#I only have brown and blond hair characters left to do but that’s such a big number of characters so it might take a bit more time

[beansprean]

AND THAT'S A WRAP ON WWDITS FILMING...[wails loudly]

I hope these actors know how much they have done for me, specifically. And how many times I have drawn their dumb faces dkjfhk.

Please consider donating to Medical Aid for Palestine! It's what Kayvan would want. :) 🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉🍉

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Waist up of Guillermo and Harvey Guillén on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Harvey!' Harvey's skin is slightly tanner than Guillermo's, his hair is sun-bleached and curling freely over his forehead, and he is wearing a blue knit crop top and denim overalls. He is hugging Guillermo from behind with his chin on his shoulder, grinning up at the viewer. Guillermo, wearing a white shirt and brown patterned cardigan, is cupping Harvey's hands with his own over his chest and looking at him with a fond smile, cheeks pressed together.

2. Waist up of Nandor and Kayvan Novak on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Kayvan!' Kayvan's skin is a rich brown against Nandor's vampire pallor and his half-up hair and slightly longer beard are graying; he is wearing a dangly gold earring in his left ear and is wearing a lime green button up tee with a red watermelon pattern. He has picked Nandor up in a hug with his arms wrapped around his waist. Nandor, wearing a long brown kaftan under a orange diamond-patterned coat with short furred sleeves, has his right hand braced on Kayvan's shoulder and the other wrapped around his back. They are both grinning widely and looking at the viewer.

3. Waist up of Nadja, Nadja doll, and Natasia Demetriou on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Natasia!' Natasia is lightly tanned and has chest wavy length hair with bangs, dark brown at the roots with honey brown and blonde highlights throughout. She is wearing a periwinkle skirt and bandeau top with an outer layer of translucent chiffon in the same color, along with poofy off-shoulder chiffon sleeves, several rings, and a thin chain necklace with her name on it. Nadja and Dolly are matching in dark blue v neck gowns with a gold pattern and front buttons, their hair half up in twin horns. Nadja is grinning at the viewer, fangs out, and leaning heavily into Natasia's side, pressing their shoulders together. Dolly sits on their shared shoulder space, perched directly between their heads with her arms around them, smiling up at the viewer. Nadja's right arm is up under Dolly to support her legs. Natasia's right arm is bent upward like one might do to support a perching bird and her left is palming Dolly's knees to keep her in place. She is smiling over at the Nadjas, half bent over from their weight leaning on her.

4. Waist up of Laszlo and Matt Berry on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Matt!' Matt is pale (but clearly more alive than Laszlo), with wavy shoulder length hair streaked with gray and a graying beard that has been allowed to grow a bit further past his chin. He is wearing a plain white tee shirt, denim jacket, and silver chain necklace. Laszlo is wearing a red button up dashingly open at the collar under a dark blue waistcoat and lighter blue jacket with a darker damask pattern. They are standing mirrored, back-to-back with their arms crossed and shoulders pressed together, looking back over their shoulders at each other. Matt smiles at his character lazily while Laszlo offers him a mildly salacious smirk.

5. Waist up of Colin Robinson and Mark Proksch on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Mark!' Mark is standing facing the viewer with squared shoulders, wearing a blue and white plaid shirt with a chest pocket, only the top button undone. Were it not for the color and a slight shape change to his glasses, you wouldn't be able to tell him from his character. Colin is standing directly behind and to the right of him, wearing a brown v neck sweater over a beige collar and dull red tie. His head is tipped back and his mouth is open in a wide grin, eyes glowing bright blue behind his glasses. Mark glances at him from the corner of his eye with a slightly amused smirk.

6. Waist up of the Guide and Kristen Schaal on a white background with small yellow polka dots. Cursive red and gold script in the top left corner says 'Thank you, Kristen!' Kristen is pale in a human way with chin length curly brown hair and is wearing a loose empire waist black tank top under a translucent yellow chiffon top with a frilled neckline and elbow length balloon sleeves. The Guide is smiling open-mouthed at Kristen and wearing her usual black square cap, jacket, skirt, and gloves. They are back to back, elbows linked together to keep each other close, with Kristen leaning backward into the Guide so she stoops forward slightly. Kristen's far hand flashes a peace sign as she grins over at the Guide, tongue between her teeth. /end ID

[malice-kingdom]

Tales of white 🤍

———

The white(ish) haired characters !

Pascal might have been a better fit for the red characters but I kinda forgot about her 😔

At first I was like I can’t put Artorius on here cause I didn’t draw any of the vilains until now but then I remembered this series is an excuse to draw characters I like so I added him anyway

- ❤️ - 💗 - 💙 - 💚 - 🖤 -

[kalopsia-if]

DEMO ➶ Last updated September 9th, 2023

➶Kalopsia is a 17+ fantasy thriller interactive fiction series written in Twine. Play as a merperson, struggling to keep the rage from consuming you as you seek the path of vengeance for your only child. Fight your way back to what once was yours, and lead the battle between land and water.

This game will be completely free from start to finish!! Nothing in-game will ever have to be bought to view. It is also in development, things will change (A LOT) and you'll always be updated when I decide to do so.

You defied, you swore, and you tried your absolute hardest to give the benefit of the doubt to humankind. Growing up hearing about how you needed to ‘stay away from pirates’ made your self-preservation dwindle, never believing that a species could seriously be bad.

You ignored that they were hunting merpeople, and you ignored that they do anything to get ahold of your precious little scales, fins, and intuition. There’s always a bad apple, you thought.

And you continued telling yourself that, even through the trials and tribulations of trying to befriend a human. Even through all the nasty remarks, all the threats, and the cages, and you even repeated it when they tried harming the dear animals you hold close to you.

You tried,

and you tried,

and you tried!

And that all goes to waste when the human you fell in love life becomes the human you introduced your family to, who then becomes the human who made you forget that they were all evil... turns on you and steals the one thing you treasure.

Your CHILD.

Let the wrath consume you into a siren.

Design your own mermaid, with names, scale colors, fin placements, and more.

Build stronger bonds with the companions you meet along the way, each of whom has their own unique story to tell.

Try to end a hunting-companies rein one and for all.

Fight your way out of captivity and plan a rescue mission that will be talked about in all four corners of the world

Day-off interludes!

And much more!!

Please note that some of these characters are ones you can build relationships with, whether it be platonic or romantic (romance is not necessary in this story). But these are NOT the only significant characters that will have a play in the story.

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

THE TRAITOR Atticus/Adeline Ovesen

The famed ‘Treasure King’, a persona you had no knowledge of until they up and left with your child. Dirty blonde hair tied up into a ponytail with a single braid dangling to their chest, it almost seems to blend in with their fair complexion. You wished they were dull, like those brown eyes of theirs, but they weren’t. They constantly interrupted conversations, always trying to fix you because you weren’t perfection. They have greed unlike any other, one that tears about anything in its way.

THE CRAFTER Llyr/Coradelia Attawater

The spectacle you’re doomed to meet along your path of vengeance. Long and flowing white hair, their silver eyes pulled you in without a second thought. The bralette of pearls they were along their chest contrasts beautifully with the blue scales that run up and down their arms and abdomen. Coming from the Arctic oceans, they possess a porcelain tone that matches the fins protruding from their elbows. They have an envious personality, one that matches the dragon-shaped fin at the bottom of their blue tail.

THE ENCHANTER Neptune Oceana

The merperson who hides behind makeshift seaweed glasses and swears to help you with all the magic they’ve got. Often switching between short-cropped and long purple hair, they’re one of the only merpeople to be born with gills on their ribs. Silver scales shower their abdomen, even M!Enchanter. Their purple hair matches the varients of purple on their betta-shaped tail, dorsal fins, and ear fins. Enchanter is one of the people you can count out through and through, even if they have a past of their own.

YOUR CHILD Morgan Waterford

The light of your life and the one you live for. She came into your life unexpectedly and has forever stayed there with the biggest place in your heart, with bright smiles and a cheery attitude, she’ll never fail to make your day better. Only being 8 years old, Morgan has a natural curiosity that she adopted from you.. something that gets her in danger far to much then you’re comfortable with.

!! formating inspired by the lovely IF Uroboros

[the-fiction-witch]

Little Girl

Media TMR

Character Newt

Couple Newt X Reader

Rating Smut!

Semi-NonConsentual / Breast play / Nipple play / fingering / eating out / raw sex / jizz / creampie / riding /

I sat pouting. Surrounded by stone in one of the slammer cells. My wrists tied together with harsh rope. The boys had thrown me in here for three nights with no food given what I did. But he deserved it, the little perv! But they didn't listen to my side. All Alby needed to know was I harmed another glader and thus I'm locked in here. I saw light approaching the glimmering spark of gold and red flame getting closer it was long since dinner so most boys would be in bed I didn't want to look expecting another lecture from Alby but no.

"Hi love" 

My neck snapped fast towards the wooden cage door where he now sat the lantern beside him. His little brown shoes in the dirt, a wrap around his bad ankle, his brown tattered trousers, his orange vest just poking over his once white hoodie, his bandage around his arm and his messy blonde hair, he leant on the wooden cage and smiled down at me 

"What the shucking hell do you want!"

"Just popped by to check your comfy little girl"

"Don't call me that!"

"Why not? You're a girl? And you ever so cute and wh-ittle" 

"What do you want newt?"

"Well… perhaps seeking an apology?"

"An apology!"

"Yes"

"You've got more of a chance of marrying a griever than getting an apology out of me for what you did!"

"Awww come on. I was only playing"

"You hid in the showers! Your lucky you only for off with a few bruises before the boys found us. They left me any longer I'd have broke your nose" 

"I was meerly checking the shower was safe for a little girl"

"Liar you little perv!"

"Fine maybe I was in there but that's no excuse for you to hit me like that"

"What do you want? Because you can shove your apology up your blonde British butt" 

"Fine" he smirked as he began untieing and opening the door jumping down to be inside with me and shutting the door again "hi little girl"

"What do you think your doing"

"Well… when a little girl is locked up in the slammer with her denying hands tied up, you can't blame me for not wanting to waste… such an opportunity" he smirked 

"Oh no you -" I began trying to move but he grabbed me wrapping his arms around me sitting me on his lap with his chest against my back

"Ah ah ah little girl. Let's just stay here a little while just you and me" he smirked 

"You so anything I'll scream so loud all the boys will here"

"No you won't. Because if you do I'll tell them I came to tell you how I forgave you and you flipped out and attacked me. Your on thin ice as it is Alby will banish you for that"

"You evil little bastard"

"Humm if that's what you wanna call me love" he smirked his hands quickly finding my breasts 

"Ughh! Newt stop!"

"Why should I? Ummm trust me you felt these you wouldn't wanna stop either" he growled in my ear as he fondled and squeezed my breasts often holding them to feel the weight of them in his hands, making sure he squeezed tight. He ignored my squirms and whines shifting me back to sit so his erection sat against my ass

"You're a disgusting little perv newt!"

"I know, but how am I meant to help myself?" He smirked purposely pinching my nipples and tugging on them to force them to harden and as soon as they did he grabbed my breasts in his hands and rubbed in my nipples with his thumbs he chuckled evily "what a cute little girl you are? When your pouting like you don't like it"

"Newt let me go!"

"Maybe I would if you tell me you don't like it, sitting here above my cock grinding on me, while I play with these sexy tits." He smirked and I staid silent "I didn't think you could you dirty little girl" he smirked twisting my nipples a little

"AHH that hurts!"

"Yeah? Well I've had to walk around the glade with a hard on since you got here. Don't you think that hurts love?" He smirked starting to slightly hump against my ass and his hands moved to the hem of my shirt forcing it off me 

"Newt!"

"Awww it's okay, no need to be shy, nothing I haven't seen before." He smirked "but… bloody hell you look good with your top off" He smirked grabbing them much harder

"What the hell do you mean!"

"Well… let's just say this wasn't the first time I've snuck in your shower" he whispered

"You perv!"

"Can you blame me ? How is anyone meant to resist you little girl?"

"Everyone else does!"

"You really think that? You should hear the boys when you go walking around in shorts. Humm were all like lions in heat around you" 

"Let me go"

"No way love" he smirked moving a hand down to undo my shorts and forcing his fingers inside rubbing under my panties "awww I can feel how wet you are little girl" 

"Slim it!"

"Ohh yeah, you dirty little thing" he growled groping my breast hard and rubbing on my clit clearly trying to move his fingers lower but I clamped my legs shut "awww no no. Let's keep this nice and wide for me little girl" he smirked forcing my legs apart 

"Let me go!"

"Now where is… AHH there you are. Let's see how bad my little girl is craving me really" he growled as his fingers found my entrance and as much as I tried to resist he pushed two fingers are first just inside then pushing as deep inside as he could flicking his fingers as he did making me squeal but he clamped a hand over my mouth "ohh shuck you're dripping down my hand y/n. This is gonna be fun" he smirked biting his lip as his hand held me tightly and his fingers worked mercilessly finger fucking me fast and hard letting my wetness drip down my legs he held my mouth so I couldn't scream even If is hand left sometimes to fondle my breasts as he worked clearly very much enjoying himself until he pulled his hand away and licked his fingers clean "ummmm you taste good little girl. I want more" he growled pushing me off his lap and into the dirt on my stomach he wasted no time slapping my ass hard "ughhh oohh yeah. You bad bad girl" he growled forcing my shorts down slapping me a good few times "you have no clue how much I wanna do this every time this teasing little ass walks past in the gardens." He smirked pulling my panties to the side "awww what a cute little pussy for a cute little girl" he smirked and he then began spanking me hard digging his nails in and spreading my cheeks as much as he could and I felt my wetness drip out of me "ohhh bloody hell- my dirty little girly" he growled before he began kissing and licking my exposed pussy moaning too himself as he did I did my best not to scream but at the same time I was so worried if someone found us like this when he pulled back he smirked and pushed me onto my back and forced my legs as wide as possible "ummmmm you are beautiful" he growled licking his lips before holding my thighs tightly and returning to his passionate licking and now sucking even at times using his tounge to replace his fingers all while I squirmed and tried to hide the pleasure of it his hand moved up grabbing my breast fondling and rubbing on my nipple as he locked and sucked 

"Newt stop please-"

"Awww why? My little girl gonna cum for me? Make sure you tell me I wanna watch you twitch and squeal when you cum for me" he demanded 

"Stop please!"

"Maybe I'll stop once I see my life girl naked" he demanded ripping my bra off and my panties I did my best with my tied hands to hide myself but that only seemed to amuse him more "let me see little girl." He smirked forcing my hands above my head "bloody hell… uhhhh shuck- just look at that body. I should walk you around the glade naked so every boy can get a look just how good you are"

"No please-"

"Aww that's okay, it can be our little secret. My little girls bodies all mine" he growled fondling, pinching, slapping, groping anything he could get his hands on which was unfortunately everything even tickling me to make me squirm more for him all with his evil low laugh "what a fun little toy you are little girl. But I've had enough toying" he growled moving bayabs undoing his pants pushing them down enough to reveal his erection "come on."

"No!"

"Your gonna ride me. Or I'm forcing you in your stomach make your mind up"

I pouted but went over sitting on his lap letting him stroke my ass as I sat there 

"Awww what a good little girl your being for me. Maybe all this time all you needed wa a good fuck" he smirked pulling my cheeks apart before he found his way inside me "uuuuuuuhhh! So tight! Ohh yeah! You are a tight little fuck aren't ya? Don't worry I'll loosen you up little girl" he smirked holding my hips to make me bounce on him admittedly it was amazing but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of my pleasure as he was he smirked staring at my breasts as I bounced "you know if you ever want out of some garden work? I'm more then happy to strike up a deal little girl."

*What sort of deal?"

"how about you get to blow off weeding if you blow me. Or I'll let you have an extra break for a few slaps on that sexy ass. Hummm I'll even let you get off work early so long as my little girl comes and bounces on my cock in the garden shed" be smirked 

"Not on your life"

"No? Why are you still bouncing then little girl?" He smirked and I noticed he has adopted guiding me completely his hands just in my ass 

"You pervy bastard"

"I know, so? Im not far off you want me to bury it? Glaze your tummy? Or you wanna get on your knees and let me fill your mouth up?" 

"Just a little longer"

"Yeah? How about I just bury it in your pretty pussy and let my baby ride on me as much she needs Hu?" He smirked 😘 my neck and jaw I nodded and he only smirked more "yeah? That what my little girl wants? Humm If you cum on my cock I'll know how bad you want me. And I'll never leave this sexy body alone again" he smirked slapping my ass

"You started this!"

"Yeah and if you want to cum you have to admit you love it."

"And if I do?"

"Then your mine little girl. And I'm gonna fucking destroy you every time that little ass makes me horny" he smirked thrusting up hard 

"Uhhh fine!"

"Yeah?"

"Fine newt!"

"Yes! Ughh fuck come here!" He growled holding me tight as he pushed me onto my back and loomed over me never pulling out as he did proceeding to pound my pussy mercilessly pulling my lips to his to muffle our lustful moans until I suddenly hit my wall digging my nails into his arms as my eyes rolled back and I squirted down his cock "uuhhhh fuck little girl. Uhhh my tight little pouty girly just came down my fucking cock uuuuuuuhhh- I need you so bad- I'm so close - just a little - uuughhhh!" He groans burring himself as deep as possible and collapsing on me 

"You are a perv newt" I gasped

"I know" he gasped back he slowly pushed himself up and pulled out cleaning himself off on his hoodie "ummmm you look so good like that"

"Like what?" I asked as I hadn't moved

"Laid on your back. Completely naked. Legs open. Tits bouncing. Honey glow across your skin. Dripping my jizz out your pussy" he smirked "umm my little girl." He smirked stroking from my lips to my pussy "give me five minutes and I'll finish in your ass this time" 

"That a promise?" I asked climbing into his lap wrapping my arms around his neck 

"You bet that cute little ass I am" he smirked slapping my ass and pulling me into an intense make out. "Uhhh- I don't need five minutes" he growled as he pulled away and forced me back down on my stomach 

[puffins-studio]

Nico Di Angelo 💀 Will Solace ☀️

You don’t know how happy I was at the news of their solo book! I been off and on Percy Jackson because doctor who but it been on my back burner. And I found the release date of the book before my bad finals and I just had to act as if I didn’t see if so I could focus , problem is my adhd made me completely forget about the book until the pretty cover came on my to my feed and i dropped everything to read it.

I love them💕 I Want to do an embroidery for them too but I think I might listen to the book again as I can’t pick a favorite line to do. I might also do the other main character and add my headcannon ideas as I feel so proud of these came out!

Hazel

Percy & Annabeth

Jason

Leo

If you want to read my headcannons about their outfits, then it under the cut as I have many ideas.

[ID: The picture is a felt doll that is the shape of a gingerbread man with a big circle head Nico Di Angelo and Will solace. Nico have light color felt for skin, very dark brown hair that is to his shoulders and have a bit of a curl. He have black ties shoes, dark grey rip pants, a black and grey shirt with the skull on it. He have on a sliver studded belt, with beads for the studs, and a chain coming off of it. He have his ad jacket with a Italy flag patch in the right side and a sun patch in the left side. He have Bracelet on the hand with the sun patch sleeves. It a rainbow beaded one and a yellow and black twist. On this other wrist he have a black, read, and blue sparky thread one, a ace flags: black, grey,white, purple. And he have a beaded disability flag colors are black, green, blue, white,yellow, reddish pick, black. Will has light color felt for skin, short yellow blonde. He has ears and a little bit of black felt is peaking out for hearing aids.he have a blue shirt and a fort pocket, a little coco puff is in the pocket, he have on cargo shorts, a yellow orange sweatshirt around his waist, he I have on one blue sock and one read with cream shoes that have on the left one embroidery purple hyacinthus, a lyre and in the other side is a bow and arrow and the symbol of healing that have the single snake. He have camp bead and a sliver bead for the ring on the chain. On this left wrist he have a rainbow bracelet, and a random color one that is blue, light purple and light gray. On his other wrist is a bi flag one pink, purple, blue. And the last one is a matching one with Nico that is black and yellow.:ID]

Headcannons for Will

Star Wars

-I was going for like Star Wars socks, as this boy is either in flip flops or cowboy boots, he rarely wear anything else so he have fun socks to show off when he does

-(Maybe not the first time but maybe one of the first few time Nico said he love Will. Will make the Star Wars reference with Hans saying ‘I know’ and Nico is slightly confused. But then imagining his reaction when he all invested in the movie and then Hans say the line and Nico just stops and is like WILL! And will just start laughing “I couldn’t help it!”)

Shoes

-He only have one pair of sneakers and I was trying to think of something to Blightten up his outfit, and thought the Apollo cabin can’t leave anything plain. So Apollo theme shoe (dark idea is that they belonged to one of his older brothers who painted them and died and Will wanted to bring something that reminded him of his family into the underworld with him)

Coco puff

-Little coco puff in Will’s pocket I can’t decide if the little puff is attached to Will because it a deamon that Will actually helps Nico fight or the puffs are attached to anyone who have the same deamons so like if the little one is bad self confidence, then Will also have to work on his bad self confidence

Beads

-Enough beads for him to have gotten to camp one year before Percy. So he had two good years with his siblings before the wars. Just so he also have a family when his mom is on tour. But I do also think he has a lot of hidden Apollo kid power that he doesn’t know about so he think he weak with a randomly strong small. Like that is until Apollo learns where he went and is like how are you alive. Will “power of love… and really bad nicknames”

Disabled

-I tried to give him hearing aids, they enup being hidden in his hair, I was trying to think of a color that would stand out against the yellow hair as I also thought he would pick a noticeable color, and I wanted with black. Just him going into the underworld with so many extra batteries, but also him and Nico do a bit of asl or just come up with little hand signals.

Bracelet

-Rainbow one, bi vone, matching one with Nico, and a random one from a sibling

Headcannon Nico

Bracelets

-Nico has bracelets as during craft time some of the younger Apollo kids were make some and they all like to make Will some. At the time Nico was there making their matching ones at the time and will was making one for Nico. And then one little kid come up and whispers something to Will he grins. Nico look up because the silences and Will just nods to Nico, then the little kid goes over to Nico and holds up the bracelet and said they made it for him. Will fills in that they want to give it to him and so Nico just like ‘yeah sure’ and hold out his wrist and the kid tie it on before running happyly back to their table. Will leans over like ‘now you can’t take it off’ Nico just looks at him and Will is just ‘how did you think I get so many.” And then the younger kids even some from other cabins make Nico bracelets and he feels honored,

-Random one that is supposed to be the one the kids made him but also slightly Star Wars theme, I was trying to make it with the dark sparkly thread as I can imagine that how a kid see Nico. The other one is beads for the disability pride flag. Either Will makes if for him and he have one too if something with the flag as I love deaf Will and disabled Nico. Or another little kid make it for Nico who also have a disability and that help Nico acc his. I had to add a asexual one too, I can’t help it. Beads so he can mess with them when on edge

Beads

-And I love the idea that nico some how get the camp beads either he steal one each year as he wanted to be apart but hey keep them in a box some place and then after will saying something like he always had a fear of Nico leaving, and to show him he acc camp as home, the next morning Nico walked out of his cabin with the beads. Or Will just keep saving beads for Nico. Like it started as Will keep going around asking about Nico and got upset when he was told he left already, maybe he ask Percy and Percy tell him something like Nico doesn’t like camp. But Will meet Nico in the small window when Nico was at camp before he first ran away and got a little crush that his siblings notice, and then when Michael was giving the beads to his cabin, he give two to will, and just held a finger to his mouth before Will could say anything and say something like ‘you need to hold onto Nico’s bead, in case he comes back.” And so when Will was head he keep asking for an extra one to save for Nico. And he gives them to him at one point, maybe even just leave them by his bed during the 3 days.

