there, but he was next to Adrien nonetheless. Nino had been closed off for the first half of that beginning week, but he had slowly come around to the new boy. What started with frustrated grumbles about being moved to the front of the room and untrusting side eyes, slowly turned to sharing music recommendations and watching videos together in the mornings before class began. Adrien wasn’t sure what he’d done to get on Nino's good side, but he was happy to have him as a friend.

Chloe wasn’t as thrilled about sitting behind the two of them, but it wasn’t enough to stir her to action. She still got to be near Adrien, and she had Sabrina right at her side. Not to mention, it was a… refreshing break from her constant presence. Sometimes Adrien felt like her very own real life Mr. Cuddly, the stuffed bear Chloe has clung to since they were toddlers. He preferred when they felt more like cousins, siblings even.

That's what made him wander back to the classroom early, with a handful of minutes for lunch still to spare. Chloe was nowhere to be seen the entire meal, which in Adriens experience, meant only bad things were happening.

He came straight up to the door, then leaned his head carefully against it to listen inside. After a few silent seconds, he slowly opened the door– just an inch– taking the utmost care to remain silent.

Chloe was perched atop the table where Marinette and Alya sat, with Sabrina kneeling on the ground by her feet. “Ready?” she asked the girl accompanying her.

She nodded, to which Chloe fished the gum out of her mouth and into her friends' waiting hands. Sabrina carefully took the chewed wad of gum, obviously hesitant to even touch it, and practically threw it onto the seat. She pressed her thumb against it, then smeared the sticky substance across the surface. Her eyebrows were quivering with nerves as she did so.

“Perfect, Brina! God, this is going to be so funny.” Chloe clapped her hands in quick succession as she praised, voice thick with amusement.

“Chloe? What are you doing to Marinette's seat?” Adrien interrupted, stepping inside the classroom with a concerned expression. The two girls turned to look at him, first both in surprise, then one in guilt and the other is annoyance.

“I'm just commanding a little respect from certain brats. Go back outside, Adrikins, you’re not involved in this.” Chloe rolled her eyes as she disregarded him.

“What? How is this about respect?” Adrien asked, walking closer to the bench. He kneeled beside Sabrina, nudging aside Chloe to reach the tampered chair. “I thought you were above childish pranks, Chlo.” He frowned at her, inspecting the gummy seat with a cautious hand.

“I’m not above anything when it comes to Dupain-Cheng.” She grumbled in response, but made no effort to stop the boy.

“Nino told me about your weird vendetta against her. Is she that girl in all those stories you’ve told me? The one that you say hates you?” Adrien huffed, now prodding at the gum with a tissue covered finger.

Chloe shuffled her feet uneasily in response.

“I thought so. I love you Chloe, but the only brat I see here is you.”

The classroom door swung open behind them, followed by an exasperated gasp. Before Adrien could turn and open his mouth to explain, Alya had pulled him from the floor, first clenched into the neck of his shirt. The rest of their class stood behind her in the doorway, eagerly watching.

“What are you blonde bitches doing now?!” She demanded. Chloe stepped back, shielding behind Sabrina as Adrien was ambushed. Seeing Alyas' furious expression only made the two girls laugh.

“I wasn’t—!” He began, only to get interrupted.

“Oh, really mature you three. Gum in her seat! What’s next, gonna start pulling her hair and stealing her lunch too?” Alya shoved him backwards with a pointed look at Chloe, throwing the boy into Ninos arms, who jumped to his defense.

“Woah, woah! He didn’t do anything, Adrien’s a good dude, alright? Just hear him out.” The taller boy argued, helping to steady his friend with two hands on his shoulders. Adrien shot him a grateful smile.

“I saw it with my own eyes, he was literally sticking it to her chair when we walked—”

“I was trying to remove it!” Adrien stressed, hands raising to pinch and pull at the back of his neck. A nervous habit he’d developed since Maman passed.

“See, he was just trying to help.”

“We didn’t ask for his help.” Alya was inches away from Ninos face, with clenched fists at the ready by her sides.

Marinette stepped behind her, hand tugging gently at her arm in an attempt to alleviate the tension. “It’s fine, Alya. The damage is already done anyways, just leave it.” She whispered into her ear, eyes glued to the two boys. Adrien stared back at her, his eyes a mixture of cautious hope and guilt-racked pity. Even if he was telling the truth, and removing the gum, part of him still felt responsible for it.

Alya gave her a unsure side eye, but ultimately heaved a frustrated sigh. “Fine, fine. Just get out of our way.” She huffed, waving away the two boys with a scornful glare. Nino gave her a weary look before leading Adrien away to their respective bench.

The growing crowd of students dispersed, settling into their own seats with nosy whispers as the passing period transitioned to an end. Marinette reached down to inspect her side of the bench, now ruined with seemingly invulnerable gum, and frowned as she quickly gathered tissues to layer over top of it.

“I’ll clean it off, I swear.” Alya said, reading her expression. She reached out a hand to rest on Marinette's shoulder in a friendly gesture, something that said ‘I’m sorry, that sucked.’ or ‘Don’t worry, it’s okay.’, neither of which Marinette needed to hear.

“Don't worry about it.” She sighed, taking her seat with great care to avoid the gum. "Thanks for standing up for me again, Alya." Marinette turned to look at the girl as she took her seat beside her, "You're a good friend."

Alyas mouth formed a small 'o' in surprise, then spread into a big smile. She hooked an arm around her new friends hip, and pulled her into a tight bear-hug. "Of course, girl!" ---

Normally, rain wouldn’t deter her from the quick minute long jog across the street to her home. But this was a steady downpour, bringing fat drops that bounced off your head like marbles. Dirty water pooled at the curbside and threatened to flood the streets. A few seconds out under the clouds would waterlog her, undoubtedly.

Accompanying the constant drumming of the rain was the frequent crack and boom of thunder in the distance, paired with a bright flash of lightning. Each time another light struck, it would reflect from the sky onto the wet pavement, followed by the familiar thundering clap ringing out soon after.

It was the kind of storm Marinette would love, were she nestled away safely in her room, watching through a closed window. Now, all she could think of was that she hadn’t asked if any of the kwamis were scared of loud storms. Dogs will sometimes freak out from thunder, could Barkk be cowering under her bed? Was Daizzi rolling in mud puddles outside, forgetful of the rules Marinette had put in place?

Suffice to say, some separation anxiety had blossomed in her weeks with the kwamis.

“Marinette?”

She jumped in surprise, somehow managing to suppress an involuntary squeak. Adrien stood behind her, inquisitive expression burning holes through Marinette's skin.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Adrien.” He stuck out a hand in greeting, eyes never wavering from her face.

She squirmed under his direct gaze. “I know you're Adrien. Do you need something?” She asked quietly, avoiding meeting his eyes with her own. Briefly, she considered whether or not ruining her sweater in the rain was worth the escape after all.

“Oh, no, no, I— Well, I just— I just wanted to say sorry.” He stumbled over his words, clearly struggling with what to say. When it became clear she wasn't going to shake his hand, it anxiously found its way back to his neck. “For the gum, and not explaining properly, and… Chloe. I know she’s been horrible to you.”

Marinette watched in silent awe, not daring to speak. Bullies didn’t often apologize in her experience.

“For what it’s worth, I really was trying to remove it. Chloe isn’t perfect, believe me, I know that better than a lot of people— Well, probably not you— and…and she can be childish and petty, but I can't throw her under the bus. I know she can be good too,” Adrien rambled, free hand motioning in the space between them. “Before last week, I had never been to school before. Because I’ve known her since we were little kids, Chloe had been my only friend. She was the one that was able to convince my father to let me go to school.”

The rain continued in the background. What had been a persistent pounding of water against earth was turned into white noise around him.

“The only new friend I’ve made is Nino, and I don’t even know how I managed that.” He chuckled, pulling aside his bag and taking an umbrella from it. “It’s all sorta new to me, you know? I’m still trying to figure it out.” he opened the umbrella and peeked out to the street. “Is your ride getting here soon?”

“I-I’m walk... doing walk—The walking thing — Me t-that. No car.” The word vomit poured forth without control, leaving Marinette in a daze. What had she just said? Doing the walking thing?

Somehow, it didn’t affect Adrien. He looked up at the still darkening clouds with a frown, “You’re going to get drenched if you’re walking.” They stood in silence for a few moments, the only sound between them being the timely rumble of thunder. Then, a sleek, dark gray limo pulled to the school's curb, fitting neatly over the intimidating puddle. Adrien pursed his lips in thought, then stuck out his hand, with the umbrella in his grip. “I think you need this more than me.”

Marinette blinked in confusion, eyes bouncing between the outstretched hand and its owner's face. “No, I’m-I… it’s just a-a cute— quick walk, really, I—”

“Consider it an offering of friendship!” He pressed the handle to her palm before she could refuse anymore than she already had, then turned, raised his bag over his head, and ran out into the storm. It was like he passed through a waterfall, the way the rain soaked him through in a few seconds. Halfway to the fancy car, he looked back over his shoulder, rain water dripping from his hair despite the desperate cover he’d attempted. “It was nice to meet you, Marinette!” He shouted over the hissing of the rain.

Her eyes wide, still in shock, Marinette opened her mouth to yell back, maybe something like ‘Thanks, Adrien! I forgive you!’ or ‘Do I need to give this back?’, when the umbrella folded inward on her. A loud burst of laughter followed, and when she raised the plastic covering from her eyes, Adrien was standing at the open car door with a delighted smile, taking his time in the downpour. He raised a hand, waved goodbye, then climbed in the limo to the tune of his disgruntled chauffeurs complaints.

“Hello, Adrien, how was your day? Who is that girl there?” Nathalie asked politely from the front seat, eyes fixed on him through the rear view mirror. His bodyguard grumbled and frowned, grumpy about the soggy teenager sitting in his pristine backseat, but pulled the car back out into the road and back to the Agreste mansion.

“My day was incredible, Nathalie. That’s Marinette, a new friend of mine.” He said, eyes filled with joy.

“That’s wonderful, Adrien. I’m happy to hear you’re doing well in all aspects of school.” She praised, then turned her attention back to the tablet in her hands. ---

Marinette waved a shaky goodbye, which continued long after the limo pulled away and out of sight. With a long— and exaggeratedly loud— stretch, Plagg flew from her bag to float by her side. “First day back and you’ve already found yourself a boyfriend! Good job picking a rich one, it’s exactly what I woulda done.” He purred with an affectionate tease.

“No, no, no. No way. He’s—He’s just a friend, and that’s it, and that’s all he is! I do not have a crush on him. I don’t.” Marinette's brain instantly went into panic mode, alarms ringing off in her head at the idea. She had no time for romances, she barely had time for friendships.

Plagg flicked his tail from side to side, saying nothing, but staring her down with an eyebrow that said ‘Really?’

“I don’t!” She insisted, umbrella waving wildly as she motioned with her entire body. Marinette let out a long, frustrated groan, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she let it out, she turned back to Plagg, face serious and focused. “The miraculous has to come first. Above everything else, everything, I need to be the guardian and the black cat.”

She walked forward without waiting for an answer, umbrella partially shielding her and her kwami from the rain as she made for the bakery across the street. The stoic expression plastered on her face was a good try, but the way her eyes kept darting back to the street the gray limo had sped away on was betraying her thoughts.

“I ever tell you how brave you are, Kid?”

“You can tell me once I’ve beaten my first akuma.”

The bakery door swung open with the sing-songy ‘Ting!’ of its bell, announcing a visitor. With a storm like that, it was no wonder the bakery was empty of any costumers, and Marinette quickly made her way up to her home. Inside the living room, her parents were cuddled on the couch, both asleep in front of a long ended movie.

“Now I see where you get it from. What a bunch of lovebirds.” Plagg gagged quietly from beside his holder.

She shot him an exhausted glare, silencing anymore playful attempts on his behalf. Marinette gently laid a blanket across her parents, turned off the tv, and climbed the stairs to her room.

Inside was a mess. Craft supplies and decorations were scattered across the floor, the cat pillow she kept in her bed was propped at the computer like a person, and the kwamis were wreaking utter havoc. Some swinging from light fixtures and railings, others painting and drawing on the pale pink walls, and she thought she saw some quickly hide a game of cards.

Not as bad as she had imagined.

Tikki flew to her guardian with urgency, face fraught with worry. “Oh, Marinette, I’m so, so sorry! We tried to keep them all in line but—”

“Master Fu would contain us all within the miracle box for this very reason! Some kwamis are not to be trusted on their lonesome!” Longg interjected, his usually calm face pulled down into a disappointed frown.

“We will clean it all, don’t worry, young Marinette.” Sass reassured her with a solemn expression.

Marinette nodded, observing the state of her room. It would take a few hours, if not an entire day, to bring back to its original state. “Everyone’s inside, all safe, no worries?”

The kwamis she had left in charge looked between each other before the bug spoke up, “Well, yes, but—”

“Then it’s okay. Just—just clean it all up, and it’s okay. You guys did a good job being in charge.” Marinette complimented with a smile, then walked across the room to her desk, and to the bonsai set atop it, just beside her sewing machine. She pulled it forward, studying it as it sat in front of her. The Miracle Tree had sprouted a few new buds of growth. “Are you ready, Tikki?”

“Do you think it’s time?” Tikki chirped, flying into place above the plant. She must be so impatient, so antsy without her old guardian and no new holder, yet she hadn’t made a single complaint. Marinette thought of how she would manage being guardian without the little bugs support in her ear. It was going to be hard without her.

“Yeah, I do.” She decided, fingernails digging into her palms. It wasn’t an easy decision to make. Tikki flew effortlessly through the yin-yang symbol marked in the tree stump, phasing through the wood with a hazy pink light. She reappeared moments later, small jewelry case in hand. Marinette took it slowly, hesitant to remove the earrings from the safety of the tree, scared to let them out into the world where she couldn’t hide them away. 

Still, that was one job she couldn’t do herself. “I need a ladybug holder, and fast.”

[minervadashwood]

The Truth

Bucky x F!Reader (plus size/curvy/heavyset) Tropes: Fantasy AU, friends to lovers, confessions CW: sex, burn injury Word count: 2.1K Summary:

Playboy Bucky Barnes keeps insisting that he loves you. But he is not a one-woman kind of man. Or so you think. Fantasy setting in which Bucky and you are part of a small group of adventurers. You're not a front line fighter but a savvy alchemist. Maker of potions, poultices, and traps. One day, some of your traps are compromised, and you get hurt. Bucky is not pleased.

Notes: Inspired by a dream I had and this gifset. There are a couple of Russian words in there, but they are translated in the story.

You were bent over your alchemy table when your bedroom door slammed open. In walked Bucky Barnes, dressed in only a towel tied at his waist.

You flushed, taking in his sculpted body, the dips and planes of his torso. Heat overwhelmed you, and it had nothing to do with the burns along your right arm. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” he demanded, stalking forward and taking your chin in his hand.

“The grenades were compromised!” You shouted back, twisting away from his grip. “ My grenades, Bucky! I sent you out there with something that could’ve killed Steve, Tony, Wanda.  Maybe even you.”

Bucky stared you down, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing.

Suddenly, with inhuman speed, he lunged forward, grabbing your arm and yanking you against him. His skin was damp, like he’d just come from bathing. Steve must have told him what happened. That you broke formation to detonate your traps before they could hurt your team. Thankfully the only casualty was you. Your burns had been treated, wrapped in cloth, and were healing nicely.

“ Lisitsa ,” Bucky warned. “You can’t scare me like that.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname. Vixen? Really? That might apply to all those women he bedded at taverns. Not you. Leave you to your potions, poultices, and fiery concoctions. Ved'ma would be more accurate. Witch .

You tried to twist out of his hold, but Bucky only gripped you tighter.

“You still don’t believe me, do you?” he growled.

“No, Buck, I don’t. You bed every woman who looks your way.  There’s a different girl on your arm at every festival, every tavern crawl. How could I think that I’m any different? Shall I let you bed me and be done with it? So you can move on to your next conquest?”

You struggled in his arms, trying in vain to get away. Bucky easily controlled you, spinning you around, dragging you to your bed, and shoving you down on it.

You laid sideways, your butt at the edge, as you tried to scoot away from him. Bucky grabbed your legs, squeezing the generous, soft flesh of your thighs.

“There is no ‘next’ conquest, Lisitsa. Only you.” His towel fell away as Bucky made himself at home between your legs. With his strong hands and even stronger arms, he drew your legs apart, forcing your sarong open, revealing your lower half to him.

You froze in place, skin ablaze as his grip lessened and his hands trailed up your outer thighs, your hips, your sides. As he moved, he leaned over you, nestling his own hips to your pelvis, his taut stomach resting on your soft one, with his erection between you.

“If you won’t believe my words, then I will show you. Leave no doubt in your mind that I love you.”

“B-Bucky?” You whimpered, wetness gathering between your legs. He was a specimen of a warrior. Strong, agile, lethal. Of course you wanted him. He set your heart on fire, practically made your blood boil in your veins .   But you couldn’t give in to him. If you did, he’d be gone before the morning, taking with him his sexy, enigmatic smiles, his heart-pattering winks, his insincere confessions of devotion.

Bucky grabbed your wrists and took them in one hand to hold them above your head. With his other hand, he swept away the rest of your clothing. Leaving you completely exposed.

“Stop it, Bucky,” you whispered, catching his eyes and holding his gaze. “You don’t love me. You can’t .”

A devastating smile graced his lips. “Why not, Lisitsa? How can I not love all of this? All of you?”

“B-b-because…” you faltered as he traced his nose along your cheek as, his deep inhalation audible; he was just so close. You, too, took a deep breath, steeling yourself to answer. “I’m nothing like them. The women you bed. I am more; I am too much. ”

Bucky growled, deep in his chest. The hand holding your wrists tightened, and again he took your chin in hand, gripping it tightly .

“My love, you are everything .”

You gasped as Bucky lowered his head and kissed you. Now, there was no denying your body’s reaction to him. You moaned and writhed, wishing your hands were free so you could bury them in his hair. Wriggling, you sought purchase on the bed, but Bucky’s hips and torso held you in place. The sheer strength of him captivated you, entranced you. You could only wrap your legs around his waist and welcome him closer to your core.

Long minutes passed as Bucky explored your mouth and you his. The man was voracious, but so were you, gasping and kissing, a paired clash of teeth, lips, and tongues: both of you desperate for more.

With a moan, Bucky eventually pulled away.  “My Lisitsa,” he murmured, and rested his forehead on yours. Your eyes met again, and there he was, exposed, and soft…adoring. Was that the truth you saw in his eyes? Or another maneuver in his game? You’d seen him woo women, time and time again. Were you now just the next item on his ever-growing list?

“Don’t pull away, love,” he whispered, those soft, searching eyes pleaded. 

“Do you mean it, Buck?”

“With every word, Lisitsa. ”

He held still, his breath arcing across your face, evidence of his desire growing more and more rigid as it was trapped between your bodies.

There would be no way to know for sure, not until morning. But you had him now . Why not take what you could, trapped in his arms?

You lifted your head slightly, seeking his mouth, and then Bucky devoured you. His tongue danced with yours. Gods how he tasted, how he felt . How he was the only thing in the world now, aside from you.

Every inhibition forgotten, you kissed him back, fiercely, and he finally let go of your wrists. Instantly your hands were in his damp, shaggy hair, clutching him close to you as months, years of repressed longing were brought to the surface.

As you kissed, Bucky’s hand skirted down your body until it cupped your sex. His fingers traced along your wet folds, forcing you to whimper into his mouth as he kissed you. 

Bucky broke your lips apart, gasping in your face, his own cheeks and ears darkened, flushed.

“So soft and wet,” he told you, a single finger slipping between your folds and slowly stroking you. “Shall I stop now, love? Or do you believe me?”

“Please, Bucky,” you begged, angling your hips closer to his teasing hand.

He had the nerve, the absolute nerve to laugh at you, and back was that signature, indecipherable smirk. He kissed your nose, your chin, your jaw, and then his mouth was on your nipple, suckling and biting to send shockwaves of desire through you. You jolted beneath him, and then his teasing finger lingered at your entrance.

“Shh, doll, it’s all okay. You're mine now. Aren’t you?”

You nodded dumbly. “Yours, Buck.”

Bucky finally pushed his finger into you, and you sighed. The first finger was joined by a second, and Bucky hooked them both, moving languidly in and out until you were mewling, and whimpering, and begging, all in the same breath.

“That’s it, love,” he encouraged. “You look so beautiful right now, it hurts. I can’t wait. Not anymore.”

“Then don’t.” You tugged on his hair, insisting that he continue.

He removed his fingers, using them to coat his erection with your wetness. Then, he perched himself at your entrance, sliding in just a bit before he lowered himself on the bed, holding his weight on his elbows as his hands cupped your face.

“Believe me now?” he asked, thrusting into you.

You clenched around him, the sweet sensation of being filled by the man you’d denied for so long. It felt like he belonged there, inside of you, filling you, stretching you, loving you.

He moved quickly, and you matched your movements to his own, raising your hips and chasing after his thrusts.

Sweat soaked his body, and you grabbed every part of him you could reach as he made love to you. You gripped his arms and then caressed his chest. You sank your fingernails into his back as you neared your peak, as Bucky groaned and panted above you.

You were on the edge now, faster than you’d ever been before, all because of the man in your arms. “I’m going to come, Buck,” you rasped, voice strained because of all the pleasure coursing through you.

“Go ahead, love,” he told you, nibbling your ear. “I’ll be gentle next time. Take my time with you.”

Next time .

You came, the promise of his statement letting you rise and fall while surrounded by Bucky Barnes.

His thrusts grew sloppy, urgent, and Bucky groaned, capturing your lips with his own, as his movements slowed and he spilled himself inside you, coating your walls with his warm seed.

Your bodies remained joined, you gazing up at him, and Bucky, eyes wide, staring down at you. Then, Bucky gathered you up in his arms, lifting and arranging you easily on your bed so that you rested on top of him. Both your bodies were sweat-slicked and shivering from the aftershocks.

“Did you mean it?“ he asked you, holding your chin once again. “Are you mine?”

Apprehension, suppressed while Bucky had his way with you, rose again.

