#It's like finding a bunch of cool pebbles on the ground

[starry-bi-sky]

Danny hurts.

That's nothing new, but he thinks he deserves to talk about it still. He hurts specifically behind his eyes, as if he's been doing nothing but stare at a screen all day, and his lungs feel shallow and stifled like he's run for a mile without stopping. There's an ache in his knees like abdominal cramps, stretching down to his calves and slightly up his thighs. His shoulder blades ache, rooting center towards his spine, snaking down to his hips.

It's bearable, but he still hurts.

It was a nightmare that brought him here, with his arms wrapped around Bruce's middle like a cobra and his ear pressed to the man's stomach. It's not a heartbeat, but he's already checked for it, and if he stops and listens, real quiet, he can hear Bruce's internal organs gurgling. So it's the next best thing, it means he's working as he should.

Bruce's curved finger draws a line down his spine, and then back up, slow and soothingly. Danny shudders involuntarily, gooseflesh popping up on his skin, and his arms tighten briefly, then loosen up. He shakes for a moment, and then tries to sigh out of his nose in a way that didn't reveal just how awful he felt.

"…Tell me about flying?" Bruce asks him after a few seconds of silence, voice quiet and low; tentative. The petting doesn't stop, and Danny blinks slowly. To think, first, and then to try and come up with a response. His jaw feels heavy and sluggish beneath the skin, the way it usually feels when he doesn't want to talk.

He cleans the cobwebs off, tightens his fingers around Bruce's shirt. Loosens it. "Incredible," he croaks, "Weird. It was— crazy. Instinctual. All I needed to do was think about it, and then not even that after I got used to it. I'd think about going up and- and I'd go up. Or down. And I'd tell myself to slow down or go faster, and- and uh, I would."

It's weird, talking about his powers to someone who isn't Sam or Tucker- or, or Jazz. Even weirder for it to be an adult. A living one, that is. And one that would just— just listen. Just like that. And ask questions with no judgement, none that Danny could pick up on anyways.

He starts drawing abstract shapes into Bruce's back with his finger, trying to think. "It was- it was so weird, and so cool. Have you ever— have you ever had one of those hyper-realistic dreams as a kid, where everything felt real? It was like that." He continues, and the tension bleeds out of him, and the grief, and the hurt, "I could go as— as high as I wanted, and since I didn't need to breathe, I didn't need to worry about choking."

Bruce keeps quiet, and it's a bit of a relief, Danny's gaining steam. "I wanted to touch the stars," he tells him, staring unfocused, "and I had this revelation one day, uh- I think the summer after my accident, that I could now. I didn't have to wait anymore. I could probably fly up and up and up, and I'd be in space." It'd been a ground-shaking revelation to him, and it'd shaken and then shattered his foundation of rules and what he could and couldn't do.

He focuses back in on the feeling of tracing the edges of Bruce's ribs, and Bruce does the same to his spine. "I- I uh, didn't. Of course. Going up- was— well— I, I'd never been that high before. I tried to, once, just to see if I could. And then I looked down, and Amity was a bunch of specks below my feet. Like an ant colony. Or a bunch pebbles." It had been amazing, and horrifying. He could see it from one end to the other, and he only knew where home was by the OPS Center on the top, sitting like a satellite.

Danny swallows the spit gathering at the corners of his mouth, "It was terrifying," he says, "I thought that if I kept going up, I'd lose Amity and never be able to find it again. I knew Earth was always rotating, I got scared that if I went up, when I went down Amity wouldn't be where I left it." He trembled the entire flight down to the ground. It'd felt like some sort of epiphany to him, or a kind of enlightenment. His mind had pushed past the borders of what it thought to be foundational, and now a bubble had popped. And he didn't like it.

"I went back down, and told myself I'd try again when I was older." And the world was less scary.

[m--rtyr]

*hold gun cutely* Your turn to share headcannons for us to stea- take inspiration from

I find this so funny because there was a period of time where I only posted HCs… and it’s so weird bc damn I don’t do that anymore huh

A lot of my HCs have obviously changed in the 2/3 years I’ve been posting for this fandom, so…

Ahem.

If you ever want any SPECIFIC HCs, do ask, like I’m genuinely happy to offer any info you want. Anyways

DIVINE WARRIORS, because mfers keep talking about them.

TW, for like, sacrifices, and attempted child-murder/sacrifice... and child-on-mother cannibalism... if it counts as cannibalism when the child is a god.

They’re all gods or god-adjacent. Everyone talks about how they are making them not all gods, but fuck that man I find this fun.

They all reach their godhood in different ways, though. and godhood is something that is... complicated. fluid, even.

i'm just gonna talk about Shad (Judgement, in LR) and Irene, tho, bc otherwise this post would be mega fucking long. and i'm pretty sure i have a Kul'Zak ask anyways.

Y'know how people say 'the world is your oyster'? Well, the world is shad's egg. literally. He's the Draconic God of Death, and his entity was created in the belly (centre) of the earth, in heat and warmth and magma. He clawed his way out of the world, and this lore is mentioned in the prologue of LR, but his emergence from the core of the earth caused the earth to bunch up, and created mountains and valleys, and ravines. similarly to dropping a pebble into water, his emergence caused literal ripples. which is why most mountains and such are kind of in a radial pattern outwards from the 'belly of the world', which is just a huge fuck-off ravine. That said, not all mountains, because it's been thousands/millions of years since his emergence, and things do change. He was created as a god, before anyone knew what gods were. He was not the first being to exist, Early humans were around to witness his birth, but he is by far one of the most ancient. Hence why his followers call him 'the Ancient'.

Irene was born a god, though she was birthed by human parents. It's a whole situation, really, very lengthy. More about her mother than it really is about Irene. But she was born during the emergence. Her head crowned as Shad's emerged from the earth, and when he had fully freed himself and laid upon the cool ground, Irene was put into her mother's arms. Her and Shad are perfectly the same age, born at the same exact moment, to balance each other out. It's unclear which one sparked the creation of the other, but it doesn't matter. Both were born bloody and screaming, made to match. Irene was, however, not born looking human. She was a creature from day one. And she was ugly asf too bc like, she's feathered in her creature form, and have you ever seen fresh baby birds? Them mfers ugly. So, reasonably, her parents' people went 'aa' and decided to sacrifice her to the juvenile god of death bc they have volcanoes now, they can do that. However, Irene's mother was fiercely over-protective of her, and instead hid her in the woods to keep her out of the grasps of those wishing to harm her. She meant to go back and get her, so that she could find somewhere safe for her, but Irene's mother kind of got caesar'd (happy ides of march for two days ago), for trying to keep the fucked up little thing she birthed. Her body was dumped into the forest, and Irene ended up finding it and going 'oh a snack'. so... that's fun. However, as is how blood magic works, when one of magic consumes the heart of another, they consume their entirety. It was how Irene claimed a human form, by eating a human heart, and whilst it wasn't particularly an instantaneous transformation, it also lead to her becoming a mother. If not for eating her own mother's heart, she never would've had the maternal traits that ending up characterising her for most of her existence.

half of the irene stuff wasn't even info on how she became a god lmao, just 'oh she was born that way... also she ate her mother lmao'

[cxndiedvi0lets]

A Light Into Your Darkness.

fade into you — mazzy star

0:00 ─〇───── 0:00

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Plot: your first day in Westfield High ends in disaster by being confronted by a bunch of bullies for your indifference, as the situation escalates, Violet steps in and takes you home to tend to your wounds so you don't get in trouble worrying about being blamed by your strict parents.

Tags: fluff • angst • comfort • gender-neutral reader • bullying • mild violence • family problems • not proof-read

Word Count: 1567

Note: This is my first time writing for ahs, I'm more used to roleplaying, but then again... it's been a while since I've roleplays. im rusty. Bare with me.

You were sleeping soundly in bed as the sun's ray began to hit your eyes. You tossed and turned to send yourself back to sleep as your alarms began to shift into a lullaby, but, as it continued its relentless beeping, you rolling off your bed with your shoulder's slumped. First day of school.

You began to get ready, ate your breakfast, and pick your outfit for the day as your mother picked you up to school in her car.

"Are you excited?"

You find your mother's tone to be tremulous, as you shifted against the leather seat with the air conditioning's cool breeze began to hit your heated face from slight annoyance but masked it with a toneless response.

"Yeah,"

Then, a long awkward pause continued as the sound of the car humming steadily rolling down on the uneven pavement along with the tires crunching over stray pebbles. You were itching to escape this awkward tension between your mom in the vechile, but before she could utter a word, you reached your destination.

"Bye Mom—"

You hurriedly spoke, interrupting her agape mouth as you entered the campus and took a deep breath to let the morning crisp of the air in. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, golden shadows across the cracked sidewalks as you walked toward the building.

It was 7 am — A cool breeze brushed past you and the students inside of the hallway as loud chatters surrounded you along with a chilling feeling of predatory eyes that you couldn't sense where it was coming from. You turn your head to look around and see a group of students, all dressed in the latest fast-fashion trends—tight jeans, crop tops, and overpriced sneakers—hovered next to their lockers with their gazes locked on you.

Your heart began to raise as you see them approaching, you followed their eyes, undressing you into humiliation while you wonder what they want? You thought to yourself and noticed they were fixated on the clothes you wore as if it were odd.

You felt a flush of embarrassment from being confident earlier with your choice of fashion, thinking it was at least decent. Apparently not.

They begin to approach dressed in the latest 2000's fashion in bold prints and topped over jewelries and branded cardigans as they began to push you unto the ground.

"HEY!"

You heard a yell coming from a girl dressed in a crochet floral pattern in the shade of a reddish orange and dark brown hair reflecting in golden highlight.

You could smell the floral yet sweet like strawberries and powderlike perfume with a touch of tobacco from her.

The group's head turned its direction to the approaching footsteps but, before they could speak she pushed them off and grabbed you by the wrist dragging you away with her while she turned her head behind the enraged group to see if they followed with a livid mixture of her sticking her tongue out with her flippant attitude.

You both stopped by a close children's park and decided to catch your breath on the swing. Then, you noticed wounds and scrapes on your knee and lips.

You finally got a good look at the girl who stopped to save you.

She's got those innocent doe eyes that didn't exactly fit her previous demeanour. Her skin was soft and pale as porcelain which faintly glew, accentuating the sharp angles of her cheekbones, framed with her dark lashes and heavy circles giving a haunting depth of dark secrets, and pouting lips, as though she existed on the edge of a sigh.

She noticed your preoccupied gaze as an eyebrow raised her, causing you to feel bashful for staring. She cut off the silence between you and offered her hand with a subtle smile.

"Hi, I'm Violet, I live by the neighbourhood and you?"

Her voice was soft and airy, with a shift of rasping melancholy as if her simple tone could easily sense a heavy story.

"I'm y/n, I also live close in this neighbourhood,"

You spoke softly with a tone of curiosity as if you're studying her. You slowly reached your hand to shake hers, but she took it and shook it for you.

"You're bleeding."

Her tone was a mix of detached but also concerned as her eyes gaze upon your wounds.