Jacket

-Nico get a over size jacket so Will can steal it sometimes. He had a Italy flag patch, maybe Chiara got it from him because they are both Italian. And then sun patch maybe as a slight joke that the Apollo kids got him as he is always with them. And then I tried to do it so it look like he sewed them in himself. Pockets are totally full of chocolate and random rocks he finds, that he offers to Will and younger campers.

[monstersandmaw]

Male dullahan x gn reader (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

OH boy, this is a personal one for me on a number of levels (which usually means it's gonna tank), but here's the first of my five new commissions - this one is for the incredibly supportive and sweet @doomfisthero.

It features one of the Supernatural Biker Gang I mentioned in this post, which a lot of you seemed to like, so I hope you're keen to meet the cheeky, goofball dullahan with a heart of gold! Not gonna lie, I went way over the agreed wordcount for this one because it's the world I've already started building, and it's got characters I've already been thinking of for a while.

Content: gender neutral reader who experiences severe anxiety around being pranked/practical joked, which occurs at one point in the story. There’s no malicious intent or bullying behind the prank, and it gets discussed afterwards. The reader is a writer, doing research for a story about bikers, and has no idea that there's something a little 'extra' about this gang. Their friend, Adi, is dating one of them already, and I hope to write their story soon too.

Wordcount: 9216

“God, this was such a stupid idea,” you muttered as you approached the only shop on that wide, empty side street. Its metal sign swung gently back and forth in a light, autumn breeze, displaying a full moon on a black background, with a cruiser-style motorbike silhouetted in front of it, and the white, artfully-distressed font underneath it read ‘Full Moon Motorcycles’.

A second later, your friend stepped out onto the pavement and you knew there was no turning back. Adrianne grinned at you, so you kicked your feet back into motion and closed the distance between you, offering her a small hug. Your leather messenger bag bumped against your hip with the movement, and you wondered if perhaps you should have left your notebook and stuff at home for this first time. It felt more like an interview than getting to know them, and you were worried the group of unfamiliar bikers might take offence that you essentially wanted to study them for your novel.

“Ready to meet the gang?” she laughed, sweeping her messy, dark blonde hair back out of her eyes. “God, you look terrified. Come on, they’re nice! Except maybe Pixie. Don’t mess with her, but she’s not here today. Or Demon, but even he’s ok when you get to know him, I swear.”

“Not helping, Adi,” you grumbled.

Ever since she’d started working for Dahlia Ink across town about six months ago, Adrianne had been hanging around with the group of bikers who all got their ink done there it seemed, and it had almost felt like serendipity in action when she’d told you about them over coffee last weekend. You didn’t tend to talk much about your writing, even with your friends, but you trusted Adi, and she’d always been supportive of your career as an author, so you’d shyly opened up to her about your latest idea for a story featuring a group of bikers. You did leave out the part where the bikers in your story were mostly vampires and werewolves, with a few other supernatural species thrown in as well. Fantasy had always been your comfort-genre, but people had snickered in the past and made you feel like it wasn’t a ‘serious’ genre that ‘serious’ writers pursued, so you’d omitted it this time while telling her about it.

“It’s the perfect excuse for you to come and finally meet Țepeș then!” she’d blurted excitedly into the foam of her cappuccino, her green-brown eyes going wide with excitement at the idea of including you in her group of new friends. They all had weird nicknames, and you had no idea if it was a ‘biker’ thing or just a ‘them’ thing, but you’d been burning up with curiosity about them ever since she’d first started dating the one called Țepeș. “I’ve been dying to find an excuse for you to come meet him. Plus you can ask him anything you want to know for your story, and — oh…”

Her face had fallen, and you’d frowned, heart dropping already. “What?”

“Eh, he’s… he’s not completely non-verbal, but Țepeș doesn’t exactly find talking easy. Maybe you could come to the shop and meet the rest of them instead though? I’m sure Pickle or Pumpkin would love to talk your ear off about their bikes…”

“I dunno, I don’t want to get in the way,” you’d said, trying not to let that tiny, kindling ember of hope in your chest wink out completely. “But if you wanted to ask them…?”

She’d run it past her boyfriend, and Țepeș had said he’d ask Hank. Hank, apparently, was the guy who ran the bike shop where they’d all met and first formed their group, and two nights later, you’d got a text in all caps from Adi saying ‘BASIC BIKER 101 FOR WRITERS IS ON!!!! When are you next free?!!!’

A week later, you and your messenger bag with notebook and pens had shown up outside Full Moon Motorcycles, with little clue what to expect, and a heart full of trepidation.

Adrianne giggled as she ushered you inside, and to your relief, you found there were only two other people inside instead of a shop full of strangers. An array of bikes for sale was lined up around the right hand side of the space, and against the back wall there was a wooden counter almost like a bar, where the vintage till and a few key chains were displayed, while the left side of the space appeared to be a more general spot for tinkering and hanging out. Even with the light flooding in through the two huge, picture windows on either side of the door, the lighting was soft, and the polished concrete floor created a mellow atmosphere. The scent of coffee and motor oil hung heavy in the air, and you found it oddly comforting as you soaked it all up.  

Behind the counter, a stocky man with greying, wavy hair that wasn’t quite long enough to tie back but was too long to look tidy smiled you and raised a meaty hand. His blue tartan shirt stretched precariously over a hearty paunch, and he exuded a jovial kind of warmth as his honey-brown eyes crinkled. “Hey there,” he said. “I’m Hank, though most people round here just call me Dad —”

“— he adopts literally everyone who walks through that door, so congrats on joining the family,” Adi laughed.

“Take your pick on names,” Hank chortled. “I understand you’re a writer…” He seemed interested and a little impressed, which was a bit of a confidence boost.

“Yeah,” you croaked and cleared your throat. “Yeah… uh… thank you for letting me hang out here for a bit. I don’t know anything about bikes… I’m just looking to learn a bit so it makes sense for my novel, you know? I’m not going to get in anyone’s way.”

“Oh, you’re fine,” he smiled, gesturing dismissively with his massive paw of a hand. “You just ask what you like and we’ll do our best to help you out. You must know Țepeș already if you’re Adi’s friend?”

You shook your head and Hank looked across the room to where the other person was lurking at the back of the space. You hadn’t noticed Adi leaving your side, but when you turned around, you found her standing with both hands pressed fondly against the chest of the tall, imposing biker dressed all in black and wearing his helmet too, which you thought was an odd choice. But what did you know about the habits of bikers? You were there to learn after all; learn and observe.

Adi waved you over, and you swallowed your nerves and cast Hank a farewell glance before approaching. When Adi stepped back, Țepeș pushed himself off the wall and held out his hand to you to shake. It, like the rest of him, was covered in leather or padded gear. There wasn’t a scrap of skin showing on him anywhere, and with your own face reflected in his black visor, it was impossible to get a read on him.

As if she’d read your mind, Adi smacked Țepeș in the chest with the back of her hand and said, “At least put your visor up, you big, intimidating doofus.”

He snorted a silent laugh and lifted the catch on his visor to reveal a sliver of pale skin and irises as black as the rest of his leather gear. Like Hank’s though, his eyes were kindly, and he closed them briefly as he inclined his head in a kind of apologetic bow. You shrugged, and he laughed breathily.

Hank chose that moment to come over, and you jumped as he clapped you on the shoulders. How a man built like a grizzly in autumn had moved so quietly was a mystery. “Come on, Țepeș, why don’t we give our new friend a demonstration of how a bike works? Since your Ducati is in, why don’t we use that?”

Țepeș gave a quick nod, and ducked away through the door that stood in the centre of the back wall, and a moment later, he pushed an absolute monster of a bike out into the empty space. He jutted his chin towards the front door, and Adi nipped over to open it for him, and when you frowned, she laughed. “That Streetfighter is so fucking loud,” she snorted. “You do not want him starting it up in here.”

“And nor do I!” Hank called, now mysteriously back behind the till though you hadn’t heard him leave. You made a mental note to weave something like that into your story for the supernatural biker characters, and then nodded, feeling sheepish, and followed the two of them out of the shop and onto the quiet side-street outside.

Until six months ago, Adi hadn’t known anything about bikes either, so she used your introductory tutorial as a kind of test for herself, interspersed with little glances up at Țepeș to check that she’d got it right. He either nodded or pointed to correct her, but he didn’t speak. She hadn’t been kidding about him being mostly non-verbal.

After Adi had shown you the basics of the bike’s anatomy, Țepeș patted the seat of the bike and gestured to her to get on it, but she laughed and shook her head. “No way, babe. I’m way too short.”

He put his fists comically on his hips and shook his head, then patted the seat again like he was trying to get a wilful cat up onto a chair.

She made a noise of protest, but did swing a leg over and then hoisted herself evenly into the seat, both legs dangling freely a good way off the ground.

“Happy now?” she shot at him and he nodded emphatically, bringing both hands to the sides of his helmet in a way that mimicked a person losing their mind over a cute kitten. “You’re lucky I love you, you overgrown dork,” she muttered. “Anyway,” she said, turning back to you. “Since this beast has made me get up here, I’m going to start his bike. Not so funny now that I could actually fuck it up, is it?” she grinned.

Țepeș remained perfectly still, and you got the impression it was a comical warning.

“I can’t flat-foot it,” she said to you, “So I’m gonna rest my left foot on the curb after I’ve flicked the kickstand up,” she said. “You can’t start most bikes with the kickstand still down.”

You noted that down, and let her get on with the rest of the sequence uninterrupted, which seemed a lot more complicated than you’d imagined.

Near the end of your tutorial on how to start a bike and the basics of clutch control, and the apparent struggle to find neutral, the sound of a number of approaching engines tore through the quiet afternoon. You looked back over your shoulder to see three sports bikes round the corner and make their way towards you.

The three riders couldn’t have been more different. The one you noticed first was riding a big, brash, bright orange bike that reminded you a bit of a sporty looking dirt bike, and he was wearing, of all things, a black and white cow onesie, with a cow helmet cover complete with fabric horns and ears.

“Fucking Pumpkin,” Adi laughed. “Honestly. I think you’ll love him.”

“Pumpkin?” you asked, wondering how on earth he’d got that name. Then again, Țepeș was a pretty unusual nickname. Perhaps he was a vampire under all that leather, shielding himself from the fury of the sun with his biker gear just so he could spend more time with his human lover during the day… You yanked your over-active imagination back into the present and out of your fantasy novel, and watched the trio of bikers approach down the quiet side street.

“Yeah, Pumpkin’s his name. It’s because he’s a —” Țepeș elbowed Adi in the ribs sharply enough that she had to grab the handlebars to stop herself toppling off his bike. Her eyes went wide and she instantly clicked her jaw shut.

As an author, you were used to watching and studying people, and noting your observations for later. Another writer you knew online had called it ‘cataloguing the everyday’, and it was an apt description. Adi had very nearly given away something huge about Pumpkin, and Țepeș had given her a silent but stern warning.

“Because he loves pranks, like on Halloween?” she finished a little too quickly. “He dresses up with silly helmet covers all the time and he likes to play jokes on people.”

Maybe he wasn’t your kind of person at all. The very idea of having a practical joke pulled on you was enough to make you feel sick and shaky all over. You'd always hated them, and they’d always left you feeling devastated and on-edge if they happened to you. The more you trusted the person, the worse it felt afterwards.

Țepeș’ huge hand landed carefully on your shoulder joint and you looked up to find him smiling reassuringly at you. At least, you thought he was smiling reassuringly. All you could see were his glinting black eyes that were creased at the corners, and the way the apples of his pale cheeks were slightly more squished than usual behind the padding in his helmet.

You tried out a smile of your own, and then realised that Adi was talking again.

“He’s such a goofball, but that’s got to be his craziest outfit yet! You should see his other helmet covers; they’re all bonkers. My favourite is the pink rabbit one.”

Țepeș nodded once in agreement and let go of your shoulder. You swayed a little at the loss, feeling untethered.

“The guy on the red Ducati is Demon, and the short one on the Ninja in the middle is Pickle.”

When the newcomers spotted the three of you standing around Țepeș’ bike, Pumpkin revved raucously, almost seeming to make his bike laugh with joy at the sight of you. Then he hauled it up into a massive wheelie, only dropping back down once he’d torn past you in a near-vertical pose. Your heart was in your mouth the whole time, but he looked relaxed and even amused behind that absurd costume as he landed it and swerved the bike around to make his way back towards you while the other two came over in a more sedate fashion. In fact, they were so sedate it reminded you of two sharks approaching, and your mouth went dry. Adi had said they were cool with you being there and asking questions, but just then, it didn’t really feel like it.

The one riding the lurid, neon green bike was so short that you wondered for a crazy second if maybe they were a child. The owner of the red bike revved his something wicked as he cruised to a stop, and you had to fight the urge to step back. It felt like being roared at full in the face by a lion, and it didn’t help at all that the guy had curling ram’s horns adorning his black helmet. Even though it was a nippy autumn day, he was wearing a white t-shirt that showed off a golden tan and a truly impressive physique, and his black jeans had a rip in the knee that added to his tough-guy appearance.

Standing beside his own bike, Țepeș folded his arms and jutted his chin in a warning. Demon revved his deafening bike once more though, and the back wheel skimmed from side to side on the tarmac as blue smoke churned up into the air.

Țepeș shook his head and a few seconds later, Demon stopped his mini burnout, and instead leaned forwards on the bike, resting one arm casually on the tank. His whole attention was fixed on you and you tried hard not to regret all of this. It was research. You were here for your story. It was fine. His visor was tinted like Țepeș’ was, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze through the plastic just as clearly as if there had been nothing blocking his eyes from yours.

“Just giving a welcome to your new friend, Țepeș,” the guy purred in a silky baritone that made you think of teeth in the dark.

As the brief puff of acrid smoke from his tyres cleared, the short rider flipped their visor up and regarded you with beady, golden eyes that had to be contacts, surely? Even the pupils were slitted like a cat’s. 

“Who’s this?” came a reedy, tenor voice from under the helmet. Definitely not a child after all, and their skin had a strange, greenish tinge to it that you initially took to be makeup until you realised it went all the way down their cheeks as well. Tattoos? Some kind of condition? You tried not to stare.

Before either you or Adi could respond to their question, the cow onesie rider screeched to a comical halt beside the other two, locking up the front wheel and making the rear of his bike kick up like a bronco, and Adi shook her head. “Pumpkin, honestly. What are you like?”

“I’m Legen-dairy!” he grinned, gesturing wide with both hands. “Oh, hey! New friend?!” he exclaimed, waving enthusiastically when he saw you standing awkwardly beside Țepeș’ bike. He had a lilting Irish accent and a playful intonation that warmed you to him immediately, despite knowing about his penchant for practical jokes.

“Don’t mind Pumpkin,” Adi smiled at you. “He’s… something else.”

“I’m highly a-moo-sing, is what I am,” the guy chuckled. His words sounded clearer than the others behind their helmets, and you wondered if it was something about the design that made it easier to hear him.

“Oh god, please stop with the cow puns,” Pickle groaned, casting him a withering look with those unusual eyes.

“But Pickle, I’m udderly fantastic!”

“Stop.”

“This is just plain bull-ying!” Pumpkin whined, and then he started to bop up and down on his bike as he sang, “My milkshake brings—”

“If you howl one more out of tune word, Demon will eat you for breakfast, and not in a fun way,” Pickle said, casting a glance at the biker with the horns on his helmet.

For answer, the biker in question cocked his head just a little to one side, and Pumpkin slumped in his seat, arms and legs dangling comically, head lolling forwards so that the soft horns on his helmet cover flopped. He let out a long, sad mooing noise sound that dissolved into giggles at the end, and Pickle punched him on the arm.

“Loser,” Pickle snorted with obvious fondness.

“Anyway, I want you to meet my friend,” Adi cut in, turning to you. “I’m sorry you had to meet Pumpkin when he’s in this mood, but —”

“Moo-d!” Pumpkin interrupted triumphantly and immediately burst out laughing. He almost tipped backwards off his big, orange bike. Even you managed to crack a shy smile at that one. It was infectious.

“I give up,” Pickle said, and hopped down off his green Kawasaki, disappearing into the shop without a backward glance just as Hank stepped out.

“How’s that lesson going?” he asked you.

“I’m not planning on riding solo any time soon,” you smiled, “But I’ve got enough of an idea of how things work to start writing, I think.”

Hank nodded and, glancing around at Pumpkin who was still bouncing up and down and making his suspension creak a little, said, “Ah, they’re all idiots, but they’re kind, and they’re my idiots.”

He introduced you by name, and told Pumpkin and Demon why you were there. Pumpkin seemed intrigued, tilting his head to one side and calming his crazy energy a little as he regarded you through the tinted visor, but Demon growled softly as he pushed himself upright again and folded his arms across his ripped chest, muttering something about letting their guard down again.

Țepeș moved away from his bike, petting the back of Adi’s blonde head in a fond, distracted gesture, and then signalled for Demon to follow him inside, which, to your surprise, the big guy did. He walked like a Greek god — like he owned the place and not Hank — but it was clear that he had respect for Țepeș.

Pumpkin took advantage of their absence and leaned a little way off his bike towards you. “So, you’re a writer? That’s pretty cool. And you’re writing a… a book? A story? About bikers?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s not the main focus, but it’s a big part of it.” If you hadn’t wanted to open up to Adi about it being a supernatural fantasy story, you sure as heck weren’t going to admit it to a bunch of intimidating, high-octane bikers. “It was Adi who suggested I come and learn a bit more about it all from you guys though…” you said, not wanting them to think you’d just inserted yourself into their group without invitation. Especially given Demon’s weird reaction.

“Awesome,” Pumpkin said, fist-bumping Adi then turning back to you. “You gonna ride with us? We’re all heading out in a bit so you should come too!”

“I… maybe?” you faltered. That had not been on the cards for the day, but the more you thought about it, the more your heart began to race.

“The KTM has a passenger seat,” Pumpkin said, gesturing behind him and patting his pillion seat. “You can be my backpack if you like! I promise I won’t wheelie. I’m not taking the onesie off though,” he added, mooing and shaking his head so that the fabric horns waggled comically.

His energy and enthusiasm really were infectious. He bounced up and down again like an excitable, cow-print puppy, and you bit your lip. The idea of holding onto him, of being perched on the back of his mad, orange bike, was oddly… enticing. Even with his embarrassing costume.

“Come on,” he said. “It’ll be fun! It’s only a short ride because Coco’s Honda’s playing up for some reason,” he added. “Is she here yet? I don’t see her little bumblebee…”

“Bumblebee?” you asked.

“Coco’s bike is a Honda Hornet,” Adi supplied. “She’s got these little antennae for her helmet too. It’s so cute. And no,” she added to Pumpkin. “You guys are the first.”

It didn’t take long for the rest of the day’s riders to arrive, and soon you watched a screaming pink bike roll up, with its rider wearing baby pink leathers and a pink helmet. Her name was Barbie, appropriately enough, and a few minutes later, a skinny guy in all black leathers with a black helmet bearing a decal like a maw full of teeth pulled up, alongside Coco on her black and yellow Honda Hornet that looked very much like the Transformer.

“I see why you call it Bumblebee,” you said to Adi, who was standing on the pavement with you, chatting and slipping you random bits of information about both the bikes and the bikers. The others had all gone inside, leaving you with Adi still casually sitting astride her boyfriend’s enormous, black Ducati Streetfighter outside in the sunshine, and honestly it was nice to catch your breath and let your heart rate settle again.

Pumpkin, apparently, was only a few years older than you, and he had moved to the city to get away from his family and their career expectations for him. His name was actually Callahan, or Cal, but literally everyone called him Pumpkin.

Pickle was non-binary and surprisingly a full decade older than you. They lived with their mother, who needed a bit of extra care these days, and had taken up riding only a year or so ago. Demon, Adi didn’t discuss at all, and she said little about Barbie other than that she kept herself to herself a lot and was pretty shy.

Coco came out to soak up some autumn sunshine a while later, and was one of the only bikers who actually took off her helmet. Beneath it, she had thick, wavy, chocolate brown hair and brown eyes that made you want to drown in them, and a smile so pretty it made your heart skip several beats. She gave off the kind of energy that made you feel safe and relaxed, and you let out a long, slow exhale, feeling the sun wash up over your skin.

That peace lasted until Demon stormed out of the shop, followed by Pumpkin, Țepeș, and Pickle.

“Everything ok?” Adi whispered to Țepeș when he came over and hugged her tightly from behind before passing her a spare helmet. He nodded and jerked his thumb towards his bike. “Yeah, I’m good to go. You coming?” she asked you, and you found yourself nodding before you’d even realised.

“Yes!” Pumpkin bayed in triumph and you startled, not having heard him return to his bike. “You’re mine! I claim you. You’re my backpack!”

“Like anyone else wants a human for baggage,” Demon muttered so quietly you weren’t sure you were supposed to have heard it. As he passed, he slammed his visor back down and you could have sworn that he’d had completely scarlet eyes. You wondered if you were losing your mind a little bit, or if the fantasy of your novel was beginning to bleed into the real world through your over-active imagination.  

Pumpkin practically vaulted back up onto his orange bike and he held out his hand to you. “Alright! My precious and beautiful backpack,” he said, “Hop on!”

Easier said than done, you thought, ignoring the compliment. You watched your reflection distort in his visor as he turned his head when you faltered anxiously.

“I’ll look after you, I promise. But I’m gonna rely on you to tell me if Pickle’s coming for my killswitch, ok?”

Recalling your brief lesson with Țepeș, you eyed the red switch on his right handlebar and said, “That?”

“Yeah, that. Protect it at all costs,” he giggled. “I mean, not all costs, obviously but… Actually, scratch that. It’s Ninja you wanna watch out for. He’s a sneaky, sneaky boy. He blends in so no one sees him coming…” A few of them laughed in a way that made you feel like there was more to it than just an inside joke, and your stomach churned.

A glance back at the skinny guy on the black bike behind you revealed Ninja tilting his hands outwards in a ‘who, me?’ kind of gesture. Hank came over and gave you a helmet, taking your messenger bag from you and promising to keep it safe behind the counter. You slid the helmet on and buckled it up, trying not to feel like an impostor.