He must have seen it because Bucky softened his grip and ran his thumb on your cheek.  “I’ll go Lisitsa, if you didn’t mean it. I’ll go and never speak of this again.”

You shook your head furiously, unable to bear the thought. “I meant it, Buck.”

“So do I, Love,” he mumbled, kissing your forehead, and held you close until you both fell asleep.

*

You woke some time later, your injured arm burning and crying out for another poultice and a clean cloth. As you attempted to sit up, you realized you were cocooned in a pair of arms, with a blanket draped over you.

“Mmmph,” Bucky grumbled sleepily. “What is it Lisitsa ?”

Your heart clenched. “You’re still here?”

“‘Course I am,” he answered, voice still groggy with sleep. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You never stay the night with them. With…the others.”

He sat up, pulling you with him, and the blankets pooled at your waists. Outside it was still dark, the stars glittering the night sky.

Bucky pulled you into his lap. “There are no others.” Threading his fingers through your hair, Bucky forced you to look at him. “There is only you. I promise.”

In the darkness, you could not see his eyes or his smile. You only had his words and the feel of his touch to guide you.

“My bandage needs changing,” you murmured, trying to slip off his lap to get your feet on the floor.

“What here,” he ordered, setting you on the mattress as he got off the bed. 

“Buck, what are you--”

You heard the lighting of a match, then the soft glow of a candle filled your room. Bucky held it, and the tiny flame bounced off his body, casting shadows over his muscled form. He’d come into this room wearing only a towel, and he was barefoot and naked, making his way to your shelves of concoctions.

“Which bottle, Lisitsa ?”

“The green one, middle shelf.”

Bucky grabbed your healing poultice and a clean, rolled cloth, too, before returning to you. Unwrapping the cloth on your arm, Bucky tsk’d and sighed.

“No going where I can’t protect you. My heart can’t take it,” he said, focused on your injury. After setting the used cloth aside, Bucky scooped some of the poultice out of the jar and touched it to your arm.

You winced, not used to someone else taking care of you.

“Shush, love,” Bucky soothed. “It’ll feel better in a moment.”

Love . There it was again. He’d had what he wanted and still, he was here, tending to you, comforting you, loving you.

“There’s my good girl,” he encouraged, gently patting the poultice on your burns. He finished and put the lid back on the jar. You’d never seen him do such a thing. Not for Wanda, certainly not for Tony, not even for Steve. But he was doing it for you.

As he reached for the clean cloth bandage, you grabbed his elbow with your left hand and said, “I believe you, Buck.”

He gazed at you in the candlelight, it danced across his features the face of the man you’d loved for so long. And now you were finally ready to admit it.

“About time, Lisitsa . Now let me finish this so I can get back into bed with you.”

You let out a long-held breath as Bucky finished wrapping your injured arm. Bucky snuffed out the candle and found you in the darkness, crawling back into bed with and pulling you back into his arms. 

Outside, the sky turned gray with the rising sun. It was morning.

[honeykaes]

—𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭

✦ pairing: zhongli x reader ; some diluc x reader & venti x reader

✦ warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact

✦ w/c: 2.2k

✦ disclaimer: afab!reader with no set pronouns, casino harem au, use of alcohol, jealousy sex, cunniligus, fingering, some temperture play, doggy-style, creampie, unedited

✦ summary: after exploring and enjoying your time at the golden celeste hotel in las vegas owned by the one and only zhongli, he comes searching for you with something clearly plaguing his mind

✦ a/n: welcome to kinktober everyone! hope you enjoy!

Jazz music played throughout the loudspeakers of the casino, almost drowned out by the laughter occurring by the crowd on the floor. Golden arches glowed under the fluorescent hues of the light, the ceiling above painted above as if it were the sky of the heavens itself.

 People decorated in their best fits, from stylish pantsuits to the tightest little dresses that hugged every curve of the body. Some sat on each other’s laps, clapping as they pulled the slot machine down hoping to see those magic three numbers glaring down. Others leaned against the player's table, laughing in glee as they put another wad of cash down as the dealers slide them a neck set of cards for whatever match they were in.

And this was only on the show floor. There were always many things to do at the Golden Celeste, the best and most well-known casino and resort throughout the world. Some would be at the bar hoping to get a taste of the famous Ragvinder’s concoctions. Others were lined up in restaurants, moaning in absolute pleasure getting to taste the world-renowned Kaedehara’s foods. And some were bouncing to the rhyme of the music like the famous DJ, Venti made the stage a party no one wanted to stop.

For most, it was a fantasy playground for them to experience for about a week, but for you, it would be your forever—thanks to the various connections you had made along the way.

You walked in strides, in your luxurious outfit laughing as two men stood beside you. Diluc, the red-headed bartender walked next to you, large palms brushing against your own every now and again trying to hype himself up to finally weave his fingers with your own. Venti, the other man next to you, leaned against your side, arm lazily around your waist with a grin beaming from his pale face.

And these were only two men of your copious connections here.

“Come on, come on! You have to join me on stage tonight. I even got a few of Kaeya’s peeps coming for the visuals. He’ll be there too!~ So you have to come, come! Come!” Venti whined out. Diluc only sighed, rolling his eyes.

“If you’re looking for a more enjoyable night, than those drunkards, we have a private wine tasting event. Some of the best wine throughout the world will get to be yours to enjoy, love,” he mumbled. Venti puffed his cheeks out and poked his tongue out in a childish manner.

“Of course, you do this when I have a scheduled event! Why didn’t you invite me, Diluc!” Venti grumbled as the three of you walked by the elevator

Just as Diluc was about to give a retort, a ding rang out from the machine—doors opening up to reveal Zhongli there. His stoic eyes widened slightly, recognizing the three of you before his thin lips curved into a smile.

“Ah, just who I was looking for,” Zhongli murmured. The two men beside you narrowed their eyes as Zhongli grabbed your hand, pressing his lips on the top of it—gloved thumb tenderly stroking your fingers.

“I wanted to see if I could have you to myself tonight. It seems that you might have, other plans, but I hope to convince you nonetheless,” he stated. Venti sighed, wanting to complain but the shorter male only frown and pulled up his phone as if to ignore the casino owner. Diluc, on the other hand, simply turned his head to you—silently questioning your choice.

A sigh escaped your lips before you put on a smile, pressing your palm on Diluc’s cheek.

“I think it’s best if I go with him. I’ll catch up with you sometime later Diluc,” you said, letting his now redden cheek go.

“I’ll see you later Venti. Good luck on the show and tell Kaeya, we’ll schedule something soon,” you hummed, pressing your lips to his forehead. 

Zhongli put his arm out towards you, and you took it and headed back to the elevator. He pressed a keycard on the base of it, and pressed the highest floor given, the penthouse suite, before the doors slowly closed, leaving you and Zhongli together, alone. 

Your eyes drifted to Zhongli’s figure, the prestigious man who seemed to have the world in the palm of his hand. His golden eyes focused on the doors, his foot slightly tapping along with the quaint slow jazz music playing in the elevator. A pricy brown suit adorned his body, perfectly fitted to show off his sculpted form. 

Even though his arm wrapped around at your waist, hands slowly caressing at the edges of your hips, he still felt distant from you in a way. Typically Zhongli was known for small chatting, which would drag on for hours on what varying topic recently caught his eye, but he remained quiet and stoic. 

You could only gulp trying to ease your beating heart, noticing you were finally almost to the penthouse suite. As the elevator once again dinged, signaling your arrival, Zhongli escorted to you your room—once again flashing that key card as the two of you made yourself comfortable.

As the door closed, you made your way over to the bedroom—where Zhongli followed. Grabbing a sparkling Decatur, Zhongli screwed the crystal on top off, pouring a glass of his favorite whiskey. Placing the item down. His eyes flickered to you, noticing you were watching him as his lips curved into a smile.

“Did you want me to fix you a drink? Forgive me for not asking earlier,” Zhongli asked. You shook your head, as Zhongli hummed in response, taking a sip of the bitter liquid before placing it on a coaster on the bedside table. He soon walked in front of you, hand reaching up to tenderly clasp your chin.

“...I’m curious, so forgive me if this is out of the blue but, how have you been enjoying your stay here at my casino?” Zhongli murmured, thumb pressed along your bottom lip. Your body shivered, feeling his cold silver ring on that digit.

“I’ve really enjoyed my whole experience here, you know that Zhongli. Everyone is so kind to me and lovely. It’s like a dream I never want to wake up from,” you murmured, playing with a stray hair out of nervousness. Your eyes shot away from him, lips curling downwards.

“Are you, by chance…jealous, Zhongli?” you questioned. Zhongli began to cough, caught off guard by your question before clearing his throat and masking it with a chuckle. He tapped on your lips again, getting your eyes to look back at his. He slowly weaved his hands with your own, bringing you up to the bed and close to his firm chest.

“Hmm…I don’t think jealous is the right word for what I’m feeling right now,” Zhongli admitted, hands slowly tugging on your outfit. You could hear the zipper begin to pull down, cool air touching your once-covered skin.

“...More like, I feel neglected, in a way,” he finished. Your lips quivered hearing the zipper pull down and down revealing more and more of your body. The outfit, now not tightened against your form, easily slipped off and pooled own to your feet— revealing your nude chest to him. His lips pressed against the shell of your ear, warm breath leaving the hairs on your body alert.

“I just need you to pay a little more attention to me is all,” he whispered. He leaned away, eyes taking in the beautiful form of your figure. Zhongli slowly guides you to sit on the bed, his gloved hands pressed on both of your soft thighs, letting his knees rest on the ground.

Zhongli inched close, gradually taking your underwear down to the floor. Ribbons of your slick clung onto the fabric, leaving him to chuckle at the sight of your cunt already drooling for him. Protruding out the flat of his tongue, Zhongli pressed it against your folds feeling you jolt by the sudden pleasure wavering throughout your body. The muscles soon finds itself swirling around the bud. A moan escaped your lips—to his pleasure—before he began to continuously swipe against your clit. 

Your hands soon darted out, grabbing onto Zhongli’s silken brown locks. His lips pressed against the sensitive nub as a kiss, as he soon sucked on it—lapping up all the juices managing to escape out of your velvety folds.

As he felt your thighs quiver at his nonstop ministration on your clit, his two fingers, covered in his leather gloves pressed against your entrance, slowly sinking themselves in. You’re body jolted once more, noting the odd coldness from his ring pressing against your folds before his name left your lips once more, feeling his finger plunged inside of you. His digits curled continuously, massaging against the spongy insides causing you to tighten and cave onto his fingers. 

The sound of Zhongli slurping, as you swiped and flicked onto your needy clit and knuckle deep within you, started to make your stomach churn. The grip on his hair grew tighter as your thighs slowly pulled in, pressing against the side of Zhongli’s face. He caught only grab onto one, gloved nails digging into the side as to not strangle him—eyes shut tight— as he was so focused on getting you to cum.

His name once more shot out throughout the room. Your body tried convulsing in pleasure, but was held down by Zhongli’s grip, a smirk adorning his glossy lips stained with your essence. As you tried catching your breath, you tried to stop yourself from whining feeling Zhongli’s long fingers finally leave your cunt. 

His tongue strode along the wet substances on the glove. He removed his ring, letting it all onto the floor before biting down on the leather and removing it from his hands altogether. His other glove soon found itself in the same state. Zhongli slowly disrobed himself as your eyes slightly widen, noting the intricate tattoos adorned on Zhongli’s muscled arms. You never expected a man such as himself to have so much art on his body. 

He soon found himself on top of you,  slowly positioning you to lay on your stomach—knees and elbows up, showing off your essence cascading down your inner thighs. Zhongli pressed his heavy cock against your slit, letting the tip nudge against your overstimulated clit, eliciting a yelp from you. Tapping on your wet folds and gathering up the slick, Zhongli let his cock slowly dip in, sliding inside of you. 

A deep groan emitted from him as you grabbed onto the bedsheets, feeling your walls stretching out to accommodate his hefty length. As he bottomed out, his hands found their way to your waist. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on your back before snapping his hips into you, drilling his cock inside of you. Your whole body moved to the rugged pace, cock feeling you up so deeply you swore you could feel his tip pressing against your cervix.

His eyes wandered, watching the fat of your ass shake with every deep stroke he gave, his hand beginning to maneuver under you, rubbing circles on your clit. 

Your body couldn’t keep up with the pleasure once he began hitting the spongy part inside of you, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. With your mouth again, calling his name repeatedly, your upper body strength waned—letting your head fall straight to the bed, your ass even higher in the air for him to try to get deeper inside of you.

His large hand grabbed onto the globe of your ass to the side, watching his cock plunge inside at a rapid pace. Your supple inside began caving down on your cock, as Zhongli clenched his jaw tightly—having a harder time thrusting inside of you. With his heavy balls smacking inside of you, you soon dug your fingers tightly against the silk sheets screaming his name, your body tensing and shivering in pleasure as you reached your high. 

With one last stroke deep inside of you, thick ropes of cum spurted out of him, groaning as his hips jerked a few times as he emptied himself out. His softening cock slowly left you, snapping the string of cum that once connected itself with his tip and your folds. It didn’t take long for a small river of his cum to drip from you, as you finally let your lower form fall to the sheets—trying to catch your breath. 

Zhongli hummed, laying down beside you. His large tattooed arms wrapped around your form, guiding your head to rest on your chest. The smell of sweat and sex was heavy in the air adorned by your favorite scent and Zhongli’s cologne. You found yourself calming yourself from your high from his heartbeat, echoing out from his chest at a steady pace, feeling his hand stroke your bare back. His lips pressed against your hair, lips curled into a smile.

“...I think jealous was the right word,” you tiredly mumbled. Zhongli simply chuckles, not saying a word in response. With a sigh, you press your hot face against his chest once more.

“...I’d never forget the person who gave me such an opportunity, Zhongli. You were my first and you’ll always be my first. I’ll do better to remind you when you forget,” you whispered, voice muffled against his toned skin.

Zhongli lifted his hand to caress your cheek, eyes softened further at your fatigued form.

“I’ll try to remember that, qīn ài de”

[sexymanxisuma]

Masterpost of all aus, fics and series that have been tagged on this blog

if you enjoy any of these, please feel encouraged to go check out the blogs tagged and check out more of their stuff! ^-^

#shep dbh au <- the detroit become human au that @shepscapades has that is in the form of comics and other drawings as well (think like doodles and wips ^-^)

#the silver sun <- a xisuma centric fic that @thathermitweirdo and art that is made inspired by the fic

#tastes like coffee <- an ethubs fic that xisuma shows up in by @thatonewatercat

#hunger au <- posts about the fic lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart) by @definitelynotshouting that is a grian fic where grian goes through a lot of stuff and xisuma shows up in the fic. heavy tags

#vampire au <- so far just one post by @thathermitweirdo talking about writing vampire hunter xisuma ^-^

#it spreads au <- a comic series by @foxxology where grian becomes corrupted by skulk during s9 and xisuma shows up

#creaturfication au <- an au by @evenmoreevil & @applestruda

#sporelings au <- an au by @sporelings-au that takes place during s7 where grian is mother spore and the other resistance members are his kids and doc is his partner. xisuma shows up and is lovingly referred to as uncle egg by the sporelings ^-^

#meiy'ia <- a pirate fic and art by @kitsunespawz where xisuma is the captain of the ship. there is hermitshipping in it

#space outlaws <- a hermitcraft space au by @martuzzio that has art and a fic called my reality, yours

#starred water au <- an au by @kingscourthouse that includes both xisuma and evil xisuma

#little big hermitcraft <- a little big planet au by @slime-gods

#iris au <- an interactive au on the blog @ask-the-iris-au-hermits

#apricity au <- an au by @isolarya which includes watcher lore and traffic series

#the swap au <- a post double life au by @arthropod-concoctions where the soulmates end up swapping places. xisuma shows up during in the fic, which is called and why are you british now?

#spicy chicken au <- a fantasy au by @mojo-chojo (and their mutuals, followers and anons) with various comics and fics. this au has hermitshipping elements ^-^

#hot guy aquarium au <- a merfolk x superhero au on @officalhotguyaquarium where xisuma is the owner of the aquarium ^-^

#black rose au <- a four part series by @cobradoesmcyt that is set in s6

#diverging future <- a fic by @bunnyloverqueen where xisuma adopts grian and jimmy as children. evil xisuma is in the fic too. heavy tags.

#mini tango au <- an au by @mysteriousmoss about tango having a clone/son. evil xisuma appears in some art for the au

#void duo hero au <- a superhero au by @kiwinatorwaffles that has both art and fics. this au includes both xisuma and evil xisuma

#hc scp au <- a scp au by @rosego1dd

#daau <- a desert alien au by @stiffyck that xisuma is a part of ^-^

#tcpootw <- the curtains pulled out of the wall is a fic by @meteormoss about etho cleo and bdubs. xisuma is only mentioned in asks i believe (i haven't finished reading the fic yet so sorry if im wrong ^-^). a bit heavier fic.

#tamacrafters au <- an au by @hybbart where players spawn in as eggs and then hatch into lil creatures ^-^ this au is partially inspired by tamagotchi if i remember correctly (let me know if im wrong ^-^)

#jevin's egg disaster <- an au by @theminecraftbee inspired by the easter egg hunt that jevin put together in s9 where the eggs hatch and lil hermits run around the server ^-^

#private detective gem tasey <- a gem centric detective au by @kiwinatorwaffles

#featherweight au <- an au by @doctorsiren that xisuma and evil xisuma appear in

#featherswap au <- an au by @doctorsiren that xisuma and evil xisuma appear in

#commission competition <- an au by @stitchthesewords that is about etho and bdubs mainly. xisuma has appeared in it tho ^-^

#dry lightning au <- an au by @t3rm1n0s where an oc (koda) is created and their shenanigans on the server. xisuma appears in the au

#winter's rebirth <- a multifandom au by @mysteriousmoss that xisuma and evil xisuma appear in

#wall au <- a superhero au by @nullvoidface where cuteguy becomes the villain. xisuma appears in it. the fic is called And Now There's A Coldness (And It's Shaped Like Me)

#coastal town au <- an au by @solsearchingnights that is multi fandom. xisuma shows up in it.

#aadtd au <- an au by @sleepychaoticentity where both grian and zedaph are watchers on hermitcraft. xisuma is a part of this au

#kitsunes space pirates au <- a pirate au by @kitsunespawz where every server is a pirate ship and the admin of said server is the captain. both xisuma and evil xisuma are in this au

#odyssey craftpunk au <- an au by @gumptiomdog that both xisuma and evil xisuma are a part of

#hermitfold au <- a hermitcraft x dsmp au by @serendipitous-posts where c!jack manifold appears in hermitcraft s8 and ends up basing with zedaph. xisuma is a part of this au

#metal hearts au <- an au by @votederpycausemufins where mumbo and grian rebuild grumbot and jrumbot but as little robots, so they now have essentially 2 kids on the hermitcraft server. xisuma is in this au

#snapshot au <- an au by @doctorsiren where different hermits have been "snapped" and are evil robots (pls correct me if im wrong about this) both xisuma and evil xisum are in this au

#dadskall au <- an au by @doctorsiren where iskall is doom guy/used to be doomguy and is also xisuma & evil xisuma's dad because of being doomguy

#this is about a stuffed bird <- a fic written by @theminecraftbee where mumbo jumbo sets out on a mission to find grian after the world seemingly ends and he sees things that no one should ever see. evil xisuma is in this fic and there are mentions of xisuma

#hermit doomsday au <- an au on the @dailyxisumavoid blog where xisuma is surviving in a post apocalypse world and is finding other survivors along the way ^-^

#recks au <- an au by @wasyago that takes place in s8 with the concept of the builders are robots that the redstoners have made in a cyberpunky setting ^-^ both xisuma and evil xisuma present

#from the archives <- a the magnus archives au by @sixteenth-days that has multiple fics and has characters from multiple different smps. both xisuma and evil xisuma show up during the au.

#hermitcraft mermaid au <- an au by @remderance where xisuma is the owner of an oceanarium and ocean research center. different hermits in this au are different ocean creature mermaids like scar and pearl ^-^

#fallen london au <- an au by @redstone-sun that is multifandom and has multiple fics

#octopath au <- an au by @bathtea4 inspired by octopath 2

#SEN au <- an au by @tunastime around the fic Stretching Endless Nights. xisuma is mentioned in the fic and in some other posts about the au

[sarcasticbeanie]

odysseus! for the send me a character thingy :3

First Impression I read about odysseus first in my Chinese textbook as a wee child of like. 10? Or something? It was the "Nobody" story, and I thought nothing of it because it was. You know. For a class. I did think it was a funny story though, and I suppose my first impression would be "classic main character from mythology", and nothing else.

Impression now He's a war criminal. He's my babygirl. He's cruel and wily. He's my poor little meow meow. He would kill with no hesitation and excels at war. He's a draft dodger and longs for home. He's the Sacker of Cities. He's the Father of Telemachus. He's filled with hubris and had a solid hand in his own downfall. He's paid his price and he just wants to go back home. I don't know man I'm squeezing him and throwing him off a cliff but I'm also tucking him into bed in Ithaca. u get me?

Favorite moment Many... but I love the part where he shot an arrow through the axe heads and did the dramatic reveal. it is I, odysseus. you've taken my home, prepare to die. etc etc. There's a visceral tonal shift when war and bloodshed suddenly seep through the pages after dozens of pages with no active warfare and not much death ... it's good stuff. I liked it.

Idea for a story Concocting a sci-fi fantasy AU for the Iliad and Odyssey in my brain, in which there are spaceships and magic and godly-AI-run companies and cyborgs and impenetrable planets made of metal and firewalls. Demigods are cyborgs whose cybernetic enhancements come from one or more godly-AI-ran companies. Ody's skills now include hacking and programming, and the Greeks finally won by attaching a "trojan horse" to their peace treaty. Calypso is a deathly intelligent and powerful space mob boss whose henchmen are all androids, and she wishes to meet someone who matches her own intellect. Circe runs an exotic space casino with replicas of long-since extinct creatures, with only magic-users as employees. Polyphemus is a heavily guarded surveillance station with hidden company secrets from Poseidon(TM) which Ody and co. stole, leading to tragedy. has this been done? this has probably been done. but I'm basing it off my own OC sci-fi universe so this is. so so niche. and only for me.