"Do you want to head back to the clinic or—"

You nervously interrupted her knowing how your parents would react extremely towards this, maybe even assume they'd blame you for starting it or their constant sermon about your fashion statement.

"N-no, I— It's all good. It's just a scratch, really."

You tried to crack behind a nervous smile, but her eyes looked as if they were assessing you and undressing every layer of you, which sent a slight shiver down your spine.

"Everything isn't going alright at home, huh? I can tell."

She spoke bluntly as if she were to shrug it off as she rose from the swing and lent out her hand again. You felt a cold shiver down your spine from how well she was reading you. The humiliation felt as if you were walking naked with lots of eyes following you and sheepishly took her hand.

As you both took off, you both reached your destination after crossing the street.

You were greeted by a forebidding manor, which loomed against the darkening sky, an imposing silhouette of crimson weathered bricks sprawling its haunting victorian architecture Ever so, seemingly dauntingly romantic and eerie.

"The Murder House? Isn't that like... haunted?"

You spoke nervously as the murders that took place attested to your unease towards the cryptic building.

"Mmm.... yeah, pretty sick, right? The bloodstains and haunting screams add the charm."

She teased as you felt your cheeks rush with heat from embarrassment as Violet led you into the manor, but then she paused to turn to you.

"Also, try not to get scared by your own shadow on the way."

She gave you a soft, warm smile as you were already feeling tense and unease but also a tad infuriated by her disturbing sense of humour. You just followed close to her as you attached yourself, causing her to let out a small chuckle leading you to a staircase of mahogany wood, as you passed with light entering through the vividly stained glass.

You took a deep breath of the damp air as there were hints of floral decay and aged wood. Every footstep you took made a creak until you entered Violet's room. She seemed amused by your careful nature as if she was mocking your belief in ghosts and the horrors that took place in this house.

The room presented a moody dreamscape of controlled chaos, soft light lingered into the blinds presenting her mismatched furnitures which would match the house's glass stains and marbled wood. A black iron bed decorated with emblem florals, a sheet of purple plum with a green bed scarf and a red dressing hanging on her bed to cover the mess from below. The shells racked with her reflections in the form of books along decorated with an eerily captivating collection of taxidermy bugs framed.

A decorated jar of baby heads to the side of her dresser with a nail polish, a lamp, head dressers, and belts hanging on the top. Then, your eyes lingered jolting from your side was a wired mannequin with led lights, causing Violet to let out a slight snicker from your surprise.

You felt your cheeks rush again as Violet walked over to her iPod and her fingers brushed against the screen.

"Wanna listen to some music to calm your nerves ? "

She asked as she tapped on the song as dreamy, stargaze music began to play with a whispy, soothing voice and began to play as Violet pats the empty space beside her, inviting you.

You walked over towards her and sat to the area with your feet hanging inches from the ground due to her bouncy soft mattress which sprung like a marshmallow.

To your surprise, she began to kneel down and reach for her aid kit, as she began to tend to your wounds starting from the large bleeding scrape on your knee.

You hissed from the slight tingle of the pain when she pats the soaked cotton ball of betadine.

"You okay?—"

Her tone was now filled with a soft-spoken concern than the previous. You both lock gazes as you can feel your heart slightly tump as you question your own feelings. You just responded with a nod, but you couldn't help but drown into her glowing orbs like honey, her soft pink lips, and her gentle nurturing.

She continued her work of patching your wounds lower regions as she rose to sit next to you. Your faces merely touching as she began to pat the cotton on the wound side of your forehead. You can feel her warm breath touching your skin as you feel your stomach sunk and a warm tingle spreading across your body.

You couldn't help but be hypnotised by her touch as you snapped out of your trance when she finally pulled away.

"There, better?"

She asked with a smile as she puts the kit back under her bed. You felt your throat running dry as you just gulped with a nod responding with a sheepish smile.

[faebonesz]

i. Cantonella & The Mermaid: A young minstrel finds himself wandering the shores of a small village, unable to cope with his feeling of mediocrity, his lamentation guides him into the waiting arms of a mermaid, there he finds solace in her embrace and mayhaps something more.

tw: suicide ideation, suicide, self harm (if there are anymore warnings i failed to mention please let me know.)

It was peaceful by the shores and it was the escape Cantonella needed. The sound of celebrations could still be heard in the distance, not loud enough that it affected his already pounding head.

It was summer and with that came long hot days, where even the tallest trees failed to provide any shade, nights like these though, were small blessings.

A festival, one he could not remember the name of as the village seemed to come up with an excuse to cheer for even the littlest things, the streets were filled with merriment; the sound of laughter and faint music could be heard over the roaring waves.

It was fun at first, being able to dance and sing with the villagers but as the sun gave way to the lazy moon and hanging stars the thought of being enclosed with a bunch of handsy drunkards made Cantonella depart earlier than he would have liked to.

The feel of the cool sea breeze encouraged him to let out a sigh; he had drunk too much, much more than he wanted to, he tried to fit in, to let himself be lost in the jubilation, the swaying of hips, the swelling of music but for some reason, he just could not.

A puzzle that could not fit in, a parasite leeching on the strength of others. A Wandering Minstrel with no inspiration.

His only companion being a lute, it was sad really, a singer departing so early, was he not made for song? To cater to the whims of those around him as they forced him again and again and again to sing?

This was meant to be freeing, when had he lost his fire, when had it all been snuffed into just embers? Glowing, yes, but ever dim and clinging onto the flames of past glory.

A sailor lost at sea, no guiding light to aid his return to land. A dreadful experience.

With no conscious effort on his part, a myriad of songs left his lips, half formed, half forgotten pieces he had yet to release, he plucked at the strings of his lute trying to match the lyrics to a tune, it was for naught, nothing inspired.

Frustrated at his own lack of creativity and in a moment of great despair and anger, he threw his lute to the ground as if possessed by irrationality he stomped it repeatedly, till he was satiated. That feeling of inept fading.

Now the only sound heard was his panting as clarity had set in. A veil being lifted, once he got his bearings he turned his sight to the broken lute below him, he wept.

‘Stupid, stupid, to act in such a manner, no better than a child,’ he got onto his knees, not caring for the sharp stones and pebbles formed on the rocky shore and gathered the broken pieces, ‘What is wrong with me, have I gone mad?,

The wooden pieces pierced through his skin and soon his hands were painted red, a foolish and unfruitful endeavour, he was only causing himself more pain…maybe he deserved this.

This was his punishment, for losing hope, for having no muse, nothing to push him towards creation.

Cantonella knelt there for what felt like hours sobbing into his hands, the sound of gaiety long since fading like a distant memory. His lower attire soaked by the waves, he was shivering any longer and he was bound to catch a cold, nevertheless…

His embers had died out, nothing left to feed it, he should have listened to his father, he amounted to nothing. What were a few months of renown compared to his years of mediocrity. Soaring high in the sky one moment only to fade out, a candle in the wind.

That sadness had turned to uncontrollable rage, he ripped his hat off and threw it off into the sea. It was a constant battle when dealing with his emotions, sadness and rage and sadness and rage. He could never quite fully grasp them, it had been this way ever since he was little. His mother called him troublesome and his father believed him to be less of a man because of it.

His fist clenched tightly, a storm of emotions brewing within him, he crawled towards the waves and with a guttural cry, he slammed his palms down into the churning water, his anger burned hotter than the sun. His tantrum went on for a long while even as the waves rebelled against him.

He picked up a rock hoping to throw it to the sea until he heard it, a voice, haunting, enchanting.

Cantonella paused, he closed his eyes and listened, it sounded like a lullaby, he would call it so as it calmed his ever rising emotions, as if in a trance Cantonella crawls towards the voice caring not for the jagged rocks that dug into his knees, a humiliating sight, one as refined as him on all fours as if he were a dog begging for scraps.

During the journey to the voice, he had along the way, found some dignity and rose to his feet. Finally, the song led him to more rocks, where he could vaguely make out the upper half of a figure, upon closer inspection he lets out a startled breath. It was a woman, she was beautiful, ethereal if he were to describe her.

She appeared to have no clothes on, maybe a village girl who was dared into taking a plunge into the cold waters. He could only speculate as to him it was peculiar to be out swimming at such a late hour.

The woman was coloured similar to him, ochre, a reddish brown and her hair long hair a dark brown, slicked back by the waves, he is caught off guard when he sees his discarded hat upon her head, he is sure it is his for it was tailored to his taste.

She paused and turned to him, for a moment Cantonella could not breathe, he felt uneasy staring back at the woman, unsure of if she was truly human. There was a deep desire in her eyes, a wanting, a longing, something predatory that promised death by the sea's cold embrace, a watery grave.

Sense had long since left Cantonella and the fear of death was something he admitted to craving sometimes, when the world got too loud, when his mediocrity was on full display. He takes a bold step forward and she finally gives all her attention to him, she tilts her head as if trying to understand him, a tense silence passed by before she finally speaks,

“I saw you on my way here.”

Saw him? Cantonella was certain it had only been him out tonight, if her claims were true was he so lost in thought the presence of another escaped him?

He takes this chance to explain himself, “You, well your song, it called to me, I found myself unable to resist, not that I would have tried to.” Too much honesty, he found the words slipping out of him as if he were some schoolboy with a crush, utterly disgusting.

He winced, it would not do him any favours to act out like a wild beast in the view of one so captivating. He was still cautious, how was it possible that he could not have seen her.

“Forgive me fair maiden, I just find it a touch difficult to believe I was so lost in thought to not have seen you.”

She giggles and smiles at him, all teeth and unnerving, “I thought it wise to keep my distance from one whose rage was not unlike a storm. Lashing out at everything, not caring to damage beautiful things.”

Cantonella felt a sliver of guilt though, it was smothered by the humiliation he felt knowing she had seen him like that.

His face shifted through a myriad of emotions, incapable of landing on one expression, once he felt that he had gathered himself he takes another step forward,

“I apologize for that display, it seemed like I was under a spell, I could not control my own emotions and my lute, beautiful as it was, paid the price for it.”

It was his favourite, the first ever instrument he'd bought after his debut, it was a sign of his success, his will to reach and grasp for the heavens and now, it lay in ruin by the shore, most likely swallowed by the sea, never to be seen again.

The woman shakes her head, “Yes that ‘lute’ looked quite magnificent but I was referring to your hand, I saw as blood flowed freely as you tried to put it back,” she leans forward a bit, “I saw as you were hurting yourself and so I suppose you could say that I was sad, that you would hurt something so beautiful.”

It took Cantonella a while to realise what she meant, that she had called him-

“Beautiful…you think that I am beautiful?” He was stunned. His voice was his most prized possession, so many had called it beautiful, ‘bewitching’ even, it was the only part of him he considered valuable, to have someone give worth to anything else left him paralyzed.

Sensing that he was lost in thought, the woman makes her way to him, the sudden movement causing the hat to fall below. She moved as if one with the waves, like she had known the waters from birth, the closer she got the more features Cantonella could make out, the woman still as breathtaking but the closer he looked the more he'd come to realise that his assessment of her earlier had indeed been correct, this maiden was no human.