Getting aboard wasn’t as hard as you’d thought it was going to be, with brief instruction from Adi and Pumpkin on how to put your feet on the pegs, though you did clunk your helmet against Pumpkin’s when you leaned too far forward, but he made things easier by telling you to hold him round the waist. He turned back over one shoulder and said, “It’s kinda forward, but I don’t mind. You’re cute and I don’t want you falling off.” He had such a lovely voice — warm and rich and reassuring — and you found yourself laughing softly.

“If you say so.”

Pumpkin talked a mile a minute and you really had to work to process everything he was saying as it tumbled out of him in a wild, happy torrent. “You are cute! You’re gonna have a blast today. I can’t believe I’m your first! Oh, and watch out for silly string too. I don’t think Pickle has any in their pocket today, but last time they got me good and it was all over my helmet and my orange baby,” he added petting the tank of his bike.

Your heart lurched at the idea of these pranks maybe escalating, and you tried to swallow down the nausea; you did not want to be sick in a motorcycle helmet. The cold sweat took a while to evaporate and you were sure Pumpkin would feel your heartbeat as you clung onto him before he’d even started the bike. The cow onesie did add a little levity though, and you tried not to feel too silly.

When Adi was safely aboard Țepeș’ bike, Țepeș revved his readiness a few times from the rear of the group, and Pumpkin nodded. “Forward!” he yelled, pointing like he was leading a cavalry charge as he nudged up his kickstand and prepared to draw away.

Adi had been right.

The ride was amazing.

Terrifying, exhilarating, wonderful, and, in the strangest way possible, it made you forget everything.

All you could focus on was the way Pumpkin moved with the bike like it was a part of him — almost like a rider and his horse — and on trying to move with him as he leaned into the corners. He was slim and fit beneath your grip, and he didn’t seem to be wearing any kind of padding under the onesie, but he was wearing biker boots instead of ordinary shoes. There was something alluring about the fact you’d not seen his face and he’d not taken his helmet off. Țepeș had a similar vibe, but it was Pumpkin and his wild, silly energy you found yourself drawn to. It was almost euphoric to be able to press the front of your body against this kind, funny stranger’s back and let him sweep you along the roads.

Of course, there were shenanigans at the first red light you came to.

Pickle came for Pumpkin’s killswitch immediately — almost like they were testing you — but you tapped Pumpkin on the shoulder when you saw Pickle stalking up the line of bikes. Ninja covered his killswitch and waggled a finger at Pickle, and when Pumpkin saw who was coming, he patted your thigh a few times. “Nice one,” he said with a grin evident in his voice. “Best early warning system and best backpack ever! You can ride with me every time!”

You glowed with pride, even though you knew it was probably only fun and games, and when Pickle failed to catch Pumpkin’s killswitch and the lights changed, you laughed with the rest of them as Pickle bolted back to their Ninja and hopped comically onto it at the very last second while Pumpkin sped away fast enough to make you yelp and grip him hard around the middle. You felt him laugh and held him tighter.

He petted your hands where they were laced securely in front of him, and even though you didn’t have comms in your helmet, you got the message: ‘I’ve got you’. You did feel safe with him despite his love of pranks, and you were literally trusting him with your life as you rode behind him.

When the ride came to an end about an hour later, and the group drew to a halt at Full Moon Motorcycles again, you were shaky with the aftereffects of adrenaline and from simply holding on, but beneath your helmet, you were grinning wildly. Secretly, you already couldn’t wait for the next ride and prayed he would ask you again.

Pickle pulled their bike up on your right, the green Ninja 400 idling gently, and when they killswitched Pumpkin’s bike at last, Pumpkin guffawed, but without missing a beat he extended his right leg and tapped the gear lever down to put Pickle’s bike into first, making the bike stall and lurch forwards.

“Gotcha!” he crowed, and then helped you off the back by letting you steady yourself on his shoulders. “And for the pièce de résistance,” he said, fishing in the pouch of his onesie, and he turned something cylindrical in your direction. “I was saving this for Pickle, but since it’s your first ride, you deserve a decent celebration!”

With a loud bang and a flurry of coloured squares of paper, a confetti cannon went off in your face and you screeched in shock, tripping over your heels and landing hard on the pavement behind you. The pieces of paper fluttered down around you while panic and fear and everything you hated about being pranked exploded out of you. Your heartbeat went through the roof. You just glimpsed the horns of Demon’s helmet in the doorway to the shop, and your heart dropped when you saw he was laughing.

Pumpkin was laughing too, and pointing, and beside him Pickle clapped their gloved hands and crooned, “Oh man, he got you good!”

He had got you good, and you hated it.

You hated that it was just a silly, harmless prank, but you were reacting like he’d done something serious. You hated that you couldn’t just laugh it off the way they all did. You hated that you took it so seriously; that it felt like the worst kind of betrayal of that fragile trust you’d started to put in a stranger. And then, behind the visor of your helmet, the tears began to flow uncontrollably.

A huge figure appeared in your blurred vision and you looked up to find Țepeș kneeling down beside you. He blocked the others from your sight with his massive body, and he lifted his visor to show his black eyes full of concern.

You nodded, trying to pull yourself together and grateful beyond belief that the helmet was still covering your face, even though it felt like you were running out of oxygen in there. Pulling yourself together was like trying to hold a bag full of sand with fraying seams. You were seeping and spilling out all over the place and you couldn’t stop. You tried to tell yourself it was just a confetti cannon. You tried to tell yourself it was just a bit of fun.

You tried, and failed.

“I’m… I’m ok… I’m…” you gulped, aware of how choked your voice sounded.

Țepeș stood and held out a hand, pulling you to your feet and ushering you carefully inside. You didn’t miss the way he put himself between you and Demon, who was still snickering in the doorway, and you let him lead you into the shop and into the back room.

He snagged a box of tissues from under the shop’s counter in passing and guided you into a chair. He signalled for you to undo your helmet, which you did with shaking fingers. “I’m sorry,” you gulped as you drew it off over your head and set it on the floor. “I’m sorry I’m overreacting.”

Țepeș shook his head and squeezed your shoulder, offering you a tissue.

“It’s just a prank, I know that, but…”

Again, he squeezed your shoulder, and you took a deeper, steadier breath.

“I hate pranks. Even the harmless ones. I always overreact like this. I’m sorry. It’s not his fault, but… I thought… I thought maybe he… he wouldn’t…”

A knock on the door made you jump, and Țepeș made a ‘stay there’ gesture with his hand and ducked out of the room. A short, seemingly one-sided conversation passed outside while you fought to control yourself again, and then Pumpkin ducked inside.

“Hey,” he said, and your heart broke a little at the change in his energy. It was like he’d completely deflated. He was still wearing the cow onesie though, which brought a slightly hysterical chuckle to your lips before you could stop it. “I’m so sorry,” he said, dropping to one knee in front of your chair. “I… I didn’t think you’d react like that.”

“It’s not you,” you said, sniffling and turning away, cuffing at your eyes. “I just overreacted.”

“You didn’t overreact,” he said, and your brain screeched to a halt.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have done it to you. I didn’t know if you were cool with it, and I just assumed that… that because everyone else likes my pranks… that you’d be ok with it too, and I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll never ever pull anything like that on you again. Ever.” He crossed his thumb across his heart. “I swear on my True Name.”

The wording was odd, but the air seemed to crystallise around you for a second, and your breath caught. “Like a Fae,” you mumbled without thinking.

He tilted his helmeted head a little. “Yeah,” he said and his voice had an odd ring to it. “You… You know about… about the Fae?”

“I’m writing a book…” you croaked, not really thinking about what you were saying. “Supernatural theme… I’ve always written fantasy stuff… Look, I’m sorry. I’m over-sharing about stuff that isn’t even real. I’m good,” you said, and stood up abruptly, setting your borrowed helmet down on the chair and turning to look at him. He was on his feet again, but he was just standing there.

You walked out into the main shop but he called your name and you halted and turned back around. “Yeah?”

“Are… Are you gonna come back?”

You bit your lip. You probably had enough to write the book now — the biker part of it wasn’t even the main focus after all — but until the prank, you’d felt included and welcomed, and, as you thought about it, the prank had also been meant to welcome you into the fold. It wasn’t Pumpkin’s fault that you had reacted the way you did.

“You want me to?” you asked.

“Please,” he said. “Please, I’d love it. I’ve… I’ve never had anyone I’ve wanted to be my backpack before, and you rode like a natural today,” he added, taking a step towards you. “Please. I promise no one will do any pranks when you’re with us. No silly string, no confetti cannons.”

“I don’t mind it… With the others, I mean,” you said, the words grinding out of you like a boulder uphill. “I mean… So long as it’s not me.”

“Ok, we’ll dial it back,” he compromised. “I’ll even give you one of my little stretchy sticky hands if you like so you can team up on Pickle with me. We duel at the lights sometimes. Does that count as a prank?”

You shook your head, fighting back a resurgence of emotions, mostly good this time.

“Ok. I’m really sorry,” he said again.

“I believe you,” you said.

“Thank you,” Pumpkin replied, his whole body looking relieved. It was amazing how expressive someone could be, even without being able to see their face. “Let me give you my number and I’ll text you when we’re going out next. Or… Or maybe we could go out just the two of us?”

That seemed like way more pressure than you’d been expecting, but you nodded all the same when you realised you weren’t put off by it at all.

As you left the shop not long afterwards, having recovered enough to let the red fade from your eyes, Demon looked you up and down and then approached Pumpkin. You glanced back over your shoulder to see him looming down over Pumpkin, and you just caught him growling, “What happens when you need to take that helmet off eh, Dullahan? You think that cute accent is going to be enough to hide the fact you don’t have a fucking head under there?”

Your breath caught and you tripped, turning away before either of them could notice your reaction.

For a moment, when Demon had spat the word ‘Dullahan’ you’d thought he’d said ‘Callahan’ — Pumpkin’s real name — but the instant he’d said Pumpkin didn’t have a head, your mind made the connection.

Dullahan.

A Fae without a head, traditionally a headless horseman.

The way Pumpkin had moved with his bike, like it was a living creature, had reminded you of a horse and its rider, and you had to wonder if the nickname ‘Pumpkin’ had come from the cartoonish depictions of Dullahans on Halloween with a pumpkin for a head instead of their real one. They did have a head, you knew from research for your writing, but they tended to keep it hidden since that was where their power resided. They could only be harmed if you hurt their head, or if they were wearing it when you attacked them.

But that was all fantasy, right?

Then Demon’s red eyes flickered across your memory, and the weird emphasis he’d put on the word ‘human’ in his snide remarks, and the way you’d thought maybe Țepeș was a vampire because he kept his skin covered up, and the fact that Pickle’s skin was entirely green and they had gold eyes with cat’s pupils… it was all way too much of a coincidence. Right?

You walked home in a daze, not even saying goodbye to Adi who was talking quietly with Țepeș in the long, late afternoon shadows cast by the bike shop’s wall.

Over the next few rides with Pumpkin, you tried to figure out a way to broach the topic. If you just blurted it out, you had no idea how the others would react, so you dropped little hints to Pumpkin that you were writing a supernatural story and that you’d been researching the supernatural for a while, and how you’d always hoped there was more out there than met the eye. You even mentioned it a couple of times on group rides to see how the others reacted, and predictably, it was Demon who bristled, and Pumpkin who looked uncomfortable. Like he had a secret he wanted to tell you.

Each time you did it, he looked torn, like he was right on the cusp of telling you the truth.

It finally came to an ugly head one afternoon as the riding season drew to a close in late October and you all came back from a huge group ride that had included a few more riders whom you’d not met before, but who evidently knew the rest of the group.

As you went inside to return the helmet that Hank always lent you, you caught the sound of an argument and hung back in the small storage room behind the main shop to avoid it, heart in your throat and the helmet forgotten in one hand.

Pickle was standing in the main area of the shop with their helmet dangling from their hand this time, and you gasped when you saw sharply-tapered ears and a row of pointed teeth in their mouth, and green skin that went all the way down below their collar. Definitely not a tattoo. They looked sharp, their features inhuman; like one of the goblins in your novel. If you’d needed confirmation that they weren’t human, this had to be it.

Pickle was  arguing with Adi and Demon, and Pumpkin was there too, looking helplessly from one to the other of them.

Demon was shouting, and he didn’t have his helmet on either. Perhaps they’d thought you’d already left. The horns that adorned his helmet were… actually attached to his head, not his helmet. He had horns. They obviously grew from his hairline, his black hair waving around them like a river of oil that had a rainbow sheen on it, and his eyes were a luminous, blood-red with slit pupils too. He rounded on Pumpkin like a Wolf on a rabbit. “You think just because we let Țepeș’ little human blood-bag in, we can risk exposing us all to just anyone?” Demon snarled. “I thought you wanted to keep our kind a secret? Now you’re siding with him?”

“Hey!” Adi exclaimed, but Pickle’s lip curled and they turned to her.

“He has got a point, Adi, though the blood-bag comment was way out of line,” Pickle said. “We have to be careful, but —”

“This is different,” Pumpkin interjected. “Ok? I’ve never been in love before, and I love —”

“No. It’s not fucking ok! This is the one place we get to be who we are,” Demon countered, his deep voice cracking as he clearly fought off tears. He sounded afraid and upset in a way that went right to your heart. “This is the one place where we can be safe, Cal, and you’re jeopardising it for all of us. And if we start letting humans in, if our secret gets out —”

“I think it’s a little late for that,” Pickle said faintly, staring straight at you watching the argument unfold, stunned. They were arguing because of you. Because Pumpkin had taken a liking to you — in fact, he’d just said he loved you…

A pair of gold eyes and a pair of scarlet eyes stared at you, while Adi stood there hugging herself and looking hurt and unsure, and Pumpkin was standing stock still with his black helmet still on but you knew he was looking at you too. Was he going to defend you, or discard you and stick with his friends? They weren’t human. None of them was human. Demon’s eyes were blaring a violent red and he had horns growing out of his black hairline and curling back over his head, and there was a watercolour patch of red creeping over his golden tan as if he was losing control of his form. And Pickle was apparently some kind of goblin?

“You’re a Dullahan,” you said quietly, looking at Pumpkin. “A Fae.”

“You know?” Demon hissed, taking half a step towards you. “How the fuck do you know?” and then he shoved Pumpkin back with a hand at each shoulder. “You’ve taken your helmet off already? Did you disclose your head’s location while you were at it?”

Pumpkin shook his head vehemently but then he lifted his shiny, black helmet off in what looked like an act of defiance to Demon.

In the void where his head should have been there was a swirl of bluish-green smoke emanating from the stump of his neck, like the aurora in the night sky, and his skin was a dark, slate-blue colour. Your mind struggled to accept what you were seeing, but with the additional evidence of Pickle’s green skin and Demon’s horns, you knew it all had to be true.

Walking closer, as if moving through a dream, you ignored Demon’s constant, caged-animal growl, but you did jump when the door flew open and Țepeș burst in. He strode straight over to Adi and wrapped his arm protectively around her shoulders, tugging her close and putting himself between her and the others. He cocked his head in an impatiently curious manner and Adi answered his silent demand.

“Demon’s laying into Pumpkin about flirting with a human while hiding what he is,” Adrianne said, glaring flatly at Demon. “And he called me your blood-bag,” she added.

Țepeș’ fists curled, leather creaking, and he took a long, slow inhale, as though he was trying very hard not to lose control and launch himself at Demon.

Before anything else could happen, someone clapped their hands abruptly from the side of the shop where the till and the bikes were arrayed, and you all jumped.

Hank was standing there and his eyes were glowing golden. “This family is built on trust,” he said in a low, gravelly bass, and you saw that his canines were chunkier and longer than they usually were, and his hair seemed thicker and fuller, his beard a little bushier around the chops. “And if we welcome each other into it, we must be prepared to trust each other’s judgement.”

“We’re just a little research project!” Demon said, rounding on you. “Adi told you what we are, didn’t she, so you thought you’d come and study us like a science experiment?”

You were still staring at Pumpkin’s empty collar and wondering in an odd, detached kind of way where it would be considered polite for you to look now — did you look at the point where his eyes would be if he had a head, or did you look at his chest? Only a second or two later did Demon’s words filter through and you blinked. “What?”

“You’re writing a fucking book about us! How does that count as trustworthy?”

“I’m not — It’s not about you,” you shot back. “The book isn’t about you. The protagonist is dating a vampire who’s in a biker gang, but… Adi didn’t tell me anything at all about you. I didn’t know you weren’t human until… until I overheard you accusing Pumpkin a few weeks ago. You said something about not having a head under his helmet, and you called him a Dullahan.” You swallowed thickly and watched the shock filter through everyone’s expressions at your words. “At first I thought you were saying his name, but then I realised you said ‘Dullahan’, not ‘Callahan’, and because I’ve looked into supernatural stuff, I put two and two together. I’ve known for weeks,” you said, chest heaving as you fought to maintain some semblance of composure while you finished your defence. “I could have said something, or I could have just not come back, but I trusted you guys.” Tears finally blurred your vision. “You treated me like family. Why would I betray you?”

Pumpkin moved first.

He strode across he space, dropping his helmet on the floor with a loud crack that would have made anyone who needed a helmet to protect their head wince, but you figured his was purely for decoration and disguise anyway. He wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you close to his body. His arms almost lifted you off the ground and he cradled your head in one hand while his left arm curled around your waist and squeezed you so tight you gave a little wheeze.

His voice came from nowhere in particular, just like it did when he had the helmet on, and he said, “You are family. And I love you. If I have to leave this one to be with you, I will.”

Your heart stopped for a moment before you hugged him back, desperately. “Don’t. Not for me.”

He only hugged you harder.

From somewhere off to your left, Hank gave a low, rumbling growl and then muttered, “Kids. Honestly.” Then a little louder, he said, “Demon, go and cool off somewhere. Țepeș, for God’s sake, stand down, and Pickle, go and put the fucking kettle on. I need a cup of tea with half a bottle of whisky in it after all this drama.”

Pumpkin drew back at last, and you looked up at the haze of blue-green smoke that seemed to swirl upwards in a constant stream, like a recently extinguished candle. “How can you see me?” you asked. And then, with a little more alarm in your tone, you yelped, “Wait, how can you see where you’re driving?”

He laughed and leaned in close enough that the aurora-light swirled across your vision and caressed your face with a feather light breath, and you shivered. “Magic,” he whispered.

Demon hadn’t gone anywhere, and was regarding you with a more level gaze. His eyes were still red though. “You knew?” he said. “All this time?”

“Yeah,” you croaked as you refocused your eyes from the magic of the Dullahan’s body to Demon’s very much corporeal body. “I mean, I suspected.”

He sighed, still staring you down. Pumpkin stepped a little in front of you, much as Țepeș had for Adi, but Demon shook his head. He worked his jaw for a second and then slowly held out his right hand. His skin was red instead of the golden tan it had been, and his nails were black and claw-like, but the gesture was one of reconciliation all the same. “Welcome to the family, I guess,” he muttered hoarsely.

You smiled faintly, and Pumpkin took your left hand in a show of solidarity, sliding his gloved fingers around yours while you briefly shook Demon’s hand. “I really didn’t know what you guys were when you said I could come and hang out with you, I swear.”

“I know,” Demon bit out. “I can taste a lie, and you’re telling the truth.”

With that, he stalked away and carefully slotted his helmet on over his horns. You realised that there were specially-tailored holes in the crown of it for the horns to fit through, but when it was on, some kind of glamour made it look like the horns were just attached to the surface of the helmet. Outside, he swung a leg over his Ducati and started it up, revving it and launching away amid a scream of tyres and over-worked engine.

“Give him time,” Pumpkin said as he looked down at you. In the swirl of the smoke at his neck you thought you could make out the features of a face for a moment, but you blinked and it vanished. “You’re family now though, so he won’t give you any more trouble.”

“He did just insult Adi pretty spectacularly,” you pointed out.

“And he’ll apologise to her,” Pumpkin said. Țepeș loomed threateningly beside Adi in silent agreement. “For now, you want to come for a ride with just me? Come back to my place maybe?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Bet you have questions too…”

“You going to fact-check my novel for me?” you asked with a playful smile, and Pumpkin laughed. It felt right to hear his loud, giggly laughter filling the space again.

“You’d actually have to let me read it for that, love, and you said you didn’t like showing your work to anyone until it was done.”

“I could make an exception for you, I guess,” you admitted with a bashful smile.

With Pumpkin still holding your hand, you paused on your way out to check on Adi, who looked a little hurt but otherwise alright, and you promised to check in with her later. Țepeș handed Pumpkin his helmet, and you let yourself be led from the shop. Your helmet was still in your slightly numb fingers, never having put it down, so you slid it back on with shaky hands.

After climbing with familiar ease back up onto the pillion seat of Pumpkin’s orange KTM, you snaked your arms around his middle and squeezed.

“I’m sorry it all came out this way,” Pumpkin said before he started up his bike. “This was not how I planned to tell you. I had no idea how I was going to break it to you, but that… that wasn’t it. I know you hate surprises, and that was a big one.”

“Not all surprises are bad,” you admitted. “And this one turned out ok in the end. Come on. I want to find out how much I’ve got wrong about the Fae.”

Pumpkin guffawed, his laughter audible even after he’d started up his bike and pulled away.

Turns out, you’d quite a lot wrong about the Fae after all, but Pumpkin was only too happy to put you right over pizza and a movie on his sofa that evening.

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one. If you did, please consider reblogging to show your support as well as leaving a like and/or a comment.

Do you want to see the other members of the group? Remember you can find out more about them here in this early post if you're curious. Tepes already has a love interest, and Ninja the mimic is claimed too, but if you're curious, lemme know!

| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

[readychilledwine]

idk what sort of crack you put in cat and mouse but i’ve read it 5 times now, please tell me there’s more i’m literally so desperate🧎‍♀️ like the way reader was laughing when devlon screamed or the way she said down boy to azriel???? i kinda want y/n ngl👀 ugh i need to see rhys helping her rewire her mind or her accepting the mating bond w az plssss🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

I only purchase the best Crack for my followers 💙

Paradise Lost - Cat and Mouse Prequel Part 1

But part two in the Starwars release sense. Like a prequel.

Summary - After being hired to take out The Night Court's dangerous spymaster, y/n finds herself trapped between a rock and hard place.

Warnings - mentions of rape allegations, attempted murder, mentions of murder, time jumps to try to prevent this from being 4 billion parts, mind control

A/n - sheeeees baaaaaack 💜 the prequel is going to end up being multiple parts. I do not like having my stuff end up over 4k words, I feel like reading that can be difficult, and with modern technology, distractions happen and you accidentally exit and lose your place and you're le sad. If you all disagree and would be interested in a 6-7k part, let me know 💙 p.s. these parts are going to fulfill several anonymous asks, so each one will be under a different ask

Word count - 3511 (not including time jump stamps)

Cat and Mouse Part 2

High profile targets had never scared you.

 

You'd been watching him for several weeks now. Memorizing every step, every habit, what he ate and drank. 

You knew you had one shot at this mission. One singular shot. If you failed, if he got away, you were as good as dead.

Your first lesson when you were trained on the different courts of Pryithian was do not fuck with the Night Court. Missions involving them were in and out while kept clean and untraceable. Their High Lord would find you if you left that opening, and you'd never be seen or heard from again.