Unpopular opinion I don't know why there's a sudden uptick in the need for characters to be morally pure and good, and I think the debate surrounding "whether Ody cheated" is. odd? especially since there's so much vitriol against the guy for cheating? It may just be me but I don't really get it,, I wouldn't have cared even if he cheated. Listen. Listen. There's no moral high ground in Greek myths. They're all war criminals and that's fun for me.

Favourite relationship 10 fics on ao3 and it's odydiopen. i love poly relationships. even if they have no basis in canon at all. but neither did telegony and it's still considered to be part of the epic cycle, now is it? but also: ody & telemachus. your son is grown, and you have never even seen him as a child. your son is grown, and he does not even know your face. are you still a father? is he still your son? you've missed every part of his life and then some, and now he is a man grown, with his mouth twisted in his mother's wry smile - though he has your hair and eyes, you cannot see yourself in the tilt of his head, or the gentle crinkle in his brows. but now there's time to learn of him, now there's time to hold him in your arms - there is time, you are home, and that is what's important.

Favourite headcanon He would've loved the GPS. RIP my guy. All jokes aside I don't think I have one? Feel free to tell me any of yours though. Please.

[heronoegg]

Is Mina also dragon? because she has horns and can spit acid and her and Kiri grew up together?

IM GONNA DRAW MINA im just tired and i don't wanna leave this sitting in the box,

ok so Mina she's a human there are 3-4 species in this AU cause this AU is fantasy but without magic cause they just have their quirks but it's so wacky that they kinda have like are ultra edited version of their quirks but some of them don't have quirks. it's wild.

Anyway Mina is a human who lived/lives near the fire kingdom she like hunts monsters (video game rpg style monsters) for their items they drop so she can make concoctions like healing drinks or things that poison the enemy stuff like that

She mix the wrong things and it blew up on her this particular combination reacted with her physiological makeup, permanently dyeing her skin pink and her eyes black lol it also gave her kinda a power it

it gave her heightened senses, she can perceive energy signals of things that live/are currently living/or fading with life. Everyone to Mina has a chalky coloring around them and she can see that additionally she calls it her "girl's intuition" but the stuff that blew up on made it where she can just sense insincere intentions so if your lying she'll know, or say "this gives bad vibes"/"i have a bad feeling about this"

she is friends with Kirishima tho, she met him after he split from his human dad, Mina,Kirishima,Sero and Kaminari are friends but Bakugo doesn't know them yet Bakugo, i will use the word "lives" in the fire kingdom cause i wanna kinda comic out what's happened in this AU so far

there are certain era's in this world i call New world and Old world Mina was born around the time of peace long after the tragedy and the great dragon hunt ended

[hyperfixationhell25]

One Piece Au ideas

Hello fellow weebs I have returned to make shitty content

My horrid little brain has been concocting a bunch of different Au's for months at this point and I though eh fuck might as well get them out there to see what others think.

AU 1

Dragon maid but its Law desperately trying to get rid of the stray god and his supernatural buddies that have invaded his life. To start of Law lives in the "Modern world" he's working in the med field (the specifies to be determined later if I or someone decides to make this an actual fic) his roommate Bepo has had to move out of town and he's trying to find a replacement for costs. cut to Law getting drunk (or extremely sleep deprived) and finding a mortally wounded god laying in the alleyway near his apartment. que Law saving the God and then going home and passing out ands well its basically the opening episode for dragon maid but its Nika (Luffy ) instead of a dragon and he's not trying to be a maid but he is trying to be Law "roommate" and trying to pay back law for saving his life by taking care of him and being his friend. I've seen a similar concept for a zolu fic but the idea of Law just going insane as the SHs just invade his entire life is comedy gold. As for what the stawhat's are well Luffy's a god (Sun God Nika) Zoro's a demon along with Robin you don't really need to change Chopper Brook and Jinbei Nami's a witch duh Franky's an artificer( Just make it fantasy cyborg stuff) I thought it would be cool if Ussop was a wood puppet that Luffy accidently brought to life as a nod to Pinocchio, that or a wood sprite for the trickster aspect. also Law's human friend do come and interact with the SH's and to Laws horror they all become buddies and conspire to make him have fun!

(a lot of my ideas center on how to bully law and get him hugs at the same time :)

AU 2

another fucking ATLA OP AU (wow so original)

pretty basic concept Luffy's the avatar ya know normal shit

EXCEPT He drives everyone INSANE. oh Luffy your the avatar master of all four element you mu- HEY IS HE ASLEEP!!! Luffy the avatar is the bridge between the human and spirt- OH HEY FUNKY SPIRT DUDES DO YOU GUYS POOP? (it be funny if Luffy just didn't realized him just befriending spirits left and right was because of the avatar stuff he just does what he wants) people will get their faced punch in kyoshi approves of luffy throw hands with everything and everyone. in all seriousness the concept of a character like Luffy being the bringer of balance when he's chaos incarnate is funny.

[mayullla]

Title: Tea and wizards

[ - Cottage (Fem!reader) + Lavender (Romantic) + Albedo (Genshin Impact) + Cotton candy (witch/wizard au) ] - Starlight Anon's Ask

Summary: Fantasy au: In a forest near your village lives a certain wizard that serves the royal family. He was looking for a peaceful place to research and maybe you thought he needed a friend.

Tags: Pure fluff, fantasy au, Albedo is a wizard and reader is a daughter of a baker family

[ - Fairytale Picnic Event - closed ]

You have heard of a man, a wizard who lived deep in the forest concocting potions and learning spells. Rarely did he leave his little cottage preferring to stay hidden within its walls if not dealing with his own gardens of magical plants that he cared for.

And if he wasn't at the hut or his garden, you heard that he would go deeper into the forest to find something to draw as a hobby.

It isn't like anybody is scared of him or anything, magic has always been around to those who could wield it it was more of his title as the head wizard of the royal family that made his little home and him quite intimidating.

Maybe that was why you thought the man was lonely when he only had a few people who would visit him perhaps you thought that he could have another friend. When you walked to his home deep in the woods and knocked on his door smiling when it was opened by a somewhat surprised if not cautious face.

You shared with him the sweets you made in your family's bakery that day.

From there you tried talking to him, welcoming him to your home village with a cheerful attitude. He was a kind man you noticed, tho a little impatient as you saw through his eyes that his mind was starting to wander somewhere else did you ask what he was doing. He let you in probably deeming you safe after looking head to toe for a moment.

Maybe it was from there that you started to get along more, as you listened to what he said even tho you didn't understand almost half of the things he said but you still attempted to do so which he looked pleased for.

He loved the sweets you made and asked if you do delivery? He was willing to pay a little extra so that freshly baked sweets would arrive at his home. You were a little hesitant at first but when you returned home your parents were only delighted that someone related to the castle liked their baked goods.

So almost every day you would head out now, holding a basket of warm bread and sweets heading to a certain wizard's home. Albedo would let you in with a smile, and from there sometimes you would take a little before you leave. You started to become close and sometimes you ended up staying a little longer with a bit of guilt in your heart that you weren't helping your parents at their bakery.

But what can you do when time flies so fast talking with Albedo? If not that then how worried you started to get due to his workaholic attitude some days. Some days you would watch him move around the hit a little more hurried than before as he got orders for batches of potions.

These moments were almost a peaceful time for you when there were fewer people around you unlike the busy bakery early in the mornings.

Maybe you have gotten used to it, Albedo's warm voice, from his steps, the tinkering of glass and metal, the sloshing sound when boiling purple liquid was being stirred in a large pot or how the sun touched your skin from the window from the table and chair that you were on that you fell asleep.

Your eyes are heavy unable but to let the darkness take you.

When you woke up the first thing you saw was bright teal eyes looking at you. "Tired?" He asked calmly, which you just nodded apologizing for sleeping like this. "It is alright, go rest a little more." He told you and return to his work, but you wondered if it was your eyes just being tired or his ears were actually red.

"Ah, you are here ____. Give me a moment I am almost finished making this potion." You could only sigh at how much of a workaholic this man is entering his cottage. Many times you told the man to rest but he was always busy, infatuated by things that he learn and create all while you sit there and watch him patiently as he started to talk about his progress or process of something he was currently doing.

Maybe you have gotten used to it, Albedo's warm voice, from his steps, the tinkering of glass and metal, the sloshing sound when boiling purple liquid was being stirred in a large pot or how the sun touched your skin from the window from the table and chair that you were on that you fell asleep.

Your eyes are heavy unable but to let the darkness take you.

"You should really clean up the mess here sometimes." You mumbled as you looked at the piles of papers and books littering the floor. The ingredients and potion bottles lying down everywhere. You offered to help the wizard clean his home one time telling him you were good at organization but he was quick to turn you down, quick to state that he knew where most of the things were and where he placed them. Chaotic organized or something like that. "I am scared that I might knock something down or break something."

"I have gotten a bit messy, to be honest. Ever since my little sister Klee's visit with her mom Alice I didn't have the chance to clean up the place much." Albedo told you looking up from the potions he was handling.

Soon he was finished with the potion bottling them up faster when you offered to help cork the glasses after he poured the liquid in. "So what is this potion for?" You asked.

"Stamina enhancing. The knights had asked me to make them healing potions and this for their next journey. The monsters have become rather... fierce this time of year." Albedo shugged passing a potion to you.

Taking it you placed the cork on, "Do you still have more to finish?" "No, it is fine. This is the last batch but thanks you for your offer." Albedo graced you with a small smile and after a bit of cleaning the area, you headed back to the only table that is decidedly clean. It used to be filled with books also but after you started visiting often Albedo had decided to keep this place less cluttered so that you two could eat comfortably.

"It is always nice to take a break and indulge in some sweets," Albedo said opening the basket that you brought and taking out the pie that you have brought with you. You placed your chin on your hand glaring at the boy. "That is because you never eat properly. Knowing you if it weren't for sweets you would have probably developed some sort of way to only eat pills instead of a full course meal." You rolled your eyes at him.

He only smiled, it looked more like a smirk to you though. You watch him take a bit of the pie, you didn't touch the food on your plate. You wonder what it was like to work for yourself almost like to live alone without your parents.

“I envy your freedom right now, should I also give an excuse to make a run?” You said without thought, it was more of a sarcastic joke really. You love your family with all your heart but...

“What do you mean by that?” You didn't notice the surprise in Albedo’s voice looking at you his eyes a little wider. You shugged as you touched your own pie, (they would have nagged you for playing with your food right now) “You know… I am apparently getting old now and my parents want me to get married as soon as possible. The other old women are starting to nag me to find a man here but I don't know just yet.”

“I don't have anybody I like here… not really sure there a few handsome guys but they are not really my type.” You huffed, closing your eyes in frustration. They were worried and you totally understand their point of view but still!

“How about me?”

Huh..?

“Huh?” You looked up at him confused at what he said and Albedo who had such a determined face for a moment realize what he just said. Unable to look in your eyes, shy all of the sudden he looked away trying to ignore blood rushing to his cheeks. You could see he dusted pink on his cheeks but also his ears and the back of his neck, suddenly understanding what he said you looked down flustered.

Note: *Casually flops on the floor*

[kriz-fics]

The Sword’s Legacy

Series Summary: As the heir of your father's lands, you have grown up knowing that one day you must wed to your House's advantage, and there's no better catch than the younger son of the Magister himself. Meanwhile tensions within the king's court are set to come to a head at any moment - it just needs that spark to send everything ablaze. Now in a court more dangerous than the one you entered, you find distraction and joy in the company of the beautiful boy with the beautiful eyes. You can only hope to weather the storm you can sense brewing in the horizon.

Masterlist

Chapter Sixteen: Lore and Luminaries

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Female Reader

Genre: Royalty AU, Historical Fantasy AU, Romance, Politics, Warfare, Eventual Smut (future chapters), Slow Burn

Length: 13.8K

CW: Mentions of underage sexual exploration / mention of child abuse (physical)

“Dragon root, dried wasp stings… vervain, lovage. Grind all those up for me, if you would, my lady.”

For a long while, the sound of stone grinding against stone is the only thing to be heard in the Healer’s rooms. It is the most riveting sound, that steady rasp, bewitching in its constancy. The scent wafting from the mortar is yet another component of the enchantment that has fallen upon the space. Each breath you take is more pleasant than the last. Invigorating. It is almost enough to make you forget the purpose of the brew. And to whom you will have it served.

Mother had been taken ill a couple of days past. The sweats, they feared, at its onset. The sweats, thank the gods, it is not. The source of the bug had been confined to her cottage, to sleep away the malady and prevent its spread. 

By no means was this to be the last spate of illness within the household, Healer Darya warned. The autumn storms are soon come upon you and with them the dreaded ague. It is not so lethal as the mortal sweats, to be sure, but it is a great deal more catching and takes its fair share of lives when left untreated. 

The cooks have been outdoing themselves of late, churning out dish after dish bursting with greens and fish and eggs. Fare to prevent further illness and strengthen the constitution, it is known. The year’s bounty of oranges (bloody and otherwise) find themselves a constant on the household table as well. And lemons. So many lemons. From fowl cooked with lemons to lemon cakes to liqueurs, the cooks find no end to their utility. It is almost enough to put you off them for the next year. Almost. Lemon cakes are altogether too tasty to give up for a full year.

“My lady, perhaps you can enlighten me with the properties of lovage.” Healer Darya gives you the briefest of glances before turning to her work. 

An unusual yet not unpleasant mixture of scents trails the priestess’s words. Peppermint, wormwood, silk moss. For the tonic to revitalize Mother. You grind your own ingredients on, as ordered, before eventually answering, “Lovage is most effective as an aid for digestion. If used too much, though, it can leave the patient extremely disoriented. As such, it must be used sparingly, and with a light hand.”

“What of vervain?”

“It is often used for the treatment of feral dog bites. However, it is also generally known as a potent restorative, especially if used in tonics. As we are using it right now.”

“Quite right, and well-put.” The Healer gauges the steadily burning flame beneath the small pewter cauldron on its iron trivet. She holds out her hand. “My lady, the paste, if you please.” The unusually pleasant scent takes on a new note and a different sort of pleasantness. Healer Darya puts aside the black stone mortar and its matching pestle, before taking up a ladle and stirring the concoction. “Perhaps I’ll set you to making the next few batches of these so I might at last move on to restocking the other essentials.”

You will take no issue with that. The past week or so of Healer lessons had been nothing less than stimulating. It began with books. The Lady Alyrya’s priestess was only too happy to oblige her mistress when you requested tuition. Light reading, to start. Greens in Your Garden; Flowers of the South; Physic and Herblore, an interesting treatise on medicinal plants, written by renowned herbalist Prior Flora, which you had started two nights past.

The true work is what you anticipate the most.

“Hang these up to dry and finish the tisane.” 

A bundle of herbs changes hands, and you proceed to obey. Pennyroyal and golden parsley, you note, with no small amount of wryness as you walk toward the drying area. Herbs needed for that most infamous of brews. The Healer had been instructing you on all manners of subjects: the drying of herbs, the extracting of vegetal oils, the making of tisanes, potions, pastes. Soon, you will move on to the more difficult tinctures, perhaps even your first poultice. All of these and more you will learn. But for the brewing of that one draught.

It had not been too long ago when Father had called you to his solar, grim and grave and so disappointed. He did not give you long to wonder at his disappointment. “What is this I hear about you and Young Master Meledin?” he had inquired, brisk and uncharacteristically terse.

He changed tack at your honest confusion, which he only doubled with his next query. Young, new-flowered Lady Rhyzkova could not understand nor picture what Father was on about. You had spent a good few moments in silence, puzzling out the details. You could not imagine how you were supposed to fit that hard rod of flesh inside you, or even that you could. 

So you had, truthfully, said no, Roman did not put his penis inside your sex. That new insight gave you awe, nevertheless. You might not have taken him in but you had taken him to hand, to his nervous excitement. That felt good, he said; it felt even better when you stroked. And so you did, encouraged by his eager urging, fascinated by the way he swelled and grew harder in your grip. Even the strange fluid that leaked from him in droves (not piss, he had asked Prior Ilya) did not put you off like it had that first time (your disgust did not let you get this far, and he had wilted from the embarrassment). He had climaxed all over your hand soon afterward. The milk-white liquid that came spurting from his cock was not piss, that was for certain.

For all your honesty, Father had his reservations. Healer Darya came to confirm your innocence, sent by Lord Alexander to corroborate his daughter’s claims. You were as intact as you could be, for a highborn girl, announced the priestess. It was not a boy’s cock that caused what tears there were down there. Noble girls are more like to lose their maidenheads to horses than to boys, this is known, and you have been riding since you were six, years and years ago.

Still, it stings, even now, to know Father had not taken you at your word. It is understandable, to a degree, to make absolutely sure - your value in the marriage market would have severely plummeted had you been plucked before your time. That does not lessen the sting, even so. It is some reassurance that he had not made you drink söga, at least.

Söga, the tisane you will never learn to make if Father and Healer Darya can help it. Both know well your capacity for wantonness. Your wanton streak, as Father called it. To your face. “You have a wanton streak in you, my child,” he had said, so very gently. Somehow, that had not stung - he could have worded, and delivered, it worse. He could have called it my whorish streak. 

And so you are relegated to keeping your whorish streak to yourself. It is all to the good, anyway. You know well what is expected of a lady, especially one with a standing as high as yours. That does not stop the what-ifs from cropping up every so often; they especially love to crop up in the face of a handsome boy, and the court does not lack for those. You are betrothed to one of those, as it happens. That you will use forbidden knowledge to go ahead and fuck your handsome boy without any consequences, you do not know. But that is certainly something.

You can always brew the tea yourself, you suppose, as you grab a length of knotted twine off the counter and begin to wrap it about the herbs’ stems. Söga is disastrous to get wrong, though. A misstep in the recipe will blast your womb and render you barren, a woman’s worst nightmare realized. You cannot have that; you must have heirs of your own body and continue a line eight thousand years strong.

Mugwort and nettle and goldenglow hang before you in a neat row, joined shortly by your pennyroyal and parsley. Herbal soldiers in line, waiting for their commands. And like true soldiers, they lose their potency beneath too much sun. All herbalists know to keep herbs away from scorching heat, and the Healer is no exception. The sandstone visible through the glass window before you makes for a dismal view.

The views are more cheering where the sun is allowed to shine. The apothecary is aptly stationed right beside the entrance to the sanctum, giving the resident Healer easy access to its wealth of flora. No autumn hues are evident through the wood-and-glass door that leads out into the palace gardens. This far south, the seasons turn more slowly, and so everything keeps its verdant bloom. For the moment.

You leave the apothecary bearing a silver trayful of remedies: ginger and mint tea (sweetened with honey), essence of yarrow, a bowl of hot water and a square of clean linen, marlock salve and the revitalizing tonic, finished at last after half an hour’s worth of labor. You cannot help the irreverent smile that pulls at your lips as you pass a familiar corridor.

Down those halls is a certain sitting room, now scarce used. It was that which made it so enticing to two highborn whelps who were too inquisitive for their own good. You do not know how that servant managed to catch you at it; hardly anyone went down there, as little used as the wing was. Perhaps you were louder than you’d thought. Par for the course for children, who tend to have little thought of their immediate surroundings. 

Father had the whole wing’s rooms locked and sealed away afterward. He hardly should have bothered. It had not taken him long to send Roman away, so you were left with no boys to play around with (no boys you were attracted to enough, at any rate). And no boys to learn the way of the bedchamber with, no one to fondle and explore just to see what went where. 

The older ladies of the court told you what went where readily enough.

Mother’s rooms are empty of callers and servants but for her handmaid, the Lady Oksana Aliyeva, sister to the Lady of Noyasnoy, Tatyana Aliyeva. “My lady,” she curtseys as you brush past the gossamer hangings to enter your mother’s bedchamber. The older woman proceeds at once to tie back the drapes, her long sheet of silvery blonde hair rippling in her wake.

You set your tray down on the table placed at the foot of the bed and gather the mug of tea in your hands. You wave away the handmaid as she comes over to assist. “Leave us, if you would, my lady.”

Lady Oksana checks, draws herself up and bows before taking her leave.

“Ah, my sweet little Healer,” Lady Theresia says hoarsely from her seat in her large bed, propped up on big silken pillows against her red gossamer-covered headboard and smiling her warm motherly smile. The stuffed peacocks flanking the bed stare haughtily down at you as you walk over to the bedside and sit on the crimson bedclothes. The clay of the teacup is rough and warm beneath your fingers, the tisane not too hot, perfect for drinking.

“How are you feeling?” you ask your lady mother as you hand her the drink. Still a bit peaky, you think, taking in Mother’s drawn complexion with a surge of concern. You mislike the gravel in her voice as well as its thickness. The mint will help the rocks and the obstruction.

Lady Theresia smiles, sardonic. “The cavalry is running a charge through my body, but this old bat is otherwise fine.” Mother and daughter share a laugh. “No leeches?” Lady Theresia queries after a taste of tea.

“Perhaps later. Healer Darya will drop by to check on you.”

“Oh, thank the gods. Such nasty creatures,” Mother shudders and takes another prim sip. “Did you mix this yourself?”

“Yes.” A bowl of water is sitting beside a tiny ornate brazier on the bedside table. A square of linen floats, submerged, in the yarrow-infused liquid. You stand and take the basin, striding back to the other table at the foot of the bed.

“Your lessons are going along swimmingly then.”

The pleasant scent of yarrow drifts through the air from the bottle in your hand. You pour a capful of the essence into the fresh bowl, well-pleased.

“Tell me of your curriculum. I trust that it is a good one. And appropriate.”

You cannot fail to hear the emphatic tone your mother’s voice has adopted. “It is good. And appropriate.” No söga, have no fear, Mother dear. You hang the unused linen over an arm and gather the steaming bowl, the revitalizing tonic, and the salve before returning to the bedside table.

“Eren is a handsome lad - gods, such a handsome lad, and so well-made-” you look askance at your mother’s dreamy expression, which she hastily shakes off, “-but you can afford to wait. Not long now ‘til you can tumble your man to your heart’s content.” Lady Theresia titters as the bottle of tonic near slips from her daughter’s hand at her remark. Her laughter waxes into a hacking cough as you turn to her with abject horror on your face. Never again do you want to hear anything remotely raunchy come out of your mother’s mouth.