Something long and iridescent trailed behind her like seaweed, its colour constantly shifting with the moonlight and when she was near only then did the Minstrel realise her lower half was not that of a human woman but of a fish, it did not cross his mind that the fair maiden could be a creature of myth, a mermaid.

He should run, from the stories sailors told, the song of a mermaid made one fall into a trance like state, their voice controlled them, they would lure them to sea and the sailors would only find death beneath the waters. Drowned, a terrible fate for all who encountered them, yet Cantonella finds himself doing the opposite.

He slowly begins to kneel and waits for the maiden to finally approach. It was her turn to be cautious, looking around as if he'd secretly planned on ambushing her. The playfulness gone, her expression became as sharp as a knife.

“You do not run from me, why?”

Cantonella was not sure he could answer the question, what was the point really? He felt as though his life was nearing its end, nothing could offer salvation but the sweet promise of death and so it seems that death came in the form of one so beautiful, how could he deny such a thing? This was more than he deserved.

Hoping to convey his feelings towards her he is instead, reduced to babbling like a baby, giving into sorrow and wailing before the woman. Why were his emotions so volatile? Cantonella truly despised himself.

His lamentation is broken by the feeling of hands grasping his forearms, slimy and wet with scales, was this the end? Was he to be dragged to the depths below?

“Why do you cry? You've not stopped since I first laid my eyes upon you,” her grip grows tighter, “Why do you so easily greet despair, as if it were an old friend?”

Cantonella is forced to stare into her eyes, they are grey and piercing and if he were to stare any longer he would get lost in them. Why she asked such questions, his answer would not change the fact that he was sure this night would be his last.

Time passes by and Cantonella is heaving, his sons have yet to cease and he is unable to answer her question, he only registers the brief loosening of her hand till he feels her trail her hands until her palms rest gently against his cheeks.

It seems it was all the encouragement he needed, he tells her of his grief, of his lack of a muse, of his desire to create but lacking the passion to do so. It is embarrassing, it is freeing, it is a weight lifted off his shoulder and it is the salvation he needs.

He loses himself in her touch, once he is done, throat raspy and used, he feels as if newly reborn. His grief not his alone, the mermaid knows and so does the sea. Cantonella closes his eyes, he wants to hear her voice again, if this truly is where he will meet his end, he would at the very least love to be graced by her song, that voice that called out to him.

“You say that you have lost all hope, would it not have been easier to throw yourself into the sea, to embrace the darkness as you have told me.”

“It was you sea maiden, your voice brought me here, pulled me in,” he leans into her palm, closes his eyes and sighs dreamily, “I know it is quite bold of me but, I would love to hear your song again, before I am taken in by your embrace.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, “You would gladly give yourself up to me, you are…not what I expected,” she pulled away from him, “if it is a song you crave, then I shall give it to you but not so easily.”

Cantonella makes a noise of discomfort, he chases after her, slowly making his way into the water.

“Name your price, anything, please do not leave me,” he all but begs, crawling into the shallow depths stumbling to close the distance between them, “Do not leave me wanderin-”

“I want a song too, a duet as you humans call it, my voice and yours,” she shows him mercy and swims towards him holding him tightly, “A muse you crave and a muse I shall be.”

With her arms encased around him, he is trapped, unable to swim back to shore for safety, there is no place he'd rather be.

“You ask for so little, so shall it be, my voice and yours together then.”

And they do weave something terrible and emotional, of hopes and dreams, of despair and joy, were any to hear such a melody they would be lost to its spell never realising that they had been caught in a trap until it was too late, much like a fish in a fisherman's net.

Cantonella is unsure of how long he stays in the embrace of the mermaid, he is only aware of sun peaking through the horizon and how far he is from the shore, his breathing slowed, his temperature dropped, Cantonella has lost the will to fight against her, he lost it long ago really, long before he destroyed his lute. Long before his stroll on the shore.

With what little strength he has left he reciprocates, holding her close to him, she embraces him, as the sea swaddled them both.

“Take me, I am ready.”

Right before he is pulled below, he feels her lips against his, Cantonella stares up at the sky for the very last time and he is pulled below, never to be seen again.

And this Cantonella & The Mermaid are forever entwined.

[iliterallydecepticanteven]

Ooh! "Hive" and Animated for the laundrabbles.

(Not sure if it got translated well in text, but this takes place during season 2 when Sari is living with the bots)

It had been Prowl's idea to get Sari out of the base on nature walks. It stemmed partially from desperately needing to get her out to burn off some energy and partially from giving her space to talk.

He knew she wasn't handling this situation well. But he also knew she didn't know how to talk about it.

He never had a father or anything remotely close to what humans consider a familial structure. But he could understand the importance of her father to her and the stress of being uprooted from her home.

He had let her pick where they went and she'd pointed at a park they'd never been to before. It was a little more remote, farther out of the city, and forested, and blessedly devoid of curious citizens. The path was made of tiny pebble like gravel that Prowl knew he'd be prying out from between his ped plates for solar cycles to come.

He doesn't voice his annoyance though. Instead he points out flora and fauna they see to Sari, rattling off facts he'd learned about it. She listens, occasionally asking a question.

She hasn't mentioned her father or her concerns yet and Prowl isn't going to pry. She'll talk to him when she's ready.

"Oh look!"

It's the only warning he gets before she's bounding off trail and into the brush around them. He calls for her to come back but doesn't move yet to grab her. She's clearly fascinated by something and it's almost impossible to reel her back when she lands her sights on something.

Sari stops only a few yards away and crouched down to snatched something off the ground. She holds it out as she runs back to him.

"Look! It's a beehive!" she says as she holds it out to him. He kneels down and examines it with her. "Usually it'd be full of bees but this one looks abandoned. It was a pretty big one too."

"I wonder why it's empty," Prowl muses. He'd learned plenty about the various insects on Earth, out of curiosity and to annoy Bumblebee for his namesake.

"There's a bunch of different reasons. Could've been parasites or bad location or the queen bee died or some other stuff," she says, turning it over in her hands. "Sometimes they'll leave and find a new place. Other times they'll die out." She pauses, looking lost as she mumbles, "Must be hard leaving a place like this behind."

Prowl knows she isn't talking about the hive in her hands. But he doesn't push her.

She wipes at her eyes. "This would look pretty cool in my room."

Prowl smiles at her. "Yeah, it would."

He stashes it in his subspace for her and when they get back to the base he puts it in the corner of the window where she asks. He glances at it every times he passes her room.

[foxstens]

so i’ve been playing monk

i didn’t think i’d ever say this but goddamn i don’t really like this slugcat. like the campaign is fine i guess, moving through the areas is certainly easier and seeing the differences in pebbles is interesting even if by now i don’t rmr how the area looked in which campaign since i’ve gone through it so many times

but the world feels so much emptier and monk is weak but in a bad way since they don’t have anything to make up for it like saint for example. for some reason you also can’t throw up and down in zero gravity with monk and it’s so sosososososos soooooooooooo freaking annoying ugh. 

and i went from the wall to the underhang since that’s a route i never take and since i’ve never really used a grapple worm previously, and tbh i kind of understand why ppl hate the underhang especially considering how many people go through it with a grapple worm.

like i expected it to work like saint’s tongue but nope it’s totally different. saint’s movement is extremely consistent and you can all do sorts of wack shit with the tongue whereas with the grapple worm the only thing you can do consistently is fall to your death lmao

if you stick super close to the ceiling and just spam it it kind of works but for some reason you always end up crouching when you land on the ground after using the grapple worm and it really fucks up everything. so honestly outside of spearmaster and saint there is no nice and easy way to get to pebbles eh.

i also don’t really like hunter, for the life of me i just cannot play more than 10 minutes at a time. i guess it’s because i’ve already played a bunch of campaigns with these enemies so they don’t feel all that novel and the world is pretty much the same, and yea i can hold two spears but one of my hands is always taken up by the neuron and. hunter just isn’t that cool. i don’t like their colour and like all the three base slugcats, they really just fade into the background when compared to how individual each of the downpour slugcat feels. i’ll def finish it one day bc i love the lore but. yea at this point i don’t even find survivor all that fun to play and i kinda just wanna dive into randomizers n shit.

[shenevertricks1831]

Eddie Munson X witchy!reader Headcanons

AN: is this self indulgent? Absolutely, but I fully believe this sweet nerdy boy would be more than pleased with a witchy woman lol please enjoy my babbling, I actually have more thoughts on this subject so there may be a part 2...

Warnings-some language, some suggestive content, read at your own discretion

Eddie totally gives her cools rocks he finds.

Sometimes he'll be walking to his usual dealing picnic table and something on the ground will just catch his eye.

Its not at all uncommon for him to gift you little pieces of nature he finds that remind him of you.

A rock he found on the shore of Lovers Lake that he swears is the exact same shade as your irises.

A white pebble that reminds him of the moon, which in turn reminds him of you.

A single wildflower he came across that just happens to be your favorite color.

He appreciates that you enjoy and see beauty in little things.

He doesn't have much money, but for once he doesn't feel like he needs to. Yes, he'd love to be able to take you out more and spoil you like you deserve..

But there's something about the way you blush and your eyes sparkle when he gifts you a little piece of nature with no value, other than it made him think of you, that could make him totally forget about the existence of money.

Has no problem just wondering around the woods with you.

You wanna go look for mushrooms for your photography class, he is down.

You wanna go look for animal bones? He's, well honestly at first he's basically just this...

But no seriously at first he was a little creeped out.

Once you explained to him that it was nothing more than you finding them beautiful and fascinating. He is absolutely down.

After listening to you talk about how much they intrigued you and seeing how dreamy your eyes get when you mention something about "finding beauty in death" or something poetic like that; anyway ya, he was down, totally down.

Seeing you wandering the woods though was a totally different thing, way more than he was ever prepared for.

He'd often stop behind you for a moment, and just watch you. He'd take in you're movements. The way you almost seemed to float through the trees, with your long flowy dress and your 'Stevie Nicks' shawl.

You look ethereal. You reminded him of an elf or a fairy, something from one of his fantasty books or games.

When you stop and bend down to a bunch of flowers, picking two before silently thanking the plant. Placing one flower behind your ear you skip over to Eddie and place the second flow behind his ear.

You leave a soft kiss on his cheek before grabbing his hand and skipping on, with a wide eyed Eddie training behind you.

He hates to admit it, but he totally pops a boner over the whole ordeal.

He can't help it! He's been into D&D and Lord of the Rings for years! Of course he's thought about fucking some sort of fae in the woods!

This is so so so fucking close to a dream come true.

Now only one question, would you let him fuck you in the woods?

Okay actually another question, would you be down to wear some fake fairy wings while he fucks you in the woods?

The answer to both of those questions is yes.

100% wants to try some sort of ritualistic sex stuff.

He is quite honestly just a little bummed when you break it to him that you don't know anything about ritualistic sex stuff, so that probably won't happen.

You wind up letting him fuck you in the dark with a circle of flickering candles surrounding you, and a couple other things thrown in to add to the ambiance.