The first lesson you had learned on the street was not to mess with the Shadowsinger. The reason the High Lord would find you. The reason you were currently strolling Velaris under the mask of some young fae female one of your, for a lack of a better term, co workers had killed. She had no family, no friends, just a simple life on the poor outskirts of town. She sold her body for food and money. Which was how she ended up in his talons. How all the faces you wore ended up in his talons actually. 

Taking out Azriel was not going to be an easy task, but you had discovered one weakness: 

The male loved a beautiful face. Even more so when he thought she was defenseless.

You also noticed he had a type. Blondes with doe eyes. You could not fake the blonde hair or big lost brown eyes without magic. But a defenseless female in need of rescue was easy, especially since the same co-workers who were more than happy to disguise you would be more than happy to attempt to kill you. 

So you scheduled it. Letting your keeper know what you needed and when. Letting him know specifically non lethal shots on the shadowsinger with faebane would let you have an easier chance at taking him out somewhere privately.

Azriel, despite his intelligence, had fallen for it. And now he sat strapped to a chair in a ran down cabin in the woods with you watching him. You should have ended it instantly, but per the client's request, you were asked for three things, a confession of his crime, one of his hands to prove he was dead, and the pretty dagger you were translating the wyrdmarks off of.

"I know you're awake," you purred to him finishing another character. "You won't be able to contact him. Shackles, little pup."

He scoffed before lightly chuckling. "If you knew I was awake, why are we just sitting here?"

You shrugged. "I was hoping you'd start the conversation first. Or explain to me how you have a Cauldron made weapon in your possession."

"You took me hostage, I believe you should be explaining to me." 

You looked at him, pursing your lips slightly and nodding. "Not much to explain, little pup. I'm getting paid to kill you. Why is interesting, though." You paused, setting the dagger on the table and grabbing the parchment before sitting on the ground cross legged in front of him. He was almost appalled by the action. It was a backhanded way of you saying you very clearly did not see him as a threat.

"Does Princess Alyana of Rusk ring any bells for you?" 

His lip twitched, eyes sparkling with mischief briefly. "Perhaps."

You just nodded. "Can I ask what exactly the thought process behind raping a princess is? Did you think the King wouldn't ask for your head on a pike?"

Azriel looked at you in shock, hazel eyes wide, and jaw slightly opened, "I did not rape her."

You looked at the weathered parchment again, reading the soft swirling letters of the King. Letters beautified by years of practice you'd never be able to have. "According to her story of the night you were caught in her room, you had came in the window, raped her, and only left before killing her because the guards were coming." You bend the parchment keeping all other lines and information secret and showed him. 

His jaw twitched and anger was set in. "I did not harm or rape her. She invited me to her chambers and into her bed. I would never harm a female."

"A lie," you said softly. "I've watched you drag several into the prison and leave covered in blood. Their blood."

"They were spies and traitors."

"I didn't realize an occupation changed your gender. Do your little shadow wraiths know you believe they are not females? How about sweet Morrigan? She is technically a traitor to the Court of Nightmares. Do you believe she isn't female as well?" You rose a brow in challenge. 

Slow realization hit Azriel's face causing you to smile at him. "If you laid a fucking hand on-"

"Relax, pretty boy. I'm only here for you." You stood patting his head, "your special day." 

"What group are you with?" 

You smirked under the mask you were wearing but kept the outside face neutral. "Does it matter?"

"What is your name?"

"No one. I am no one." You answered automatically.

"So the House of the Faceless from the Silent Isles. What happened to the girl you probably murdered?"

"I didn't kill her. Unlike you, I actually do not harm women or females. Do you have a preference on how you die? Poison, stabbing, burning to death?" You looked at his hands. "Probably not that one, huh? Drowning! Polar opposite." He balked at your excitement. "I thought it was a fun option," you crossed your arms. "Been awhile since I water boarded someone."

Azriel shook his head, laughing. "So you won't even give me an honorable death?"

"I'm not fucking stupid enough to fight a Carynthian hand on hand nor with weapons." You could have sworn you saw him smirk. "I'm also not stupid enough to think taking away these," you held up one of his siphons, "means I'm safe if I let you out of those shackles."

Azriel had not even noticed his siphons were gone and he looked down. "How did you know how to remove those?" 

Your brain flashed to a nightmare, one of winged male standing over you. One of pain before you were tossed to your keeper. "Lucky guess," your voice was distant. 

He huffed. "You're illyrian." It wasn't a question, but a statement. "That's why your scent is off. A high fae would not carry the scent we do." 

You felt your world building pressure and rubbed your temples. "Look, this has been fun, but I'm over it." You grabbed the bloodbane you had purchased soaking it on one of your own daggers. 

"If you're going to kill me, at least do me the kindness of getting to see who is actually killing me." You sighed heavily. "Can I give you a word of advice as well? Shackles only work when you aren't dealing with someone who can pick a lock. You also talk way too much."

You had anticipated this, truthfully. You caught his wrist as he went to swing on you and leg swept him to the ground. "The shackles you were in were coated in faebane and bloodbane, torture Master." You straddled his hips as he held his chest to catch his breath. "My hands were also covered in it so you just welcomed it right back into your bloodstream." 

"Go fuck yourself."

"I do nightly," you did something Azriel wasn't expecting then, lifting the skin of the mask off of your face and throwing it to the fire to cancel the magic it also held on your body.

He was right. You were illyrian. An absolutely beautiful illyrian. Long dark hair falling into loose curls, long dark lashes, tan skin, spell binding hazel eyes. "Definitely Illyrian," he coughed out. "At least I'm going to die looking at something beautiful." He had you at the comment. You stilled completely hand barely wrapped around the dagger. "Has no one ever told you that you were beautiful?" He watched you blink, eyes glazing over and shutting as if he had called a painful memory forward. "Can I know your name?"

"No one," you whispered again. "I am no one." You finally looked at him, and you both felt it. You both felt that painful snap. A snap that now shattered your world. You were about to kill your mate. The one thing you'd always hoped would rescue you from the loneliness of your lifestyle. You dropped the dagger, feeling as if someone had just split your world in two. 

"You don't have to do this," he cooed softly to you. "You don't have to kill me. We can talk about this. I can help you. Take you somewhere safe." You stared at him ad he tentatively stepped towards you, hands grabbing your upper arms. "I won't hurt you. No one is ever going to hurt you again."

You knew he meant it. You handed him a vial, the only antidote you had, and then the free faebaned shackles you had also hidden. Turned so he could shackle you behind your back. 

He was so gentle as he did, kissing the back of your head. "You're going to be safe, little hellcat. I promise." 

You heard and smelled them before you saw them. "Well what happened here, Az?" A playful male voice asked. You heard the parchment on the desk moving and closed your eyes as the scent of citrus and sea moved closer to you.

"Hmm. A no one. Who'd you piss off, Azriel?"

"King of Rusk," the playful voice was no longer playful. "The assassin known by the name Eden was specifically requested." It quoted the letter reading the rest of it slowly. "She must be Eden."

You felt the male in front of you trying to rummage through your mind, and looked up at him. His eyes were filled with sympathy and heartache. "You poor creature. I am so sorry, darling." He looked at Azriel. "Put her in one of the nicer cells at the prison until we can trust her." His hand went up as Azriel, as your mate's breath hitched. "She was sent here to kill you, Az. Regardless of the bond, she is dangerous. Ensure she is given real food, she hasn't ate since she came to Velaris almost a week ago. I'm going to need her in better health to untangle the mess they have her in." 

2 weeks later

Rhys sat on the chair across from the small bed he had allowed to be brought into your cell. Watching as you pulled your legs up and hid your face in your knees.

"You should have a camp brand. It would have been done when you were a babe since you are female. Do you have any odd scars?" His voice was always gentle with you. 

"I can't remember," you answered honestly. You hardly remembered Illyria. Hardly remembered you were even Illyrian or what that even meant. "I remember when I was taken to the school-"

"When you were sold like a pig for slaughter to sell swords, darling." He interrupted. "You weren't taken to a school. You were taken to a temple that purchases children they believe have potential to become assassins if they can wipe their memories and humanity well enough. They unfortunately succeeded with you. Every memory you have is locked in a box in your mind."

"They used food," you whispered softly. "If I asked about something, my first punishment was food. First a week, then two. After that it was poisoning."

"Which is why you can touch fae and blood banes." You could sense the pain in his voice. "Are you comfortable taking the dress off for me? I want to see if I can find your brand." You complied, standing slowly to lift the soft cotton dress Azriel had given you off your frame. 

Rhys stood and walked around you in a circle, hand pausing as it grazed over a scar on the side of your hip. "They cut it out of you." You watched him from the mirror as he proceeded to your back, breath hitching and his eyes closing. "Were your wings removed by them or before?" Rhysand watched as your eyes glazed over, as your mind heard a male screaming at you. As your mind heard what he could only assume were your terrified screams from childhood. "Before." His voice cracked. "I know who did, though."

That night in Windhaven, Rhys slammed Devlon's face into the desk. "Who is she?" He forced her to stare at the drawing one of the twins had done of you. "I've heard you screaming at her in her memories. Who the fuck is she?"

Devlon shook his head. "I had nothing to do with what happened to her."

"That's not what I'm asking." Rhys was growling. "Tell me willingly or Azriel will carve it out of you." Rhys held his mind, pulling at it slightly until the male screamed an answer.

"She a bastard of my oldest son." Devlon answered. "He thought getting rid of her would make his and that whore he was laying with lives easier. They sold her. I didn't know."

Azriel growled and lunged. "Her name. What's her name?"

"Y/n," Devlon panted. "Y/n."

1 month later

Countless days were spent with Rhysand in your mind, unwinding memories like a spool of yarn in the paws of a kitten. He had taken mercy on you today after a brutal session that ended with you collapsing into Azriel's arms.

Azriel sat across from you, eating the soup he had brought to share with you. "Rhys might let me move you to the House of Wind," he spoke between spoons. "You'd be warded to a room there between myself and Cassian, but you'd at least have a window and a view." You felt his heart pinch when you looked at him. 

His eyes filled with sadness, with longing, with sympathy. "I know it isn't much. But it's better than here." You nodded, pushing the soup away. "Are you not hungry?"

"I don't like leaks," you responded gently. 

Azriel laughed softly. "I've never heard an illyrian complain about food before. I can have Rhys bring you something else tonight. Is there anything specific you want?"

You were in no position to ask for anything special. Especially not what your mind was trapped on. But you didn't realize Azriel sensed it through the bond and had immediately asked Rhys to go to the bakery you had walked by and almost went into every day. "You aren't our prisoner, little hellcat." Azriel put his bowl down and moved to kneel in front of you. "You are my mate, and I know it feels like an empty promise, but I promise you that once Rhys believes your mind is safe and secure, you will have more freedoms. You're here because we do not know the extent you were controlled at. Surely you know what other organizations do to their assassins?"

You did. Your body shivered at the thought of the spiders they used to turn the fae who worked for them into nothing more than a mindless shell. "Winter has this tea," you started slowly. "I don't remember what it is. But it's sweet but spicy?" Azriel rose a brow. "Not like my mouth is on fire spicy, but.. like… tooth paste?"

He smiled. "I have that at home. I will bring some to you tomorrow." He leaned forward to kiss your forehead and then rested his forehead against yours. "You are so brave, y/n." 

He watched as your eyes glazed over. As your mouth slightly parted and your body stilled.

You were trapped in a memory. A memory of another little male, his wings held high and proud on his back as you two ran and played. He was wearing rags, covered in dirt. You knew this memory, you had dreams about it. "Wait for me!" You heard yourself giggle. "Cassian, wait for me. Why do you run so fast?"

"Because, y/n, I gotta be fast if I'm going to be better than everyone else here some day!"

That bright smile, that playful voice. Rhys was dead silent in the corner, sharing the memory with Azriel. "Az, go get him." 

Rhys sat with you as Cassian entered the cell. He watched as Rhys cradled you to him. "Cassian, can you sit down please?"

The general nodded, continuing to watch. His eyes glazed over as Rhys showed him the memory and the countless others that followed. 

Cassian's voice was choked. "I thought she had died. Her dad came screaming one day his daughter had been taken. Her wings were… they were pinned to his cabin door, Rhys." Cassian felt sick thinking back to his childhood crush's wings hanging limply by the membranes, blood soaking the wood porch and steps. "It Was a few weeks before you came."

"Do you know if they branded her on her hip, Cassian?" The male nodded immediately. 

"You two should talk for a little bit," Rhys cupped your face delicately. "I have to go pick up those cookies you've been thinking about. I will be back in a few hours. If another memory comes, scream for me in your mind." 

Cassian tooks his place, his hands also coming to cup your cheeks. "You are so beautiful. You know that?"

All three of them made it a point to tell you that now. Surely if three attractive males thought you were beautiful, that had to be true.

A couple weeks later

Rhys was in your mind again, digging and digging while you cried. It was painful. So fucking painful. It felt as though you were being pulled into half by two horses. 

Like someone was cutting you limb by limb.

You hated these sessions. Where you had to sit there, gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles had gone white, holding in screams and whimpers, and crying. 

"Found it," Rhys smirked. "It's a spell. A damn good one, but still just a spell. Meaning it can be broken." He was still in the jungle he had begun to call your mind, stopping at another memory. "I was wondering who killed him. A shame, really. I would have paid to watch that in person. Many of us would have."

Rhys wrote down the name of a former hybern General you had slaughtered and hung. He had started keeping track. Every king, queen, general, or fae you killed sat in a pretty notebook. 600 names. 

600 names lined those pages like a bloodstain in white clothing.

You validated it to yourself. Cruel kings. Corrupt queens. Predators. You were only ever assigned to the worst cases, being too skilled to be wasted on petty killings.

"Stop." Rhys ordered softly. "Do not focus on what you have done. Focus on how we move forward, darling. We have a home Azriel and Cassian like to stay in. I'd like to move you there."

Azriel held you close as he walked you into your new room at the House of Wind. "Cassian is directly across the hall, I am right next to you." You nodded, arms crossing over your chest as you took in the room. Guilt sat deep in your stomach. How much had they spent to decorate it? To furnish it? 

You took in the gold hues swirled in with blacks and greys. The wooden desk with hand carved swirls and edges. The couch and chairs. Your eyes locked in on the bed though. A real, plush, 4 poster bed. It would easily fit you and Azriel if you ever desired. Rhys appeared behind you two, his heart tightening at the sentence he knew was about to come out. A sentence all too familiar to him. 

"I've never had one." 

Azriel looked at you, "A room to yourself?"

You shook your head. "No. A real bed. We were not even allowed to sleep on beds during missions. Only blankets." He watched you walk to the bed, gently squishing a beaded throw pillow in your hands. 

"Darling," Rhysand said softly. "I have a friend who believes he can break the spell in your mind. He is concerned about potential consequences, though."

You were too lost and the luxury of the fabric to respond. The silk sheets covering the bed were the softest thing you'd ever felt. Rhysand and Azriel did not say anything, nodding to each other to leave the room with a gentle click behind them.

You pulled the blanket back further on the sheets, and curled yourself into the mattress. 

Your eyes began to flutter shut frequently, mind stilling as you felt a wave of comfort and protection come your way. Soon, the light of the room faded, and you walked into a dreamers pathway of sleep. 

Helion had come to the House of Wind that night. Flown there blindfolded by Cassian. He stood in Rhysand's office, a deep red wine in one hand as he crossed his arms over his pecs. "So she's at least 300 years old and has been held under a mind control spell for the majority of that time?"

The three illyrian males nodded in response. "Breaking it could kill her if it's done in one shot. Unraveling it, though, releasing her piece by piece may be safest." 

Azriel looked down. "How long would that take?"

"Years," Rhysand answered. "Her mind has to heal enough with each break or else her humanity and morals flooding her all at once can have consequences if it doesn't just shatter her mind." 

Helion nodded. "Our mind is a delicate place. Having it tampered with that long is dangerous. For us and her. I would need to see it and feel it to fully determine how safe it is."

Azriel nodded. "I'll go get her."

His footsteps felt heavy and defeated as he moved through the House of Wind. He paused at your door, lost in thought, but shook off his doubt as he knocked.

If anyone would be able to help you, it would be Rhysand and Helion.

[rimunagenius]

Number

Pairing: Filip ‘Chibs’ Telford x f!Reader (soon will become an ‘x fem!OC’ during the second chapter)

Word Count: 897

Warnings: I think it’s just foul language

Summary: Getting a new neighbor is always fun or even interesting. But an annoyingly cute biker who makes too much noise, isn’t.

Note: I did totally get this from a movie or show i saw on my tt fyp soooo…i don’t own the plot, nor do i own the Sons or the SOA plot (my boy Kurt Sutter does) but i just own my reader inserts kids as characters. If you find the name or know the name of whatever movie or show this is (if you recognize the dialogue), pls comment it so i can put it in here.

Masterlist

Part 1 of the Unexpected Treasure series !

It was hard to get your little one to bed. Recently she’s being crying all night long and when she sleeps, she only sleep for two hours and then wakes up. Your oldest ones weren’t bad at all. So easy even.

Tonight was a rough night. You had already done three laps around the back yard, two around the kitchen and living room, and 6 of her bedroom. Her eyes finally started to close as you were slowly and silently rocking her in the rocking chair in her room.

Laying her in the crib slowly, carefully calculating any moves to not wake her up, you stood up and closed the door, leaving a crack so you could hear her from next door.

You had applied moisturizer to your fresh and healing tattoo before hearing the an odiously loud rumbling of bikes outside the door.

Groaning loudly you quickly made your way outside the front door before crossing your lawn over to the neighbors. You saw four men outside and just one bike while they stood in the garage. The rumbling was loud that you signaling them to keep it down wasn’t heard.

“Hey!” You stood closely behind the two with their backs faced to you, and yelled in their ears so they could hear. They turned around quickly and looked upset at the loudness of your voice.

“What gives, lady?!” One with crazy messy curly black hair turned around, finger lodged in his ear.

“Bloody hell, woman.” The other one who seemed to have facial scars turned around. The rumbling of the bike stopped immediately after the two stopped yelling at you. A man with long blonde hair and another man with long brown hair looked at you.

“Why are you guys doing making so much goddamn noise!?” You were visibly upset that these men dragged you out of your house at 10pm to rev stupid bike engines.

“Introducing ourselves to the neighbors, darlin— his neighbors.” The blonde one pointed towards the man with the crazy scars. You knew someone was moving in but the bikes weren’t really a problem when they were leaving and coming back so little.

“Well, I’m the neighbors, and we’re introduced, so if you wouldn’t mind, could you please shut the fuck up.” You looked at all four then before turning around and walking back across your lawn. You made it to the door before the one with the accent started talking to you.

“Wait, hold on. Let’s start over okay? My names Filip, what yours?” He had long hair, salt and pepper colors and the leather and kutte were actually very attractive on this man. But you didn’t know him, and men weren’t exactly your specialty considering you have three kids who’s dads left them.

“That’s cool. Just think of me as the person next door who likes it quiet.”

“Aye, but come on, love. Don’t be like that. We live next door to eachother and I feel bad. I feel terrible. I’m sorry. Will ya accept my apology?

“I don’t need your apology, I just need the quiet.” You then turned to go up the 3 steps to your porch before he started talking once again.

“Why don’t I take ya out to dinner to apologize for my rudeness? You give me yer’ number and I already have your address. I’ll call you up like a proper lad, and ask ya out.”

You giggled, “You want my number?” You smiled as you looked at him, and back at the other three men who seemed to resume talking but kept looking over to listen. Your sarcasm evident to them as the snickered amongst eachother.

“I do. I do want your number.” He nodded as he fixed his hair, his eyes never leaving yours once.

“Which number do you want? Filip?” You knew his name, you just didn’t have the capacity to care about or spare his feelings considering you had three children to get inside to and a early shift at the hospital to get some of the very little sleep for.

“Filip, now I like the way you say that, darlin.” He huffed as he smirked while he looked at you and then back to his friends before looking to you again. “How many numbers do ya have?”

“Oh I have plenty, darlin,” you mocked his endearment for you. “I have numbers falling out my ears. For instance, nine.”

“Nine?”

“Yeah, that’s how many months my baby girl is.”

“You got a little girl?” He looked intrigued and surprised in your statement. The guilt for being too loud already getting to his conscience.

“Yeah. Sexy huh? And how about this? Four is how old my oldest boy is. Two is how old my other son is. Two is the amount of time i’ve been married and divorced. Twenty is the amount of money I have left in my bank account. 850-3943 is my phone number, and im guessing zero is the amount of times your going to call it.”

“That impresses me, and your wrong about the zero thing, sweetheart.” He spoke as you walked inside and shut the door. He turned around and walked back to the boys as she looked back at your house, the living room light being shut off at the same time.

“Damn, she was pissed.” The man with long hair spoke, adjusting his beanie.

“Yeah, Chibs. Opies right, you gotta stop moving and pissin off your neighbors. This has happened like four times already.”

“Oi, shut up, Tiggy.”

“You got her number though, right?” The blonde asked, his eyebrows wiggling in a mockingly manner.

“Aye, Jackie boy.”

༒ ༒ ༒ ༒ ༒ ༒ ༒

IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST FOR THIS FIC I CAN MOST DEFINITELY START ONE!!

Taglist:

Hey, heads up! future chapters will be longer, but i made this one short bc i didn’t have any idea on how to make further scenarios where they interacted more.

[darkbluekies]

In the hands of a madman

Dr yandere! x y/n (og character Dr Kry)

Summary: you went in for a sore throat and has been hospitalized for a month. It seems like your doctor is very persistent on having you here. All hell breaks lose when he sees you talking to another patient and it all becomes clear on why you cannot leave

Warnings: poison, yandere, needles, manipulation, obsessive behavior, possessive behaviour

Word count: 1.6k

"Open ... and close", the white dressed man says in front of you. "Good."

You're left with a bitter taste in your mouth. Why does he always stick that metallic flashlight all the way down your throat?

"We've run your tests and sadly, you're not in any state to leave yet", Dr Kry says. "I'm afraid you'll have to stay here for some more time."

"You said that last time!" you mutter.

"Yes, but Y/N, if you don't feel well, I can't let you go. What if you become worse?"

You sigh. You've been here for a month now. You could say that the hospital is your new home and you wouldn't be joking. But you know none of the nurses. There are always new ones checking up on you and the only one you can talk to is Dr Kry. He's a man in his thirties with blonde hair and glasses. Everything about him is sophistocated and well taken care of. If you could describe him in one word, it'd be 'proper'.

"I know you're disappointed, Y/N", Dr Kry says and moves over to put his hand on your shoulder. "But this is for the best. I don't want you to get worse."

"What is wrong with me?" you ask weakly. "I want to know."

"We don't know yet."

That's a lie, but you don't know that. Dr Kry knows exactly what's wrong with you. He should, he caused it. You went into the hospital for a sore throat and never left afterwards. He had a meeting with you about how you were feeling and after that he knew he had to keep you here. The air in your hospital room has been poisoned. Your air purifier has been drenched in carbon monoxide. He's making sure it's not too much, but enough to keep you hospitalized.