“Ah, but he is a sweet lad,” Mother sniffs once her laughter and the coughing subside. She dabs at her nose with a square of linen. “And he makes you happy. That is the most important thing of all.”

You set the revitalizing tonic down beside the salve. He had sent you a tonic once, over a month ago. You had never been more surprised to see Healer Dmitriy outside your rooms in Merrydell, a purple glass bottle in his hands. “Young Master Eren asked me to give you this, my lady. Essence of valerian for your insomnolence.” 

As surprised as you had been at this unexpected visit, your astonishment paled in the light of the overwhelming surge of affection that coursed through you at this most thoughtful gesture. Your unrested state had struck a bigger cord in your betrothed than you’d realized. Such a sweet lad indeed.

Lady Theresia finishes her tea at last and hands you her cup. “We are lucky in our men, you and I.” Another set of smiles changes hands. “As I hope your sisters will be. And your brother with his lady wife someday. To be lucky in love is the sweetest thing.”

You putter about the bedside table, fussing at the cup and the bowl and the brazier, cheeks prickling at that most potent of words. Love.

Several moments pass before you can return to your place by Mother’s side. “Speaking of… men and future matches, how is Father taking into account the king’s continued reticence as regards the Crown Prince’s hand?” It has been some time since last you’d spoken of the matter. You hand Mother the small porcelain tub of marlock.

“Yes, well, your father has other options. As he always has in all matters.” A lesson he has been instilling in you most diligently throughout the years. Your mother removes the lid off the tub in her hand, dips her fingers in the ointment, and smears it over her chest, pulling the neck of her nightdress down a little as she does so.

“I don’t think the prince will make Lydia happy anyway.” Not when Lady Gudrun is around to be a paramour on the side.

“They can always grow into it. Such matters are a passing thing.” Lady Theresia hands back the tub, which you set aside on the table, just as a commotion in the form of your baby brother enters the room.

“Mava!”

The swept-back drapes of the bedchamber afford you both a view of little Oliver Rhyzkov tottering down the privy chamber, threading his way past the divans, the armchairs, and the tables in his route to get to Mother’s bedroom. He is carrying an earthenware bowl filled with a glistening golden mass in his little hands.

Behind him drifts his nurse, brown-haired matronly Mother Raisa, in her cerise robes lined with gold. She is carrying her own dish, this one piled high with the harvest’s bounty: pears, peaches, plums, grapes and dates and melons, all manners of berries. “My ladies,” she bows over her bowl once she reaches the threshold of the bedroom, which makes her young ward pause and dip into his own bow.

“No need to bow to your own kin, Olya,” you inform him with a grin, taking the dish from him and ruffling his hair affectionately, making the boy giggle. Your hand shoots out quick as a whip and closes around a pudgy forearm as your brother makes to run to Mother’s bedside. “Sorry, love, but no kisses for Mava just yet. You might get sick, and if you get sick, there’ll be no more playtime. And no more swimming.”

The threat of no more swimming hits hard. Olya slumps down in your hold, pouting a most magnificent pout. “But it’s tomorrow and you said you’d be better tomorrow,” he calls out, sad and plaintive, to Mother, who smiles at him apologetically.

“I’m afraid the bug is stronger than we thought, my love. But I promise I will be better.”

“I told you to let me squish it! I’m not afeared of bugs, I can squish it! So you can be better!”

“That’s why we brought these, your little lordship, to squish the bugs and make your mother stronger,” Mother Raisa intercedes as she places the fruit bowl amidst the physic on the bedroom bench. “Only a good serving of fruit can squish this sort of bug. Of course, a prayer or two will work even more wonders,” she adds piously, clutching at the golden pendant on her chest, that of the Mother Above’s scepter tipped with a tiny pomegranate.

Olya nods vigorously. “Honeycomb makes me feel better, too, so you have to eat them all today so you’ll be better tomorrow. For true.”

Sure enough, the sugary scent emitting from the bowl in your hands belongs to his favorite sweet. You place it beside the fruits, greatly endeared.

“I can’t promise you I’ll be all right tomorrow but I will be in a few days. For true,” Mother says, as endeared as you. “And then we can swim.” 

Olya is not quite placated, that is plain to see, but he nods anyway. His hand drifts to his mouth, prompting his nurse to grab hold of the limb. He has been weaned, for the most part, from that most babyish of habits yet still it manifests, especially when he is upset. At five, he is too old for such conduct and needs further work to break the practice for good and all. Lydia had suggested smearing his hand with sun pepper jelly to stop him sucking. Mother had rebuked her most sharply and the issue was dropped.

“I thank you most kindly for the fare. From a harvest well done, indeed,” Lady Theresia remarks, eyeing the overflowing fruit bowl with so much pride. “Not just for us, I am told.”

“Not just for us,” you affirm, proud as the room’s stuffed peacocks. The past week or so had seen the doves coming in from all the Vascalene provinces, all with reports of excellent harvests. You have yet to come down from the heights of your satisfaction.

“A good portent. And good for public perception. Any proof of the gods’ favor of your rule will help ease the way when you come into your own.”

The fact is a most pleasing one. And much-needed, to help chase away the weight of the role.

“Oh, before I forget, you need to drink your tonic,” you exclaim, moving to measure and pour out the potion for your mother’s consumption. “We’ll leave you to it, then,” you put in once the philter has been drunk. You bend to pick up little Olya, who is not so little now, you realize as you feel the weight of him in your arms. Mother Raisa strides forward, voicing out aid, which you wave away. “Say goodbye to Mava,” you prompt the boy, and he obeys, adding a little wave into the bargain. “She needs to sleep so she’ll get better. And then we’ll swim.”

“Swimming! We’ll swim, we’ll swim like Renren,” Olya chirps, bouncing in your hold, to your distress. “Honey!” he demands, reaching for the corresponding bowl. Mother Raisa breaks off a piece of the comb and hands it to him. He sets to at once, happily munching his treat (Mother’s in truth, supposedly), wax and all.

You adjust your grip on him and bid your own farewell to your most beloved mother. You will visit again tonight. A good Healer must needs check on her patients most diligently.

Renren the Newt’s namesake is standing outside the rooms to greet you, to your surprise.

“Hello,” he raises a hand in greeting.

“Hello,” Olya replies, raising his own smaller honey-smeared hand to return the gesture. 

Eren smiles that warm, tender smile that has made such a home in his beautiful face. The way he regards you and the boy in your arms is achingly soft.

You shift Olya on your hip, so conscious of Eren’s gaze. “You remember Eren, yes? My betrothed.” Encounters between your betrothed and your brother have been scant. Not least because you are keeping Eren to yourself most every time, and Olya has his own little boy agenda to go through every day. “What are you doing here?” you question Eren, most curious.

He purses his lips and sighs, all tenderness lost. “I heard Lady Theresia was sick and you were tending her. I wanted to know how she was.”

Something in you squirms at the restrained fear of his mien. You know well what frightens him so. It is hard to be confronted with memories of his greatest loss. Mother’s predicament is hitting too close to home. “She’s on the mend,” you assure gently. “A day or two and she’ll be right as rain.”

“You’re a knight, right? Teach me how to joust.” Oblivious Oliver licks at his fingers, exposing Eren to the full brunt of his special stare, that wide-eyed compelling look he loves to use on everyone if he must have his way.

It is working a charm on the most susceptible knight. And does a superb job cutting through the miserable tension in the air neat as a pin. “Do you know how to ride a horse?” Eren asks the boy, who shakes his head. “That won’t do. Before you can joust, you have to know how to ride.”

“Teach me.”

“There’s a thought,” you interpose. “I think that’s a great idea.”

Olya certainly thinks so, too. He bounces in your arms again and again and again, trilling “Teach me,” with each bound. Mother Raisa strides forward to take the little lordling off your hands, and this time you let her. There is no winning against Olya, not when he has begun to work himself into excitement.

Eren chuckles at the spectacle and moves closer to you. “Your master of horse should be the one teaching you, not me. I’m hardly the right authority on that matter.”

“You’ll make a fine teacher, and I speak from experience,” you cut in, noting the frown and the trembling mouth of the little face brought about by Eren’s statement. Nothing good will come from that trembling mouth. You turn to the nursemaid before Olya can work himself up into a tantrum. “We’ll proceed to the stables. Perhaps we can commandeer a suitable pony for Olya.” Crisis averted, you think, relieved to see the excitement return to your baby brother’s face.

“You taught me how to ride and I’m a much better horsewoman for it. Don’t sell yourself so short,” you tell your betrothed, idly fiddling with the braid draped over your left shoulder. Mother Raisa and her charge have already started down the corridor. Your fingers brush against something sticky. Olya’s honey, you grimace, lamenting the stain it made on the pale green cloth of your charovma.

“I can teach you a different sort of riding, if you find me such a fine teacher.”

Your head snaps up. “Pardon?”

Eren gives you a slow, smiling gaze and does not answer, merely reaching out to pinch your cheek. “You make the sweetest faces.” He slips his fingers through yours and tugs you along.

“I have to get changed,” you force out, emerging from one of many spells he has taken to casting on you of late. Your cheek tingles where he had pinched it. “I have been honeyed,” you clarify, plucking at your dress at his inquiring look.

“Oh.”

The comfortable silence that falls between you does not last long. “Are you… sniffing me?”

Embarrassment takes his features over, yet it goes as soon as it comes. “It’s just… you smell sweet. And green. I like it.”

“Oh.”

You play with your braid once more. These Healer’s lessons are proving to be a most valuable asset in your skillset. In more ways than one. You have no choice now but to go about it most diligently. And you do so love the smell of herbs.

Into that wild enchanted wood he strode, the prince of dreams, to take up his seat in this his arcane realm. The birds chirped, and the leaves rustled, and the maid giggled, the maid of the wood, that girl with flowers in her hair.

High up she perched on her hawthorn throne, the true sovereign of this wood, and for her he bent the knee. It was never his wood, never his realm, and this he knew as he had never known before.

“Here you are at last, my lady of the wood,” said he, the prince of dreams. “You have kept me waiting.”

“Here I am at last, my prince of dreams,” said she, the girl with flowers in her hair. “I have kept you waiting, for my person’s sake.”

“I do not mean you harm, and will never. This vow, you will see, shall I keep,” said he, the most earnest of princes.

The mystery of her intrigued him so, and the sennights had been a torment. Food had lost all savor and the sun was dark in his eyes each day spent without her radiance. He had naught of her for she gave him naught, not even a name he could call with yearning lips.

For names have power, you see, said she, the girl with flowers in her hair, and forsworn will I be should I give you power over me.

Dong!

Eren looks round at the sound and instantly leaps to his feet. The time has slipped away from him and he is late. Lore and Luminaries, a Compendium of the Legends of the United Lands is thrown unceremoniously back into the lounge’s cushions as he makes a run for the library’s exit. He spares Prior Ilya a quick nod, who returns it, stiff and disapproving, as Eren speeds past his desk. He hastily straightens out the black and silver vidnon jacket (sans tunic) he is wearing with his black pants, making sure he is presentable as he proceeds down the hallway. The timepiece by the disgruntled dark-haired priest’s elbow shows the hour, that of the lynx.

Whatever seeds of remorse that have sprouted inside Eren wilt as quickly as they grow; he ought to be more careful with books, especially ones not his own, yet he is beyond caring at this point. He can always offer to rearrange the whole library in his idle hours. For now, his lady awaits.

And a true lady you are becoming, more and more each day. Some days, you would spend hours apart, you to your councils and audiences and duty, he to books and sparring and leisure. Much as he mislikes these times, some part of him marvels at them, marvels at you and what you can become. Detestable as she is in your intimacy, Lady Rhyzkova is promising to be a most resplendent woman. The image of you coming into your own excites him more than he realized.

Goldhaven’s sanctum is unrecognizable from the wood that it was two years ago. Then, it was a forest of oak and pine and hawthorn, of cypress and poplar and willow. Now, it is a park, and what oaks and pines and hawthorns there were are now growing in disparate plots across the sward. 

He strides down the stone trail that winds its way through the sanctum, eyes peeled for you. The sun is no longer at its zenith and has begun its slow descent into the west. It has dipped below the castle’s towers and so a quarter of the place is in shadow. He walks in dimness for a while until he comes across a choice of paths; he chooses the lefthand one and presses on, emerging at last into the light.

Like the gardens at home in Highridge, Goldhaven’s are elevated, perched high above the city on its leveled edifice. The wind will always blow here. It whips his hair about his face and he considers, for the briefest of moments, having it cut back to its preceding length. He has never grown his hair this long in living memory (it is almost to his shoulders now, hopelessly shaggy), and he is starting to realize why. Your voice echoes in his head, telling him how much you like the look on him, and he desists. For all the trouble it brings on, longer hair has its benefits.

A cluster of gardeners is about, trimming the verges that border one side of the large, circular fountain at the heart of the park. All turn to him and bow with their ‘Sirs’ and ‘Milords’. He acknowledges them with a nod, moving on and on and on, following his stone path. 

Still, his lady is absent, yet he knows where he will find her. Past stands of trees he strolls, once again astonished by how far this sanctum goes. The only other garden he knows can match the length of this one is the Bulwark’s. Connie had often claimed that one needed a mount to negotiate the place, as he and the Lady Mikasa were wont to do; it would take them half the day to do so on foot if they so chose to ply the full breadth of it. Eren had tested the veracity of that claim one summer’s day and decided that Connie was full of hot air and made from weak stock. It only took him half an hour to range the whole thing on foot, from the castle to the end of the gardens and back again.

He finds his lady where he knew she would be. High up you perch on the hawthorn tree, right there at the very end of the sanctum, lying latently along a sturdy branch. A fold of white cloth drapes down the bough from your dress, that white dress that exposed a great deal of smooth, shapely leg, split as it is from the thigh down. You are barefoot; your sandals peep out at him on the ground, beside a wicker basket and the godstone of this garden, a smooth, gray monolith with its proud, gray god, standing in front of this proud, tall tree.

His smile comes easily at your beauty’s behest. You have made a servant of his joy, and it comes so eagerly at your presence’s command. You are making a servant of all of him, his bits and parts, and he finds that he can care little and less. You can lead him anywhere and he will come. Unquestioningly. Willingly. Freely.

Your head turns at the sound of his footsteps. You smile your own smile and rest your head on your folded arms beneath you. “You have kept me waiting, Sir.”

Eren stares up at you, utterly charmed. “Here I am at last, my lady of the sanctum. I have kept you waiting only because time slipped away from me.”

“Ah, a flaw at last. The strong and dashing Falcon Knight is a most terrible timekeeper.”

“That is most unfair, my lady. It was only the once, I can assure you it won’t happen again. Look kindly upon me, I implore you.” Wind threads gently through his hair, light as your fingers had been that night in the Sphere. It slips through the edges of his loosely tied vidnon, its touch cool and pleasant on his bare skin. He takes a step forward until he is a handsbreadth away from the godstone. The rounded top of it reaches his waist.

“Why should I look kindly upon someone who calls me unfair to my face?” Wind threads gently through your hair, lifting it from your pretty face to flutter in the breeze. The hem of your dress ripples outward like a pristine banner. Not once did your smile drop.

He rests a hand atop the godstone. “It was the judgement that was unfair, not my lady herself.”

“The Falcon Knight has a silver tongue.” You sit up, lithe and languid, and press closer to the trunk.

“See, I have more to commend me than my timekeeping.” He comes closer, hand sliding off the godstone as he takes a step forward until he is standing by the hawthorn’s roots. His lady is sitting mere feet above him, all smiles still. He need not reach up very far to take one dainty foot into his hand. Yet he does not.

“What else commends you, aside from that tongue that gives you such credit?” You place an elbow on another branch beside you and rest your head upon your arm, playful as Alena of Makan had been with her Prince of Dreams.

Eren places a hand on the trunk, gleaming up at you, his own Alena. Without the flowers in her hair. “Wouldn’t you like to know. My lady.”

You giggle, a sound as sweet as silver bells. “Oh, I would like to know indeed.” You push off the branch and make to clamber down the tree.

At once, he reaches out to assist, taking a small hand into his own and guiding your way down the sloping trunk. The smell of leaves and herbs, that most intoxicating green smell, clings to you like perfume. It smells even better on you than your own perfume. Sweet as apples and winter roses are, they are not so comforting as the scent of fresh plant life.

You bend down to retrieve your basket, and there stands before him a maid of the wood. A vevda you wear, white and sleeveless and girdled with gold, the neck dipping down sharply to bare the shapely curves of your breasts. Your legs are as shapely, peering out from the split skirt of the garment. Your toes dig into the soft, lush grass beneath your still-bare feet. 

Eren gazes long and keen at you, committing the image of you as you are now to memory. A living fae maid. You only lack for flowers. A strong desire to crown you with such rises in him, and he glances about the wide, sweeping place. Flower bushes dot the area every few feet. Goldenglow and bronze betties and silver dream-of-morns, crocuses, peonies, even a patch of devil’s bloom with its black-and-scarlet petals, the garden is well-populated and still untouched by autumn’s hand. He will have enough for you.

“May I ask what it was that so engrossed the Falcon Knight that he would forget to keep a solemn promise?” you inquire lightly as you slip on your sandals.

“I was brushing up on my military science in the library. On the most sage recommendation of Sir Grisha.” You make your slow way back to the castle proper, hands clasped.

“Looking to gain more of an upper hand on me at our games, are we? I’ll have the truth of that tonight. I do admire your diligence. I would never think to read sleeping draughts as large as those during my reprieve.” You smile, shy and sweet, as he plucks a goldenglow from a passing bush and tucks it behind your ear. His hand lingers, tracing over the curve of your ear, slow and gentle, before pulling away. 

Eren watches you bite your lip at the gesture and look away. He bites his own lip to keep from smiling too widely. “Once you get past his tedious style, Hoover actually had interesting theses. And it wasn’t him that grabbed my attention. Prior Horst and his compendium provided a nice respite from all the philosophy and tactics.” 

“Ah, Lore and Luminaries?” You emerge at last from your reserve, eyes alight with interest.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Understandable, then. You are forgiven your lapse.”

Eren chuckles, just as you near the sanctum’s fountain. He has been rereading the old tales of late. His favorite stories ring different, somehow, though no one has changed the words. Perhaps it is he who has changed. Perhaps now he is reading with new eyes, not the eyes of a boy but of a man in l- 

Thump, thump, thump.

His hands have gone clammy in yours, though you do not seem to notice as you draw him down next to you onto the stone lip of the fountain. A circular stone colonnade, open to the skies, rings the structure. Queen Yelena Rhyzkova I stands at the heart of the fount carrying jugs, one pouring water down her stone vevda, the other spraying over her regal head. The steady splashing of water blends seamlessly with the rustling of leaves about you.

All those fade to nothing until all he can hear is the beat of his heart. Thumping, thumping inside his chest. Is he truly? He glances sidelong at his betrothed, the only girl he has ever liked this much. He likes you very, very much. But is it truly? Is it truly… love?

“The girl with flowers in her hair.” You reach up to touch the blossom behind your ear. “I only have the one.”

The sweet voice brings him back, as it always can do. “That can easily be remedied.” The gardeners have moved on to other verges. Those they had been trimming are in full bloom about you. Goldenglow, laceflowers, and violets give Yelena’s fount a touch of ornamentation. Eren plucks a golden blossom, and before long, he is plucking more, laceflowers, violets, more goldenglow. Fingers, long unpracticed, begin to remember their old skill. Slowly and surely, the crown takes shape.

“Where did you learn how to make crowns?” You observe his weaving hands, rapt.

“Mother and I used to make these for one another whenever we lounged in the gardens back home.” He smiles, lost in work and in memory. “I was her little Falcon Knight. She was my Queen of Love and Beauty.” 

The wreath lies finished in his hands at last, gold and white and violet. “Yours now, my lady, the title and the crown,” he avows, placing the ring of blossoms over your head. “The Queen of Dreams and Love and Beauty. The most beautiful Majesty.” The fae maid has flowered at last. “The girl with flowers in her hair.”

There it is, that look that he loves, the gentle awe of him come to grace your face again. And there it is, that word again. Love.

“The Falcon Knight has turned into the Prince of Dreams.” You brush light fingers over the petals and smile so beautifully. “You miss her so much,” you say, quiet and thoughtful, a statement meant to be a question yet comes out a statement nevertheless.

“Every day. And I always will.” The unceasing wind is the most comforting presence. He turns his face toward it, longing for the smell of salt. The sanctum faces away from the ocean, and so it is faint here, and far away. But it is there. Beneath the scents of the city - dust and woodsmoke and spices and humanity - there the salt breeze blows. Faint but never gone.

“You’re fortunate you can take care of yours,” he finds himself saying. “I could only watch, helpless, as I lost mine.” He takes your hands, marveling at how small they are compared to his, how smooth, and soft, and unscarred. Unmarked by violence. The hands of peace. The hands of a ruler. “The hands of a Healer,” he murmurs to himself, almost absently, caressing the unblemished skin. “You will preserve life, while I will take it away. And I have taken it away from a host of others.”

He stills as he feels the softness of your lips brush the back of his knuckles. You stroke the scarred skin, immersed in thought. “They have taken but they also give.” You hold up his hand and lace your fingers through his. His fingers close tight over yours as you reach with your other hand to cup his face, rubbing a tender thumb across his cheek. “And they can be so gentle. And so kind. And if they take, it’s only to preserve. You take to preserve those who matter.”

“And who are they, the ones who matter?”

You give him a long, considering look before giving answer. “I think… you would know that better than I.”

The ones I love. Those I am sworn to protect. The weak. The innocent. But who are the innocents, exactly?

It is too much to think about. Too much for the time and the place. Eren turns his head, to place a kiss on the cherished palm on his cheek. “Again, you always know what to say.”

You take your time withdrawing your hands, smile as soft as eiderdown. “I’m glad my words can touch you.”