It may not be actual, real, ritualistic sex; but you're sweet Eddie is nothing if not theatrical, so you're more than happy to indulge in the theatrics for him.

[five-rivers]

Gravity Games

Oof, just sneaking this in before midnight.

.

“We already know you can walk on walls, Danny,” said Sam. “It’s cool and all, but why bring us all the way out here?”

“No, no,” said Danny. He gestured to the red bricks by his feet. “I’m not doing this.”

“Yes, you are,” said Tucker. “We can both see you.”

“No, I mean, I’m not using ghost powers to do this.”

Sam and Tucker frowned and examined the wall of the park more closely. It was an out of the way corner, the sight of it blocked off from the rest of the park by the restrooms and a large tree, otherwise Danny wouldn’t have even tried this, no matter what he saw that squirrel do.

“Are you sure?” asked Sam, after a minute.

“Positive. Like, you have to touch the right bricks, otherwise it doesn’t work, and being near the edge—” he pointed to the top of the wall “—is weird, but it’s definitely not my ghost powers. It’s that gravity is weird here.”

“Don’t a lot of ghost fights wind up going through here?” asked Tucker. “Do you think it might, I don’t know, stick, somehow?”

“If it was like that,” said Danny, “my whole house would be that way.”

“Have you ever tried walking on the walls not as a ghost?” asked Sam. She grimaced and muttered something under her breath about grammar.

“Believe it or not, yes,” said Danny. “It’d be way easier to vacuum the walls if it worked like that. I wouldn’t even have to hide it from Mom and Dad. Anyway, I think there are a few other places around that are kind of like this, though. Where physics are kind of… broken, I guess.” He frowned. “Like that road that’s shorter than it should be one way, and longer the other, even though it’s the same length…” He trailed off.

“Okay, before we start in on that, let’s make sure this is an actual thing, and not your ghost powers,” said Sam. “Where do I need to step to make this work?”

Danny showed her.

It really wasn’t just his ghost powers.

“And I can just… walk around?”

“Yeah, as far as I can tell, it acts just like normal gravity except for the direction. I was able to hang off the top of the wall, even. I wouldn’t recommend it for you, though.”

“Why not?”

“I can fly. You’d just drop.”

“Ah. Yeah. That would be… yeah,” said Sam. “But you said it got weird?”

“That isn’t weird enough?”

“Fair. What about the other walls?” she pointed.

Danny shrugged. “Act as walls. You can lean on them. It’s weird.”

“You can lean on them anyway,” said Tucker, as Sam did a few experimental hops. “They’re walls.”

“Yeah, but not from this direction,” said Danny. “Trust me, it’s weird.”

“You don’t have to trust him,” said Sam. “Come on and try it, coward.”

Tucker, having proven on multiple occasions that he was the exact opposite of a coward, rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. Holy ghosts, you’re right, this is weird.”

“See? I told you.”

“Cool, cool,” said Tucker. “But, uh, hate to be the one who asks this, but how do we get off?”

“Oh, easy, you just touch the ground.”

“What, like thi—” Tucker failed to catch himself as gravity reasserted itself in the proper direction. “Ow.”

“You okay?”

“My pride isn’t.”

“Fair,” said Danny, taking advantage of his ability to fly and his nonstandard sense of balance to just walk off the wall. “Want a hand?” he asked Sam.

“No, I’ve got it,” said Sam, carefully extending her hands.

“I hate both of you,” said Tucker, still face-down in the grass.

“Aw, we love you, too,” said Danny, making a kissy face.

“I can’t see you, but I can hear you, and it’s my turn with the thermos tonight. I can make things very inconvenient for you.”

“But you won’t.”

“But I won’t,” agreed Tucker, finally moving. He pushed his glasses back up his nose. “You said there were other spots that were like this?”

“Oh, yeah. Loads.”

“Can you show us?”

.

No one really went under the underpass, not even homeless people, which was really a pity because this was wild.

Although, come to think of it, that might be why no one went under the underpass.

Danny put another stone in the air.

“They just stay there?” asked Sam.

“As long as you put them on this level, yeah,” said Danny. “But if you give them any momentum, it stays and they move out and then fall, so you have to be careful about how you let them go.”

“Even if you push them up?”

“Yeah. It looks really weird, though, watch.” He nudged the pebble up, and it continued in that direction for a moment before turning and falling.

“It looked normal to me,” said Tucker.

“It doesn’t follow proper ballistic motion,” said Danny. “It doesn’t accelerate when it’s in that stripe. Watch again, okay?” He did it with another rock.

“I’m still not seeing it.”

Sam patted Danny’s back. “I think you just have a better eye for physic-related things than we do.”

Danny sighed.

“Alright, what else do you have?” asked Tucker, making some kind of note on his PDA.

.

“Oh, jeez, oh, heck, oh, jeez,” said Tucker. “Why am I friends with you? Literally, this sucks, this sucks so much. Get me down, get me down, get me down.”

“You are down,” said Danny.

“I am not down, I am a hundred feet up and upside down, I swear, Danny, if you don’t—”

Danny sighed and pulled him off the manhole cover.

“Oh,” said Tucker.

“It’s just an illusion,” said Danny.

“You could have warned me.”

“You didn’t wait,” said Danny, frowning.

“Sorry, that’s my fault,” said Sam, raising her hand. “I dared him to.”

“Even if it’s an illusion,” said Tucker, pausing to catch his breath. “That’s kind of dangerous. It’s a good thing no one really walks by here…”

“Yeah,” agreed Danny. “It’s a good thing all of this is out of the way. So far, anyway…”

“What’s up?” asked Sam.

Danny made a face. “Just… thinking about how it would be good if we could, I don’t know, make a map and tell people about this kind of stuff. So they wouldn’t accidentally get trapped or hurt or something. Maybe we could make flyers, or something.”

“Yeah, who’d believe us, though?” asked Sam, shrugging.

“We could try and get your parents involved?” suggested Tucker.

“Let’s… let’s leave that for a last resort,” said Danny. “Right now… Just something to keep in mind, I guess? Especially if we really do find something dangerous, or one of those, what did they call them… a natural ghost portal. I mean,” he continued, frowning, “there have to be some of those around. Not all the ghosts come through our portal.”

“Your Dad’s security is kind of rubbish,” said Tucker.

“Not that rubbish,” said Danny, “and they’ve upgraded it a bunch since the whole Johnny thing.” He glared at the memory.

Tucker’s PDA beeped. “Oh, I’ve got to get home,” he said. “Can you fly me home?”

“You’re still using your PDA to schedule things?”

“It worked, didn’t it? Besides, I’ve got all the places coded, so if Skulker steals her again, she’ll send him to Timbuktu.”

“I’d feel bad for Timbuktu,” said Danny, “but, yeah, I’ll fly you home. Sam?”

“I actually want to stop by the book store,” she said. “See you tomorrow?”

“Okay,” said Danny.

“You’d better have some even weirder stuff for us to see,” she said, not quite walking backwards.

“Will do!” said Danny. He turned to Tucker. “So, do you want to do this under the arms, piggyback, or bridal?”

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Ten

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

warnings: NSFW (!!), light abuse mention

this chapter is dedicated to the amazing showstopping talented @duskandstarlight for reviewing my writing and helping me successfully edit the sexy times!! she's so cool yall ❤️

***

The first thing she notices when she steps inside is the sound of crackling, followed by a warm glow from the living area. The lights are all off, but the fireplace is ablaze.

Nesta’s brows furrow, confused, but then she sees on the couch— “Cassian?”

Cassian’s eyes widen at the sight of her, and he stands quickly from the couch. “Nesta.” He’s breathless. Like he ran a great distance to get here.

Nesta is worried that she had one Jello shot too many. That maybe she’s still in Eris’s car, dozed off and dreaming. She can’t remember falling asleep, though.

“What are you doing here?” she whispers. If she’s too loud, he might disappear.

“I came back.” His hands flex at his sides, and Nesta wishes for the millionth time that she was better at reading emotions, because she’d give anything to understand what’s going across his face right now.

“You’re supposed to be in Velaris for the weekend,” she says dumbly.

“Fuck the weekend. I couldn’t even make it through dinner.” Are his eyes red?

Nesta’s mouth opens and closes, and she turns toward the burning fireplace. Weirdly enough, she’s grateful for the lack of lights. She can’t see the depth of Cassian’s expression under the firelight alone, and he can’t see hers.

“Why?” is all she can say.

“I…” He scrubs a hand through his hair and blows out a harsh breath. “Shit, we promised we would take things slow just a few days ago.” He laughs derisively. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Nesta’s head swivels to Cassian, eyes focused on him in that intense way of hers. “Tell me. I want to know what you were thinking.”

He drops his head, staring at his shoes. “I missed you,” he says lowly. “Even though I knew you were doing perfectly fine without me, I drove all the way back here like an idiot because I wanted to see you.”

Nesta’s throat tightens the longer she stares at Cassian; it’s getting hard to breathe.

Cassian clears his throat in the silence, attempting to sound lighthearted. “So, that’s how I’m doing. What about you?”

“I had fun,” Nesta says, somewhat quiet.

“I saw.” He tries to smile. “You looked so happy in that picture. It made me happy.”

He’s telling the truth and lying at the same time, Nesta can tell. “I felt weird tonight, too,” she admits, swallowing. “Happy, but… lacking."

Cassian looks up at that.

“I’m really glad you came back,” she whispers. “I missed you too.”

“Nesta,” he breathes.

She takes a step closer to him. “I didn’t want to be clingy. Tell me if I’m being clingy.”

He shakes his head quickly.

“I don’t think you should leave me alone again,” she says into the dim glow of the room. "Not for a while, at least."

"I'm thinking the same thing."

He's right in front of her now, just inches away. She swallows; when did he get so close?

"If you want me to stop, I need to know now," Cassian says, voice low. His hands hover in the air between them, like he has to physically restrain himself from reaching out and touching her. "Because in a minute I won't remember why we agreed to take this slow."

All the air leaves Nesta's lungs in a straight whoosh. "I already forgot."

This kiss happens faster than the last one, but is somehow still slow— Nesta doesn't know which one of them moves first. All she knows is that one moment she's a lone figure, and the next she's joined with Cassian, his arms being the only thing still holding her upright.

He wasn't lying when he said he missed her, she finds out quickly. He kisses her with a drawn-out desperation that makes her head spin, using the distraction to ease her out of her coat and drop it to the floor. He pulls back for a sharp breath, only to take a look at her. "I can't believe I missed seeing you in a dress."

"I have more, we can look at them later," Nesta assures, her hands already reaching to tear the dress up and off of her. Cassian's hands catch hers at the last moment. "Easy, baby." He laces his fingers through hers. "I'm not going anywhere."

He pulls her in for another kiss before she can even process how much she likes the word baby. She latches onto his promise the way she latches onto his lips, like the string of a balloon about to fly away from her. He's not going anywhere. Not even to the next room.

The next minutes are the gentlest battle of wills Nesta has ever fought: every time she tries to speed things up, Cassian grounds her with his hands and mouth and towering form. When she becomes too impatient and reaches for the button of Cassian's jeans between kisses, he sweeps her right into his arms, forcing her legs to wrap around his waist and her arms to cling to his neck. His own hands slip right under her skirt, straight to her ass and squeezing.