"I know it's hard, Y/N", he says. "But you can always call for me, okay? I'm available all day and all night for you. You're my favorite patient."

You press forward a smile, but can't help but feel a wave of sadness wash over. Why did this happen to you? If only you knew ...

"Let's get you tucked in again", Dr Kry says and helps you lie down. "You shouldn't be putting too much pressure on your body."

He's about to leave the room when you ask him to stay. You can't stand being alone again.

"Please", you whisper. "I don't want to be left here. I don't want to be alone."

The man nods slowly and walks back to the bed, sitting down on the side. A lonely tear rolls down your cheek and he wipes it with a gentle motion. He looks at his wet finger, thinking.

"I feel helpless", you admit. "It doesn't seem like I'll ever be well again."

Little do you know that's just what he wants.

"I'll take care of you, Y/N", he promises. "You won't be sad anymore. I'll sit here with you until you fall asleep, don't worry."

You give him a small, painful smile before shutting your eyes. Another tear falls down.

The next morning you pull yourself out of the bed and out the room, determinded to walk down to the cafeteria and get something to eat. You can't stand the hospital food the nurses bring you. You want iced coffee and something to nibble on.

The white corridors always manage to make the hairs stand up straight. Is it the dehuminized area or the fact that you're never allowed outside? Whatever it is, you decide to speed up your movements and hurry back to your room. You step into the elevator and just as the doors are about to close, another patient stop the doors from closing. A boy with black, curly hair and a golden brown skin tone that shines much needed light in this cold hopsital. He gives you a rushed, apologetic smile and presses himself in.

"Sorry", he says. "I just couldn't wait for the next elevator."

"Are you in a hurry?" you ask.

"You could say that. I escaped from the therapist. A real pain in my ass."

You giggle slightly.

"Have you met her?" the boy asks. "The therapist?"

You shake your head.

"Don't", he advices you. "She's mental. I honestly wonder if she should be the one getting interviewed, not me."

The doors open again. Your floor.

"Are you going to the cafeteria?" he asks.

You nod.

"I'm coming with you", he says. "Maybe you can help me blend in. They're probably looking for a boy who's alone. They won't think I'm me if I'm with you."

You simply nod. The boy seems frantic, but happy. Maybe just what you need.

Together, you walk to the cafeteria where you order your beloved ice coffee and a sandwich. The thought of something sweet and sticky makes your stomach turn. You've been feeling so nauseus ever since you entered this hospital.

"What are you planning to do now?" you ask the boy. "They'll find you sooner or later."

"I don't know actually", he laughs and runs his hand through his thick curls. "I didn't think this far."

You're just about to ask for his name when you can hear someone roaring your name. With a shocked and terrified gaze, you turn. Dr Kry and two security guards storm over to you and your new found friend. The blonde man grabs a hold of your arm and pulls you close to him.

"What are you doing out of bed?" he growls and sends a murderous gaze towards the boy who's being restrained by the guards. "Haven't I told you to rest?"

"B-But-", you start before he cuts you off.

"Why are you speaking with him?"

You open your mouth, but can't seem to answer. The dark, murderous gaze in Dr Kry's blue eyes puts you in a horrific trance. You want to wake up. Your hands open and the coffee falls out of your hands. It seems to be a wakeup call for Dr Kry because he starts dragging you back to the elevator. You throw your head back to catch a glance of the boy you've just met. You can see the guards sticking a needle in his neck and his body going limp. You gasp, but don't have time to see more. The elevator doors are closing. Your body is shaking violently and you look around, eyes stopping on the blonde man.

"W-What is going on?" you ask.

Dr Kry glances at the button panel. You have three floors left. Thirty seconds. He grabs your shoulders and presses you against the wall. Your body goes stiff and you start thinking of every worst case scenario you could ever get in.

"Don't ever talk to anyone again, do you hear me?" the doctor threathens. "You're mine. My patient. And if you do ... you're never getting out of this hospital again. Is that clear?"

You don't answer. What should you answer? You can't agree with this madness! But if you refuse ... what will he do to you?

"Y/N, answer", Dr Kry says, now with a gentle voice. As if he has realized who he's talking to. His hand comes up to caress your cheek. "Don't make me angry. It won't benefit you. I just want you safe, okay? You can't run around the hospital and talk to other guys. I will let you off this time, but next time I can't guarantee what'll happen to you. Okay?"

You only nod, too scared to do something else. He smiles and presses his lips to your forehead for a few seconds before the doors open again. In your shocked state, he pulls you out into the corridor. You can't seem to process what just happened, but before you can register the kiss, you're back in bed. He tucks you in and walks over to the door.

"If you leave this bed again, Y/N", he says warningly, "I'll make sure you'll not be able to."

You gulp. The door closes and a lock clicks behind. Your shaking hands come up to cover your face.

You don't sleep. At all. There's too many thoughts lingering in your head, each getting worse than the last. Why is the therapist so bad at her job? Who was that boy? What happened after the guards neutrilized him? Why did Dr Kry get so mad? Why did he threathen you? What did he mean by all those words? Why did he kiss you? What will he do to you? Why aren't you leaving the hospital?

When Dr Kry comes into the room the next morning, you frown. Where's the nurse?

"Where's the nurse?" you ask.

"I've decided to do everything for you myself", he answers. "We can't trust anyone." He sits down on the side of the bed. "I want to talk to you."

"About what?"

"About yesterday."

You gulp.

"I never want yesterday to be repeated", Dr Kry says. "You were the reason a mother will never see her son again."

You grow cold and shake your head in fear. No, no ... he can't have done that. He can't. Tears of pure terror and guilt fill your eyes. What have you done to deserve this? What had that poor boy done to deserve that?

"I control your life, Y/N", Dr Kry says. "I decide if you're dead or alive, do you get that? You shouldn't upset me."

You break out in a sob. Dr Kry brings your limp body into his arms and kisses your forehead.

"You're staying here with me, Y/N", he whispers in your ear, hot air fanning your hair. "I'll take every reprocaution I need to make sure you don't disappear."

You squeeze your eyes shut, wishing all of this could be a nightmare.

[theharrowing]

White Lies 🤍 1: Do not, under any circumstances, become emotionally attached to either of these men

Yoongi is everything you could ask for. He is attractive, confident, and smart. And his partner Taehyung is as possessive as he is beautiful. Too bad a relationship would be a major conflict of interest.

You need to have them, at all costs.

🤍 Yoongi x Female Reader x Taehyung

🤍 word count: 2.9k + screencaps of conversations

🤍 college au, cop au, partial social media au with a lot of written story, strangers to lovers & established relationship, yandere, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, angst, slash, poly, minor character injury & death, graphic violence, nsfw, 21+.

🤍 warnings: no real warnings. we get some pretty forward flirting out of the gate. it might seem like things are already moving very fast, but...we'll see.

🤍 note: ughhhhhhhhhhhh i was going to hold off on actually starting this fic, but the brainrot was real yesterday, and i spent hours on my couch nursing a hangover and making screencaps. i forgot how tedious this is, but i also had a lot of fun. the character Josie is a real person who i adore very much! everyone say hi to Josie!!! this chapter is exposition heavy but i hope you find it fun!

🤍 this is a sequel to Boy Blue! i highly recommend that you start at the beginning

🤍 written parts beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🤍 posted nov. 2023 | read on ao3

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

Reading through the file that Detective Kim left on your desk, two interesting things pop out at you, the first being that some of the photos of the man called Vante look different than the others. You didn't notice it at first, but upon closer inspection, you realize that photos of him that seem older – ones where he has natural dark brown hair and ones where he has bright red hair – seem personal. 

Vante is smiling directly into the camera in these old photos, with an expression that you would describe as being soft – almost loving. His posture is relaxed in each photo, whether sitting at a table at a café or leaning against the side of a car. You wonder if Seokjin took these photos, and if not, how he managed to get his hands on them, because the photos of Vante with blue and blond hair are all surveillance images or those taken from social media profiles that have since been deleted. 

The second detail you notice is that in two of the shots where Vante has blue hair, there is a woman with him who shares striking similarities with you. Although you are unable to clearly see her face in the photos, her hair, build, and height all seem to resemble you, and your side profiles are similar to the extent that you wonder if you could convince someone that you are the one pictured with him. 

In one of the images containing your doppelgänger, Vante's arm is slung over her shoulder and he is speaking with Min. The three of them are in a crowded bar with what looks like colorful makeup all over their faces, and although you can only see Vante's expression clearly, it seems he is flirting with Min, or at least openly showing an attraction to him. 

This detail, paired with Seokjin's not-so-subtle suggestion that you may consider becoming closer than just friends with Min makes you wonder if the two men are an open couple. Especially considering your resemblance to the woman in the photos, you wonder if you were chosen for this mission based on credentials alone, or if your resemblance to someone from their past was partly to blame for your sudden promotion into the Special Investigations Division. 

Perhaps it should bother you that you may have advanced partly based on your looks, but this mission is so intriguing that it fills you with excitement to learn more. You wonder if the two of them got married out of love or convenience – a ploy to allow Min to get a work visa and any other benefits that could allow them to more easily escape from whatever they seem to be running from. 

Both men are absolutely stunning, and you wonder if that woman pictured ever got to enjoy both of them – together or separately. You wonder what it must have been like for her and where she might be right now. Despite Seokjin's warning not to get close to these two, the urge to know more grows.

How could these two men be so dangerous? What have they done to cause Seokjin to form a super secret, super tight task force to hunt them down? And why is he unwilling to just tail Min and confront Vante, himself?

Quickly, you fire off an email to Min, asking about his tutoring services, posing as a student named Sandra. Then you return to rereading their files and memorizing their faces. Min with his somewhat sleepy, somewhat grumpy expressions that brighten into something soft and inviting when he smiles. Vante with his rectangular smile and piercing eyes that either hide all emotion or express so much that he appears positively captivating. 

You read and reread the bullet point list describing these men in an attempt to piece together what kind of people they must present themselves as. You wonder who assisted with creating their profiles, and whether it may have been old friends or even the woman who resembles you. 

Both men are dishonest and extremely disloyal; both exhibit an unshakable poker face that even those close to them cannot read.

[Redacted][Code name Min] is soft-spoken and an interesting mix of contemplative and impulsive; does not take no for an answer. [Redacted][Code name Vante] exhibits similar traits but is much more forward and promiscuous, willing to use sex as a weapon.

Both men get what they want with little to no concern for the outcome, even if it means the death or displacement of others.

Both men only seem loyal to one another, but that may also be a façade. [Redacted][Code name Vante] may be the more volatile of the two, should one turn on the other, but it is likely that [Redacted][Code name Min] has a mean streak that few have witnessed firsthand.

[Redacted][Code name Vante] is cold and calculating; always ten steps ahead.

[Redacted][Code name Vante]'s family is well-connected and seem willing to cover up anything he does.

Is it likely that [Redacted][Code name Vante] is the mastermind of all of their schemes and that [Redacted][Code name Min] tags along for one reason or another.

It is possible that [Redacted][Code name Min] has insecurities that [Redacted][Code name Vante] easily controls and manipulates.

Your phone lights up with a notification, pulling you from the paperwork and surprising you with how quickly Min has gotten back to you about tutoring services. And as you open the notification, you realize your seemingly easy mission might just be a little more complicated than you hoped. 

Undeterred, you begin to improvise. If Vante uses sex as a weapon, perhaps you can create several Tinder and Hinge accounts and attempt to find him online. One benefit to going undercover is having access to a seemingly endless supply of burner phones. 

You have absolutely no doubt that someone like Vante is using hookup apps if his profile depicts him accurately. If he and Min are married for love over convenience, there is a strong chance that he is still willing to be unfaithful. Or, perhaps the two of them are not monogamous, and finding one of them on a hookup app will likely be due to one or both of them looking for a good time. 

The prospect of getting to know them this way is risky since they are both gorgeous and apparently too cunning to resist, but it may be faster than waiting a month or more for Min's private lessons to open.

Swiping on dating apps is tedious work, and you almost feel guilty for spending your precious hours this way. Despite it being the weekend, you are paid for your time, and right now your time is spent scouring dating profiles looking for one man. 

You swipe with one hand and brush your teeth with the other, eyes barely open and still heavy with sleep. You swipe as soon as you step on line for your favorite macchiato at your favorite little café two blocks from your Chelsea apartment, and you swipe as you sit in your favorite window seat, sipping on the perfectly bittersweet warm drink while the morning sun warms your cheeks. 

As you reread the file on Min and Vante over lunch, you take breaks to swipe, and you even find yourself genuinely reading through some Tinder profiles before snapping out of it and ridding yourself of distraction. Sure, you may be single and somewhat curious to mingle, but something tells you that you are going to have your hands absolutely full once you manage to get ahold of one of these men, so adding another person to the equation feels too messy.

Later on, when your best friend Josie convinces you to leave the house because it is Saturday and you need to, as she says, "Unwind and find some cuties to dick you down," you swipe in the cab ride over and resist the urge to swipe while waiting on line for drinks at the bar.

Part of you wonders whether you could run into Min at a place like this. Bright neon lights filling the space with college students scantily clad and alcohol buzzing through them, turning them into horny little monsters. If he is professional – or upholding a façade of professionalism for the sake of his current persona – then it is likely he would not be caught dead in a place like this. You are somewhat certain that Vante likely scours these types of clubs, but alas, he is in Milan.

Some of the photos of Min from their file show him on stage with a band, playing keyboard with a guitar slung over his shoulder, with a face full of glitter and makeup. The vibe of that bar differs from this one, but the rambunctious energy is more similar to what you observe in recent surveillance footage photos. You wonder if any part of that man bleeds through now, or if he only indulges in classically accepted forms of music as a tutor. 

Min must be good with his hands – a thought that spirals the more your mind is allowed to wander back to the photos of him playing two very different instruments at once. You need to stop thinking about the beautiful, dangerous men – monsters, as Seokjin put it – and focus on being out with your best friend. 

Josie is a bubbly ray of sunlight with a matching warm smile. Purple braids cascade over her shoulders and down her back, she wears a cute little black dress that barely contains her curves, and she stomps and dances excitedly in knee-high black leather boots. Her round cheeks and button nose make Josie the cutest person in all of Manhattan, and pretty shimmery pink and purple makeup stands out against her tan skin, making her dark brown eyes shine.

You are outfitted similarly with a tight black tee tucked into a black denim skirt, cleavage on full display. You wear black combat boots with warm, fuzzy black socks, and enough makeup to make your eyes pop, including a light dusting of pink and purple courtesy of Josie. 

"I'm getting fucked!" Josie shouts over the reggaetón track, bouncing her hips to the beat while the two of you lean against the wooden bar top. Her voice is rich and somewhat nasally as she shouts, with a quick lilt to her accent. 

"Fucked up?" you shout back, unsure whether you misheard your friend, delighted when her smile widens and she says, "Yeah, that too!" 

Being that this is a college bar that happens to throw somewhat over the top ladies night events, you flash your student ID as well as the fake ID that identifies you as a woman named Sandra as soon as the bartender comes by. 

You need not do so, however, because the bartender, whose name is Daniel in some circles and Changkyun in others, recognizes you, giving you a slow, hungry once-over with his eyes that makes your heart pound. Then he flashes a pointed smile and leans against the bar top so that he can easily be heard when his soft, deep voice asks, "Ladies, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Before you can open your mouth, Josie leans over the bar and shouts, "Two Long Islands!"

As soon as Daniel nods and turns away to get started on your drinks, Josie hip-checks you, causing you to stumble and turn to her with a wide, curious expression. You know what she is going to say before she even says it – "You need to hook up with him!" – and you are already shaking your head before the words come out. 

"He's just doing his job," you argue, because this is not the first time Josie has pointed out the way he looks at you, or how he seems more attentive to you than to literally any other patron. Yes, you are in denial, but now is not the time to get tangled up with the sexy bartender.

"You're full of shit!" Josie manages to shout before Daniel is back.

He sets your drinks down, nodding politely to Josie before fixing you with an intent gaze and giving a shy little smile. "This round is on the house," he says so softly that you don't really hear it, only knowing the words because you have memorized the shape of his lips when he says them.

Daniel has a bit of a baby face, with wide, dark almond eyes and pretty, soft lips. His nose and cheekbones are all hard angles, however, and his short dark hair, which is parted down the middle, falls around his eyes and down to the apples of his cheeks, only accentuating his features more. Much like your targets, he has dual citizenship between the US and Korea, hence having two names that he goes by – something some but not all dual citizens might do.

"Thanks, Danny," you say with a wink, making Daniel's eyes widen before he stands up straight. 

"My pleasure, ladies," he responds, looking to Josie and then back at you. The moment he is out of earshot, Josie groans. 

"Why don't you make a move on him?" you ask before she has a chance to hound you more. You lift your drink and take the thin black straw between your teeth, chewing lightly on it as you walk away from the bar, through the growing crowd, toward the dancefloor. 

"Don't be stupid!" Josie finally responds when you find a place on the outer edge of the dancing mass of bodies. "He looks at you like he wants to eat you. Just let him!"

You roll your eyes and shake your head, chuckling. Around you, college students dance and shout, clearly far too drunk already for how early it is. As you take your first sip of your drink, it rocks through you; even the smallest taste of the Long Island iced tea is strong as hell, making you wince despite its sweetness. 

"I don't miss being that young and irresponsible," Josie says, leaning over a tall round table that you have found to perch your elbows against, gazing out at the mass of students.

Josie works in the Forensic Investigation Division. Whenever a crime scene is processed and evidence is gathered, she is the one testing it to match it to information in the various systems in search for DNA, blood type, fingerprints, fibers, and so on. Her work is used in court to solve and defend cases. "It is absolutely bonkers being back in college," you respond, withholding the detail that you are not really a student because Josie is aware of the very basics of your assignment. "Their problems seem so silly compared to the shit we see at work."

Josie nods listlessly as she scans the throng of dancing bodies, more or less distracted from the conversation. And as you follow her gaze, you see who she has zeroed in on. 

There is a man on the dancefloor surrounded by a group of friends, and he looks a lot like your superior Seokjin. He is not your superior, of course, but the resemblance is certainly enough to catch your friend's attention, as her crush on your boss is nothing short of sickening. 

"Shit," you shout over the raucous music, leaning toward Josie. "I forgot to feed the anaconda before I left."

Josie nods her head in slow, lackadaisical movements, and you shake your head; even complete nonsense won't get her attention when she is this focused, but you continue for fun, anyway.

"There goes all the neighborhood pets! His appetite is insatiable."

A pause follows before Josie, who turns her face toward you but keeps her eyes on the Seokjin lookalike, mutters, "Totally," drawing the word out nice and slow.

Ordinarily, you would lay into your friend a little harder, making your story a little more fantastical, but you take the opportunity to pull out your phone and continue on your mission. Vante is not going to swipe on himself, and now that you have paid for Tinder gold and can see everyone who has swiped right on you, you are certain that your search is only going to get easier.  

* * *

It takes around thirty-two hours of frequent swiping with three burner phones all showcasing similar profiles with a similar name to find a man who looks like Vante. And, as Seokjin predicted, he goes by the name V.

It takes four more hours for him to message you. The entire time your hand itches toward your phone, eager to make the first move, but you want to see the way he operates, and you want him to think he has full control.

Just as Seokjin predicted, he is 4,000 miles away – which tracks because he is in Milan until the end of the week – and he is using photos that only show part of his face. Luckily, his mouth is distinguishable.

For your part, on one of the profiles you created, you chose photos that you think resemble the girl in the photos in Vante and Min's case file, also only showing parts of your face. And you are not at all surprised when that particular profile is the one he seems drawn to. It makes you wonder if he saw any of the other profiles that you created or not. 

You stare at the screen uncertain whether your flirting is all just part of the plan or if you really would like to find out just how well Vante lives up to his promises of not squandering an opportunity for pleasure. He is extremely forward and, to your surprise, it gives you butterflies. 

Ordinarily, men speaking this way moments after you first meet would be a red flag, but for some reason, the assignment of getting close to Vante adds to the intrigue – daresay it excites you a little. 

All of this feels dangerous. But you have never been one to turn down the chance to play with fire.

i fake my life like i've lived too much i take whatever you're giving - not enough overground, watch this space i'm open to falling from grace

🎵 visit the playlist!

note: i added this to the master list, but in case it has been missed i just want to add the disclaimer that all detective work and cop jargon in this fic is either made up on the spot or comes from years of watching/listening to true crime media. i have no credentials in this field and i do not claim to know what i am talking about!!! alsoooo lol if your name is Sandra, no it's not. (jkjk hello Sandra! i hope you're having a lovely day!!!)

also!!! some folks seemed confused by Seokjin, so just to clear his involvement up: yes, he was thought to be dead in Boy Blue.

i am thinking about doing little "drabble" chapters where you get to see conversations only between taegi that mc will not be aware of. we'll see how i end up doing it. (is this something you're into or would you prefer 100% of mc's pov like in Boy Blue?)

💙 me sprinkling in the Boy Blue callbacks:

ARE WE HAVING FUN? QUESTIONS??? CONCERNS??? REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! 🤍🤍🤍 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! I LOVE YOU! DRINK SOME WATER AND STRETCH YOUR NECK!!!

tag list: @aidam9911 @bangtan-tee-86 @ffion451 @fluffybuns69 @here4kpopfics @iloverubberduckiez-blog @lovemeforeternity @mgthecat @moonleeai @oceansmerchild @unsureofwhathappens 🤍 visit the master post to read the warnings & request to be tagged!

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

White Lies is copyright 2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved. No translations or reposts allowed!

[blossom-hwa]

a yellow scarf in winter | w.jh

pairing: Jun x gender neutral!reader genre: fluff, angst, magical realism warnings: mentions of minor character death (offscreen) word count: 7.3k notes: this is a rewrite of something from maybe a year ago - it's gone through extensive edits and while the original premise is the same, it's changed a lot, so even if you read it before I hope you find something new :) When your grandmother passes, a spirit arrives on the sun and the snow, asking for a place to stay. As the years pass, you learn grief, love, and the complicated art of letting go. 

Original Ver. | Seventeen Masterlist

When he arrives on your doorstep, hands cold from the snow and eyes warm as the sun, the moon has already been dim for a year. 

The knock comes gentle against the worn wood of the old inn’s door—so gentle at first that once, twice it sounds before you truly hear it. By the time you’ve put down the pile of pale yellow wool turning into the beginnings of a scarf or a shirt or something in between, it has sounded a third time, and when you finally open the door, his hand is raised like he was bracing for a fourth. 

You stare. He is the first to have approached your grandmother’s inn in the weeks since you moved in, and you do not recognize him from the town. Brown eyes stare back at yours, slanted almost mischievously at the tips yet deep and soft and sweet, while pale blond hair the color of your wool seems to sparkle like the sun on the snow outside. Light pink lips curve in an awkward smile, showing a hint of white teeth, and it’s not so much that he glows himself but that sunlight glints off the pale skin of his face, reflecting a soft sparkle around him that only makes it seem brighter. About your age, perhaps—late twenties, early thirties. Maybe a little younger. His eyes look like they have seen many more years than he seems, though. 