“They do more than touch me, my lady.” He drinks in the sight of you, another one to keep in his memory for all his days. His eyes fall to the pendant that rests beneath the hollow of your throat, the family heirloom that proclaims to the world at large that you are no longer free for the taking, unavailable for marriage to anyone and everyone. But for him.

You will return the jewel to his House, as all brides must, to trade it for a more permanent piece, the scallop-and-pearl of those bound in wedlock.

The black pearl necklace’s chain gleams a bright silver beneath the afternoon light. Black and silver, like his vidnon. Black and silver, to your white and gold. Absolute opposing colors. Yet for all their opposition, a matched pair still.

“Lord Alexander invited me out for a gardening session,” he says, reminded of the fact by the basket that is sitting beside you. It is filled with greens, he now sees, indistinguishable from each other to his untrained eye.

“Oh?” You give him a look, of interest at the news, and of slight puzzlement at the change of subject. Which is just as well. You need to stir this ship to brighter, less troubled waters.

“Mm-hmm. I’m scared to death,” Eren laughs and rubs a hand across the back of his neck. He cannot help recalling one of his recurring nightmares ever since you had been promised, of Lord Alexander chasing him around the halls of Midford Castle, swinging at him with a gigantic bludgeon. His future father by marriage is an amiable man, true enough, yet he is also… big.

You giggle at his expression and take his hand. “Oh, you have nothing to fear. He’s the most lovable pup despite what his size may tell you. Unless… you do mean to make me cry.” You gaze at him beadily as you tug him to his feet.

He scoffs. “I’ll tell him what I told your barkeep. I have no intentions of ‘doing you dirty.’ And if I do make you cry…” he lets his eyes dip down to the luscious curves of your breasts, and smirks, “it won’t be from grief.”

His smirk unfolds into a grin at your disbelieving huff. “That’s quite enough out of you,” you mutter, picking up your basket and pulling him into a walk. The corners of your lips are twitching upward, though. “And here I was thinking I could give you a lesson in herblore to better get you into his good graces. I’ll leave you to Father’s mercy, then.”

“Please, milady, I’m sorry, milady, I won’t say no stupid things again, I do so swear. Teach me the ways of the wood.”

You beam and laugh and wrap an arm about his waist, this girl with flowers in her hair. This girl any man can come to love. “Since you asked so nicely… I am compelled. And perhaps we can scrounge up greens for Renren’s tank.”

No, not any man. Only me. Only me.

Oluo Bossard is a man who plainly loves the sound of his own voice.

“‘-flattered that you care for me so, Lady Petra, but I cannot take you to wife for I am already wed. Duty is the most jealous mistress and she will not suffer any other woman in my life,’” Bossard yammers from his place before the blazing hearth, waving his empty teacup around as he regales… who is he regaling, exactly?

Dorin Serech is sitting before him in a pale purple armchair, yet his nose is buried in a book, apparently deaf to everything but for words writ in ink. Crowded around the window embrasure at the end of the room are the Brotherhood’s youngest. Connie Springer is holding court, entertaining Bertolt Hoover and Marin Tarasav with anecdotes of his own. He at least seems to be having more success with his audience, who are laughing and rejoining with corresponding quips. The forefront of the solar sees Erwin standing behind his desk, dictating a missive to Hange, the only woman (lawfully) allowed in the Hall of the Sentinel.

Perhaps Bossard is under the misguided impression that he is interested in hearing about the paltry niceties of his life. That annoys Levi to no end. He must disabuse the man of that notion at once. He stands from his own armchair by the fire, clutching his cup of tea, and sweeps past the still-rambling knight, who does not seem to notice his lack of an attentive audience.

Prior Hange does not so much as glance up from her work as Levi walks past her seat at the left hand of the Lord Commander’s desk. He does not escape Rolf Wolfsbane’s attention as easily, though. Hard bronze eyes glare at Levi as he leans against the wall beside the fabled princely knight, the most fabled in the Royal Guard’s history. Or so they claim. Levi ignores the glower and takes a sip of his drink. Pardon me, Your Grace, but you are only a bust and I’m free to lounge about wherever I like.

It is not long until he has drained his cup. He stares down at the specks of tea leaves dotting the porcelain and feels that old and familiar feeling once more, the one he can’t quite give a name to. It is one he always has whenever his squires come into their own and he is left to face the prospect of acquainting himself with a new boy yet again. It is part wistfulness, part resignation, he supposes. But that is the lot of the knight. Useless to tell himself never to get too attached. Somehow, some way, no matter how slight, he still does.

All that at the sight of tea leaves. He can almost laugh. He wonders if the new boy will be an exceptional teamaker. Dieter Augenstein is to be the name of the new boy, a younger son of a Lesser House sworn to the Reisses, a lad of some eighteen or nineteen years. Levi will have to teach him the ways of perfect brewing if he proves to be a botch. Eren’s first attempts at brewing had been depressingly unacceptable, yet he learned in the end. It is always a toss-up with the boys. Some will always be better brewers than others. But none have yet surpassed that most consummate of brewers, Farlan Church.

“Finished! At last!” cries the Prior, at the exact moment the Lord Commander speaks.

“Copper for your thoughts?”

Erwin is glancing at him from the corner of his eye. The leaded glass in front of him shows the Hall’s yard and Midford’s main keep right across their smaller holdfast. The day promises to be a good one for rain - the autumn storms are begun at last. If they aren’t, then they will be soon, now that the Month of Storing has started.

Levi looks away from the Lord Commander’s gaze and his right sleeve, empty, armless, and pinned up at the shoulder with an iron brooch in the shape of an anvil. “Keep your coin. My thoughts aren’t worth that much.”

“These ones are, it would seem. What has the cool, imperturbable Levi Ackerman looking so… sentimental?”

“Ah, I am starving,” Hange whines, slumping down on her seat, utterly woebegone. Erwin stares at Levi a few moments more with that piercing stare of his, then turns to sit down before his desk and pick up the letter the Prior has completed, reading over the contents. 

Silently, Levi lets out a breath. Relief. Did he truly give himself away like that? I’m losing my touch. Many squires he’s had over the years, and yet the first always comes back to haunt him. It’s always the first that gets you, for everything. His first squire. His first triumph. And his first true failure.

“Where are Mike and my sweet rolls?”

“This is passable,” Erwin announces after a time, and Hange sits up, lips pouted, mind stuck on her stomach. “He’ll be pleased to hear back from me soon.”

Ortwin of Smith Street is a blacksmith of the highest standing. A standing he did not have before his son rose to prominence, some will be quick to whisper. He was one of many smiths in the area, deemed to be neither exceptional nor terrible. But that was hardly fair; his craft is as fine as any smith’s worth his salt, and he is worth his many times over. And if his son’s legend brings on more custom, what of it?

“Will you be delivering by dove or in person?” Hange yawns, rubbing at her stomach.

“In person. It’s been some time since I’ve visited.” Before he lost an arm, the Lord Commander had been known to return home on his free days and take up his old trade again. He was a capable smith in his own right; that storied blade of his, Sunstrike, is a weapon of his own making. It is no truesteel blade such as those forged by the peerless metalworkers of Old Paradis, but the sword had served him well over his years of active duty. Now it sits in his rooms, gathering dust, its vocation ended.

“How is the work coming along?” Hange asks, a little vaguely, seemingly distracted from her stomach at last. Her eyes are trained on the rest of the room’s occupants, thoughtful and ruminative.

“Well enough. Slow but sure, as they say. Fold this for me, would you?” Erwin hands the priestess back his missive and she complies, folding the parchment into a neat rectangle and securing it shut with pale purple wax, which she stamps with the Royal Guard’s seal, a crown ringed with twelve swords. “Although I fear I may never again be as able. Continuous practice is what’s needed and my duties get in the way of that. Being Lord Commander is detrimental to being a smith.”

The Lord Commander’s visits to his family forge are not entirely filial. Still he takes up his craft, trying to hone his remaining limb until it is as dextrous as the vanished one. Levi can empathize, to a point. His dear Uncle Kenny had broken his right wrist when he was a boy, soon after he had mastered the rudiments of swordplay with his dominant hand. To make him a most well-rounded warrior, the man claimed as he proceeded, brutally, severely, ruthlessly, to train his young nephew to fight with his left hand.

Not for the first time, Levi feels that most consternating confusion of anger and gratefulness that rises inside him at the thought of his uncle. Seeing Erwin struggle to recondition his body after such a profound loss only exacerbates the emotions. More than half of Levi is thankful that, should he lose his right, he will still have his left and be as proficient as he ever is in battle. Not even the Lord Commander can claim as much. Perhaps those years of hell were worth it, after all.

“Has this room ever been full?” Hange questions promptly. “With all of you lot, I mean. The Brotherhood of the Twelve instead of the Brotherhood of… Seven,” she adds after a hasty headcount of the solar’s occupants.

“It can’t ever be full,” Levi reminds her, crossing his arms over his chest. “The king is not to be left alone and unguarded under any circumstance.”

“Ah, right.” Something morose descends upon her in a flash. Unusual to the highest degree with this most upbeat of Priors. “Don’t you have three from the North? I see one northman… where are the other two?”

“Sir Julian is on duty, with Sir Keith. Sir Symon is… away,” the Lord Commander answers, careful and circumspect. Things have been uneasy with their northern brothers nowadays. Not so Dorin, not as much, with him being a Trostman (and therefore not one of the aggrieved northern parties, though their sort remains wary all the same).

Renouncing past ties and allegiances to serve one is easier said than done. Hard to keep those vows when the one you devote your life to has done you a great personal wrong. And reducing your line - a line ten thousand years old, one of the oldest in the land - to a mere shadow of what it once was is a great personal wrong, Halkin will not see it as anything but. Worse still is to eradicate your whole House, root and stem, and leave you as the sole successor to its legacy. And a fine successor Skaryn makes, one whose vows prevent him from leaving his own successors to cultivate their tree. His House will die a true death with him, in the end.

Mistrust is a chord that does not strike well with the Lord Commander yet that kingslayer Marius Zackly had given precedent for the sentiment to exist. Never again will Julian Halkin and Symon Skaryn do duty together. The squires are to be kept away from the northmen as well. They cannot risk the boys being overrun should the men act on any impulse of retribution; only the veterans will serve with them now, to keep the closest watch.

A loud whoop of laughter rings out from the other end of the room, from the squires and their cheery japes. No, not squires, no longer squires, Levi has to remind himself. They are knights now, dubbed and anointed as he is, no matter how young. And they will not remain so. Further service and battle will change that. And time. Which is, at present, working further changes on them. Connie, who not too long ago was of his height, now overtops him, to Levi’s displeasure; a large part of him feels betrayed.

“Laughter is always a good thing to hear. Sir Symon should be here to partake of it. Or at least to listen.” Hange smiles sadly. “How terrible it must be, to know you are the last. It’s a hard sentence to bear.”

“The law is the law, no matter how hard.” The Lord Commander hesitates for an instant, before advancing, “No matter his… disposition, and his judgement, it has been hard for His Majesty as well. We’re looking to you, for good measure, to keep him safe down where he will not let us follow.”

Prior Hange nods soberly, and Levi is left to ponder. His Majesty has been visiting the vaults more often these days, and lingering longer than his Guard would like. Levi can trace this change as having come about in the days of the late Lady Mariya’s death. Which had concurred with the late Zheletine priest’s court visit.

The king’s private enterprise has been years long in the making. It started with Dietrich, the most truculent of lords in recent memory. Where it will end is yet to be determined. Rod Reiss, the First of His Name, will not be the first Reiss to start this selfsame enterprise. The end may yet be imminent but it need not be uncertain, if the fates of His Majesty’s enterprising forebears were anything to go by. You would think he, or anyone else, would learn by now.

It is the stuff of the Lord Commander’s worst nightmares, this project, and it tears him between duties - to obey and to protect. He had dared ask the king, once, the nature of this undertaking, only to be coldly rebuffed and warned off of further inquiry, on pain of dishonorable discharge. No man of them has inquired since.

They can put two and two together, nevertheless. His Majesty can make his Priors swear all the oaths he requires and warn off his Guard all he likes, yet that cannot make them ignore the sounds, muffled though they are by thick metal. Levi hears them still, in his nightmares. Disembodied they are in life; at the castle in the air in the gloaming, they take on the most monstrous forms. The Titans were long before his time but he has seen the tapestries, the portraits and the paintings, and those come to life in his head in his worst nights.

It disturbs him to no end to know that the king will see them living once more.

“All this magic in the world and we can’t even wield it. All the potential, all of humanity’s progress wasted. At the least, it would make this whole thing so much easier.” Hange sighs. “It’s an ironic thing, isn’t it, that the thing we are working on is the very reason we lost our divinity in the first place.” Sworn to silence she may be yet this vow she does not keep. Not with them, the Lord Commander and his leal right hand. They proved too sharp to feign ignorance with, so there is little point in upholding the farce.

“For all the death and destruction they brought, though… Titans were a marvel unlike any other. To see even one alive… to know that it was I who brought them about… that it was due to my brilliance that the impossible was made possible… I should die happy,” Hange breathes, and slumps down on her chair, dreamy as a milkmaid mooning over her farm hand.

It is all Levi can do not to shake his head at her. “A misstep and you’ll die before you see your life’s ambition come to pass. There will be no joy in it for you, I promise you.” Doubly so should their studies cause the death of the king. Some days of late, he emerged much the worse for wear, to the Lord Commander’s increasing disquiet. Holding his tongue to obey his king is becoming more of a sore trial, day after day after day.

“The Northern Matter, it’s what’s spurring him on. They won’t stand up to him if he still had the old power,” says Hange, suddenly grim as the grave they had reduced Zheletov to.

Ill-done, it was ill-done, a voice oft suppressed murmurs within. Try as he might to play deaf, something in Levi acknowledges the voice’s truth. Once, his nights would have been spent in the company of the dangling dead. Sleeping like a log makes for a superior shield against the accusing eyes. And time. The dead have lost all the power they held over him. Something in him is appalled by the fact. Death is never supposed to be easy.

“This is not the place or time to discuss this,” Erwin breaks in tersely, a note of warning in his voice.

“Do the lads know?” Hange asks, as though Erwin had not spoken. “When are you going to tell them? Soon or late, they must know if they’re expected to perform their duty to its full.”

The Lord Commander sighs. “Soon.” When their mouths prove as closed as mine, are his words unsaid.

“I’m back.”

Hange gasps and pops up from her seat, dashing toward the solar door with cries of welcome and glee. Mike fends her off at once as best he can from his basket of goods. “Marchpane!” she squeals, grabbing at the crock of it sitting atop his promised sweet rolls. Matthias Ackerman looks on from his place by the door, unimpressed by the tomfoolery occurring beneath his bronze nose. To be sure, there is very little that can impress the bust of the first Lord Commander. Levi wonders if this was true of his ancestor in life; he will know where his own temperament comes from, if so.

“Soon?”

The current Lord Commander gives Levi the briefest of looks before he stands from his desk. The squires-turned-knights are coming over, drawn by the Prior’s capers and the smell of fresh-baked bread. Erwin proceeds to his subordinate to grab a bite of his own. “Soon.”

You tap on the door, the little knock that you and Eren have taken to using for your late-night meetings. You have not used or heard it in quite some time now, now that you think on it. The blowback from the Northern Matter had cut into your nighttime arrangements. That is not to mention the hassle that came with traveling and settling back into the rhythm of being home once more.

But you have grown peckish reading Lore and Luminaries (which you had borrowed from the library at your betrothed’s unknowing influence). Somehow, reading of Gerald and Cressida’s midnight trysts served to make you crave your beloved strawberry cream pie. And your own knight’s company. You had left the lovers of legend in their midnight garden and slipped to the guest wing, by ways only you were privy to. 

Almost all castles have their secret passages, byways to cut the time spent ranging from one side of the keep to another. Most serve a more vital purpose. Father had shown you one such some years ago. It is conveniently located in the anteroom of the family privy chambers. The second panel from the tall window to the left of the room, you must always remember. This one leads to an underground cavern, which opens up to the Arsechkalan countryside. Should the worst come to pass and you are besieged by enemies, gods forbid, you are to take here the family and as many of the household as you can and escape for the nearest sanctuary.

It is a grim probability and not one you want to think too deeply on yet you know your duty. A good ruler must save as many of her people as she can in times of peril.

The passage you took to visit your knight had a less bleak purpose. Sir Bacon - may the gods give him rest, the darling thing - had found it for you sometime before you entered court. There it is, in the corridor that leads to the empty chambers connected to yours (your future consort’s, your parents informed you). The brown tabby had tripped a mechanism in one of the hallway’s alcoves and you had both slipped through. This one leads to a hidden garden, an old sanctum, now unused, which in turn leads to the inner palace gardens (this one not a sanctum). From there, it is no trouble slipping through the castle halls to your destinations of choice. It allows you to steer clear from the guards posted by the privy chambers, at least, which makes for the greatest of godsends.

You hope Eren isn’t asleep yet.

His door swings open and a god emerges. The breath leaves your lungs with all speed.

The firelight from the braziers standing either side of the entryway gives this god a bronze cast and throws shadows across his naked skin, accentuating every line, every crest of hard corded muscle. This is a sight not new to you. You saw it then in Zheletov and see it often in your most desirous dreams, yet in this warm gilded light he is even more a glory. His is a stunningly perfect body. And he is; stunning and perfect, broad and lean and muscled, handsome, so handsome, the consummate image of a man at his best. Your eyes roam lower, to the sharp-etched muscles of his flat stomach and the dip of his hip bones, to his dark pants sitting low on his hips, to what lay beneath the concealing cloth, right there in the junction of his thighs…

Your throat has gone dry as dust. You swallow and attempt to drag your eyes up to his face. A fine sheen of sweat brought on by the fuggy air makes him gleam almost golden. Like the Sun. The Creed oft depicts him as such, Lusin, god of sun and flame and youth. The golden god, young and handsome and virile, a deity to rival that comeliest of gods Elios, the male half of Lyias the Lover.

You need not look too far to see Lusin mortal incarnate. The young man before you is fire made flesh, an ethereal being, a golden man.

He has been drinking in your own form, you realize, catching the tail end of the movement of his eyes as they flick up to yours. His eyes are dark.

“Um,” you begin, knitting your fingers together on your stomach and withering a little inside at your discomposure. Bad form, bad form. “D-did I wake you?” The stutter makes you wither some more.

“Uh, no, actually, I was just… headed there. To bed, I mean.” His eyes drop down to your chest, much exposed by your short-sleeved black vevda, and back up again. “To what do I owe this nighttime pleasure?”

“I’m peckish,” you say, your voice coming steadier now, to your relief. You try to ignore the dip in his voice as he said his last two words. “I thought I’d invite you along to have a midnight nibble, just like the old times.”

“The old times of three months ago.”

You laugh lightly as the mists of tension dissipate a little. “Yes.” You pause. “Unless you’d rather head to bed. To sleep,” you hurriedly tack on when his abundant eyebrows vanish above his hairline. “I mean, it’s late and I can understand if you’re tired and would rather rest, I can go by myself-”

There is something in the way he says your name that silences you at once. Eren gives you one of his delightful crooked smiles, full of fond affection. He holds on to his doorframe, carrying on, “I’d love to accompany you. Let me just-” He gestures down his bare torso. You wish he hadn’t.

You purse your lips and merely nod, not trusting yourself to speak. He flashes you another smile, takes another peek at your breasts, and withdraws, closing his door with a soft snap.

A quiet gasp escapes you the instant he disappears. What was it he said about less dangerous hours and less dangerous dresses? “Fuck,” you curse softly, standing still in front of his door. You glance down at your chest. It hadn’t truly occurred to you just how deep this neckline went. Not until he brought attention to it with his, frankly, shameless ogling. You didn’t even mean to tease him with this garb, truly - you hadn’t been lying when you told him of your tastes in homegrown fashions.

You stride over to the opposite wall and sit on the nearby daybed placed between two rounded pillars, a lounge for hosts to mingle with and keep their guests company. Your twined fingers rest primly on your lap. For all that you tease your betrothed, you certainly are not impervious to him. And he knows that well, and takes advantage. From thus comes your ebb and flow.

He had fucked himself to you that night you noted that ebb and flow. It is one of those strange thoughts, surreal in their strangeness; they seem too… much to be true, and yet they are. Up until that night, you had not truly allowed yourself to consider the possibility that he, Eren Jaeger - sweet and kind Eren Jaeger, a boy oftentimes so stiffly awkward in the face of desire and romance - could ever desire you as much as he apparently did. And yet he did. By the gods, he did.

You had set that drying sheet aside, singling it out lest you lose it from the countless identical others in your possession. You do not know how he used it for his pleasure (and ruminating on that brings its own pleasure). You do know that it had known the touch of that glorious body, that it had caressed the most intimate parts of him in ways you could only hope to do someday (and the day is growing closer, so much closer).

The Lady Wanton was most disappointed that he had laundered the thing afterward. Gone was his most alluring essence, lost to you this time. You had so wanted to tell him - to his sweet, sheepish face as he returned the cloth the next day - that you couldn’t give two figs about him sullying what was yours. The Lady would have been thankful for a splash of water off his skin, his sweat… even a hint of his seed.

You squeeze your fingers hard upon your lap, stunned by the turn of your thoughts. Never have you shrunk back from your most wanton musings, but never before has a young man induced so much of them out. And in that capacity, too. You chuckle to yourself. It is the most bizarrely droll thing. There he is, getting dressed for one of your many late-night jaunts; here you are, sitting on the daybed and thinking about his seed…

The creak of wood and iron hinges makes you jump a little in your seat, throwing your mind back to the present and out of the gutters that it had rolled in so happily. Your godly knight comes to you in a dark vidnon, dark as the sky at midnight, black and violet both. Its silver lining at hem and sleeve and edge are bands of stars, elegant against the darkness. 

Her ladyship Mistress Wanton rues the loss of the sight of his radiant body. You have not much to rue, in truth, favored as you are by the sight of his broad chest, partially bared by the loosely tied jacket. The light is his most ardent lover, so determined to show him at his finest. You stand from your seat, hands still clasped in front of you.

“My lady. Shall we?” He reaches to take one of your hands in his own.

You recoil at his touch, to both of your bewilderment.

“What’s wrong?” With his concern comes the smallest inkling of hurt. 