The new angle presses her center firmly against his hard length, and she greedily accepts the simple pleasure he grants her with a choked gasp. "Can we please—"

"Don't rush this," Cassian murmurs into the underside of her jaw, walking them to the stairs. He stops to press her into the banister, rubbing his hips lazily into Nesta's. "I've waited a long time for you. Now it's your turn to wait." He bites down on a soft spot of skin.

This is real, Nesta finally realizes. This melting heat turning her limbs into jelly— it's not her mind wandering off to involuntary thoughts about Cassian's dick. The kind of thoughts that have her pinching her wrist hard enough to hurt. No, this is infinitely better than any three a.m. fantasy she's had so far.

He's carrying them upstairs now, but Nesta barely notices with how she's clasping his face, demanding all of his attention with her hungry kisses. It's a wonder they both don't topple down the steps with how starved she is for him.

How long has this need been building up in her? She doesn't want to know, even as the ache between her legs intensifies and she's eased onto a mattress. Blinking, she notices they're in Cassian's room. She hasn't been here since that night she was sick, and even then she didn't get a good look at the place through her haze of pain.

It's decorated with art and personal photos, big enough to carry a fireplace and a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. Her own room isn't half as nice. "You've been holding back from me," she accuses.

Cassian looks up from where he's kneeling between Nesta's legs at the foot of the bed, realizing that she's talking about the room. "Why?" he smirks. "You looking to move in?"

As if she can even consider such a thing right now when she's seconds away from combusting.

Like he knows exactly how she feels, Cassian pushes the hem of her black dress up until it bunches around her waist, leaving her painfully exposed. His eyes glaze over at the sight of her plain gray panties, narrowing on the darker damp spot over her slit. A predatory look crosses his face, one that makes goosebumps pebble along her thighs. He tugs her even closer.

"Cassian..."

It's too late for whatever Nesta is about to say, because Cassian isn't listening anymore. Leaning forward, he noses at her clothed crotch, placing a slow kiss on the wet fabric of her underwear before dragging it off entirely and tossing it aside.

Nesta gasps and squirms when he pulls her legs firmly over his shoulders. "Um," she tries to say, "I don't really have a great history of getting off to oral—"

She's interrupted by a long lick up her center, from the wetness pooling at her entrance to the tip of her clit. Her hips jerk involuntarily, and then Cassian is outright feasting on her, all his words of patience suddenly as meaningless as a snapped leash.

Nesta's head falls back against the mattress with both overwhelming pleasure and unexpected surprise. Getting eaten out has never done much for her in the past— most of the time she just ended up wet and frustrated, and not at all in a good way. She believed coming on someone's tongue was an activity best reserved for her romance novel heroines, never herself.

So when her legs start trembling around Cassian's head after not even a minute of calculated licking and openmouthed kissing—

"Oh— ah," Nesta stammers, hands fisted desperately in the bedsheets since she doesn't know where else to put them. The only thing stopping her from rubbing herself all over Cassian's face are his broad hands, pinning her firmly in place while he gives her what he wants.

His deep groan rumbles through her heated core, right down to her bloodstream. "There's no fucking way," he says against her folds, shaking his head. "Your fucking taste—"

At the same time his hands find hers, interlacing their fingers together, his lips wrap around her swollen clit, sucking hard.

A breathy whimper tears out of Nesta's throat as she's thrown into release, every last nerve in her body shot through with electric pleasure. Cassian keeps licking and toying at her folds, until she can feel the overstimulation all the way down to the arches of her feet. It's only then that she tries to squirm away, feeling too much at once.

Cassian relents, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand, but the dark glint in his eyes says he has a new objective. "Aren't you glad you waited?" he rasps as he stands.

In Nesta's haze, she feels a tug of fabric, and then her dress is being pulled over her head. She can't remember if the bra she's wearing is a particularly sexy one, but before she can lift her head to check, it's being flung to the other side of the room to join the rest of her clothes. She doesn't even shiver, but sits up so she can grab at Cassian, any part of him—

He tries to catch her wrists before she can tear his clothes off, but Nesta isn't having any more of his waiting. Her hands dive under the hem of his sweater, his bare skin burning hot to the touch with arousal, and then he's shirtless. Her eyes rapidly skim over his scattered tattoos, not sure which one she wants to take in first as she fumbles with his pants.

"I'm going to learn all of you by the end of the night," she threatens, her focus catching on a pattern of thick black lines inked onto his ribs.

Cassian huffs a laugh at that, but the sound turns strangled when Nesta slips her hand into his jeans, palming him through his boxer briefs. He's— larger than she expected, but whatever apprehension she has quickly turns into nailbiting anticipation. This is real, she thinks for the hundredth time that night.

"You're one to talk," Cassian breathes as he lets Nesta rub and squeeze at him. He catches her slim wrist in his large hand, pulling it away from his cock despite her whine of disappointment. "I've been wanting to learn about you from day one."

His eyes narrow on a spot beneath her left tit, and he reaches out to brush the small mole there. "How many more of these do you have hidden?"

"You'll have to find them."

Cassian's gaze darkens, and Nesta can nearly feel time slowing down around them as he regains control of the pace, the tempo. Leaning forward with predatory intent, he crowds her until her back is once again pressed into the mattress. She shudders with expectation, her legs unconsciously parting wider around him. He bends his head until his breath fans over that mole, his lips about to brush it—

At the last moment, he pulls away, standing off the bed to strip the rest of his clothes off. Nesta scrambles onto her elbows, stretching her neck to get a look at his erect cock as it springs out, a furious shade of red.

She swallows roughly at the sight.

Cassian doesn't bother hiding his satisfaction at the look on her face. "Maybe it's for the best that I didn't know how much you wanted me earlier. I don't think my ego could have handled it."

"I..." Nothing comes to her mind for a witty comeback. She must look struck stupid, because Cassian chuckles, "Okay, my ego definitely can't handle it." He tugs at her legs so her elbows collapse beneath her.

Before they can do anything else, he seems to remember: "Condom."

Nesta shakes her head rapidly, unwilling— or unable— to give up even a second of the time between them. "I'm not on birth control for nothing."

Technically, she's on birth control to regulate her periods, but this is definitely an unexpected benefit.

Cassian's answering grin is both cocky and reverent before he moves. And as he crawls over her body, it strikes Nesta how far she's come to reach this place— this haven of warmth and safety. Because the last time she was in this position, she couldn't have imagined ever being able to feel like this. She never thought she could find or earn the adoration that shines in Cassian's eyes before he buries his face in her neck.

There's a kindness in his touch that takes her breath away.

"I think I fell asleep on the couch earlier," he whispers into the crook of her neck. "I think I'm dreaming right now, and I don't know how far I can take this without waking up."

Before Nesta can show him how decidedly awake they both are, her entire body freezes up as his roaming hands near the soft flesh of her sides. Muscle memory makes her abdomen clench in defense, and Cassian stills instantly, pulling away to look her in the eyes.

No, no, no! This is not the time for her body to overreact, not when she's so close to everything she's been wanting, needing for weeks. And still, her hands fly to grasp Cassian's wrists at her sides.

"Nesta?" His calloused fingers scrape against her skin, so different from Tomas's hands when they touched her. She shuts her eyes and takes a breath, trying to force herself back to that heartdropping state of arousal.

"Just—give me a moment," she promises. Her body is awake in anticipation, not of a good fucking but of being pinched and bruised blue.

"Nesta," Cassian says again, lower now. There's a hint of warning in his voice, but it's not directed at her.

She peeks open her eyes. Cassian looks deadly serious above her, and he peels his hands away from her sides to place them on the mattress instead. "What's wrong."

She clambers for something to say that won't completely kill the mood. "I'm ticklish?"

He isn't buying it, scanning her face intently for the truth instead.

It's not that Nesta doesn't want to tell him. It's that she doesn't want to tell him now, when she's already learned what an orgasm from Cassian feels like and she's been promised another one.

No way in hell will her ex-boyfriend get in the way of her first hookup since she left him. The unjustness of it ignites a frustration in her that burns away any lingering anxiety.

She places her hands on Cassian's, bringing them firmly back to her sides. Softly, she tilts her head up to peck his lips and whisper against his mouth, "You still have time to learn everything about me. I'll teach you myself. But right now..."

Her hand snakes down his hard abdomen, finding his thick length and squeezing. "I want to be fucked."

This truth, Cassian believes.

"I'll hold you to that promise," he warns before he dips his head, taking a pink nipple into his mouth and suckling hard. Nesta's damn eyes roll back at the perfection of this scene, this sensation that goes beyond physical pleasure, as he releases her nipple with a pop. "I'll learn everything." Not just her body, but her secrets, her soul, the way she breathes and feels and thinks.

What a terrifying vulnerability, yet her core tightens at the thought of it.

Cassian slips his hands beneath Nesta's thighs, supporting her as his cock finally, finally settles between her legs, pressing insistently against her slick entrance.

Nesta can't describe the sound she makes when he finally pushes into her, the luxurious stretch snapping an emotional cord in her. In Cassian, too, from the way he has to bow his head for a moment, his face pressed into her chest as they both catch their breaths.

After a long moment, he begins to move inside her at a steady pace that nearly makes her keen. Nesta can only let him grind her into the mattress, let him explore and play and touch while she writhes beneath him, head spinning so fast she's on the verge of blacking out. She couldn't have predicted such— closeness.

Clenching tight enough around his cock to make him swear, Nesta attaches her lips to the line of a compass tattoo on Cassian's bicep, shutting her eyes against the intensity of his gaze.

"Can't believe I don't have to pretend not to be obsessed with these anymore," Cassian rasps, palming a full breast. He rolls his thumb over her stiff nipple in fascination.

"As if you ever hid it," Nesta grits out, shuddering beneath him. She swallows down the obscene sounds rising up her throat. Not that it matters— her desperate panting seems to be doing more for Cassian than loud moans ever could. Raw tension laces his body as he pumps harder into her.

His thrusts hit so close to a spot she didn't know existed before now, awakening a greedy new ache—

"Lift your hips for me, baby." As if he can read her mind. Nesta arches her hips off the bed on instinct, allowing Cassian the angle to slide deeper than she thought possible, to grind against that sensitive patch of skin and fill her completely.

Holy shit. She doesn't know if she says the words aloud or not, because her face is pressed into the sweat-dampened pillow, eyes fluttering rapidly as she withstands this new immense pleasure.

Cassian's low moan tells her he knows how she feels. She's so close.

"Look at me, Nesta," he demands.

Nesta shakes her head fiercely into the pillowcase, unwilling to meet his gaze when she's strung up this tight. She might explode if she even breathes wrong.

"Open your eyes," he orders more urgently this time. His hand finds her face, forcing her to turn to him. She gasps at the next thrust, her eyes flying open to meet Cassian's dark hazel ones. The way he's looking at her—

He rubs a thumb down her cheek. "Beautiful."