It’s been too long, this silence, but still you have to look for a moment more. For it feels like you know him, even though you’ve never seen him before. 

—Hello, you finally say, cautious, quiet. 

—Hello, he replies, lowering the hand he had raised. The gesture, awkward and almost bashful, brings a curve to your own lips. Someone in town told me I could some here for a place to stay.

Words rise in your memory, unbidden. Never turn a stranger away from your door, child. A wink, with one wrinkle-lined eye. They just might be a god in disguise.

Your hand tightens around the worn doorknob. The inn has been closed since your grandmother left it to you, and locked inside you’ve kept the stories she told—of deities who once walked this plane, spirits who left remnants of magic in the earth beneath your feet. In the weeks since her death you didn’t allow yourself to remember, didn’t allow yourself to acknowledge the sparkles of magic that she used to point out to you day after day—the bright green laughing grass now covered by the snow, the howl of the wind whirling in the breeze. 

You haven’t reopened. You’re still not sure you will, not when the ache of her absence continues to fill every room. Those of the town should know the news by now, but perhaps they thought this might still be all right. 

Part of you urges to shake your head, give an apologetic smile, and close the door. He’s a strange man in a strange place, and where exactly could that go? But as a chilly wind whips through the tall stranger’s hair, his long fingers fidgeting quietly as fading sunlight catches on the single silver earring in his left ear, you wonder if, after all these years, a spirit has finally made its way to your grandmother’s inn once more. 

Stories and legends, tales you could never tell were true or not. You fight back a tear as a thought surfaces—that your grandmother sent this spirit to you, to make sure you would be all right.

—Of course. What is your name?

When he smiles, it seems as though the rising moon regains a touch of its original shine. 

—Thank you. My name is Jun. 

. . . . .

And—that’s it. For a time. It’s all he tells you about himself anyway, just his name and nothing else. What you learn in passing comes from casual action and conversation, things he lets slip as he accompanies you on your wanderings through the many rooms of your grandmother’s old, empty inn. It’s not so much him letting things slip, though, as you noticing the way he simply falls into place like the last pieces of a puzzle you never realized was unfinished—the shyness of his laugh sparkling through the dust motes spinning through the air, his long fingers drawing back the heavy drapes that once covered the lobby windows. He takes the room across from yours on the first floor, and when you open the door the next morning to see him stumbling out of his, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, it feels like you are only saying good morning to an old friend when you smile.

Which makes no sense, of course. Because you don’t know him. You’ve never seen this man once in your life before he showed up at the inn’s front door. What could you know about a man as enigmatic as the moon, who reflects all the light in the room and makes it brighter all on his own? But as the days go by, as you learn his shyness, his gentleness, the way his crescent smiles come soft and slow, a waxing and waning curve of his lips that reflects the sunlight streaming through the inn’s large windows and cuts through the dark chill that had seemed to fill the inn before, it doesn’t feel like you’re learning much at all. More like…remembering. Settling. Reacquainting yourself with the characteristics of a good friend you haven’t seen in ages. Somehow, though he is only one person sleeping in the same one room every night, the stately old place your grandmother left you doesn’t feel nearly as empty as it once did, not with his comfortable presence around. 

He’s quiet. Calm. Prone to confusion when you use a phrase he doesn’t seem to know, and giggling fits when he sees something he deems cute or strange. He’s eager to help when you slowly rouse yourself to sweep the dust from the rooms, and he doesn’t ask when you pause in front of a larger door on the top floor, then turn away without a word. He has a lovely little laugh that sounds like the first spring flowers coming into bloom, bringing warmth to the silent hallways you’d long forgotten how to walk, and joy etches itself in the tiny wrinkles around his eyes that appear when he smiles. You find he has a special affinity for the cats that sometimes show up on the inn grounds and perhaps, you think, it’s because he’s a little like them himself—closed off and skittish at first, but soft, and sweet, and so, so warm when he finally turns to you with his truest smile. 

In the cold remnants of winter, you learn his favorite tea, how he drinks it slow, sip by tiny sip. The long fingers that twist and fidget and eventually like to tangle with your own become still when he wraps them around his favorite mug of yours, white porcelain with the figures of three kittens playing around the edges. Those same fingers lift up the lid of the lobby grand piano one day, untouched since your grandmother last played, and begin to dance on their own across the yellowing keys, spinning starlit melodies into the air. His hands always seem to be cold, or at least take a while to warm up after being outside, but the tea helps. So does playing scales. And, eventually, holding your own hands that he always says are so much warmer than his. 

When spring tints the air and flowers begin to bloom, you almost wonder if Jun’s warmth will fade, somewhat, in a season marked by the sun, by the blue sky, by the days that grow longer at the expense of the moon’s soft glow. It doesn’t, though—grows, even, as you walk with him through the soft grass on the outskirts of the town, his smile tossing sunlight kind, carefree, into the air around him. On walks like these you come to learn his favorite blossom, the pale jasmine he settles gently behind your ear, and how he never picks them, only gathers up the blooms that have already fallen on the ground to create lovely bouquets you set at the dining table later in the night. When summer hangs cheerful in the sky you begin to leave the lobby windows open, the heavy curtains brushed to the sides by Jun’s delicate hands, and you learn how far the cheer of his laugh can carry and how his voice accompanies the piano as he sings, melodic threads twining sweetly in the air. You show him midnight recipes—cold noodles, cookies, cool milk that you share with the cats milling about outside—and his hand in yours is always warm, but somehow, despite the heat of the sun on your skin, you can’t find it in yourself to pull away, not when he reflects the sun’s glow in his waxing and waning smiles, not when he squeezes your hand tighter and pulls you closer to him. 

Finally, when the last dregs of autumn begin to pass and the first year winds to a close, you learn how Jun’s laugh softens with the fading sun, how, no matter the biting chill in the air, he still reflects the sun’s quiet glow until he seems to be the one who warms the room (and perhaps he is, with his moonlit melodies and starlit smile). Under the gentle rays of the sky’s fading light, the fast-growing chill of the billowing wind, the curve of Jun’s enigmatic crescent smile steadies you as dead leaves crunch beneath your feet. And as the first snows begin to swirl through the wind, mimicking the dust motes Jun helped you sweep away, you look outside at the moon that had faded, and you can’t help but think that perhaps, over the year, its smile has finally grown a little brighter. 

. . . . .

And so the first year comes and goes, and when the chill of winter fully returns, you don’t worry as much about the empty rooms, the once-faded moon, the memories of your grandmother that still fill the air. There is Jun, and there is his warmth, and for now that is all you need. 

But then he disappears. For a few hours, first. Then a few days. Until twice a month he leaves without notice, and with such irregularity that it slowly becomes regular. 

He always returns, you learn. But the first morning you wake up and he doesn’t greet you with sleepy eyes smiling as he opens his door, you panic. Because what happened to him and where did he go and does he need help and what if he left, left you alone, left you in this  empty house to cope again with the memories just like your grandmother did when she died—

—Where were you? you ask when he returns the next night and you can finally speak without wanting to cry? Where did you go? Why didn’t you let me know?

—I’m sorry, he replies, his long fingers fidgeting again. The dimness of the barely crescent moon outside casts dark shadows across his face, only a thin sliver of his cheek illuminated by starlight. I didn’t realize you would worry this much. 

—How could I not?

—I don’t know. No one really has, before. 

Candlelight flickering, silence hanging oppressive in the air. 

—I was worried. 

When he smiles, heavy and tragic, it is as though the moon’s darkness never left. 

—I know. 

(That night, when you crawl under the covers in a room too big for you and the questions you don’t have answers to, you remember where you live, where Jun came. And you remember something your grandmother told you when you were old enough to know, to understand. 

No one stays forever at an inn. 

No one.)

. . . . .

You think—hope—that might be the end of it. Or that, at least, he’ll tell you before he next goes. But despite his apologies, he still leaves a second time, and a third, and then a fourth and fifth, all without warning. And though you never truly grow used to the way each room echoes with a renewed emptiness in the hours and days he is gone, you force yourself to accept it. That his irregularity is his regularity. That he cannot—or will not—fight against what drives him to leave. 

(Acceptance doesn’t stem the fear that someday he will go, and there will be no warning, and when that day comes, he will not return.)

So winter fades with its ice and snow, and spring comes, then summer, with their warmth and flowers. And on a night where Jun isn’t here, where the faded moon shines fully in the dark sky, you find yourself in front of a room on the top floor that you ignored when you two cleaned the inn the first time. The room where you stopped. Thought. Passed without a word, where Jun didn’t pry. 

This time, you open the door. 

Your grandmother’s presence folds around you like a warm cloak of boxes and drapes, warped wooden floorboards and old furniture sitting on top. Almost immediately your knees give out. You catch yourself on the floor, sending up a cloud of dust, but for all your watering eyes you don’t really notice because she is so strong here. So warm. So comfortable. As though you could reach out a hand to the air and she would materialize before you, her fingers clutching yours, her eyes already wrinkling into a mischievous smile. 

For a long time, you only sit. Stare. Take in the things she amassed during life, the things she packed away that were never the inn’s but hers, and hers only. An old, moth-eaten armchair. A couple of trunks tied with dusty rope. Boxes with spidery handwriting on the sides labeling things you can’t quite read through the tears bubbling in your eyes, a few tarps draped over it all. 

—Did you send him? you ask the dust swirling through the air. 

(And if you did, why did you send someone who had to leave? Who couldn’t stay?)

She doesn’t answer, of course. But you sit there, waiting as though she will, until the gray light of dawn begins to peek through the folds of curtains you didn’t part, and you finally pick yourself up from the floor to return downstairs and wait for Jun to return. 

. . . . .

He returns that evening amidst summer showers, rain glittering on his face like little diamonds pressed to his skin. You’re back in the room on the top floor, sitting, staring, and only when a soft knock sounds at the cusp of afternoon-evening do you find it in yourself to move again. 

—Hi. 

Jun’s eyes, deep brown and cratered wide. His graceful nose, his pale face, his thin lips, still covered with the thin diamond sheen of rain. You can hear droplets pattering against the window from where you still haven’t managed to push the drapes away. 

—You’re shivering. 

You hadn’t realized you were, but when he says it, you become aware of the slight tremble in your shoulders, at the vague chill in the air from the day’s confusion as to whether it is still summer, or if the winter will be coming soon. At the concern on his face you try to smile. 

—I’m all right.

You don’t expect him to believe you. But you also don’t expect him to take a step closer and fold you into his arms.

He’s warm and cool at the same time—peaceful, a tiny respite from the overwhelming presence of your grandmother in all the boxes and drapes in this old room. His long fingers tap soft rhythms into your back, his breath quiet against your ear, and when you finally pull away, your eyes are wet not just with the remnants of rain but with tears again, too. 

Jun smiles quietly. That little silver earring that has never left his ear glints in the evening darkness, a piece of light reflected in his eyes. Outside, you think the moon has begun to rise, faint light pooling right where he stands. 

—Do you want help?

. . . . .

It takes several long days to bring the room to a semblance of cleanliness, dust swept from the corners until your nose no longer itches, the floor mopped until you no longer fear tracking grime into the halls when you and Jun leave. But one night, it is done. Mostly. The boxes remain unopened, the tarps not yet pushed away, but the floor is clean and you can breathe a little better. 

Jun rubs his nose, which is red from sneezing. His eyes follow you as you kneel in front of one of the trunks, reaching for the knot in the rope tying it shut. For a moment you fumble with the tie. Then it falls away, and your hand grazes the edge of the lid. Ready to open. Not ready to open. 

You pull the lid up. 

A cloud of dust wafts up and you whip around, coughing into your arm as Jun laughs from a few feet away. When you stop choking you find that he has come to you, his eyes bright and cheerful, and for all you wanted to scowl at him when he started laughing, you find you can only smile. 

—What’s all this?

You hold up a candle carefully, squinting into the trunk’s contents. Immediately you know, though you’ve never seen any of the books before. 

Music. 

Jun’s sharp intake of breath brings you back to earth. When you look at him his eyes are shining bright with wonder, and you think to his hands waltzing across the lobby piano’s yellow keys, drawing sounds from its depths the way only your grandmother had been able to, years before. 

—Let’s take them. You pick up a few books of your own, their dusty paper covers rough against your skin as you smile. I want to hear you play. 

He plays piece after piece that night, some that you recall from childhood, others you remember having learned yourself, even more you have never once heard in your life but that your grandmother must once have known, learned, and cherished when she lived. And after you see Jun to his room that night, you take the stairs softly up to the room again. Take in the sight of the dusty, empty trunk still sitting where you left it. 

It feels a little easier to breathe.

. . . . .

As summer winds to a close, as the slight chill of fall begins to take to the air, you slowly empty the boxes and trunks in the old storage room, airing out their dust, unearthing the bits and pieces of your grandmother that she left behind for you to find. Pictures of her and your grandfather, who died before you were born. Small trinkets from travels she told you about when you were little. Financial papers yellowed with age, letters bound in ribbon that you can’t find it in yourself to read, novels with worn covers and crinkled pages. And music. Not quite as much as the stacks of books you found in the first trunk, but sheets scattered here and there that Jun happily picks up, adding to the miniature concerts he plays for you in the evening to ward away the chill.

He helps you through it all—works at the knots in the ropes with you, folds up the tarps you lift away, sweeps up the dust that falls from newly opened boxes and trunks, holds you when the memories overwhelm and you find it hard to breathe. And in those moments when he is there, you almost forget that this is an inn, and that he must leave. But he always does. New moon. Full moon. New moon. Full moon. And as the moon grows brighter when he is gone, like it is happier without you, you begin closing your window against the light that still permeates your room anyway. 

The words slip out on a night when it is more fall than summer, after the remnants of dinner have been cleared away and only the stars are awake to hear you speak. Bravery or stupidity, courage or fear, you don’t know—a desperate bid for something, anything to hang on to when Jun next leaves and you’re left to cope with the memories, music haunting your ears, ghosts tracing the walls. 

—Where do you go when you’re gone?

He pauses at the piano, long, pale fingers stopping between the turning pages of his music. Silence reigns for a while, long enough for you to nearly backtrack and say never mind, never mind, despite the need to know curdling in your veins. 

—I go to a place I once called home. 

Your throat threatens to close, but you get the next words out, somehow.

—Do you not still call it home?

In response, he takes a single sheet of music from the piano, one he just played—a soft melody that barely lasted two minutes, but that resonated through the room, deep, heavy nostalgia that had drawn the question from your throat. Every piece he plays is beautiful beneath his fingertips but for some reason, the echoes of this piece stay with you, merging into your breath, tickling its way through your ears, as he hands the score to you. 

—The composer was far from home when he wrote this, Jun says quietly as you trace the black notes on the worn, yellow page. He needed to run. To escape. He never saw it again after he had to move, but…in the end, he only ever wanted to go home. 

Dark eyes flicker to the window, pale skin reflecting the starlight and the glow of the full moon. It’s your turn to watch him, this time, as the faint moonlight lends a familiar golden tinge to his face that you have never seen but that you know, anyway. 

Only a few physical feet separate the two of you in this moment, the distance between Jun’s piano bench and your armchair easily traversable in just one step, maybe two. For all the look in his eyes right now, though, you could be centuries apart. 

—I once wanted to escape. I was so lonely. I wanted to find someone who could care for me. Who could make me feel worth something. 

—Did you?

He looks at you now. Traps you in the moment, his blond hair illuminated by the moon, pooling around his feet. An enigmatic smile dances on his lips. 

—I did. 

Silence falls gentle, heavy, the leftover notes from the melody fading softly into the air, the dust of the old sheet music settling on the floor. Against your will, you stare at the piano with its worn and yellowing keys that your grandmother once showed you to play. You were never as good as she, though Jun would have been a match. 

What might she have thought of Jun if they’d met now, in the physical plane? She would have liked him, you think—liked his soft-spoken voice, his sweet, awkward nature, and the way he seems to amplify the warmth and light of the room with his cratered eyes and waxing-waning crescent smile. Their musical styles are different, from what you remember of hers, but she would have enjoyed his interpretations of the same pieces she loved.

Tears nearly spring into your eyes. Yes, she would have liked him. She would have liked him very much.

A question burns on your tongue as he stands, as you stand, as you both walk to your rooms and bid each other goodnight. You don’t ask. But he must hear it anyway, lingering in your eyes and on your tongue even as you shut your door.

(Where is your home?)

You’re not sure if you can hear his answer, not when you don’t have one yourself. Because while you’re still trying to escape, Jun has already made peace. 

He knows his home, even if you don’t.

. . . . .

Still, though, he stays. For you or for something else, you’re not sure. But through the end of summer and the billows of fall, still he comes and he goes, wanders and returns, and though his presence comforts, something about it—you’re not sure what—has begun to hurt. 

He’s playing the same piece when autumn has begun to give way to winter, when you find a familiar pile of yellow wool in the drawer of one of the little tables beside the lobby couches. Part of it has been knit into some shape, but only barely—easy enough for you to decide it will be a scarf, a decision you didn’t get to make two years ago, and easy enough for you to pick up the needles from where the universe left them and for their gentle clicking to accompany Jun’s music flowing about the room. Not so easy anymore when the cat Jun let inside begins batting at the pile of yarn, little claws catching on the wool, but easy enough. Easy enough.

The night before, when Jun was gone, you went up to the storage room yourself. Though the room has been mostly cleared, boxes opened and some things rearranged around the inn, others pushed in neater piles against the walls, your grandmother’s presence still wrapped around you the second you entered. Something in the walls, you suppose, in the notes of dust that still flicker, magical, in the air. The fact that this room was hers, the way the rest of the inn was and wasn’t. 

You didn’t open the curtains. You thought about it, even touched the heavy cloth with a single hand, felt it fold beneath your palm. But the moon was so bright then, so full. It hurt so much. So you kept it closed. The memory of those closed curtains, unable to shield you from the glowing contentment of the moon, helps you meet his eyes as his hands leave the piano, the knitting needles flashing between your fingers, their rhythmic clicking steadying your heart.

—Where is your home, Jun?

The lobby echoes with the silence after your question, broken only by the kitten batting at your wool. Her little head butts against your hand and you stroke it gently, eyes still trained on the spirit sitting in front of you. 

He draws breath. Sighs. Looks down at his hands, down at yours, and looks back at you. 

—Wherever I am not lonely.

The clicking between your fingers stops. Silver needles bury themselves in the yellow yarn like the cat’s claws, the cat that now detaches itself from the wool to jump into Jun’s lap instead, purring softly. You stare at it, at the yarn, at the empty spot on the couch it used to occupy. The spot someone else used to occupy, once, smiling fondly as you played with her own yarn on her knee. Someone who belonged here far more than you. 

—Where have you been lonely?

—Many places. Jun’s smile turns small, wan. Not all are as welcoming as you have been. 

Your mind returns to the first time he disappeared, the first time he returned and you couldn’t speak for several hours without crying. 

I didn’t realize you would worry this much, he had said. And you had found it so hard to believe no one would—that no one would worry about this lovely spirit disappearing without a word. But it’s true. Not all are kind. And perhaps, before your inn, Jun had encountered more unkindness than you were willing to believe at the time. 

You swallow. 

—Are you lonely here?

—No. The answer is quick, certain. So is his next question. Are you?

His eyes won’t allow yours to flicker away, moonlight holding you captive as it flows around the two of you, encasing you in pale light. The cat purrs in Jun’s arms, but he only looks at you. 

It hurts to admit it, but you do. 

—Yes. When you’re not here. 

He nods. Nods again. And then he sets the old page back on top of the piano, and you speak no more until the music has stopped for the night and he asks a final question to you. 

—Who’s that for?

You look down at the half-finished scarf, and the needles you’ve just stuck into the rest of the unknit pile. I’m not sure. 

But as you lie awake in bed that night, staring out of your window at the full moon and its familiar golden tinge, you realize it was a dumb question, with an even dumber answer. Because it’s obvious. Even though the universe had you begin the scarf with no thought of its future owner, as it grows longer and longer under nights of soft music warmed by the reflection of sunlight on Jun’s lovely face, when you look at the man whose smile waxes and wanes with the phases of the moon, you know, and the world knows. 

Of course the scarf is for him. 

. . . . .

In the days after, as the scarf grows longer, as the wind turns colder, as the moon fades to black and Jun disappears again, you think. Ponder. Try to confront the fear in your heart that sprang fully formed when you realized who the scarf was for, because as the woolen links drape across your lap and the cushions of the lobby armchair, you can’t shake the feeling that giving him this yellow scarf, this warmth woven of sunlight reflecting off of sparkling snow feels…final, almost. Like something ends with the tying of the last knot, something you’re not ready to give up just yet. 

Jun is ready. You know that, and it hurts and terrifies you. Because he must have suffered—must have gone from home to home, begging, pleading for someone to recognize the lonely spirit he was, and found nothing but a frosty chill instead—but he found the strength to continue. And eventually, he found you, who would love him. Who would cherish him. And somehow, that is enough for him—enough that he no longer feels lonely, even when he is away from you. Enough for him to pull away, because he knows this is not the plane on which he belongs, even though it is yours.

But you’re not ready. You still—you still need him. Need his warmth, need the moonlight reflectance of his smile to guide you through the day. Without him, how do you return to the emptiness of the inn where everyone leaves and no one stays, where the polished wooden floors and walls echo with the silence of your footsteps, memories haunting everywhere you look? 

Deep inside, you know he cannot stay. That the spirit plane, however it may intersect with the mortal world, is separate from yours. And it makes you laugh, a little, when you remember how you felt you had learned Jun during the first year of his stay—because you will never know the moon. Will never understand his enigmatic smiles, never parse the way his fingers trace so cool and so warm against the skin of your cheek, never dissect how he can stand to be so selfless, returning to you from each of his trips home because he knows you cannot live without him. 

—How do you continue, Jun? you force yourself to ask under a waning gibbous moon, three days after his last foray to a place he once called home. The autumn-fading-winter wind blows crisp through the air, ruffling Jun’s hair where he sits beside you in front of the inn, petting one of the stray cats that has settled on his lap. You trace the lines of the cracked stone on the ground, ripples of time rough and bitter beneath your fingertips, hoping he knows what you mean from the five brittle words you managed to speak.

(How do you move on? How do you make peace with the memories? How do you let go of the grief, how do you remember someone as who they were and forget about how they left you, forget how they will never be able to stay?)

He’s quiet for a moment. When he looks at you, you brace yourself. 

—I cannot answer for you, he says, and your heart plummets. That is for you to find in yourself. 

He takes your hand, though. Presses it between his own, and even through the despair closing up your throat, you find it in yourself to take comfort in his moonlit warmth. 

—But I will tell you this, he says quietly. To me, to know that there is someone who I love, and who loves me—that is enough. Even if I am not with them. Because my home is in the memories we share. 