The sight of it makes your stomach drop. “I-I’m sorry. I’m just… a little wrought up, I don’t know what came over me.” You reach out for him and slide your fingers through his, holding tight. His hand is rough, so warm against yours. As it always is. “Let’s head on, then,” you smile up at him, and are relieved when he returns it.

Perhaps your wanton thoughts and his touch make for a more overwhelming blend than you realize.

The kitchens are empty, the pantry well-stocked. Not that well-stocked, Eren complains, when it fails to yield his favorite cream cakes. “I’ll have them start making them for you, then,” you say, placing your mug of tea and plate of strawberry cream pie on the wooden table and sitting down on the bench.

You have lit the branches of candles atop a couple of the fluted pillars that bound the servants’ dining hall. It is not quite enough to banish the shadows, but it is enough to see by. The room opens up to the castle’s herb garden, so beloved of the palace cooks. The waxing moon shines over the plots; its faint light silvers the greenery and lends the place a dream-like aspect.

“Please. If it’s not too much trouble. I do miss the things.” Eren plants himself next to you, having settled on a lemon cake (Armin’s favorite and a staple of their boyhoods) and his own brew. “Let’s see if they can make them as good as Lisa does.”

“I’m sure they’re more than capable of meeting your ideals.” You take your first forkful of confection. Excellent as always, you think, well-pleased. The pastry is well-baked, the cream smooth, the strawberries sweet. Just the way you like it.

“You’ve set the expectations high, milady. Here’s hoping they can, indeed, meet them,” he raises his forkful of cake at you in a teasing toast, then begins his midnight repast in earnest. “You know, for all their tastiness, these can get really sickening really fast when you have them every bloody day,” he remarks thickly, swallowing and looking reflective. “Stupid thing to fight over, though, now that I look back on it. Boys can be the stupidest creatures in the world sometimes.” He shakes his head, amused yet hangdog. “I really gave Armin hell over loving a bleeding cake, gods… speaking of, have you heard back from him yet?”

“It’s only been a couple of days since our last letter,” you remind him, making him hum in recollection. The both of you have been corresponding with Armin this reprieve, sharing parchment and taking it in turns to write down your sections. So far as you have heard, Armin’s reprieve is proving to be rather mundane. And dutiful. 

He had filled his scrolls with accounts of councils and audiences and meetings, with the occasional trifling yarn. His Alyfeis was as festive as ever, he had told you in his last missive. Some fisherman had caught a swordfish fifteen feet long, which he had offered to Lord Hagen for the audience, now they must dine on nothing but swordfish for a month, the Young Master Arlert jested. He sounds well, in any case, and both of you are glad of it.

“Nice to know it’s all rosy on his front, no matter how unremarkable,” Eren says, then snatches a piece of your pie, to your disbelief. He chews and blinks and smiles, cheeks dimpling a little, innocent as Olya after his daily shenanigans.

You pout at him a little, though you can feel your lips trembling. “If you want less unremarkable news, the one from home should serve you more than passing well.”

Eren widens his eyes at you, chewing on his own sweet now, frowning and chewing faster to chastise you as you take the moment to raid his own plate. The tartness of his cake is a pleasant change from the sweetness of your pie. He swallows and gripes, “Oi, no fair.”

“It’s more than fair, thief.”

He snorts yet smiles all the same. “All right, the debt is paid. As to that other thing… I’m to be an uncle twice over now.” His mouth curls in mild revulsion. “Their sheets must be exceptionally dirty these days for that to actually happen.”

“Oh, hush, you,” you reproach, light-hearted, smiling at his little snicker. “Took them five years this time. I suppose Zeke’s hoping for a boy. Your proper Jaeger heir.” You have to scoff at these Paradisian conventions. Ymir can rule just as well as her lord grandfather. Having or not having a cock should never be a consideration in such matters as power. In this is yet another way the Old Way triumphs over the new. You, at least, need never worry about Tibor or Oliver supplanting your rights. Vascalin is yours.

“And I move down the line of succession,” Eren declares, with no hint of envy or regret. This betrothed of yours has never aspired to further power or rule, a fact you find noteworthy. Honor, glory, and renown make his ambition, nothing more.

“Should Elva have a boy, we’ll have the making of little Ymir.” Lord Grisha had broached the matter with Father in the letter he’d sent bearing the monumental news. The birth of a brother will leave her free for wardship.

“Southron-raised, just like her uncle,” Eren mulls, taking a thoughtful sip of his tea. “A fine court to be in. I expect to see a proper lady when she comes back to us in full.”

“Of course, you’ll have nothing less.” Ludicrous to expect anything less. “Too bad she won’t have Olya for company. Still, there are the other wards, she won’t get lonely.”

Eren has finished his cake at last. “Olya’s a good lad. A champion in the making.” It had been such a joy to watch your betrothed instruct your brother in the ways of the horseman. You had acquired a pony for the little lad, a sorrel colt Olya had named… Lad. Lad was a gentle thing, an easy enough mount for a boy of five to manage. Eren had taught Olya the fundamentals, the equipment, the proper stances, and walked the boy around the inner yard to get him used to the motions. Olya had wanted to canter, but Eren put his foot down; he must walk before he could canter.

Seeing Eren handle your baby brother was… enlightening. It is not often you see him around children, yet he handles them more than exceptionally well whenever he chances to be with them. Ymir, Olya, even slightly older children like the miller’s girl Meadow, all of them he treated with an easy warmth. You find yourself pushing your fork around your plate, swirling cream and crumbs and strawberries about. He would make a great father, the smallest of voices whispers within. You smile tremulously down at the remains of your pie.

“Oh, look at this.” You have unearthed that rarest of treasures: a twin strawberry. Such luck. There it sits in the middle of the dish, a delicious red heart half-buried in sweet white cream.

“Luck,” Eren whistles, leaning closer to see. Heat prickles down your skin at his proximity.

“Do you want the other half?” You are cutting it down the middle and spearing the piece with your fork before you can think too much on anything else. You hold the utensil up to him, offering.

He does not move to take the morsel at once and merely stares at it, quite uncomprehending. Blank. There is something incredulous about his blankness, you notice. You suppress your smile. This will hardly be the first time you’ve ever fed him. You wonder what holds him back this time around.

Eren stirs back to life several heartbeats later and opens his mouth for the treat. You give it to him gladly, watching his lips close around the steel to take his half of luck. A pink flush colors his cheeks as he chews, faint in the dimness of the hall yet visible all the same. His eyes never leave yours, though.

You break the stare to tuck in to your own half, very aware of where this fork has been, of whose essence you are now polishing off the ware. Somehow, this piece is the sweetest of them all.

“There’s cream on your cheek.”

You still as a long, slender finger runs gently down the skin of your face, near the righthand corner of your mouth. You turn your head to look at Eren and watch as that finger vanishes into his mouth. He catches your eyes and flushes once more, yet his embarrassment leaves as soon as it comes. “Sweet,” he says, low and simple.

It is some time before you can think to look away, closing your slightly open mouth. You cannot recall parting them. “Let’s head back.” You make to stand from the bench.

“My lady.”

There is something in his voice that strikes. He is earnest as earnest can be when you turn to him once more. “I know I tease you sometimes but I never mean to upset. If such attentions are unwelcome, then tell me and I’ll stop. But,” he reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, looking down at his lap like a scolded boy, “I thought we’d reached a certain understanding of one another the past month or so.”

Guilt blazes up in you at his crestfallen face. “No, it’s all right! I mean,” you shy away some, fiddling with your fingers on the table, “your attentions are very much welcome.” Perhaps you had been more curt than you meant to be, earlier. And you did flinch away from him before that, much earlier by his rooms… All responses easily misconstrued. You resolve to do better moving forward. “We do have an understanding of each other now,” you add quietly. “I’m sorry if I came off so… standoffish.”

Relief overtakes him, so strongly that it brings a smile to your face. “I’m-I’m glad,” he answers softly, taking up your hand in his and kissing it, light and gentle.

You leave the kitchens with the air cleared between you.

“So.” Once again you stand at the threshold of his chambers, about to part ways this time. You give him a parting beam. “Good night, Sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Good night, my lady. Dream of me tonight.”

Both of you giggle at that, and your fingers thread through each other upon your stomach as you contemplate your next course of action. Hesitating, hesitating… Oh, hell. You move forward and tilt your head up. Lemon and tea, soap and wood, Eren floods your being as you press your lips to his cheek, right at the edge of his mouth. You move away several heartbeats later, smiling at him one last time. “I hope your dreams will be as sweet as mine.”

And you turn and float away. You look back once you reach the end of the hall. Still he stands outside his door, staring back at you with a hand up his cheek. Like a statue. The most handsome statue. The tale of Kamilla the Kisser comes back to you then, she of the village of Swiftfrost, the girl who could turn men to stone with a kiss.

You giggle, wave, and move on.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

---

A/N:

Disclaimer! Any real-life herbs I mentioned and their properties are heavily played around with and may not reflect their real uses and properties in real life. Fantasy = playing around with these kinds of things, after all.

Added 1 (one) paragraph in Chap. 10 about Eren being quite fluent in the Traders’ Tongue for future purposes hehe. Also reworded a bit of Levi’s Chap. 4 dialogue to reflect the plot here - the old draft made it seem like they had no idea about Rod’s plans in the vaults.

And speaking of, yes, at last, the reveal of what His Majesty’s hobby actually is: he’s trying to bring back the Titans. Major plot point commences. To add on: Lord Commander background! And memories of squires for Sir Levi. Oh, Farlan...

I mentioned Wolfborn before, yes? Literally wrote Eren’s POV with their little theme (5:44 - 6:07)  in mind and I just *sighs* *swoons* at last, one of my favorite scenes come to life! Can’t wait for the next ones, hehehe. Ahh, the young couple coming to grips with *love*. Is it love? Is it? 😬😌🤭

Speaking of themes... toying with the idea of publicizing my playlist for the fic... and maybe publishing all the lore details as an extra (most like in AO3)... the playlist is more likely to happen but... I’ll see, I’ll see. I’ll deffo post links if I get around to them.

Again, thanks so much for the support and interest in the fic! Everyone’s been so kind and I’m storing all the love in my little heart <3 Til next time!

Tagging: @princess-okkotsu @lukepattersin​ @tojis-discord-kitten

[bebepac]

The Adorkable Liam Rys

I am participating in @choicesflashfics weekly prompt  -- I remember practicing how to ask you out in the mirror will be in bold.

This is a special chapter of my series School Dayz, please feel free to check the series out and see what has happend so far in Apple Valley USA where there fic takes place.

The Book: TRR (no royals) Series:  School Dayz Pairings:  Liam x Riley  Word Count: 2500 Ratings and Warnings: Teen for a first kiss, but it was pretty tame.   Summary: Liam and Riley go on their first date

Song Inspiration: Take Me There by Blackstreet, Mya, Mace, Blinky Blink

Song Inspiration: Gangsta’s Paradise by Coolio, LV

Original Post: 10/15/22 at 11:21PM EST.

A/N:  Thanks to @dcbbw​ for mentioning how “adorkable” my Liam is in this AU.  

My inner monologue had me pumped up.  “Okay Liam Rys you can do this,  you’re a rockstar and Riley likes you, you got this.”  

I popped my collar, and stared at her for a moment while she was pulling books out of her locker.  I was ready to do this.  I can do this.  I’m  going to ask out my girlfriend.  

I strolled cooly over to her locker.  

“Hey!”  

She turned around smiling at me.  

“Hey!  Is that for me?” She pointed to the coffee drink in my hand that I was holding out to her.

“It sure is, I got your favorite.”  

Handing her the drink, I leaned against the locker trying to be cool.  

She took a sip of the drink and gave me an approving nod.

“It’ll do.”  

That didn’t seem like Riley, but she was still smiling at me.

“So what’s up?”  

“The weekend is coming up.”  

“Yeah it is. I can’t wait, and we are having a long weekend too? No school on Monday! Yes!”

“Exactly.  I was wondering, this Friday if you’d like to go out with me.”  

Her eyes widened, and she started laughing.  “OMG Liam, how can you not tell us apart?!?!?  She shook her head.  

“Taylor?  It’s you? But….”

She loudly scoffed, shaking her head.  

“We look nothing alike!”

SAYS THE IDENTICAL TWIN ABOUT THE OTHER IDENTICAL TWIN!!!!

“Riley’s out sick today, I was just getting her books out of her locker to take home for her,  she actually wants to do her homework.  Thanks for the hot chocolate, but for future reference my favorite drink is a caramel iced latte with an extra espresso shot.”  

Taylor slammed the locker door shut and walked away.

I sat up  in surprise. How the hell did that just happen?!?!?  How did I mess up asking Riley out in my own fantasy?!?!?!?! My inner monologue asked myself.

Riley’s notebook came into my peripheral view causing me to glance down at it.  The words “Are you okay?”  were written in her bubbly handwriting.  

I nodded.

She smiled at me and then turned her attention back to our teacher up front.  Riley Brooks had been my girlfriend  for a whole month.  Even before she became my girlfriend, we spent a lot of time together.  We’d been to so many things where we met up with each other, but I had never asked Riley out on a date, just us.  I think it's time to level up. Riley was not only super smart, and kind, but she's beautiful inside and out. Riley turned to look at me again.

“Is there something on my face?”  she asked. 

 I hadn’t realized I was staring at her, but she did.

“No, your face is perfect.”

She smiled that beautiful smile at me again, but this time, her cheeks reddened a bit.  

After class I carried Riley’s books to her locker for her.  The courage was there.  I could really do this.

“Riley?”  

“Yes?”

When she stared up at me with her walnut colored eyes all the courage melted away.  I was a puddle of goo lost in the alluring eyes of Riley Brooks.

“Liam?”

“You know what, I am not feeling that great,  I think I’m going to find Leo and see if he can take me home.”  

“Okay. I hope you feel better.”

I stayed at the school nurse faking a stomach ache for a bit, and while I was there, I concocted a plan.  

Leo seemed unconvinced. “Liam,  Riley’s your first girlfriend, don’t you think this is a little much?”

“Riley is just not a girl.  She’s THE girl. 

 And if I don’t do this the right way,  she might not be able to go out with me. Her brother is overprotective of her too.  This is the only way. I need to talk to her father.”

“You mean he didn’t answer when you called 911 and asked for him?”    Leo burst out laughing at the look on my face.  “I’m kidding, just making sure you really wanted to do this for her.”  

“She’s worth it Leo.”  

“Okay, then let’s do this.”

I walked up to the desk.

“May I speak with Detective Brooks please?”

“Who might I say is asking for him?”

“Liam Rys, ma’am.”

“Alright, I will check and see if he’s available. You can sit over there to wait.”    

We were waiting for around ten minutes before I saw Mr. Brooks walking towards us.

I immediately stood, and slapped Leo’s arm, for Leo to stand as well.

“Mr. Brooks Sir!”

“Liam.  Who’s this?”

“This is my brother Leo.”

“What’s up 5.0?”  

“Um….”   Detective Brooks gave Leo the side eye.  

“Sir, could I talk to you for a few minutes?”

“Sure, I’ll take you back to my office.  Is Gangsta’s Paradise coming with you?”

Author’s note:  RIP Coolio!

“Huh?”   Both of us were confused by the reference.

“Nevermind, just follow me.”  

Once in the office Mr. Brooks looked at the two with a very critical eye.

“What’s on your mind Liam?”

“Your daughter sir.”  

Now it was Leo’s turn to hit my shoulder.  “Abort!”  

“Riley is the smartest girl I know. She tells funny jokes, that always makes me laugh, and she’s kind.  And she’s really really pretty, but that’s not the first thing I noticed about her.  So of course she’s on my mind.”

“And here I was thinking Taylor would be the one that would have someone trailing her like a lost puppy when we moved here, and it’s Riley.”

“With your permission sir, I would like to ask Riley out on a date.”

“My permission?”  

Mr. Brooks looked around in surprise.

“Yes sir.  It seems like the proper thing to do, and I care about Riley.”  

“And how pray tell are you going to take her out on a date?  You don’t have a driver’s license.”  

“That’s where I come in.  I have a license and can chauffeur the two little lovebirds around. And I have a clean driving record, no tickets or DUIs.”

“You shouldn’t have any DUI's, you are not the legal age to drink.  There is no age to use illegal drugs.”  

“And I wouldn’t Your Honor.”

‘I am not a judge.”

“You sure about that? Cuz you’ve been giving my little bro the judgy eyes since we got here.”

“Leo!”  

“The point, Your Lordship, my brother likes your daughter.  So much so, that he sought your approval before even going to her to ask her out.  He’s really doing a chivalrous and noble thing, that I didn’t agree that he should have to do, but that he cared enough to do for her.”

“When did you want to take Riley out?”  

“This Friday Mr. Brooks.”  

Mr. Brooks looked from Leo to him.

“If Riley says yes, she can go out with you, under one condition.”  

“Yes sir?”  

“She needs to be home before eleven.”

“Yes sir.  I can do that. Thank you sir.”  

I felt like I was floating on air as we walked back out to the car.

“So now we’re going to the mall.  You need a new pair of pants, and a tie.  And we need to order Riley flowers for Friday.  You were right about Mr. Brooks.  He’s old school.  I thought that I had seen or heard that term Gangsta’s Paradise before, it’s a song.  I mean check out this song. The hook is lit.”  

That evening I stood in front of my mirror.  I worked on and rehearsed the words for several hours. Finally I had in my mind what I wanted to say, and it sounded natural with me saying it.

“Riley, if you’re not busy on Friday night, I’d love to take you out on a date.”  

“Oh Liam, Yes A thousand times yes!”   Leo screeched in a high pitched voice in a crude attempt to imitate Riley.

Leo punched my shoulder.  “She’ll say yes, don’t worry.”  

The next morning Riley and Taylor were both standing at her locker.  

I gave Riley her signature hot chocolate, but I had decided and bought a second drink.

“Here Taylor, I thought you might like this.”   From my day dream I got her the drink that she said was her favorite.

Taylor took a hesitant sip, then her eyes widened.  “Oh my God!  Liam this is amazing!!!!  How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Why don’t you ever get me coffee, Nico? Liam buys Riley hot chocolate every single day.”  

Nico looked irritated at me.  Maybe he should up his game I thought to myself but didn’t have the nerve to say.  

With Riley alone, it was finally time to ask her the words I had been planning to the past few days.

“I’d love to.”  Riley responded.

“Great!  I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“You’ll pick me up?”  

“Yes. I’ll pick you up.”  

“Alright.”  

Date Night Liam

“This stupid thing!!!!”  

I was trying to tie my tie, but I just couldn’t get it right.

Leo, hearing me grunt in frustration, walked into my room.

“What is wrong? I thought you’d be about ready to go?”

“I can’t get my tie right.”  

“It’s okay little brother, let me help. It’s not hard to do. It’s one of the very few things Dad taught me when he was around.”  

“Thanks Leo.”  

“You look nice.  Riley will think so too.  Now let’s go pick up the flowers, and get your lovely lady.”

Date Night Riley

She wanted to look pretty for her date with Liam, but she also wanted to look like her.  Taylor had the flair for dramatics, and that wasn’t what Riley wanted.  She thumbed through her closet of clothes carefully, deciding to look like herself, not a less flashy version of Taylor.  She picked her outfit.  

Riley decided to do her own makeup,  and no jewelry or earrings.  

“Riley… you look….beautiful.”  

“Thanks Mom. It’s not too plain?”  

“No, you’re perfect baby.”  Ren hugged her, her mom began to sniffle as she hugged her tighter.

“Mom, are you crying?”

“No. Not at all. Okay maybe a little bit.  He’s down stairs right now.  And he’s absolutely adorkable.”  

“He is adorkable.”  

I jumped up when  Riley came walking down the stairs.  

“Hi Liam.”  

“Hi Riley… I got these for you.”  I held out the bouquet of flowers for her to take.

“They’re really pretty. Thank you.”  

“Not as pretty as you.”  

“Awwwwwww….”  

“Mom….. stahhhhhp!!!!”  But Riley was giggling.

“I’ll go put these in some water for you.”  

“My brother is outside in the truck Mr. Brooks.  He’s going to be driving us around tonight.”

“Make sure he minds the speed limit, because he has precious cargo with him, and I know people.”  

“Daaaaaaaadddddd.”  

“Yes sir.”

Walking up to my brother’s SUV I made sure I was in the lead so I could open the back door for Riley first.  I could feel her father’s eyes on me watching.  Once Riley was safely inside I gently closed her door and walked around the vehicle to get in myself.

For dinner I decided on the local italian restaurant.  

“Italian is my favorite Liam, I’m so glad you picked here for dinner, and of course asking me to have dinner with you.”

“I remember practicing how to ask you out in the mirror.”  

“Was that what you were trying to say the other day and didn’t? You looked so sweaty and nervous.”  

“I was sweaty and nervous, and yes it was.”

“Well I’m glad you got your courage up then.”  

“Me too. So tell me Riley, what’s your favorite Italian dish?”  

“Lasagna, most definitely, what about you?”  

“Mine is spaghetti and meatballs.”    

Riley laughed.

“What?”

“From anyone else, I’d question that, from you, it’s endearing. My mom called you adorkable.”  

“That’s me, the adorkable Liam Rys.”  

After dinner Leo was driving to our next location.  

“I hope you don’t think this is lame, and I haven’t been here since I was a kid, but I remember it being cool.”

“Where are we going?”  

“I know you have allergies, and I do too,  but I wanted to go stargazing with you without us needing inhalers or allergy medication or bug repellant.”

“And where can we do that?”  

Riley glanced out the window, and let out a happy squeal.  “We’re going to the planetarium?”

“Is it dumb?”  

“I love this idea, thank you Liam.”  

Riley kissed my cheek.  

I glanced up seeing Leo smiling in the rearview mirror.  

“I love that song. Can you turn it up?”  

“No prob, not only am I the designated driver, I’m also the DJ.”  Leo turned up the volume on the stereo, and Riley sang along with the song.

“Been spendin’ most their lives, livin’ in a gangsta’s paradise…”

“Yeah it’s a good song.”  

I didn’t want to say it was my first time hearing it today, as it clearly wasn’t Riley’s first time hearing it, and she knew most of the lyrics to the song.