She isn't prepared for the intensity of the release that barrels through her. She isn't aware of the sounds she makes as she clenches repeatedly around Cassian, hands scrabbling for a way out of this neverending rapture. It's too much, more than she can handle, and she can't—

Cassian clutches Nesta like a lifeline, his hips picking up speed. Through the last ebbs of her climax, Nesta winds her fingers through his hair, bringing him down for a final kiss. She holds him tight as he spills inside her, groaning desperately into her mouth.

Later, when dopamine floods her system and her muscles turn numb with relaxation, Nesta will think that there's a word for how she's feeling right now. She won't know what it is, though.

***

Cassian can't help but be proud of himself for keeping his cool. For not coming within five seconds of getting Nesta in his arms and around his cock, but also for not blurting anything embarrassingly vulnerable during their first time together. Or their second and third times.

Nesta isn't great with vulnerability, even now. But he's watching her try to grow comfortable with it as she traces one of his tattoos, her naked body propped half on top of his.

"I usually hate tattoos," she murmurs softly, almost to herself. "I cringe every time Feyre gets a new one. But these are nice."

Cassian glances down to where her finger points at the elaborate phoenix tattoo on his pectoral. "What do you like about them?" he asks. With Nesta, there's always a reason.

"I like their placement." She trails that finger down his chest with studious focus. "I like the dark lines; it reminds me of my coloring books." Her finger stops on a Celtic knot on the side of his ribs. "Overall, very aesthetically pleasing."

He chuckles. "Thank you for the stellar review."

She glances up at him then, those blue-gray eyes even more arresting now than the first time he saw them. He's never understood how they can be the same color as Feyre's yet so different.

"I still can't believe you walked out in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner to be here," she whispers. "What will your friends say?"

Cassian’s arm tightens around her. He's still not sure of the answer to that question. His phone blew up with so many texts and calls on the drive here that at one point he just turned it off, but he'll still have to come up with some believable excuse for his behavior.

He tries to find an answer to Nesta's question.

"I’ve known most of those guys for fifteen years," he finally says, "and I’ve only had you for a couple of months. I wanted more time with you." It's the best reasoning he can provide right now.

“Maybe I should feel bad.” He stares up at the ceiling. “But I just can’t.”

Nesta hums in thought. "You must really like me."

Cassian swallows. "Yeah. I do."

"You have for a long time, according to your words." She rests her chin on the crook of his shoulder and looks up at him. "How long? Since I first moved in?"

He thinks back to that fateful night, Nesta standing rainsoaked in his foyer with wary eyes. A turning point in his life, yes, but there was a night before that.

"Do you remember our first meeting?"

The overpriced restaurant that Feyre chose to introduce her blood family to her chosen family. The dim lighting that glanced off the silver pins in Nesta's hair, and her solemn stare as she inspected Cassian and his friends in her detached way.

Her eyes narrow, but she nods.

"I noticed you before I even noticed Feyre or Rhys," Cassian says. "You just... demanded attention. You never gave it, though. I spent all night being louder than usual, sneaking looks at you, but I couldn't even get a second glance in return."

Nesta's mouth tightens. "And what then?"

"The night ended. I forgot about you and moved on." She was like a shooting star: fascinating and beautiful for the brief moment she passed through his life, but quickly dismissed afterward. That initial impression of Nesta faded so much over the years that when Cassian finally reunited with her in his cabin, he was shocked by the magnitude of her existence all over again.

Nesta stays quiet, thinking. "You did get my attention," she finally says.

Cassian's brows raise, but she continues, "I thought you were too loud, too absorbed in your own friends to ever be worth having a conversation with. But I was just being snooty and... jealous." She looks down at the planes of his brown skin. "If I wasn't busy being comfortable in my role as social outcast, I would have thought you were kind. You looked like you wouldn't mind being my friend— that's why I noticed you. But you weren't my friend, and you couldn't be, and that's why I made myself look down on you."

Her eyes glitter when they dart back up to him, and her hand starts absentmindedly tracing another tattoo. "I do that sometimes," she murmurs. "Build a whole relationship in my head with someone I've just met, and then get mad when it isn't reality."

Cassian pulls a strand of hair back from her face. "That's called wanting to make friends, Nes. It's just that that part is usually followed by, you know, actually making friends."

She pouts adorably. "That's the part I suck at."

He can't help it. He leans forward and kisses the little beauty mark at the corner of Nesta's mouth, the mark that nearly received more attention than her lips tonight. Memories of the rest of the moles scattered along Nesta's body flood Cassian: her shoulder blade, her ribs, below her ass cheek, and that damn spot on her thigh he's been eyeing since week one. He's tasted every single one of them several times by now.

"You finally did it," he says against her mouth. "You got me as your friend and more, and now you have all those guys from school, too. You can get whatever the hell you want when you aren't holding yourself back."

She rolls her eyes, but evidence of a smile pulls at her lips. "Save the motivational speeches for my therapist."

Another thing Cassian is eternally proud of: Nesta finding a professional she's comfortable with and having her first session coming up soon.

"And what do you want?" she asks before his thoughts can trail off.

He blinks up at her. "Hm?"

She shifts on top of him to face him better. "We're always talking about my feelings and wants and needs. I don't think I've ever learned about what you want."

What does he want? He opens his mouth, but doesn't know how to answer. Shit, he's never had to answer that question. He's never been asked it.

"Take your time," Nesta assures him after a moment of silence. She's not being sarcastic.

He inhales the scent of her hair, thinking.

"You know," he finally says, "I'm always talking with my friends, and I always leave the conversation feeling like I didn't say a thing that was worth anything. Nothing serious, nothing weighty, nothing thoughtful. And it's not a bad thing, technically, but sometimes I just want to have a real conversation with them. Like the ones I have with you."

He doesn't know when he and Nesta started having those types of conversations. Maybe they fell seamlessly into it: she would ask him how to interpret different tones over text, and he would ask her about whatever legal concept or romance novel she was currently obsessed with. The topic didn't have to be serious, as long as their words were. It was the flawless exchange of intelligence, ideas, and opinions that he wasn't even aware he craved.

"What else do you want?" she says.

To not be relegated to comedic relief all the time. To be chosen first.

He boops her nose. "You've ruined me. I have everything I want now."

Nesta sneers down at him. "God, you're predictable." She's about to push off his chest when he pulls her back in, rolling them over so they're on their sides.

He tucks her head under his chin. "Nesta?"

"Hm."

"We're not gonna backpedal after this, right?"

She sighs into the crook of his neck. "No. We like each other. You're my boyfriend now." She says it like she's telling him the time or the weather.

Into her hair, Cassian starts to smile, any lingering doubts at once assuaged.

Some things you just know instantly, like how Cassian knew the minute he met Mor that they would be friends for life, or how he knew Feyre wouldn't have any trouble fitting into his family. Like how he knows now that he loves Nesta, even if he can't tell her just yet. He'll just have to keep pretending he only likes her.

***

a/n: the tattoo artist that designed the new acotar covers has some sick work so a lot of cassian's tattoos are based off their art (but smaller) :)

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn

[jobean12-blog]

Don’t Be Knotty

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 1,095

Summary: Bucky tries to surprise you with something sweet but it doens’t quite work out...will you still get a treat in the end?

Author’s Note: This is for the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club continuation of drunk drabbles and the fun prompt sent in below by @prunes-said-bucky! Thank you and hope you enjoy this! Thank you all for ready and much love always ❤❤❤

Warnings: Sweet fluff, flirting, teasing, dirty talk, fingering, smut -Bucky takes charge and you love it ;) (18 + only please)

“Hey baby! I’m homeeeee!” You hear the sudden bang of wood against tile and then lots of muffled curses and scuffing. Running into the kitchen you see Bucky standing by the table with something behind his back and a spool of yellow ribbon rolling away from his feet. “Are you ok? I heard a bunch of noise and lots of grumbles.”

You take a step forward and he takes one back. “Bucky? What do you have behind your back?” A loud farting sound resonates through your small kitchen just as a deflating balloon falls at his feet. There is no way to stop your eruption of laughter and Bucky hangs his head in defeat, picking the chair up off the floor and sitting with a loud thud.

You immediately rush over and get in his lap, circling your arms around his neck, “aw Bucky, I’m not laughing at you! You know how funny I think fart stuff is!” Brushing your thumb over the stubble on his jaw you lift his face to yours. “So, what were you doing?” His lips turn up in a small smile and he rests his head on your shoulder.

“So, remember our first date in central park when we saw the balloon guy and he made you a dragon?” You nod, smiling big at the memory. “Steve dragged me to some craft store today because he needed some new pencils and they were selling the long balloons to make the animals and I got some hoping to make you something.”

You look around the kitchen and realize you didn’t notice the various colored balloons and instructions laid out in your haste to see what happened. “Bucky, you are the best, you know that! But those are hard to make! I’m pretty sure those people have been practicing a really long time!” He takes a new balloon and easily blows it up, grabbing the end and looping it around his finger. He tries to tie it, but he can’t get his finger out of the loop.

“I haven’t been able to tie a single fucking balloon because my damn fingers are too big!” He rips it off and throws it on the ground. In an attempt to make a joke you say, “you really suck at tying. I hope you never had to tie up a condom.” The air in the room immediately shifts and you find yourself nose to nose with Bucky. “What are you saying, doll?”

Brushing your lips to his you whisper, “all I’m saying is I wouldn’t trust those fingers to get anything tied too tightly, but I sure love them.” His calloused fingertips dance over the patch of skin peaking out through the hole in your jeans. “I’ll tie you up if you make one more remark on my skills. I’d like to see you talk then.” He kisses you, swallowing any response you have and picks you up.

When you finally come up for air, he has you pinned against the closed door of your bedroom, his warm breath fanning against your neck. “I did notice you never untie your shoes. Must be easier that way, just slip them on so you don’t have to deal with tying them again.” His grip on your waist tightens. “You’re asking for it, you know that.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m doing.” He has you on the bed in seconds flat, his hands roaming over the dips and curves of your body and removing any clothing that’s in his way. You try to get his shirt off, but he grabs your wrists with his metal hand and pins your arms above your head. “Don’t move.” He gets up and grabs some of his ties from the closet.

Gently taking your arms he binds your wrists together with the silky fabric, looking to you to make sure you’re ok and comfortable. “I’m fine,” you pant, reaching your foot up to touch him. With a tsk, he takes your ankle and slowly drags your body down so he can secure your foot to the bedpost, doing the same with the other. “I’m really glad you wanted a canopy bed. I didn’t realize it would come in handy like this.” His eyes are dark as they wander over your body, your legs spread wide and your arms resting above your head.

“I bet you’re so wet for me baby girl. You like being tied up like this don’t you?” Your only response is a whine, arching your back, in need of his touch. “Bucky, please. Touch me.” He reaches around your back and deftly unhooks your bra, pulling it off slowly. He takes your pebbled nipple into his mouth and sucks, gently flicking his tongue over and over.

Your hips buck up into his chest and he bites down making you cry out. “I’m gonna have you screaming my name in no time,” he simpers, trailing open mouthed kisses down your stomach. When he reaches the waistband of your underwear, he hooks his thumbs under it but not before kissing the insides of your thighs and your clothed pussy.