His smile is blinding, bright as the moon and more. And through the gnarled desperation twisting in your heart, you allow a piece of that brightness to prick its way into the brambles. 

. . . . .

Letting go, you decide, is an art. A painful art, disentangling the nettles from the brambled wall you’ve built around your heart to shield you from the pain of reminiscence, but an art all the same in the way you carefully examine each thorn, stinging your fingertips and palms as you pull the branches apart, pinpricks of blood scattering across the canvas of your pain, your grief, the loss you feel every time you look up at the dim sky and the empty rooms around you, your grandmother’s presence lingering in every corner and crevice. 

Some days, when Jun is gone, you nearly give up. Nearly decide the thorns in your hands aren’t worth it, that the brambles prevent more pain than they bring, that letting go is an art you will never master—because you can’t, and you won’t. You can’t give up the only person, spirit, who’s brought you comfort in this time, you can’t willingly give up what you have now because you need him here or you’ll drown in the emptiness of these large, quiet rooms. 

But that’s unfair. Because the moon doesn’t belong on earth, and the earth doesn’t belong on the moon. For all the semblance of home Jun has found with you, you are not the only home he carries with him. Where he lives—what he is—it’s not here. It’s not here, not in this old, empty inn, with you, because an inn is never a permanent home for anyone but the owner. For anyone else, it is rest, respite, temporary comfort. More temporary for some than others, but it is a place of letting go.

Nights pass. The scarf grows longer, the storage room cleaner. And though the pain of Jun’s absence still aches in your chest, the cool silver needles and the heavy window curtains begin to soothe more of the sting. When you look up at him on the days he is here, his own fingers gliding across old piano keys, you breathe, and you remember, and you let yourself into the thorns and nettles of memory once more. Because what is Jun’s home cannot be yours. 

And so you will find your own, in a place where you once never felt lonely.

It’s slow work, slower than you would have liked. In what world does anyone not want to dash the pain away quickly, strip off the bandages in one fell swoop and find the skin and tissue already unscarred and whole beneath? But with every disappearance you’re running out of time so you work at the thorns, slowly and slowly and slowly, and as Jun’s enigmatic smile grows a little wider every time the scarf grows a little longer, as a hint of something soft begins to chase away the aching sympathy in his eyes when he looks at you under the faded night sky, you find in his smile a quiet balm for the pain in your fingers, in your palms, in your heart. 

When you pull the final branches away, there are scars etched in your chest that will never fully heal, patterns of time to mimic the lines carved on your skin. Memories of thorns still prick your palms and something aches awful in your heart as you stare at the mess you have made of yourself in forcing memories out of their old home to avoid the pain you thought they would bring, but then you look at the moon as you tie off the final knot on the pale yellow woolen scarf and when you do he smiles back, something akin to pride, and maybe gratitude, in his eyes. 

That night, after seeing Jun off to bed, you walk upstairs to the room where your grandmother stored her memories. The moon is almost full and its light shines bright, strong enough to just barely filter through the heavy curtains still draped across the glass. 

Taking a deep breath, you take one curtain in each stinging, thorn-wounded hand. Push them aside. Let the moon’s smile bathe the room pale light.

No blood stains the fabric, even as your heart aches at the sight.

. . . . . 

You give him the scarf the next day, a night where winter is stronger than fall, loop it around his neck when he leaves the piano to sit at your side. He played that piece again, the composer’s reminiscence of home, and its notes still linger in your ears as you settle the scarf at his throat. 

Jun doesn’t react at first, only touches a finger to the wool, the color of the sun on the snow the day he first knocked on your door. It’s as though he knew it was made for him, even before you did. The way you knew his crescent smile, the wax and wane of the brightness in his eyes, the reflection of the sun off his skin, before he even arrived. 

He stops you before you go to bed that night, puts a hand on your shoulder and gently turns you around. For a moment you only look at each other, candlelight reflecting off your faces, a glow that joins the pale moonlight pooling on the ground. 

Thank you for the scarf, he says quietly, his fingers tangling with yours. His breath ghosts past your cheek, eyes crinkling at the corners into a soft, slow smile. And for letting me stay. 

You go back to the storage room when he closes his door, sit on the moth-eaten armchair and stare out the window at the full, full moon. Sometime later the first snow begins to fall, floating pitter-patter against the glass, and, lulled by its soft rhythm, you allow yourself to sleep. 

When morning comes with the shimmering sun on ice, Jun is gone. 

This time, he doesn’t come back. 

Reality seems to blur as the days go by, one without Jun, two without Jun, three, four, six, ten. Sometimes you sit in the inn’s empty lobby and squint at the grand piano still standing in the middle of the floor and for a moment, you can’t quite recall whether it’s always been there, or if it simply came into existence when Jun’s music followed him into your home. Everything feels dim, faded, like the shadow that had settled over the moon for so long, and sometimes you debate leaving. Leaving the inn and memories of a loving grandmother and laughing spirit that lie here, burying what you had with those you loved and running away from the remnants that chase you. 

But where would you go? There’s nothing in the world you have except this inn and those memories, and for all remembering hurts, they were treasures. Treasures that sparkle with a happiness that hurts a little too much right now, but that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Treasures that will be a balm, in time, to the scars they left behind. 

Treasures that tell you, someday, you will have your home. 

Sometimes, sitting at the old piano, you wonder if he was real. If he really existed, the spirit with cratered eyes and hair the color of the sun on icy snow. But it doesn’t matter, really. Because you remember him—the sleepy eyes, the wide smile, the soft voice that waltzed with long fingers across ivory keys and spun music to life, tapestries of notes that settled gentle, ephemeral in the night air before a single breath blew them away. You remember him, and you remember an album of pastel memories and watercolor laughs, pages left to dry under winter sunshine, the color of a pale yellow scarf that a laughing man wears around his neck, its ends fluttering in the breeze. 

An album leaf. A page of memory. Loved in the moment that it was there, and someday, later on, turned over and smoothed with care. Remembered. 

And when you look out of the window at the full moon glowing brightly in the sky, you know the memory will be treasured, too. 

One evening, when the seasons have passed and winter has come to your inn once more, you sift through the music you had unearthed from that trunk so many months ago, the music now stacked around the piano in haphazard piles. You pull a single yellow sheet from the depths. The few guests who have settled at your inn since its opening retired to bed hours ago, leaving you alone to sit on a restored armchair pulled out of storage and trace black notes printed on old, crinkled paper, letting their melodies shiver through your skin, your ears, your memory.

That night, you take a walk along the streets of the town. Lamps light the way, but you follow the path of the full moon on powdered snow, not a single shadow draped across its cratered surface. There’s music in the wind and you walk with it, fingers tapping where they rest in the pockets of your coat. 

A flash of movement catches your eye. You turn and there’s a little cat slinking through the powdery white streets, moonlight glinting off its smooth, pale fur. It looks at you, and you look at it, and then you crouch down and extend a hand as it shyly pads closer through the snow. 

You smile, remembering a shy man twisting his fingers at your door. Hair blond, not white, but gentle and sweet just like this creature cautiously butting its head against your palm. 

—Hello there, you murmur. The moon looks lovely tonight, doesn’t it?

The cat purrs, like it agrees. Like it also knows the man you knew, and knows that he is where he needs to be, like you. 

Smiling softly, you glance up at the moon and its reflective glow. It seems to brighten as you stare at it, moonlight pooling softly on the glittering snow. 

The cat purrs again and you turn back, soft with the moon and the memories. Sweet laughter, dark eyes. A crescent bright smile, an album leaf. 

A gentle melody humming through the air, and a yellow scarf rippling in the wind. 

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[synintheraven]

Okay let's clear some things out; 1) I don't write smut bc I suck at it 2) this is part of a bigger story where the main character/reader gets to know Sihtric throughout several situations, so this is perfect if you want to read about Sihtric & reader's little made-up adventures but not so much if you're only here to read naughty stuff 😅 3) I have no idea what I'm doing :p

pic credits to myself, feel free to use them too/ask for originals (:

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary/small introduction: reader (she/her) is a Norse, Sihtric is a (actual, as in born there) Dane. Sihtric & reader meet each other for the very first time, but I kept it simple and kinda short so you'll have to keep on reading to find out how this goes (; [Side note: Yggr is one of my ocs and the Jarl/Chief of the group, but will not be a current character other than to accompany/give orders to Sihtric and reader]

✵tw: mentions of violence

✵word count: 1,5k

characters info | part two

We were near; the tall cliffs once casting shadows over the sea were far behind us and the fog was getting thicker over the marshes. East Anglia was a land of fishermen huts, distant trees and bad weather: yet somewhere in this muddy land, a band of fiery fighters were hiding and getting ready to fight for their lord.

I recognized the stranded ship half covered in sand, which Yggr had described to me, surrounded by muddy rocks and a small spot of land untouched by the sea waters. Near the rocks, among tall reeds, the camp was set and a handful of men were sat around the bonfire in an attempt to fight the cold wind.

Except for one man.

A tall, dark haired man, covered in a fur cloak; his left hand was resting over the hilt of his sword as he stood near the coast, staring cautiously at our ship as if he was trying to tell who we were. But, as we approached the small island and the fog revealed Yggr’s wild hair, the mysterious man prepared to greet us.

The sail was taken down and the crew started to row against the current, sliding through the rather calm waves to take the ship towards the land. It didn’t take long for the prow to reach the sand and before we were fully beached, Yggr jumped off our ship to meet with the dark haired stranger.

He had a concerned expression and his hand remained over the hilt of his sword, ready to fight should the need arise. Yet, unlike him, Yggr was quick to smile and open his arms, embracing the now smirking Dane like a brother.

The man was Sihtric Kjartansson, a warrior that served the long haired blonde, though he treated him like a big stupid brother rather than as his lord and jarl. Both Danes had grew up together, sticking to each other as their parents seemed to care little next to nothing for the young boys, making it no surprise the concerned stranger was in command during the jarl’s absence.

I didn’t know much about him back then, only that he was a fine warrior and a loyal man; but I had also been told he was rather friendly and welcoming, yet Sihtric looked at me with wary eyes. I stared back at him, almost trying to decipher what was going on inside his mind: studying his gaze, the storm brewing inside his blue eye and the dancing flames around the pupil of his brown eye.

He had the face of a warrior, with scars running down from his forehead and marking the flesh over his deep cheekbones, making me wonder if he was hiding any other under the strands of hair over his temple or under the scarce beard around his rather full lips.

I had jumped on the wet sand of the island shortly after Yggr, however being the only woman among all those men, suddenly the warriors resting around the fire seemed eager to welcome our crew. Everyone but Sihtric, who embraced his lord for a while but pushed him away as his men came along with curious looks.

Unfortunately for everyone else, I was not to be touched or harmed: for I was there merely to help build the camp and eventually, should the strings of my destiny allow it, find the man that killed my family.

The first birds of the day were singing their songs and the sun was setting, the land slowly revealing itself from the fog. It was a cold morning and it got worse as we had to get our feet wet in order to cross from shore to shore, but we were to stay unnoticed and therefore not to use our ship.

We were scouting the surrounding area, following the shore in hopes to find a bigger place to set a new camp. I was walking beside Yggr, with Sihtric a few paces before us to guide our way around; the rest of our group were either guarding our current camp or exploring other areas, though all of us were after the same goal.

The best hiding spots were among reeds, trees and muddy rocks, but those often surrounded water and the rising tides could be treacherous.

We saw stone ruins, abandoned churches and half burnt farms, all a consequence of folk escaping their homes in order to keep their lives, to escape the horrors brought by the monsters from across the sea.

Danes like us were plundering all of Britain; they came with the promise of riches and vengeance but stayed to become kings and killed anyone who opposed them. They had come here to do what that mad man had done to my family, my people.

 I trusted Yggr’s words when he said he didn’t care about a title. He lost his chance to be king and decided to embrace a simple life, only hoping to find a nice place to thrive and stay unbothered by Saxons. Or so it was until the Great Heathen Army decided to terrorize the country, turning our heads into targets for anyone who caught us, Danes and Norse alike, wandering around.

We had stopped, suddenly. We were standing atop a small hill that went deeper in land, hoping to get a better view; the wind was blowing hard and the sun shone upon the land, easily revealing all areas of the territory.

Yggr remained silent, his mind lost somewhere in the dark blue waters from the ocean as the cold wind blew on his hair and beard. Sihtric stood next to me, his eyes narrowed because of the sun while he pointed his finger towards the tall roman ruins to the north.

—That looks like a good spot. —He said to Yggr then quickly looked my way, noticing I was the only one truly listening to him. It was, probably, the very first time he wasn’t eyeing me as if expecting me to take a knife to their throats. —I saw it before, but rain soaked the mud. It will take some work to stop that from happening again.

He had a very calming voice and explained all the work that had to be done for that old ruin to be a proper camp, though in truth all I could think about was the scars on his face: suggesting the man had been in many battles, despite being only a few winters older than Halfdan’s son.

—You two can go. —The blonde man interrupted, resting a hand on mine and Sihtric’s shoulder. —Find some horses and secure the camp, I’ll go find the men and meet you there with the ship.

—Just the two of us? —Sihtric sighed, despite trying to hide his discomfort. —What if the place has been taken? I can’t fight them with, no offense, a woman. —He glanced at me for a split second then stared back at Yggr, hoping to be released of my company.

—I am Norse. And my father raised a warrior, not a weak girl that needs some Dane’s protection. —I snarled back, watching as my words damaged his pride and brought a wide smile to our Jarl.

The only horses we could find belonged to a group of Danes camping in Theotford, a small town with thatched roofs and a run-down church that once sheltered Saxons.

There was about twenty of them, maybe more, standing watch in every corner and every small gap they could find.

—I am not “some Dane”, I’m a warrior too. —He finally added, remembering our earlier conversation.

—You’re the son of Kjartan, right? —I let out and he gave me a grim look then proceeded to avoid my glance, still walking between the tall grasses.

—We’re never going to make it out alive if we try to take one of their horses. There’s too many of them. —And he was right, those were trained warriors and we were merely a pair of lost dogs to them. —The ruins are not too far, we should get there before Yggr if we walk in a straight line and avoid following main roads.

And just like that, our short journey through the autumnal forests of East Anglia began. We walked through shrubs, trees, short walls made of stone and saw a few deer, but there was no sight of other people anywhere. We avoided getting too close to farms or church ruins, trying to remain silent whenever our surroundings were suspiciously quiet.

—So tell me, Dane, how did you end up in Norway? —I interrupted, getting a judging stare from him when he caught me walking closely by his side.

—He told you we should get to know each other, right? —He asked dismissively, moving a few steps ahead of me.

—He suggested we should get along if we’re to live together in the same camp, but you’re not as friendly as he promised.

A hint of a smirk showed on his face, though it didn’t last long. —My father sold information to Halfdan and left me in Alrekstad to either die or be raised by the king’s servants. —He admitted after a while, looking troubled as he spoke.

—There are worst destinies than to be raised with Yggr, I suppose. —I said and saw him grinning at my comment, finally showing some sort of emotion in my presence.

—What about you, Stavanger? —He taunted, making it obvious that our fool of a Jarl told him about my homeland and, therefore, my newly acquired nickname.

—That’s my homeland, yes. But I come from the Isle of Ikke, a once thriving city to the north of Stavanger.

—Then what brought you to Alrekstad?

—Vengeance. —I said cheerfully, but he gave me a concerned look in return.

Some bonus fun facts:

✯Yggr is the son of Halfdan, King of Alrekstad (modern Årstad, in Norway). He's not inspired by any TLK character, though he has a similar personality and looks to Ragnar The Younger, with some of Cnut's silly sense of humour. Yggr was to inherit his father's throne, but has no issue embracing a simpler life - even though his former position as a prince and charisma turned him into his Clan's Jarl (basically an english Earl, but a Jarl can also be someone trusted by its people and chosen as a chief).

✯Reader was born in a small island in Norway (Ikke, which is totally made up hehe) but her family was massacred when she was a baby, so she grew up seeking vengeance.

✯Sihtric isn't a bastard but his mother died giving birth to him and so Kjartan despises him/never properly treated him as his son (nor did he to Sven but he grew up to be just as his father and so Kjartan eventually accepted him as his son).

✯As this story is unrelated to what happens in TLK, I had Kjartan vanished from Denmark; though he became wealthy again by playing the pirate in other territories and selling information to kings as Halfdan, Harald Fairhair and few more across the sea...

[kaicubus]

Water Fountain | Cassie H.

warnings ✩° : angst, brief mention of suicide, swearing, arguing, no happy ending.

pairing ✩° : cassie howard x fem!reader

premise ✩° : people grow apart, feelings distance, you just didnt know she’d move on so quickly.

word count ✩° : 2.7k 

authors note ✩° : this was way less planned than my other euphoria fics so i just rolled with it. i actually??? quite enjoy??? writing for cassie??? maybe bc she has so much angst in her character but who knows...

now playing : Water Fountain by Alec Benjamin

You didn’t know why your friends stopped walking in the middle of the hallway.

You didn’t know why suddenly everyone turned around to look at you and hurriedly sweep you away.

You didn’t know that your girlfriend of three years had her mouth on Nate Jacobs right in front of the old, rusted water fountain where you both had your first kiss. She told you she loved you, how could she forget?

When you knew Cassie Howard, she was an innocent girl. Everybody knew that, which was part of the reason why she was targeted so often.

Her was always side parted, a messy kind of pretty, and she never wore makeup that made her look runway gorgeous—only enhancing her doe eyes and soft brows. She always had her nails painted a baby blue or light brown. The Cassie you knew would never do this.

 “So, you're going to explain what were doing here out of class?” the blonde asked in a distant memory, “Or are you just going to keep standing there like an idiot?”

You pushed your hair back and smiled, “Probably stand here like an idiot.”

The corners of Cassie’s lips pulled up in amusement, “Seriously!” She sounded like an angel.

“Who said I wasn't serious?” You teased, pushing your lips out and raising your brows.

She rolled her eyes with an impatient grin, “Look, if you're not going to tell me why were standing right here with the only thing watching us being this water fountain, I'm going to leave—”

“No no no! Cass, wait—wait ok look Ill tell you!”

She turned around triumphantly but before she could fully give you the smug look she’d hoped to, your hands were planted on the edge of her hips. With a gentle hold, you treated her like liquid gold as you pulled her body against yours. Her sparkling azure eyes fluttered in surprise as a little gasp escaped her pouty lips on impact.

“I just wanted to do something cute.” your pupils dilated in pure adoration for the girl.

“Y/n all you do is cute.” Cassie laughed again, this time more quiet given how close you two had quickly become in proximity.

Her smile alone was enough to send butterflies loose in your stomach, god you were smitten.

“Well...?” Her words snapped you back to reality and back into your plan. As you scanned her face, you already knew she knew what you were going to do. So why waste anymore time? Within seconds, your lips were molded against her soft, plump ones. Strawberries and vanilla spread into your senses and you were at pure bliss, so was she.

When you pulled away from her, Cassie had a smile starting from one ear to the next that thinned her lips happily. She didn't even have to say anything to show her elation, her silence alone spoke volumes. The way she twisted her thick, golden hair in an attempt to hide her nervousness just added to the fact that Cassie was practically glowing.

She parted her mouth with her tongue and wet her bottom lip, “I love you.”  she said.

With nothing in your mind left to say, you made the fatal mistake of saying, “I love you too, Cass.”

That time by the water fountain was the last time you saw that Cassie.

Who stood sheltered behind your protective friends didn't shimmer and shine like the old Cassie was someone you didn't know. She was rusted and warped by a force you could not save her from, so you watched old Cassie whittle away and disperse from your arms.

As much as everybody knew Cassie was innocent and harmless, they knew you were always associated with her. You were the closest person to Cassie next to Maddy, who was always with Nate—her boyfriend. Except, as of recent, the couple has been on a break.

Your friends knew from all the longing stares, changes in your posture and body language, and hand holding that you had a hopeless crush on Cassie. Lexi, Kat, and Maddy assured you she did too. After all, she was more than happy to spend nights alone with you and fall asleep on call when you had asked her; She even gave you small tokens of her affection and sometimes kissed you on the forehead to go the extra mile.

“Guys?” you laugh a bit, confused and honestly kind of scared, “What’s going on?”

“A fight,” Maddy said quickly.

“Rue’s passed out,” Kat nodded.

“Sex. People are having wild, untamed sex,” Lexi starts pushing you away from the sex fight that made Rue pass out.

“Guys, seriously. What the hell is going on? Hey! Lex, stop pushing—”

“Nothing,” They say in unison, “How about we skip today?” Kat offers.

“No, I can’t I have a test I actually studied for, now come on—let go!” you attempt to shake them off but its no use, there's too many of them and one of you.

“You can study again! You're smart.” Maddy reassures you.

“That’s it,” with one final, firm push, you break apart the human barrier and finally take in something that wasn't their worried faces. Instead, it was much worse.

There she was. Cassie’s blonde hair doting over his shoulders. Cassie’s blue eyes shut with notes warmth and hints of lust. Cassie’s lovely fingertips kissing his jawline. Cassie’s tender lips leaning against his thin mouth. Cassie.

You wanted to pass out. By the looks of it, your friends wanted too as well. Each one had a signature expression, imperative to their personality and how they handled shock or something they didn't want to see. Lexi, awkward and surely uncomfortable. Kat, judgmental and off-put. And Maddy. She was pissed. You on the other hand, staring at Cassie kissing Nate Jacobs felt like a stab to the heart, and as soon as you went down, being shot multiple times by different projectiles over and over again.

“Nate is such a fucking asshole.” you mumbled to Cassie one day.

“Hm? What?” she said as her attention followed him and Maddy to who knows where, “Sorry, I-I wasn't listening.”

“Hes just so abusive. Like did everybody just forget what he did to Maddy?”

“That was proved false by both of them and the cops, don't hold it against him Y/n.” Cassie’s peachy lips curled in a slight annoyance.

“Sorry,” you muttered, “Why are you defending him again?”

“I'm not defending him. He just doesn't deserve that being spread around again.”

“You sound like you love him.”

As soon as she plucked her mouth from his, Cassie’s attention pans to her side and in just a matter of moments she was staring directly at you.

“Y/n,” Kat’s voice snapped you out of your trance, “We should go.”

“No, Y/n are you going to fucking take that?!” Maddy crosses her arms. She’s more angry than you are.

“Guys we should just leave, it’s not worth it.” Lexi says.

“Lexi’s she’s your goddamn sister, did she not say anything about this? How could she just leave Y/n for NATE?!”

“She didn’t tell me anything. She hasn’t been home at night, she’s just gone. Mom says she’s out but she wouldn’t tell me jack shit.”

Maddy bites her lip so hard, the sharp taste of metal plagues her pallet.

“What...” You finally speak, catching everybody’s attention, “What the fuck...”

Before anyone could take you away, you watch Nate pull Cassie’s face back to it’s original position; Almost as if he knows you’re watching, he tugs at her delicate cheeks and forces her to look at him. Nate hooks a greedy hand over her small of her back, harnessing her hips by his wrist, pulling her in slowly.