I decided to take Riley’s hand when we went into the planetarium.  

“I haven’t been to one of these in a really long time either Liam.”  

“I hope it’s as cool as eight year old Liam remembers it being.”  

“I’m not worried, neither should you.”  

The lights dimmed and we stared up as the light show began.  

 It started simply as a clear night, then the stars began to appear, then constellations began to glow to the beats of the soft music playing.  Riley was staring at the ‘sky’ in awe, but I was mesmerized by her.  She looked so happy.  

“A shooting star! Quick Liam! Make a wish!”  she whispered to me.  

I made a silent wish that I hoped would come true tonight.  

“What did you wish for?”  she asked.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”  

The show ended with a little ‘thunderstorm’ and a little mist from the sprinklers above to imitate that it was raining.  Riley nuzzled closer to me and I slipped my arm around her.   It was a wonderful night.  

At 10:42pm EST we were standing on the Brooks’s front steps.  

“I had a really great time.”  

“We should do this again, if you want.”  

“I’d like that Liam. This night was perfect.”  

“Almost.”  

“What was missing?”  

I leaned into Riley and kissed her, not a cheek kiss but on her lips.  She seemed surprised, but didn’t pull away from me, but instead when my arms tightened around her waist, hers wrapped around my neck, fingers on one hand were twirling around the hair at the nape of my neck making little curls. 

After a few more moments I reluctantly pulled away, as I had noticed the porch light flicker twice.  

“Now it was a perfect night.”

“It really was.”  

“Good night Liam.”

“Good night Riley.”

I walked out to the SUV once inside, Leo screamed.  “Hell Yeah! That’s my little brother!!!!!”

I smiled at Leo, but the only person on my mind was Riley.  Was it too soon to say, I was already in love with Riley Brooks?  

[greypetrel]

Haiiiii ✨💛 *serve minimo tre teglie di tiramisù*

For the AU meme (please do pick just one if these are too much :'D) : -15 for an Alyra and Aisling tag team (bonus if Merrill is interfering) -16 for the raccoon of our hearts and/or bearded king Garrett (but the king/queen is someone unexpected OO:) -26 for all of the babies / two of your choice / it's the TQC crew (omg!) instead and the DM is Darcy bambino mio bellissimo aaaaand of course Shahra has Something To Say about it because the setting is clearly a ballroom scene disguised as a dungeon

MA BUONGIORGIO.

I’m writing this as I start: let’s see if I can make it with three short things to post all together. The first one set my brain on fire and I’m loving it so WHO KNOWS.

Added after the first AU: OOPS. In my defense: I love urban fantasy and New York settings and this could become a series by itself.

Tis the prompt list

Could be Worse.

15. Urban fantasy/paranormal (werewolves, vampires, ghosts, paranormal investigators, etc.)

It all had seemed a good, innocent enough way to make more money.

Or at least, that’s what Alyra had thought at the start, when she and Morrigan had set up this whole endeavour.

They needed it to keep their house, an old abandoned firehouse that they were slowly and steady renewing. Except, the rent spiked, and neither of them together could allow it anymore. Go figure with a child of 10 in the middle.

So they decided, one night, that combining forces for a little, innocent scam that could bring them some more money, would have been the way to go. They just needed the guts to lie in people face, and they both had it, and competences enough to make their stories plausible - and they had them too.

Morrigan, an History professor at the Saint Nug Community College and part-time herbalist, would have made something up to root their claims in historical evidences, and concoct a fake exorcism. Alyra, a forensic psychologist, would convince old grannies that what they saw was correct. They just needed a scientific counterpart.

Hence when Lavellan came in. A colleague of Morrigan, who couldn’t lie to save her life and was there only because her job didn’t pay her enough to repay her student debt (“You wouldn’t believe how little Columbia pays their PhD students and assistants!” she would say, laughing it off), but beside the weird habit to dance when she had a blowtorch in her hand -who left Alyra extremely worried and had set on fire at least two cardboard boxes, one flower vase and Kieran’s homeworks- she was clever and insanely competent.

Or well, usually.

Not when she was shaking her instrument like it was a spray can, a frown on her face as the relevator beeped and booped wildly.

In front of the client, of course.

“Everything is perfectly all right, Mrs D’Onterre, our expert is just…” Alyra looked behind her, at the blonde who was now hitting her device against the wall as they walked on, muttering something with a pout in her voice. “… Checking that our instruments are perfectly functional. Which they are, right, Dr. Lavellan?”

“Oh? Y-yes, uh…” She blushed and stopped using her relevator as a hammer, retreating it and starting to look at it intentely, a deep frown on her face. They had tried to teach her to make a poker face, with scarce results for now. At least she was aware of it enough to look elsewhere. “… There’s some great activity, here.”

“Which means that we must be close.” Morrigan concluded, much more convincingly, stepping quicker and stopping before the group in front of a closed door. She turned on herself, making a show with a swirl of the fringes of her shawl and a tingle of jewelry as she did so. She dressed the part of the witch, and looked like one, deep kajal making her eyes seem even more poignant in the dim light of the old house. All in black and dark Bordeaux, she looked positively like a raven. “Now, Mrs D’Onterre, I must ask you to leave us alone. We need to commune with the Spirit, for the exorcism to be effective.”

“But I’m sure I could be of help in communicating with my poor, poor husband-” The lady tried to argue, nervously playing with the long string of pearls on her neck.

From the noise of them, Alyra considered, they must have been true: which only meant they could ask for more money than what they initially thought. If only Aisling could behave and stop glaring at the screen as if it had something wrong and she was surprised it reacted, it would have been an easy job, and they would have returned home with a glorious first gig in their pocket, and the money to pay rent.

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t be here.” Alyra added, with a sympathetic hand coming to rest onto the woman’s shoulder. Her shirt was silk. Of course it was. “Ghosts process grief much more violently than the living. Have you heard of the five stages of grief?”

“I-” The woman looked at her, confused. “Y-yes, of course.”

“Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. One after the other. Our departed add Revenge and Destruction, if they’re treated in the wrong way.”

The woman paled at the revelation. Alyra smiled, faking a sympathy she really didn’t feel in the least.

“I know it’s difficult to stay away from your beloved husband, I promise we’ll call you in if the situation will allow it. We just need to make sure dear old Woodrow is past his Revenge or Destruction phase.”

“I see. Please, do all you can, there’s a Picasso in that room, that was his late mother’s. It would destroy him if some harm came to it.”

Alyra’s smile only grew, as her mild disgust for the woman in front of her. But she was a professional, so she just patted the other woman’s shoulder and promised her they would have been extremely careful and done all they can. Poor old Woodrow only needed assistance to pass into the light, and she could have returned to admire the painting her husband so loved.

And then, finally, after a last recommendation from Morrigan not to open the door, no matter what she heard or saw, they were finally alone in a filthy rich reading room. Scantly lit as well, because if they could afford bookshelves of pure mahogany, a table coffee between two sofas with a marble plane and yes, a damn Picasso painting over the mantel, covered by two flower vases that partially hid it from view, paying for new lightbulbs was definitely too much.

“Fucking parasite.” Alyra hissed.

Morrigan chuckled and started to pour the content of her bag on the coffee table, putting everything in order and sitting on one of the sofas exactly like she belonged, perfectly at ease in the luxury. Hadn’t she known she was born in a hippie community with no running water, Alyra could have thought her for a rundown ex debutante raised in the Upper West Side. She fixed a lighter, an incense burner with some sticks, a bunch of laurel, lavender and rosemary tied together, a small collection of crystals of various colours and shapes, some charts and a golden pendulum.

Which left Alyra free to turn towards the third party, glaring at her and pointing her hands on her hips.

“What did we say about rule number 3?”

“Stick to the plan and follow your hints.” She huffed, fishing a screwdriver out of a pocket of her boiler suit and lowering the goggles on her eyes. They seemed impossibly large and made her look like a fish. “I’m sorry, but this fucking thing is behaving.”

“Behaving how?”

It indeed was still beeping and booping like crazy, filling the room. It was getting pretty annoying, no way around it, and the fact that miss Columbia Doctorate was frowning at him, didn’t bode to anything good.

“It shouldn’t beep like so! It’s supposed to detect electromagnetism in the air… I calibrated it to detect the fields of house appliances, like fridges and A/C units, tvs… But it should not be so loud and insisting. Unless they have a real problem. Something is letting out a strong magnetic field, which makes my relevator react. I don’t know what it is, maybe they have a generator which is malfunctioning, such a strong field can only be caused by a quantity of electricity that isn’t really safe for a house, and if we calculate-”

She stopped, at least, realizing something. She looked up, eyes impossibly big behind the lenses and finally noticing that her colleagues were observing her with utter disinterest in their faces.

“Uhm, either I calibrated it to be way too sensible, or every bits of metal should be magnetic in this house.”

Alyra nodded, and walked briskly to a window, where she tried to stick the house keys to the metal handle. When she let them go, the keys fell to the parquet without a hint of resistance. Huffing in annoyance, the redhead picked them back up.

“Not a magnet. Please make that infernal device stop or I’ll throw it out the window.”

“I’m trying.” Aisling insisted, grumpily, as she slipped her bag on the carpet and sat on the sofa opposite of Morrigan, one ankle folded behind the opposite knee and back curved over her instrument. She fished some more instruments from her bag and set to work.

“Or maybe there’s truly a ghost.” Morrigan said, absent-mindedly, blowing on an incense stick and waving it around.

“Please.” Alyra groaned.

“Why not? This house is very old. XVII century, from the Dutch coloners. The legend says that Gertrude, the daughter of the owners, rich fabric merchants, evoked a demon and killed all her family. And there has been… Quite a few murders in the course of the centuries. All dead by stabbing.”

“We’re in New York City, people stab each other all the times.”

“Not all the time, my love.”

“Remind me to invite you to the next bring your son at work day. You’d be surprised.”

Morrigan chuckled, as she walked around with the incense stick, filling the room with its perfume as she kept on telling the story of that place, and more on the stabbing part. All the victims had been found in that library, all stabbed in the very same vital point. It wasn’t, that much was clear and Alyra worked with the police enough to know it, not the job of an amateur. And with enough mental openness, Morrigan concluded, one could also say that it was the job of not more than one person.

“Or just a bunch of history nerds with prosecution of grandeur and narcissism enough. Do you know how many Zodiacs have appeared?” Alyra muttered, propped on a windowsill and still not convinced.

Still not convinced by the fact that apparently, the smoke all flowed towards a certain corner of the library, right above a big brass globe that worked as liqueur cabinet. Morrigan observed it with interest.

“Odd.”

“There must be an air vent there. Come on, chant some things, spray your water, let’s go. This will cost the old goose enough money for all three of us, and we’ll have pizza on the way back.”

“You really don’t believe in anything unexplainable, do you?” Morrigan turned, cracking half a smile towards her as she raised an eyebrow.

“I think ghosts are just the products of suggestions. There’s no scientific evidence to support sightings, right?”

She turned towards Aisling, who now stood still, looking at the screen with less of a challenge on her face and pure concentration. She rose the goggles back on top of her head, and was munching on the back of the screwdriver absent-mindedly, leaving it beep, and didn’t look up as she spoke.

“Maybe it’s a ghost for real.”

Silence fell on the room. Or well. Almost, because the damned detector was still going crazy.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I’m not. I wouldn’t have accepted this job if I didn’t believe in ghosts and the paranormal.” She looked up, blinking at Alyra with disbelief. “You don’t believe in it?”

“Of course not, this is a scam and I have a Master! You’re a Physicist, why do you believe in ghosts?”

“Because the world is that much duller if Nessie doesn’t exist.”

“You do believe in Nessie.”

“Of course! She’s very gentle and I’d like to give her some scratches. Such a good girl.”

“How do you scientifically explain a plesiosaurus in a Scottish loch?”

“There’s so many things Science hasn’t explained yet…”

“I told you she was the right person for this job, love.”

Alyra groaned loudly, and marched to the liqueur cabinet as well. If she was the only rational one that was sure they were scamming a rich idiot and nothing more, and wasn’t there hunting for ghosts, she definitely needed some liquid courage to restore some of her patience. She opened the globe and took out a bottle of whiskey that looked pricey enough. A fresh gust of wind breezed in her face, but she shrugged it and ascribed it to the air vent.

“Alyra-”

“Stop me.”

She uncorked the bottle -an old Glen McKenna from 1936- and brought it to her lips, when the bottle literally exploded in her hand.

She yelped and jumped behind her, covering the spike in noise from the detector behind her. Morrigan jumped at her, pushing her away and pressing her thumb in her palm, hard. Something felt wet there, and when Alyra looked down, there was blood on her hand.

“… Hell of an alarm.”

“We should get back.”

“We are due rent in two days. Clean this mess, say some prayers, take her money and get out.”

“She’ll realize we didn’t do anything, ask the money back and we’ll be over.”

“There’s no ghost!”

“DOWN!”

Aisling yelled, and Morrigan pushed Alyra down on the ground, just in time for a knife to be thrown over their heads, swishing in the air… And stopping its flight right in the centre of the Picasso on the mantelpiece, swinging forlornly this way and that.

The trio froze, as the detector launched a continuous beep in the air. Alyra’s butt was wet with spilled whiskey and she was sure she had other glass shards in her thigh. But all she could think about was another thing.

“Tell me that painting is a fake, please.”

Morrigan swatted her arm, groaning. Except, another knife appeared out of thin air, pointed right at them.

They froze instantly. How quaint, that when he came to bring them food -which was maybe not so casually every time Aisling was in charge of cooking lunch for everyone when they worked- Cullen, Aisling’s boyfriend, an ex-sergeant in the NYPD, suggested to come with them. Just for support and to do the heavy lifting. Alyra dismissed it with a groan, saying that they didn’t need a person more, and they couldn’t have justified his presence too. He wasn’t thrilled about it, but respected the no.

It would have come handy, right now, a fourth person that actually knew how to behave in a fight.

Everyone got stabbed in New York City, after all, and apparently today was their turn.

“We’re here to help!” Aisling declared aloud, talking right to the corner with the globe as she rose up, hands up in the air, a ghastly expression on her face.

The knife stilled.

No one moved.

“Go on.” Morrigan said, voice aloof as her usual, but Alyra knew her enough to read fright in it. Fright, in how her hands were clutched on her arm.

“I- uh- Sure.” The Physicist behind them continued, clearing her throat. “We- we- We were sent by your wife. Your lovely, lovely wife, to help you.”

The knife moved.

“NO! Please!”

The knife stilled.

“I- uh- W-we didn’t want to touch your things. Or… Or offend you. We did offend you, didn’t we? I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

No reaction from the knife. She walked slowly, palms still up in the air, and never turning from facing the corner. She walked around the coffee table and the other sofa, making her way impossibly slowly towards the corner with the liqueur globe.

“I’m Aisling. That’s Alyra, she’s my friend… She apologizes from taking the whiskey. Right?”

“I don’t-”

Two sets of eyes, one green and the other of a hazel so light that it looked yellow in some light, turned to look at her with scolding. Alyra felt the stupidest she ever felt in her life, but whatever trick it was, she played along. Whatever Aisling was doing was working, and by her own rule, everyone should play along. Damned sisterhood.

“I apologize. I shouldn’t have taken the whiskey without asking.”

The knife lowered its point, and Alyra paled considerably.

“See? She’s not that bad. She’s just a little grumpy and abrasive, but she’s very caring.” Aisling kept on, slowly making her way towards the corner.

“I’m not-”

“You are, love, silence.”

“And the other is Morrigan. She’s a good mom and she knows a lot of things! Really a lot. You would like her, if you read all these books. Her office is also full of books.”

The blonde kept chatting and telling trivial things, which incredibly seemed to be working. The knife didn’t raise again, didn’t motion to move and be thrown. It stood there, still in the air as the blonde apparently tried to befriend an invisible presence or a weird tourist trap. Alyra kept chanting in her head that it was just a tourist trap. That it was just a trick with the A/C, that was why the room was suddenly colder and she could see her breath condensed. That the knife was just hanging from a nylon string that they couldn’t see in the dim light. That was why the light was so dim, so they couldn’t see the trick.

Except, when Aisling came to stand right in front of the weapon, telling the presence of the squirrels in Central Park, and about how she saw one rolling down a hill full of fresh fallen leaves, once, and it was so cute. Slowly, very slowy, she managed to move a hand down and gently close her fingers on the handle of the knife.

“-There.” She said, smiling a little forcibly, but still a smile. “I knew you were good, Woodrow!”

She took the knife in her hand took breath to speak again, when someone else spoke.

“I’m not Woodrow.”

The blonde yelped and jumped behind, letting go of the knife. She stomped heavily on glass shards, thankfully with heavy combat boot on, and Morrigan yelped too, retreating over Alyra to dodge the knife that landed on the carpet where her foot was.

“I’m Cole.”

---

“… And you’re sure you really don’t mind it?”

Alyra asked, flabbergasted by the… Stoicism or stupidity, she couldn’t say, of Aisling’s boyfriend, leaning casually over the door of what had to be the oldest station wagon in the city.

“There are worse things.” He simply answered, shrugging as if it everything was normal.

“Worse thing? Worse things than welcoming a ghost that started to throw knives at people because in 1776 the one person who could see him asked him to guard the house and don’t let people steal from them? What is worse?”

Her voice sounded shrill, and she knew that from an external point of view she would have really looked like the worst in the little group that collected in front of the old firehouse, between the aforementioned run down station wagon and a Volkswagen Westfalia painted in purple and Bordeaux and ravens. And that group counted Morrigan, still dressed like your friendly neighbour witch, in boho fashion, one ring for finger and burning a bunch of bay leaves and rosemary around a floating takeaway cup of mango lassi that was somehow drinking up from the straw, with a decisive sound of sucking, all by itself, and an Aisling that kept on chatting with said floating takeaway cup. Explaining minutely how mango lassi can solve everything in the world, her mother always said, and how he would have loved the flat, and Cullen’s pancakes the next morning.

Said Cullen, who blinked twice at her, and in the most serious way, like he wasn’t talking with a person who was at her second existential crisis of the day, answered.

“She brought home a horse, last year.”

“Horses exist, ghosts don’t!”

He turned to look at the lassi cup, which lowered in time as a male voice spoke:

“I want to see the squirrels.”

“You don’t need to walk ghosts and clean their poop.” Cullen continued, cool as a cucumber. “And I hope this ghost won’t wake me up munching on my toes. Or sit on the couch and bite if you try to move him.” A pause, and he frowned, finally worried. “He can’t bite, can he?”

“The throwing knives part doesn’t bother you? Seriously??”

“I was in the NYPD. Won’t be the first knife attack of my life, won’t be the last. You’re a forensic psychologist, you should know it.”

Oh yes, Alyra did know it. All too well. And furthermore, she was really at a loss for further counter-arguments about that whole predicament. She could hope to win if it was two against one, using her relationship to Morrigan as a lever, and the old “I’m the mother of your son!” argument. But this was becoming 3 against 1, and ghosts existed, her wounded hand hurt, and all she thought she knew about the world was wrong.

So, she grunted, decided that she could stop playing hysterics, that was Williamsburg and not a playground, they just made it back from Manhattan all in one piece -more or less-, they got paid well, and their ectoplasmic impossible new friend was going to Jackson Heights with Aisling and Cullen. All she had to do and all she did was, now, regain some dignity, ignore how Cullen sympathetically patted her shoulder and told her that Aisling’s mother was right about mango lassi, and to just eat something and go to sleep.

With Alyra’s chagrin because she knew he was right but hated people mothering her.

With Alyra’s even greater chagrin, Aisling bid her goodnight by hugging her tight, as if they were suddenly best friends and without minding that all the redhead did as a comeback was awkwardly patting her back.

They wove their goodbyes as they hopped on the car, and with a half empty lassi floating in the backseat, they drove away into the night and left the other couple on their own.

“You told me it was a scam.” Alyra retorted.

“I told you that potentially it was a scam.” Morrigan blinked, turning annoyed by that discussion. “Only if we didn’t find a ghost. It’s different.”

“You chose her of all people because she’s mad as a hatter?”

“I chose her because she’s really good at what she does. She turned down a research position at Columbia to go and teach at a community college, you know? And yes, because she believes in ghosts and Bigfoot and Nessie.”

“Maybe you should just go as a pair. Marry her and not me and live and work together in a world full of undead teens and seances and werewolves and dragons, without me breaking your rhythm.”

Morrigan looked at her with a look. With disappointment and scepticism, crossing her arms at her chest and bending her head that way. The same way she had looked at her ever since they met, when they disagreed.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Alyra grumbled, turning to get back in the house, marching towards the door.

“I look at you as you should be looked at, right now.” She replied, stopping her with a hand on the shoulder, squeezing.

Alyra turned and let the other hug her. She smelled like laurel and rosemary and incense, the shawl soaked all the perfumes she used in the night. It was a good perfume, and it smelled like her. She melted right into that, sighing heavily and circling her lover with both arms, before speaking again.

“I’m sorry. It was just… A lot to take in, and I’m looking for some easy target to blame to rationalize something that can’t be rationalized.”

“I know, love. It’s going to be all right. She’s right about one thing, tho.”

“…What?” She groaned.

“That Punjabi place was good. I bought you some Biriyani. And a mango lassi.”

“… You too.”

“I’m objective, and you are not. And you’re always grumpier with an empty belly.”

Alyra groaned, pushing the other away and rummaging in her backpack to find the keys, marching up to the door.

“I’m grumpy because ghosts fucking exist and Miss Unicorns and Rainbows wants to fix it with yogurt and mango.”

“It’s a lot to take on, but you know what does it mean?”

“What?”

Morrigan turned, stopping beside her and grinning with the exact same expression of a cat who just put its paws on a big, fat tuna while the fishmongers was distracted.

“We’re gonna make a lot of money out of it.” She grinned more. “So, now get your shit together and eat. Yogurt and mango won’t put you in any more existential crisis, I’m sure, and we do need Unicorns and Rainbows to make those money.”

Alyra then didn’t mind being pushed out of the way, handled a paper bag smelling heavily of spices, and let her fiancée open the door and enter first, with a huff of satisfaction as she sat on the bench and slipped out of her boots.