Dragging them down your legs he realizes he can’t get them off properly now that your feet are tied to the posts. “Sorry doll face. I’ll buy you a new pair.” With that he easily rips them off and let’s them drop to the floor. He kisses all the way up your leg, his lips everywhere but the spot you want him most. You try to push your hips up and into his face, but he holds you down with his flesh hand splayed over your stomach.

His metal finger lightly rubs over your clit and you feel the muscles in your stomach tighten. He does it several more times before sinking two cool fingers inside you, languidly pumping them in and out. Your breasts rise and fall with your rapid breathing and you can feel yourself nearing the edge. His lips close around your clit and you try to squeeze your knees together from the jolt of pleasure.

He removes his mouth and continues fucking you with his fingers, edging you over and over again. “I warned you not to say anything else about my skills.” He tries to sound sympathetic but from the large bulge in his jeans you know he’s enjoying this as much as you are. He sees where your eyes are settled, watching as you lick your lips. “Maybe I’ll fuck your mouth first and if you’re a good girl I’ll let you cum after I do.”

@aesthetical-bucky @auro-ora @bugsbucky @book-dragon-13 @breezy1415 @bucky-on-my-mind @buckys-broody-muffin @buckosawrus @buckys-minty-breath @buckys-henley @chuuulip @emilylyoness @eurynome827 @hiddles-rose @hailmary-yramliah @hawksmagnolia @itsunclebucky @imgaril-lindru @ikaris-whore @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @lorilane33 @loricameback @littledarlinhavefaithinme @lokilvrr @littleredstarfish @addikted-2-dopamine @tales-of-spring @mushyjellybeans @marvelgirl7 @marvelandotherfandomimagines @nano--raptor @pinkdiamond1016 @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @softpeachbarnes​ @tuiccim​ @the-wayward-robot​ @yansi1923​ @hopefuldreamers-world​

[stormfall1327]

It’s been AGES since I’ve written anything, and with all of the amazing fic lately from @viktorsvector and @eurodynesass, I thought I’d try and add my own smut piece to the fandom. Written on mobile at 1 am, so apologies if there’s a ton of typos or formatting weirdness. No real plot to speak of. Just good ol’ fashioned F!V/Viktor smut.

When V accidentally finds out that Vik likes it rough. Dirty talk, vaginal sex, biting, hair pulling.

Wild Fire

The atmosphere in Vik’s clinic was charged. The gentle hum of the various monitors and machinery was punctuated with sighs and breathy moans. The usual smell of antiseptic, chrome, and oil tinged with the heady aroma of sweat and arousal. Their little sparring match had ended with Vik pinning V to the wall at the back of his clinic, her legs wrapped around his waist as he ground the sizable bulge in his pants into her jeans. One arm was wrapped under her ass, the other braced against the wall as he nuzzled his face into her neck, stubble scraping the sensitive skin. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, V?” he murmured into her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. 

“Hmm? How -hard- you make me, watching you like that? Wild-eyed and practically fucking feral during a fight?” Another roll of his hips. “Watching the sweat drip down your body and wantin’ to chase it with my tongue?”

“Mmmm, fuck, Vik!” she ground out between clenched teeth, rolling her hips forward to feel more of that delicious pressure against her core. Her fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck and she gave an experimental tug. His entire chest rumbled against her as he let out a low groan. She pulled again, harder this time, and Vik’s hips bucked forward as he looked at her with fire in his eyes. “So, the doc likes it a little rough, does he?” she quipped with a smirk, using her legs to pull him closer. She leaned forward and kissed her way from his earlobe down his neck and when she found his pulse-point, she bit down - hard. Fuck, if the noise he made wasn’t the sexiest thing she’d ever heard in her life. The wet spot on her jeans grew noticeably larger as he cried out, hips stuttering and cock twitching against her. His knees almost buckled as she laved her tongue over the reddened skin, soothing the sting with that hot, wet muscle.

“Couch. Now.” Vik’s voice was rough in his throat as he readjusted his grip and carried her over to the worn leather couch. He practically tossed her down, eyes blazing and chest heaving, as he stared at her, palming his dick through his pants. V moaned appreciatively at the sight, grinding her own palm against her core to relieve some of the pressure. As much as V enjoyed being manhandled by Vik, though, she had other ideas in mind tonight. Shooting him a shit-eating grin, she leapt off the couch and lunged at him, catching him off guard as their lips crashed together. Almost losing his balance, she took the advantage to spin him around and pin him to the couch, her body pressed deliciously tight against him as she straddled his lap. Having the tables turned on him like that had Vik’s head swimming with desire. He’d always preferred being the dominant one in bed, but when it came to V pushing him around like that? Fuck, he’d almost come in his pants right there.

His hands went to her hips, fingertips digging in hard enough to leave bruises and V squirmed against him, plunging her tongue into his mouth as her hands went to the lapels of shirt. Bunching up the fabric in her fists, she yanked her hands apart, buttons skittering across the floor. “Hey! That’s my favorite...!” “Quit bitchin’, Vik. We have more pressing things to attend to, wouldn’t cha say?” as she ground down on his lap. Smirking, she reached down to tug his tank top up and over his head as he reached up to do the same for her. His thumbs circled her nipples, pebbled from the cool air, as she tugged his belt free and slid off his lap. He lifted his hips to help her slide his pants down, groaning as his cock sprang free, head red and weeping. V stepped out of her own pants and leaned down to swipe her tongue over his head, moaning as the slightly bitter taste of his precum met her tastebuds. Vik threw his head back, choking on a moan at the feeling of her hot mouth on him, hand instinctively tangling in her hair. Tossing him a saucy wink, V climbed back into his lap and carefully positioned herself over him. Without warning, she plunged herself down onto him, biting into the taut muscle of his shoulder and Vik’s vision whited out.

He yelled out, his whole body tensing as she set a brutal pace, her moans getting louder as she rode him. Her nails scraped against his chest and arms, leaving angry, red welts in their wake, muscles rippling beneath them. She nipped and bit at his neck, sucking purpling spots into his skin, never letting up her pace as she bounced in his lap. When his thumb found her clit, V yelped, burying her hands in his hair and tugging again. Vik was fighting a losing battle. He rubbed furiously at her clit, leaning forward to pull one of her nipples into his mouth. He bit down and V screamed, her sudden orgasm tearing through her like wild fire as she convulsed in his arms, her cunt spasming against his cock. He rocked his hips forward and cried out, coming deep inside her as he wrapped his arms around her body and pressed his face into her sternum.

His heart was still thundering in his chest as V slipped off his lap to snuggle into his side. They sat like that for a while as their breathing slowed, V’s fingers idly tracing patterns onto his belly. “So... about my shirt?”

[kpopcotton]

The Lonely Count ~ Huang Renjun

a/n ~ Happy Halloween! I’m so happy to finally get this out since I’ve been working on it all month!

• Genre: supernatural, high school au, strangers to friends, slight romance, fluff, angst if you squint

• Warning(s): very brief mentions of (fake) blood, it’s overall very toned down

• Reader Gender: gender-neutral

• Word Count: 6.2k

==≎==

   “No.”

   “Are you serious?!” Haechan cries out, his hands reaching across the table to give you a good shake as he speaks. “Come on! It’ll be so much fun! Besides, everyone else wants to and I already told them you were coming so, by law, that means you have to. Plus! Jaemin said he was excited to see you since you haven’t been hanging out with us recently.”

   The mere mention of his friends makes you want to crawl into a hole to hide. You blankly stare at Haechan’s overdramatic pout as he tries to guilt-trip you, his simple act makes you want to go even less. There was no way you were going to spend Halloween night with a bunch of severely good-looking people. Good-looking people meant attention, and attention meant you would be the designated person that people would come to ask for the boys’ numbers. 

   You could imagine it now, the random, crowded Halloween party they were probably planning on attending, and them leaving you alone to find a wall to sit against while they went out and mingled. You already felt like a clown just thinking about it. Maybe I should dress up as one, show my true colors. You remember Haechan’s friends mentioning being introverts that one time you had to take a personality quiz in Health class freshman year, but you find that hard to believe.

   Sometimes, it still amazes you how you’ve stayed friends with Haechan, in all his bubbly, social, annoying glory. “Tell them my mom grounded me,” you mumble, trying to show just how uninterested you are.

   “But that’s a lie! Your mom-”

   “Exactly.” You snap with your gaze fierce. Haechan’s previously open mouth clamps shut, fixing an awkward silence between you two in the booth of the diner.

   You angrily opt for stuffing your face with the fries from your basket instead of talking to him. Your eyes drift to the window as you chew them. Haechan watches you, his foot slowly sliding across the floor to poke at your ankle, his way of getting you to calm down and forgive him for prodding. It has the opposite effect, however, your foot shooting out to give his shin a good kick as you glare at him again. He yelps quite loudly and the waitress who was on her way to ask you if you wanted refills, flinches, turning around to pretend to help a coworker behind the counter.

   Haechan’s face flushes a pale red as he brings his leg up to rub at his shin. “That hurt, you know,” he whines, his bottom lip trembling pitifully.

   “Good.”

   His sad expression disappears in an instant, his face now pressed into clear frustration as he drops his leg back down. “Okay, seriously, what is up with you? If it were any other time, you’d be all over hanging out.”

   “Exactly. I would say yes to hanging out if it was with literally anyone else.” You stressed, sipping your drink. Haechan looks to be at his wit’s end with you.

   “What do you even mean?”

   “What I mean is, I don’t like your friends, Donghyuck. I mean, yes, they may be nice to me, and yes, it is cool that they want to include me in plans, but do you ever stop to think that I don’t enjoy hanging out with them? Or that I’m not a fan of the things you guys like to do? Or that maybe, when I’m with them, it’s like I’m not even there at all?” For once in his life, Haechan is speechless, staring at you with wide eyes as if all of this was surprising to him. And, maybe it was.

   “Y/N, I-”

   “I’m not finished.” You hold up a finger to his lips. “Listen, I get that you don’t want to leave me out of the loop or whatever, but parties and hanging out in bigger groups is not my thing. I’d rather it just be us, like when we were kids, where we ran around town past curfew on Halloween stealing candy bowls so we could get fat for winter. Hell, I’d even be down to explore those “haunted woods” we were always scared of because of that story Johnny told us when we were in first grade.”

   “Did I hear that right? Exploring the haunted woods? I knew you’d come up with an amazing idea for our get together, Y/N!” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. The Na Jaemin graciously plops himself down next to you in the booth with a basket of chicken tenders and fries. Haechan’s other friends, Mark and Jeno, squish Haechan into the wall on the other side of the booth. Jaemin’s smile was almost too bright, his eyes full of childish wonder as he glanced between you and your best friend. “That’s what this is right? A planning sesh? I love those, you know!”

   You ignore Jaemin, your eyes currently stabbing holes into Haechan, but the little coward is too embarrassed to even look at you. He doesn’t remain silent, however, choosing to be civil and answer Jaemin’s question. “Y-Yeah, we were planning what we wanted to do with you guys Halloween night.”