Your breath leaves you in small, shallow breaths. There’s nothing you can do, watching as Nate indulges in yet another deep, suffocating kiss from Cassie. This time, she doesn't reciprocate. Instead, all she can do is stare at you. He continues to make his way down her neck, showing as much PDA as possible even if that meant making the entire school uncomfortable. Even with his advances in nibbling st her vanilla scented flesh, Cassie sways as the movements push her side to side, lifeless like a still corpse.

She tries not to cry when her eyes meet yours. Tries. Without fail, you notice Cassie’s eyes gloss over with a pathetic layer of tears. Of all people, you should be the one who’s heart’s gutted out by the others actions. But she cries regardless.

When he surfaces, Nate whispers in her ear, but she can’t even bring herself to listen. How could she? All this time, she was trying to get over you and fill the void that was left in the absence of you. Of course, it wasn’t a justifiable reason for what your eyes have seen, but in Cassie’s mind it was. With the illusion shattered all Cassie could feel was her fragile heart break once again.

In an attempt to not seem more pitiful than she already seems, she hastily wipes over her lashes, smudging hot pink streaks of mascara all over her already rose wet cheeks. She wipes and wipes, but her tears don’t let up. It’s useless to even continue so she just stares at you with red and puffy eyes, completely lost.

Though Cassie’s eyes were glued onto yours, hoping, praying you’d see through everything she’s been through and find it in you to accept her now, but you don’t. In fact, the very sight of her pursed lips and gaping eyes makes you scrunch your face in pure distaste.

Cassie wanted to cry, vomit, scream, anything to get you to stop making that damn face. It wrecked her to her core seeing you look at her like that but she knew all too well what the cause of it is.

You turn away in time for Nate to get a good look at Cassie. He doesn’t ask why she’s crying, he doesn’t even bat an eye, instead he just gives her a grin and walks off into the crowd of people.

“Y/n—” she mouths your name as soon as he leaves, lurching forward after you've gotten too far away from her, “Y/n I’m sorry!” You can hear her voice faintly, whispering and traveling into your ears, hunkering you down to the floor, motionless.

It doesn't matter if there was a crowd of people blocking the two of you, or that Nate was already long gone as well as Maddy, Kat, and Lexi, all Cassie was concerned with, was you. The distance had already grown unbearable, and it was all her fault; self-awareness was eating her alive like leeches under and over her skin, refusing to let her forget all the memories that had become well swallowed by a thick mental fog. 

The sound of the bell blares and Cassie jumps at the noise, looking over her shoulder for a short moment just enough to see people feeding into different halls and different classrooms leaving just you and her by the warning bell rings. Was it her chance now more than ever to make things right?

Without any other second to lose, your lack of protest enables Cassie to move forward, shoving past everybody already passing through. Her hands guide her to pave a pathway that she can actually see through, and that’s when she notices her hands and how strange they've become. Almost foreign, her bold, coffin shaped acrylics reflect back at her and she’s forced to remember times where both you and her would do each others manicures. “I always liked how light blue looks on you, Cass.” your voice echoes in her head. She shakes her head and notices the dark pink color wrapped around her nails. Cassie worms through more and more students, bumping into backpacks and nearly cutting her face on enamel pins adjourned onto the rough materials.

The clacking of her rhinestone heels echo against the linoleum tiles as she walks closer and closer towards you. She looks like a million dollars, like the most perfectly plucked flower in a field, like a diamond. She looks exactly like Maddy Perez. Not like Cassie Howard.

By the time she reaches you, just a few steps away from you, she comes to a halt.

You watch as her chest yanks up and down, trying to catch her fleeting breath, not wanting to be the first to say anything. You knew Cassie wasn't going to say anything either, so for those few moments you two spent closer than you've been in months, you were silent. What had to be said? You knew that when you met Cassie, she was too naive, too oblivious, too young. But you wanted to be young with her.

Now that you cant even recognize her both physically and spiritually, there's nothing more to be had. Though, Cassie had more things to say.

“Y/n...how have you been?” somehow, you recognize the tone in her voice from before.

Quite horrible, actually, you want to say but don't, “Good.” You don't even bother asking how she is.

Cassie sheepishly grabs her elbows like she had done in the past, directly conflicting with her bold appearance, “I missed you.” her head twitches to the side and her eyes fall onto your shoes.

“Cool. I see because you missed me, you're with him?”

She shakes her head, “No it’s not—not entirely...like that.”

“I see,” you look at her expression, hooded eyes concealing her used-to-be shining ones, “So, you know, if you have nothing to say to me I guess we’re done here?”

Cassie feels her heart crumble to thousands of pieces and suddenly she jerks her head back up to match your gaze, “No! No, I actually. I actually wanted to say sorry...”

“Sorry?” you laugh a little, “Sorry for what? Besides royally fucking up my image of you and single-handedly ruining my love life and future plans with you, you have nothing to apologize for.”

Future plans, with her? She thought on your words for a moment before finding the right words to say next, “Not that specifically.” Cassie tucks her flat ironed hair behind her ear, “The water fountain.”

You scrunch your nose in anger, “That’s it? The water fountain?”

She looks at you with the same innocence she always had inside her and pouts just enough to bring out the old Cassie. “Yeah,” her voice is small, “I didn't want you to see that...in front of our place.”

“I guess its not our place if there's no us to begin with.” You say, dropping your shoulders.

“Y/n, I’m sorry—”

“No, Cassie, I’M sorry. I’m sorry for giving you any impression whatsoever that I want to talk to you after what you did to me. I’m sorry that I witnessed my ex with the one guy I told her to steer clear of. I’m sorry that—” the inevitable feeling of tears leaking from your eyes causes you to choke, “I’m sorry that I ever told you I loved you by that goddamn fountain. Because maybe, if I didn't, you and Nate would've been together sooner instead of going behind my back at night just to get a worthless FUCK out of him.”

With wet eyes, you furiously wipe your face, “So, I’m the one who should be sorry, Cassie. The only thing I’d ever hold you accountable for is forgetting what you told me by that stupid fountain.”

Cassie stares in shock, holding her face with her hands as she’s unable to hold back her wails and ugly cries. You can’t even look at her, not because of her expressions but because of why she’s doing them. “If you cared about me this wouldn't have ever happened. Never forget that, Cassie.”

You watch as she falls to her knees, repeatedly apologizing to the point where the words, ‘I’m sorry’ don't even feel a part of the English dictionary.

Even now, she’s too naive, too oblivious, too young. She doesn’t even get a chance to see you for the last time with her reflection in your glossy eyes. Cassie’s never going to get a house with a fountain for her, she’s never going to feel what it’s like to dance with you or to be held by you—it’s too late.

Patience running thin, you turn away, leaving her alone on the floor with your final words to her being, “I have to get to class.” and leaving her with nothing more but the memories by the water fountain.

[the-fiction-witch]

Favourite Nurse

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Sweet AF

I stood in the surgical theatre sweeping, scrubbing and cleaning the place down in the early morning light, my cheap scratchy nurse dress around me as I tried to remove blood stains from the table. I heard the door creak open and a voice spoke up.

"Humm... There's my favourite nurse." He slyly smiled,

I looked up seeing Doctor Jack Dawkins leant on the wooden door frame that led into the prep room, in his usual brown trousers, white faded shirt with blood-stained sleeves, blue waistcoat and tattered green tie, his blonde hair dusty and dirty as usual. His arms crossed smugly over his chest and that stupid sly smile on his lips. 

I turned on my heels to face him moving a strand of hair out my eyes and setting both hands on my hips, "Ah Doctor Dawkins,"

"The Very same my darling," 

"Just the man I've been looking for, I have a bone to pick with you,"

"ohh really?" he smirked as he moved his hands behind him and swaggered over with an air of teasing playfulness, "Umm... Go on then my darling, But I think we both know what bone I want you to be picking at," 

"You left the surgical theatre in an utter abhorrence!" I complain, "Tools used and all over the place, floor blanketed in blood, if you are going to do surgery in the middle of the night you could at least tidy up after yourself!" 

His tone soured, "I don't have time my darling," He rolled his eyes, "If I hadn't acted quickly the man would be dead by now. So I had to perform an emergency operation late last night or early this morning... not confident which it was."

"That's not an excuse not to clean up after yourself."

"But I was tired," he pouted, 

"I am not your maid Jack, as much as you like to think I am," I told him as I took my bucket out with me to the courtyard, but he followed me. 

"I know you're not. I just needed your help. We are the only ones working round the clock here. It's not my fault my body won't let me stay up past 10 anymore."

"That doesn't mean I'm your maid," I told him as I tipped my bucket over the stairwell and set it down with the others, but before I could scamper back inside he wrapped his arms around my waist.

"But you're a brilliant cleaner you get all the spots I'm too blind for."

"Or too ignorant for." 

"Both," he chuckled, "I like you being my cute little maid girl,"

"I am not your maid." I told him poking his chest with my finger, "As much as you may like it."

"And how did you know I had a maid fetish?" he whispered,

"Because you have an everything fetish," I glared as I moved away and cleaned off my hands, "You're a very horny boy Jack."

"Well yeah? You spent ten years in the navy where you're lucky to see one woman per six months, You can't help getting excited for every girl you see." he smirked sitting himself on the edge of the stairs, "And how can I help it with you running around my darling? "

"Some days I really do wonder how you are such a smart doctor, your brain rarely gets any blood it's always down your trousers." I sighed as I began to hang the washed sheets on the lines in the courtyard, 

"I can't help it, you're too captivating," 

"Umm... You're lucky you don't get a damn slap. Escpaily after I caught you peeking down my dress the other day."

"And up your dress," he muttered,

"What was that?" I glared,

"Nothing my darling," He cooed, "You're such a little smart ass, aren't you? The girls at the cat and bagpipes don't give me such sassback."

"That's because you're paying them jack they have to pretend to like you,"

"They do like me."

"do they? do they ever actually want to talk or be near you before you hand them a pound?" 

"Sometimes," He lied, "They like my stethoscope, and hearing stories about work."

"AHH yes your stethoscope I'm sure all rottys girls at the cat and bagpipes just love your... Stethoscope"

"Well and because I'm so handsome,"

"You good looking I think you're very handsome just... Too confident for your own good sometimes" I rolled my eyes as I finished hanging the newly washed sheets and gathered in the dry ones from earlier, 

"Oh? you think I'm handsome My darling?" he teased, 

I finished gathering all the dry sheets and headed back towards the door, "You can be when you have a bath and some clean clothes Jack" I said tugging on his stained sleeves and giving his hair a tussle as I walked up the steps seeing visible dust fall out of it, 

"So you're saying I'm attractive? Like you are actually attracted to me and you think I'm handsome" he gave chase of course following behind me like an excited puppy, 

"If it makes you feel better. Yes," I rolled my eyes kissing his cheek before I headed into the storage cupboard to start folding the dry sheets and putting them away, 

"Wait. You're actually serious, no joke and you're not just saying that to make me stop bugging you?"

"I'm very serious you can be very handsome sometimes," 

"Ohh? Well, what makes me so handsome then my darling?" he cooed leaning his elbow on the shelf, 

"you're a very handsome man Jack. You have a toned slender body, you're tall, you have very handsome soft blonde hair, deep chocolate brown eyes, a striking jaw and a very cute smile and you're are adorable when you get mad or jealous and you frown all pouty, so yes I do find you attractive and the times when you clean up have a hot bath and some clean clothes I admit your very lovely" I explain as I fold sheets, 

He smiled and slightly blushed at my compliments "So... if I had a bath and some fresh clothes I wouldn't just be cute I'd be... sexy?"

"Perhaps,"

He smirked and grabbed my hand spinning me around before pulling me into his chest, "So? how would I rate all clean and lovely?"

"Out of ten?"

"Yep," he smirked not letting me move in any way,

I smiled and set my hands on his waistcoat moving on my tip toes to be inches from his lips as I spoke, At the moment eight. When you have a bath eleven."

"A-an 11? So you're saying once I've had a bath and worn nice clothes, I'll be stunningly handsome and an 11 out of 10?" he blushed, "You... really mean that Y/n?"

"I do, You're a slender little smart-ass jack. And I think you're the most attractive man in the hospital... I mean, that's kind of a hollow complaint though given my options for doctors are you, Dr sneed and Prof. And prof is in his 60s and Sneed looks like a snail" 

"Well, it's lucky for you that I'm so good-looking and have such a captivating personality," 

"It is," I giggled,

"I always knew I was your favourite nurse darling," He smiled stroking my cheek and pulling my lips to his own.  

[liliumsabyss]

I have never made a request before because I’m usually happy to browse, but seeing that Newt from Maze Runner is on your character list (if you no longer write for him that’s fine) and there’s not a lot of works with newtxreader let alone a male reader I’d love it if you could write something about Newt getting jealous when Thomas comes up in the box and asks about the reader. Please don’t feel pressured either way what I think you’re doing is amazing since there’s not enough male reader representation out there. All the love to you ❤️

Jealousy

FEM DNI, I SWEAR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

Newt(TMR) x Male Reader

Word Count: 1.226k

Tw: Jealousy, mentions of slight possessiveness, oblivious to flirting, hasn't been edited by my mod, and maybe out of character Newt?

A/n: Hello, I'm very sorry it took me this long to fulfil your request! You are incredibly sweet! Thank You so much! I'm truly grateful that you have put in a request, and once again, I'm truly sorry it took me this long. I had so much fun writing this, and it has honestly been one of the pieces I've loved writing the most, so thank you for that. I write for any character on my character list, and more off it, I love Newt so much, so this made me incredibly happy for someone to ask! And also all the love to you, you seem like a genuinely sweet person and thank you once again for delighting me with this and putting in a request, especially such a sweet one!

Newt had been guiding the new boy who had come up in the box; he was tall with dark hair and deep brown eyes the male had clearly still been in a confused stupor as he followed the other around the glaze, his adrenaline pumping as he was constantly looking and asking questions to the blonde who happily answered them. However, as soon as the two males passed in front of the med-jack hut, which was several yards away, Thomas stopped in his tracks, looking at the “porch” of the building, which was more or less a poorly branched mat that had a canopy shading it. On the porch, there sat one of the other gladers on a chair while a (h/c) haired male with stunning (e/c) eyes peered down compassionately toward the glader in the chair as his (s/c) hands daintily wrapped the other male's upper arm with bandages tying a small bow to ensure the wrappings stayed in place before giving the other a smile and sending him on his way. Newt's gaze softened, seeing the (h/c) haired male. Thomas was staring curiously towards the same male.

“ Who’s that?” Thomas finally spoke up, snapping Newt out of his lovestruck trance.

“ Oh that's (Y/n) he's the keeper of the med-jacks.” Newt said his gaze never left from the said male as his chest filled with pride at his lover’s accomplishments.

“ So he takes care of the injured…?” Thomas' voice trailed off questioningly as the blonde turned to look at Thomas, confused at the obviousness of the statement.

“ Yes…” Newt responded, trailing off, his eyes hardened, looking suspiciously at the other.

“ So if I got injured, he would take care of me?” The dark-haired male said with a subtle hint of excitement in his voice, only making Newt’s eyes squint in suspicion more.

“ In theory, yes.” The blonde responded carefully as he felt a small seed of jealousy buried in his stomach. He tried to brush it off as maybe only jealousy.

“ Is he in a relationship with anyone?” Thomas asked curiously, rubbing the back of his neck and looking back towards the (h/c) haired male once again. The seed that had been planted in Newt’s started to grow as he could feel the jealousy grow, he began to glare at the other, about to mention his relation with (Y/n), only for Minho to come over.

“ Hey, Newt! I just need to talk with the greenie for a little bit. See you later!” Minho said, dragging Thomas away before Newt could state anything more. Newt turned towards the (h/c) haired male in the distance, ready to go to talk to him, only to have Alby call for him, dragging his attention away and requiring his assistance. Newt started to walk away, his one leg causing a small limp, before looking over his shoulder one last time and seeing his lover tell some of the other gladers to bring in the new supplies.

Newt had been occupied by Alby all day, trying to help around the glaze and stop some of the boys (mostly Gally and his group) from doing something stupid. Before long, the sky turned dark, and many fires were being started to light the glaze. Newt began to go once again toward the med-jack hut, but he stopped mid-step when he saw Thomas and (Y/n). Thomas was speaking happily with the (h/c) haired male said, the male was laughing at whatever Thomas was saying. Thomas had a noticeable blush that was even obvious from where Newt was standing. The blonde was in disbelief how could anyone like someone after meeting them once again, he didn’t really have a say, after all, he was the same with (Y/n). Newt’s stomach twisted with jealousy as he started to make his way towards the pair, his fist slightly clenched and unclenched. 

“ Newt!” (Y/n) called out with a wide smile on his face turning around to see the blonde. Thomas turned towards the blonde, waving his hand slightly but retracting as he saw Newt's glare directly aimed at him, but it softened when he looked at the (h/c) haired male. Newt, as quickly as he could, made his way over to the pair. 

“ Hey-“ Thomas started but retracted as Newt glared daggers into him, the blonde was quick to embrace (Y/n), his arms snaking around the other male's waist as he stepped behind him, leaning to rest his head on the (h/c) haired males shoulder turning to kiss him on the jaw. (Y/n) chuckled at the uncharacteristic behaviour of the other, turning his head slightly to look at Newt but quickly looking back at Thomas, who was just standing there awkwardly, realizing his errors over the course of the day. Newt, unhappy with the lack of attention, started peppering kisses on his lover's neck and jaw. The receiving of the actions was slightly confused but gladly accepted the affection.

“ Oh, so you…are together?” Thomas said with a hint of disappointment in his voice, but it was very subtle that only Newt could detect. Newt glared at Thomas while the (h/c) haired male, oblivious to the advances and silent war Newt was raging, smiled and nodded.

“ Yup, we’ve been together from the time I came up in the box”, (Y/n) responded happily, nodding his head towards the box as Newt's grasp got slightly tighter.

“ Yes, we have been together for a very very long time and plan to be together for a long time as well,” Newt said with a ghost of a smirk on his face. The insinuation, still after all this time, had made (Y/n) feel flustered and butterflies rise in his stomach despite the fact that they had already talked about it numerous times and agreed upon it. Thomas, taking the hint, nervously rubbed the back of his neck once again before mumbling that he needed to go discuss something with Minho and ran off.  (Y/n) now turned towards the uncharacteristically clingy blonde.

“Now, Newty,” The (h/c) haired male said affectionately but crossed his arms, giving Newt a really look, “ what was that for?”

Newt only pouted slightly and looked down in slight embarrassment and shame.

“ We’re you perhaps jealous…?” (Y/n) said, chuckling a little bit at the other's reaction. Newt only looked down more, burying his head into the other shoulder further. (Y/n) gave the other a quick peck on the head, causing the blonde's head to shoot up and look at the other.

“ Oh Newt, you don’t have to be jealous, you know I only have eyes for you and you alone ever since I got to this place.” (Y/n) said sweetly with a smile that could melt the coldest winters.

“I know, love, I'm sorry I just… couldn’t help it.” Newt said, ashamed and embarrassed with his overly protective behaviour displayed earlier.

“ Hey, you don’t have to be sorry I just wanted to make sure you know I love you.” The other responded back, hugging their arms around Newts, whose were secured tightly around his waist.

“ I know I love you too, love,” Newt responded back, smiling at the other, who smiled back. The couple stood there in amicable silence, embracing one another and staring at the stars.

[g0ds-w0rst-m1stake]

The Pain of losing him (Pt. 1?/Intro)

Summery: After Luke left, his girlfriend is alone to find herself. And as the years pass by, the girl with pretty hair becomes the Son of death.

FYI: This is part one of a fic I'm also posting on Ao3 and this is gonna serve as a background for the actual story (starting in chapter two) I'll be posting soon.

Sorry if this is bad lmao

No major content warning xx

~~~~~~~~~

When Luke Castellan was 19, he left. It was only three weeks after his birthday, the last week of july. He tried to take me with him, he really did. At night, as I toss and turn in my sheets, I can still hear his sweet voice filled with venom. 

“Darling, Please. Whoever Your Dad is still hasn't claimed you? Don't you think we could-” 

“Stop it luke. You’re crazy. I’m getting Chiron-” 

“Y/N, Darling, don’t.” 

And as i broke into a run, Something stung my ankle. When I woke up in the medic cabin hours later, he was gone. And a uncouncus Percy Jackson was beside me, his body turning in his unwanted sleep. 

I was fifteen then. My own birthday was coming up. I spent it at camp Half-blood without luke. Without knowing who my godly parent was. The Hermes cabin wasn’t the same without Luke, but I couldn’t leave camp. I attracted monsters like flies to honey. I didn’t know what else to do. I spent my nights in Luke's empty bed, any of the Hermes kids could have tried to take it from me. They didn’t. They missed the ghost of their brother just as much as I missed the ghost of my boyfriend. 

I was sixteen, when I went with the son of Poseidon to receive the golden fleece. It was supposed to be me, Percy, and Annabeth. And grover, after we rescued him. Clarisse tagged along. I hadn’t spoken to her, not since Luke. Believe it or not, they were friends. Despite the bickering and arguing, they were close. 

Talking to her again made it impossible to not think of him. 

Then, there were the sirens. Despite my better judgment, I tied myself up with Annabeth to hear their song. The first thing I saw was Luke. Then I saw myself. The scrawny girl was long gone. In her place, a boy. A boy with dark hair and eyes that matched mine. He looked like the boys in my old pinterest boards, in the stories with the morally gray characters. He looked like me. 

When Percy freed me from the ropes, and received Annabeth from the deep, which was horrifying. I asked Annabeth for her dagger. They were both horrified as the hair fell over the side of the boat, but as I ran my hand through my new hair, I smiled. 

When I went back to camp with Grover and the golden fleece, I went back to the Hermes cabin. And I still slept in his bed, but I felt so much better because not only was I a different person, I was myself. I talked to Chiron, and got a proper chest binder and then everyone knew I was a boy. 

I was still sixteen when My hair went from blonde, to brown, then to an inky black. The change in my hair was something I didn’t know how to feel about it. But it looked like me. And then, when I woke up from the nightmares of Luke, and I went outside to escape the restraints of his cabin, the grass died under my feet. I didn’t tell anyone. 

Percy Jackson was fourteen when his mom drove Grover, Thalia, Annabeth, Percy, and I to a boarding school. Me and Thalia had become quick friends and her anger towards Luke made me feel so, so much better. 

That was when I met two kids with the same dark eyes as me. I felt some uncanny urge to protect them. When the quest was put forward, I wanted to go. I didn’t. Not until a disheveled looking Percy Jackson found me that night. 

Percy promised Nico something that I didn’t quite hear. 

Percy Jackson Held up the sky. So did Annabeth Chase. And so did I. 

The cosmos weighed nothing compared to having to tell that little boy his sister was dead. I held his hand, and he said it, not to me, but to percy. 

“Where’s my sister?” 

I hugged him tightly as Percy handed him the last thing his sister wanted him to have. And the ground split open underneath me. 

As Nico ran, the dark blur over my head told both me, and Percy Jackson about my father.