Maybe she was right, and that was what they needed.

But Alyra, forensic psychologist with a Master, refused to admit that anyone was right on mango lassi as the universal solution to all problems.

She could accept ghosts, but not that.

---

The road back to Jackson Height went pleasantly.

No one was around at that hour of the night, so it mattered little if Aisling was turned towards the backseat, smiling and explaining and listening to Cole explaining that he could disappear, if he wanted. But he didn't want, and he wanted something to do.

The way he -dead at fifteen and still sounding much like a teen- said that he needed to be useful to stay in this plane and get friends, and begged them to let him help, clutched at Aisling's heart with a vengeance. Cullen squeezed her hand, knowing, and she assured the ghost that he could stay all day on their couch doing nothing, for all they cared. It was, indeed, a very comfy couch.

They settled up for some more house rules -no haunting electronics, those were a lot of money, no waking up if not for emergencies, no touching the stove- as they went, driving the whole way up to the old ground floor flat they occupied.

Parked the pick up, they showed Cole the inside. It wasn’t much, and Aisling had to put some effort in shooing the pinto horse from the couch and back to the small courtyard outside, but it was well lived in. A yellow couch in front of a tv, a small kitchenette with a fridge all covered in photographs, more photographs and prints on walls painted in a warm shade of teal. A door to the bathroom, one to a bedroom, a glass one to the courtyard. A small table with space for six, another with two chairs outside.

Cole didn’t need a bed, but Cullen made him one on the couch anyway, shrugging it off as just “a trial, see how you like it”, as Aisling put all her instruments from the bag back to a bookshelf near a desk all covered in papers, notes and books in a terrible order.

Half an hour later, the couple bid goodnight to their new roommate, reminded the horse to be on his best behaviour, and closed the bedroom for the night.

They were, actually, too tired to spend much many words, and just hopped in their pjs and under the covers. Aisling curled up against Cullen’s side, as he switched the light off.

But evidently some more words were there to spend. After ten minutes in the dark, Aisling spoke again.

“Cullen?”

“Mh.”

“Are you sleeping?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“No Quantum Mechanics after dinner, hon.”

“Mpf, it’s not Physics.”

“Go on, then.”

She shifted on his side, crossing her arms on his chest to look him in the face as she made it.

“You worked with Alyra when you were in the police, right?”

“Some times, yes.”

“Does she hate me?”

Cullen opened an eye, looking at the silhouette of her face in the dark. And sighed heavily.

“She doesn’t.”

“But she always, always look at me with such an annoyed face… I don’t know, I feel like I’m always saying the wrong thing.”

“Does she blink when she looks at you?”

“Uh?”

He sighed, shifting a little to get more comfortable under her weight, recalling years ago, before he resigned from the central.

“She always looked annoyed and grumpy. At everyone. And yet she always had a helping hand. But when she was pissed off for real… She looked at you without blinking, let you finish speaking and then destroyed you with words.”

He bent up slightly, pushing his head forward to plant a kiss on Aisling’s forehead, affectionately.

“Mh. I was thinking to quit.”

“What? Why? You’ve been so happy to go at their place.”

He sat up, propping himself on his elbows and switching the lamp on the side table on back again. She blinked in the light, shifting to rest her head on his stomach, fingers absent-mindedly playing with the fabric of his shirt. She didn’t look at him.

“I like Morrigan, a lot. And Kieran too… But if Alyra doesn’t like me… I don’t want to be annoying. I know we need the money… But I don’t know, maybe this is stupid. Maybe I should go back to uni.”

“Ash.”

“I think that if I called, Dorian and Solas could get me back my job. It was paid badly, but…”

“Ash, you hated it. They paid you awfully litte. No.”

“I brought home a ghost, Cullen! Who tried to kill me!”

He frowned down at her, with reproach.

“Little Brother tries to kill us twice a week, I remind you. How many toes has he broken you?”

“That’s different! Cole is a ghost!”

Cullen sighed heavily, moving to pick her up and bring her bust up against his. She helped the movement, grumpy but not so angry as to avoid the contact. He sat her on his lap, crossing his fingers on her waist, as she circled his chest.

“Honey, you know I love, you, right?”

“Yes, and…?”

“… And I love you, but honestly ‘we found a ghost, can I keep him’, it’s not remotely the weirdest thing you ever told me or asked me.”

A moment of silence, and she frowned at him.

“What the fuck, Cullen??”

“It’s not you and Dorian talking about Quantum Mechanics over dinner and expecting me to understand.”

“We made it easy! I teach, and he’s-”

“Quantum Mechanics, Aisling. With formulas.”

Another moment of silence.

“And demonstrations.” Cullen concluded.

Aisling pushed back to face him and give him a look full of disbelief and reproach, before slipping down and flopping heavily at his side, on her back with her arms crossed on her chest.

“See, that’s why I went to teach to Saint Nug. You could understand us if you just had some more maths-”

He chuckled, slipping down himself to hug her and press a kiss on her temple, soothingly.

“It’s a lot, that’s true. But it’s gonna be fine, honey. We faced worse things.”

“Like Quantum Mechanics at dinner?”

“I’ll admit that isn’t remotely the worse thing, even if I understand more your mother when she speaks Bengali.”

She laughed through a kiss, trying and failing to kiss her boyfriend back. She had more luck with just snaking her arms around his neck in a hug, finally relaxed.

“How come?”

“Have you ever tried your own cooking?”

[yoonoclock]

head & heart | myg + jjk

PART TWO

❝yoongi had your heart and your soul. however, after following the poor guidance of family, that bond was broken. years pass before another man walks into your life…reminding you what it felt to be in love. a man who surprises you more than you realize — jeon jeongguk. but all of that begins to falter upon the return of yoongi. what should you follow? your head or your heart?❞

• pairing: captain yoongi x female reader | knight jeongguk x female reader

• genre: fluff, angst, royalty au, fantasy au

• warnings: none

• word count: 3.5k

• tags: @seokjinkismet @princxssly82

• note: changed the banner! jungkook’s vampire shoot has me in a chokehold…anyways…the angst is increasing with this one! yoongi will officially return in the next update! also, i promise more of the “fantasy elements” will appear. it will slowly come to light with each part! let me know what you all think!

PARTS

prologue | pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4 | pt.5 | pt.6 | pt.7 |

The day moved in an agonizing slow motion. From the moment you woke up, you felt a heaviness on your chest that wouldn’t subside no matter what you tried — pacing back and forth, reading your favorite novel, searching the library of your mind for antedates regarding the darkness. Nothing. As much as the mystery and magic of a world unknown to you is, there is a grief that swallows you whole. 

Min Yoongi. 

How utterly pathetic does it feel to cling to the man of your past? How regret and love interact in a tangled concoction that makes no sense…leaving you far too conflicted to function. 

There is no possibility of change concerning your prior relationship with Yoongi. He has proceeded with a future of wealth and adventure. As for you? You are trapped in a family who couldn’t care less of your fortune. Why help you when they can tend to themselves? Perhaps it should destroy your heart, but it doesn’t grasp you quite the same as heartbreak. 

How pitiful. 

All that you desired was a new start in a direction you are uncertain of. What would you do and where would you find yourself blossoming? Only time will tell. However, time is not on your side today. 

It is clear that you had risen to the early morning where the sound of servants packaging traveled up the stairs. Nearly everything was put away or sold. What remained was the large furniture for the future tenants to claim. It easily impressed you at the speed in which all of this came together. Just yesterday it felt as if the world was still spinning for your fathers benefit. All it takes is for an entire twenty four hours to prove it wrong. 

You are intrigued by this process. It offers a breath of fresh air that could do you some good. 

Only some. 

“My lady,” Maude appeared startled by your appearance in the hallway. “I apologize for waking you.” 

“Please,” you dismissed her apology. “I am too burdened to find proper rest.” 

A moment's pause as Maude dove into work mode to supply for your needs. 

“Should I call upon a doctor?” 

You offered a smile, “Not at all. Seriously movement would do me some good. May I assist you in anything?” 

“I thank you for your kindness,” she bowed slightly. “However, we have everything prepared. All that is left is the bedding.” 

“You all work diligently.” 

It’s no surprise how tirelessly the servants work to supply for the needs of any household. From going to bed long past dusk to rising before the sun kisses the earth good morning, you understood the dedication. Every second poured into a family that may or may not care for you in the slightest. 

You attempt to understand their circumstances and abilities as individuals. Except in the end, you will never be the same. You forever will be nobility while they are not. Claiming to be one with the servants is untrue especially while you continue to be served by them. It’s a complexity that can never be navigated easily. Roles in society define who you are. Rank and fortune guide your lives. Quite absurd and unnecessary. You desperately wished it was something new entirely. 

There were a lot of things you wished were different. 

“Is everything in order with the new tenants?” 

Maude attempts to get your attention through a gentle cough. It doesn’t take long before you look at her in confusion. 

“I would assume so,” you furrowed your brow. “Is there a piece of news that I am unaware of?” 

Maude sighed, “Your father stated that you agreed to remain here to greet the new tenants while he and Florence travel ahead.” 

You roll your eyes. It comes as no surprise that they are quick to leave and force you to do the extra work. The less they have to ensure the better. As for you, who cares? All the time in the world exists at your fingertips. Nothing else encourages you to protest this request seeing as it was already decided. 

“Let the show begin.” 

The next few hours were filled with constant shouting from your father and Florence. Naturally, they had a great deal to say about the contents of the home they could not take with them. It became your sole responsibility to ensure that the new tenants would not ever touch the tapestries or roses in the garden. You smiled in amusement at their audacity. How could they dictate what happens with property that can no longer be claimed? It made you all the more content that you would make the journey alone. Hearing their persistent boastful words of vanity can and is draining. Witnessing this behavior since birth is more than you can bear. 

Peace is all you desire. 

“I assure you that I will make their stay here unbearable,” you assured your father. “In no way can they ever be comfortable.” 

“Precisely,” he nodded his head. “We can’t have peasants tainting our home.” 

“One day we will return and I intend to see it just as it is now,” Florence stated confidently. 

There is no confidence that they would learn to manage their finances any better. However, perhaps a persistent voice of reason is what will set them straight. Lady Frances is the only one to take on that burden. And a major burden it is. 

“The carriage is waiting,” you motioned out the open doors. “It is wise for you to leave hastily as the new tenants arrive shortly.” 

At those words, they immediately rushed out the doors to leave you alone in the midst of the final touches. Truth be told you had no idea when the guests would arrive seeing as it was quite early in the morning. Since all of your personal belongings had already been put away, such as your books, you turned to entertainment from nature. 

Unlike the previous night, you intended to wander the garden to gaze upon the final blooms of the season. You were careful to trace your fingers along the petals in admiration. Every part of it offered a wave of comfort. When you failed to find solace between the four walls of your bedroom, you snuck out to these intertwined paths. The memories poured over you as every significant life circumstance was felt here. Slowly weaving through the bushes, you expressed your emotions wholeheartedly. 

This is one of the few qualities you will miss about this home. You grew up here. From birth and into adulthood…surely, it is difficult to part with the entirety of your existence. 

Nonetheless, life continues. 

You can only cling to what is good and hope to escape what is not. 

Slowly you began to circle back around the way you came when you heard footsteps beyond the towering gates. Normally this was an entrance specific to those who reside here. It is unlikely the new tenants would approach the backside. Although it still was best for you to check so that whoever it may be does not wait longer than what is acceptable. 

Once you turned the corner to the point you could see the gaps through the metal frame, you immediately captured a glimpse of something familiar — glistening armor. 

“Jeongguk?” You ask in confusion. 

Clearly it was him but a part of you still held an ounce of doubt. At the sound of his name he shifted on his heel to meet your gaze. 

“Y/N,” he whispered before taking a bow. 

“Is everything alright?” You pushed open the metal doors until you stood several feet away from him. “Are you…well?” 

Jeongguk’s expression shifted, “Forgive me, my lady. I couldn’t help but wonder…” 

You furrowed your eyebrows, “Wonder?” 

“About you,” he finished his sentence. 

The way he spoke those words had an effect on you. It wasn’t a grand feeling or an emotion to be worried about. Instead, it is a fluttering that you forgot existed. Years have passed since you last experienced anything remotely close. Perhaps it’s the longing for any ounce of love that determines your responses. 

It has been 5 years….sigh. 

Jeongguk sensed that this may come off inappropriately so he stumbled over his explanation. 

“It is uncommon for me to interact with any person aside from those I serve,” he adjusted his stance in an attempt to ease his nerves. “Running into you offered a different escape I found to be like a breath of fresh air.” 

“That is high praise,” you offered a smile. “I do thank you for your kindness…as well as your company.” 

His eyes possessed an innocence not due to the lack of anything, rather, to the appearance of eagerness for life. Being limited to the same duty in honor of your king can take a toll. From surviving the same routine to protect (when no serious threat takes places) it can be a rather lonely livelihood. 

On top of that, he was built like chiseled stone statues that filled the halls of nearly every establishment under your cousin’s reign. As odd as an comparison this may be…he truly is a sight that your sister would consider “swoon worthy.” 

Doubt still happened to plague your mind, “Is our interaction that significant? I would assume that I am more of an obligation than a celebration.” 

“Every woman should be celebrated,” Jeongguk answers with no hesitation. 

You couldn’t help but release a loud laugh. 

“Quite a charmer you are,” you slowly move closer. “I can’t recall the last time I was this flattered.” 

Liar. 

You vividly remember the last time you had been flattered to the point of burying your face into your palms. It was after church where you were determined to walk in the rain back home to avoid the ongoing bickering between your sisters. Unwilling to allow you to travel by foot alone, Yoongi accompanied you. 

The rest is history. At least, that is what you should be claiming it to be. 

“I do desire to ask you a question,” Jeongguk built up the courage to proceed with his original goal. 

“By all means, please do share.” 

“Would it be premature to ask that we share further walks together? This time due to our own free will and not based on chance.” He presented it cautiously so as not to alarm you. “If this finds you well, of course. I do not intend on making you uncomfortable.” 

Your expression fell, “I fear this cannot take place as I am unfortunately leaving this home. I’m awaiting the new tenants before I myself depart.” 

Disappointment consumed his entire being. You took note of how his shoulders fell just slightly. Even in such thick armor, you were able to catch a glimpse. 

“Would it be appropriate to communicate by written letters?” He then offered an alternative that would suit this change in distance. 

You eased into a smile, “It would be quite appropriate.” 

“May I inquire about your new home? Where shall you reside?” 

“About a day's journey up north, to Beacon Village.” 

“I wish you safe travels, my lady.” 

“Thank you,” you bowed your head. “I look forward to our conversations.” 

“As do I,” he felt an ounce of hope despite the disappointment he expressed. “I hope you feel welcome to inquire about whatever it is you wish to know.” 

“The same can be said for you.” 

Before anything further could be said you heard the bells ring as it is not official that the tenants have arrived. You look to the gate as Jeongguk mirrors your actions. Your time together has ended. 

“Until we meet again,” Jeongguk pressed his right hand over his chest while he nodded a proper farewell. 

Slowly he watched as you returned back through the gates. Now disappeared from his sight. 

No matter what, he still showed you honor. It is embedded in his system that cannot be erased after one interaction. Truly he does hope that the future is in your favor. Being able to converse with you will add a new dimension to his life. Never once has he had this situation but he could not silence his mind when it came to you. Goes to show that the longing is very much active. Although he doesn’t want this to be the deciding factor. 

Yes, he has never given his affection to anyone. Except now he believes there is a possibility (with time). He is riddled with worry about how to properly convey this. Thankfully, he has discovered how understanding you are. 

He has hope. 

“This is beyond what we envisioned.” 

It is no surprise that they have fallen in love with what was once your home. They traveled through every room to gaze in wonder of its design. When you see it through another person’s perspective, you soon realize what it is you are losing. 

A part of you aches but another part of you is relieved. 

The couple who is so captivated are exactly as Lady Frances described — a hard working husband and wife who are responsible. Captain Andrew and Miss Adaline are beyond kind. You are thankful that these are the individuals who are now taking ownership. 

“I am delighted in your contentment,” you stand back as they proceed through the back doors towards the thriving gardens. “Is there anything else you wish to see?” 

“My dear,” Lady Adaline grasped into your wrists in a gentle embrace. “We have a lifetime to discover all these wonders.”

“Yes indeed,” Captain Andrew beams. “I can see us finishing our lives here.” 

You admired their relationship. How beautiful it is to grow with the one you wholeheartedly love. 

“Must you leave us so soon?” Adaline turns towards you. “We are expecting our cousin, Captain Yoongi, to arrive. A grand dinner in our new home is required!” 

Oh. 

Yoongi is coming back. After all this time…Yoongi is truly going to return from the sea. 

“I thank you,” you forced a smile. “Unfortunately, I think it is best I rejoin my family to ensure all preparations are fulfilled.” 

Adaline nodded in understanding, “We are grateful to you. All blessings for you and your family.” 

Captain Andrew then stepped beside his wife, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “May you have a safe journey.” 

The journey was long as it was gloomy. Not once did the sun appear for a heavy rain formed shortly after your departure. You mindlessly gazed through the glass of the carriage as all kinds of scenery passed you by. Even through the heavy veil of droplets, you managed to see through the grey haze. 

When hidden in loneliness for such a long period of time, it reminds you of how loud your thoughts are. These thoughts intertwine with memories you had assumed were barricaded. Now that Yoongi’s name had been mentioned numerous times in the last few days…it’s natural for the past to return to either bring comfort or haunt you. 

The rain. Rain holds a fondness in your heart. 

“I beg of you to be careful,” Yoongi voiced his concern the second you ran ahead of him. 

“Is the great sea captain afraid?” You called back through laughter. “Fear not, I am indestructible.” 

You could feel the ocean breeze pinch at your skin the closer you came to the shore. Fresh hair filled your lungs with new life that couldn’t be put into words. Everything about this destination evolved into your favorite comfort. Yoongi knew this well as he attempted to bring you here whenever it was suitable. No matter rain or shine, you adored it. 

That is one of many reasons as to why Yoongi cherished you so. His lifestyle was not ideal for many due to being away for months at a time…and now that he has accepted the offer as Captain, it proposes even longer journeys. When he is with you, time moves slowly. He soaks up every second possible so that the future can be bearable in your absence. 

“Would you look at this,” you beamed. “Water is also falling from the heavens.” 

The wet sand felt freeing beneath your bare feet. You began to twirl in circles with your arms spread outwardly. For a moment you closed your eyes to savor the growing blossoming sensation in your chest. Slowly you felt yourself losing balance. Before you could fall, Yoongi was right at your side to catch you. His hands guided you by your waist through a gentle touch. He stabilized you. 

You finally ceased all movement to then meet his warm gaze. The proximity between you two resulted in a warmth spreading along your skin. 

“Oh,” you blurted beneath a whisper. 

He searched your eyes for a moment, “May I kiss you?” 

“Yes,” you answer immediately. 

Yoongi scoots closer until his chest presses against your own. He shifts his right hand to your cheek, not before trailing his fingertips along your frame. Tingles shoot down your legs to the point of quickening your breath at this. Never once has anyone ever caused such a reaction. 

He angled his head to the side, “You are everything.” 

In an instant he feathers his lips upon your own. You melt into his touch, perfectly molding your mouths together. 

Every fiber of your being ignited into a burning passion. This is all you desire. He is what you desire. 

The carriage hit what appeared to be a rock in the path. Everything shook to the point of tearing you back into reality. When you blinked rapidly you came to see distant structures. You were almost there at your new home. Excitement should flood your veins but it is merely disappointment. 

Why are these visions and thoughts troubling you so much? Could it be that you truly were still in love or are you simply lonely? There is a lot of conflict in your heart. 

A major concern is the intent with Jeongguk. Is there intent for something beyond a friendship? No one can quite place it when you have only interacted twice. For some, twice is enough to determine if they are meant to be (quite like for your sisters). You are not the same as them. 

Whatever the intent may actually be, in no way do you intend on leading Jeongguk to believe romance is a key factor. If you are unsure of yourself, why would you harm someone else? 

Jeongguk must know the reality of your heart. 

You are determined to make it a priority to write to him as soon as you are settled. 

“You look awful,” Florence smirks. “At least I managed to maintain my looks.” 

“That’s the difference between you and I,” you removed your gloves. “I don’t have to maintain myself, it comes quite naturally.” 

Florence gasped, “Insulting to insinuate that I am the ugly one.” 

You grinned at her to further stir the pot when your father appeared to kill the mood, “Y/N, please fix yourself. We require a level of sophistication that is required of nobility.” 

“What nobility?” You raise an eyebrow. “We are forced from our home because you abused the sanctity of what was nobility.” 

“Our fortune is used to showcase our wealth,” Florence intercedes. “Can you not see the value in that? No longer will we bother to give to charity.” 

“Splendid,” you roll your eyes as you begin to step away. “I shall find my room to rest. Please leave your fortune at bay” 

You didn’t care to listen to any further bickering. There is a great deal that has transpired in the last few days to leave you bed ridden. Except you still had the energy to write to Jeongguk. 

Perhaps you were putting too much thought into it. Or maybe it was everything it was supposed to be. 

“Oh Y/N,” you bury your face into your hands. “Be cautious.” 

You took a seat at the writing desk that had been preserved over the journey for you to use. It was positioned beside the window where now it had turned into the night. The moon cast high in the sky to offer a blanket of soft light. For you it was not enough to see the paper, so you take out a candle and light it. 

Before you a flickering flame brought a wavering warmth. Slowly you reach for the ink to scribble any coherent sentences that come to mind. 

Dear Jeongguk, 

I pray that this letter doesn’t appear hastily on my end. I desire to make it known of my heart before you. Sincerely do I wish for us to form a friendship that is honest and pure. As it stands, I am conflicted with a previous love that has long been dismissed. However, I find myself facing waves of feelings that rekindle what once was. I am uncertain as to what that entails. 

He is not a part of my life in any shape or form. But that doesn’t mean traces of him are not present. 

These are my truths that I desire to share. If you wish to no longer proceed with our previous decision to communicate through this distance, I understand. 

Thank you for the honor of your protection and guidance from my foolish mistake. 

May you always be safe,

Y/N.