   “Oh goodie,” Jaemin claps excitedly, “Count me in then, guys!”

==≎==

   You were dreading Halloween by the time it came around. You had planned on avoiding them, maybe sneaking out to hang out with the dynamic duo, Jisung and Chenle, from your first-hour Psychology class. But, all hopes were dashed when your mom happily invited all four boys into the house when Haechan knocked. They were already dressed for the occasion; Haechan as an angel, Jeno and Jaemin cosplaying the spies from Spy vs. Spy, and Mark as… himself?

   He must have noticed your questioning glance because he was quick to explain, “I’m dressed as Peter Parker.” He pulls his backpack around to show you the mask conveniently hanging out.

   “He was too embarrassed to wear the suit,” Haechan announces, making you involuntarily let out a chuckle. Your mom coos while patting the latter’s shoulder and Mark’s ears burn bright red.

   “It’s skin-tight dude!”

   “And?”

   Before you could say anything in response, Jaemin was dragging you up the stairs to the bathroom, his arm full of costume things. He was talking a mile a minute about how he found the perfect costume for you and how he was so excited to help you get ready. He sat you on the toilet and quickly drew out the costume bag. 

   “Ta-dah!” His smile is, once again, blinding. You scan the packaging.

   “S-Sexy vampire?” You splutter, almost choking on your spit.

   “Yes! And, I can’t wait to see you in it!” He shoves the bag into your hands before turning around and covering his eyes. “Hurry up! Get changed! We don’t have all night!”

   You slowly get changed into the costume; which is a pair of black slacks, a classic frilly white top with bloodstains that has a very lowcut neckline and a deep v-cut through the back, and a black cheap cape. You stand awkwardly in your costume, it fits a bit tight, as you look at your bright pink face in the mirror. Jaemin spins around excitedly to face you when he hears you stop moving, letting out a sharp gasp.

   “Oh. My. Gosh! You look amazing!” He squeals, clapping with all his might. “Now let’s get you some makeup!”

   You’ve been pushed back onto the toilet in the blink of an eye, Jaemin settling himself between your legs. He can’t stop mumbling about how cute you are and how perfect the costume is. You notice movement in the corner of your eye and see Haechan trying to sneak into the bathroom. You glare at him and Jaemin turns away from dabbing fake blood onto your lip to see.

   “Haechan, look! Aren’t they so hot?”

   Haechan suddenly flushes, pausing halfway through the door to scan your costume. You notice his eyes linger on your exposed collarbones and you tug the thin cape to hide them. “Yeah,” He nods after his once over, reaching up to flick at the plastic golden halo on his head. “I mean, they don’t look half as good as me, but I’ll-” He cuts himself off with a scream when you stand up to go after him.

   Jaemin laughs, his hands quickly grasping your hips to keep you in front of him. “Woah, tiger. Calm down, you can beat him up when I’m done!”

==≎==

   You knew you were radiating the most awkward energy as you came down the stairs in your getup. Your tongue is mindlessly playing with the fake fangs Jaemin had stuck to your canines with tacky-putty, they feel foreign whenever you close your mouth. Your mom, upon seeing your costume, rushes up to gush about it, her fingers pinching your pale dusted face before she begs you all to pose for pictures. Your face feels hot under your makeup and you wonder if it showed through the stuff Jaemin caked onto it. She quickly runs to get her phone, giving Jeno and Mark a chance to compliment your look. You thank them almost silently.

   She won’t stop talking when she comes back, reminiscing about the days when you were all young, fragile, and small. She doesn’t miss the chance to poke at you for being a particularly weak kid, to which you fume over. Haechan tries to add onto it but you stomp your boot on his foot, shutting him up instantly.

   As she takes a few photos, the boys having fun with their poses while you try to join, she then starts to mention that this will be the last time you all go trick or treating before college. A pebble of guilt forms in your stomach when she says this, you weren’t expecting the boys to lie to her about what you were going to do tonight. You start to drift into thought when Mark, who’s standing next to you, loudly stumbles to mention he’s already in college, and that he’s taking engineering classes at the tech college in the next town over. Your mom seems embarrassed to have assumed he was younger, but she brushes it off by saying he should take care of everyone tonight as he is an adult. Haechan pouts at your mom when she says this, saying that the rest of you are technically adults since you’re all 18, and she laughs and pats his cheek which turns red at the contact.

   “Alright, kids, have fun! Stay safe! And don’t be out too late, I don’t want Y/N to wake me up in the middle of the night getting home.” The boys all reply with some version of, “yes ma’am” and start down the sidewalk toward the edge of town where the haunted woods start. 

   Mark and Haechan lead the pack, walking side by side and cracking jokes to the duo behind them. You, on the other hand, silently take up the rear alone. You already feel out of place. It doesn’t help when a group of pretty girls call out to Jeno and you have to follow as they all take a detour to talk to them. Haechan is quick to brag about your plans to explore the haunted woods, one of the girls gasping and indulging him. She’s dressed in a bright red jumpsuit, a headband with matching demon horns protruding from her hair. How ironic. 

   As usual, the girls are all over the four boys, none of them even sparing a glance at you. Typical. Sometimes you wish you had the confidence Haechan possessed to strike up a conversation with them, maybe then they would notice you. It sucked, but you knew it would happen, even when Jaemin said no one would dare ignore a “sexy vampire such as yourself”.

   Soon enough, Mark decides that it’s time to go and they have to pull Haechan away from the demon girl he was flirting with. Again, you all fall into the formation at the start of your journey. Your mood is completely sour, and you contemplate sneaking off. You knew Jisung and Chenle were probably out and about trick or treating, and they had invited you when you said you were forced into plans you didn’t want to partake in. You had told them it was up in the air, and that you might ditch. Jisung said he would save some candy for you and Chenle said he’d buy you a candied apple. You suddenly have a craving for a candied apple. You bet yourself ten dollars that you would have a better time with the two younger boys than with Haechan and his buddies.

   As soon as you turn to make a run for it, Jaemin shouts out, startling you. “We’ve made it! Guys, guys, are you ready for this? The scare of our lives awaits us!” He enthusiastically claps. “Y/N? Y/N! Come take a picture of me in front of the trees!”

   Seriously? “Coming,” You grumble, walking past everyone to wear Jaemin stands, making sure to check your shoulder into Haechan’s.

   You awkwardly take Jaemin’s phone from him after he opens the camera app. His smile is so strikingly perfect, you have a hard time focusing. He skips over to just in front of the tree-line and poses. You follow and take a couple of pictures before holding out his phone to him. “No, no wait. Take a couple more over here. Please, please, please!” You hesitate, trying and failing to hide your disgust when he gets down on his knees to beg. The boys behind you laugh at the scene, mumbling some things back and forth before laughing harder. An odd feeling clenches your heart when you wonder if Haechan was laughing at you, or making fun of you. “I’ll love you forever! Y/N, please, it’s for my Instagram!”

   At that, you shove the phone into his face, causing him to let out a squeak. “Have your boyfriends do it or something,” You then push past the kneeling boy and make your way into the woods. You just want to get this over with.

   The boys grow silent, looking at each other in confusion as you disappear into the thick underbrush. Haechan panics when he realizes just how thick it is, he can’t see you at all through the trees. He quickly apologizes to Jaemin before running after you. Mark and Jeno help Jaemin off the ground before following as well. 

   Once they step through the spot you had, awe overtakes them. The area, despite having a mass of vines and bushes surrounding it, is fairly open and you can see ahead for what looks like miles. It was dark, a lot darker than it was on the sidewalk with the full moon. The trees were all thin, devoid of branches until their very top where their canopies spread and weave together to block out the sky. It was eerily silent and it seems the sounds of life couldn’t penetrate the veil that bordered the entire wood. 

   Haechan could see you already a little ways ahead, looking around with an expression he would have thought cute if it weren’t for the way you had been acting all night.  He stumbles on his way up to you, reaching you much slower than he expected being as you didn’t seem that far in the first place. The three boys behind him let him go, opting to explore the wood together and away from the conflict they knew was about to happen.

   “Y/N, what was that?” Haechan questions you once he’s close enough, his voice low and demanding like you had done something wrong. He tugs on your cape and it irks you.

   “What was what, Donghyuck?” You growl, stepping up so you’re chest to chest with him, a challenge. “You better lay off, alright. I’m not doing this with you. And, in the haunted woods of all places.”

   His angered expression fades instantly as he gawks at you. He isn’t stupid, he understands something has made you upset with him if your use of his real name again was anything to go by, but he isn’t smart enough to figure out why. Before he could ask what pissed you off, Jeno’s voice slices through the silence from up ahead. You both turn to see him pointing to an old, victorian style house in the distance with a smirk. A small feeling of dread pricks at your lungs, deflating them and making you suck in a shaky breath. You forget the argument with Haechan in favor of observing the house.

   The house is large and looks very expensive, most definitely a grand mansion in its prime. The tallest tower’s roofing extends through the canopy and lets in a minuscule amount of moonlight which shines upon the face of the house, glinting off of the second-floor windows. The exterior could use some work, it looks like it hasn’t been properly maintained in years. The roof is missing some shingles, the wooden siding was splintered, and there were cobwebs on the front porch and in the eves of the roof. Surprisingly, even with the signs of age, everything was intact, like it was preserved by the woods itself. How you didn’t notice it before was unnerving to you.

   The five of you gather around the front steps. Upon closer look, it seems like some has been maintaining the house. There’s a potted plant next to the door that looks freshly trimmed and watered, and the garden surrounding the porch is beautifully filled with thriving flowers you were sure weren’t native. You wondered how they bloomed with such minimal light. As the boys discuss a plan of action, you almost curse when you see a faint light floating around inside the house. You pretend you never saw anything, taking it as your imagination playing tricks on you, in hopes to slow your suddenly racing heartbeat.

   “So, we explore it?” Haechan asks, however, it doesn’t seem like it was meant as a question as he’s already on his way to walk up the stairs before Mark’s hand shoots out and yanks him back by the collar.

   “I don’t think so, dude,” Mark quickly responds, his head shaking so fast you worry he’ll give himself whiplash. “Do you want to be killed or something?”

   “Yeah, it doesn’t seem like a good idea,” Jaemin pouts, his voice whiny. “We might get arrested for trespassing or something.”

   Jeno laughs, “Come on, are you guys scar-”

   “Let’s do it.” You suddenly speak up, your voice surprising yourself. You had no clue what compelled you to say that, but it seemed like something inside of the house was telling you to come in.

   “What?” All four boys seem dumbfounded. You don’t get why they’re so startled of you agreeing when they were the ones who suggested it in the first place.

   “Okay, Y/N, you are officially insane!” Jaemin shrieks, his thoughts seem to be racing before he gasps. “Are you possessed? Is that why you’ve been acting so weird tonight?”

   “I haven’t been acting weird,” You defend, already halfway up the stairs before you turn back to speak again. “You four just don’t know me. Now, we came here to get scared, didn’t we? So are you guys coming or not?”

   Jeno nods almost instantly, his expression stoic but you could see faint sympathy in his eyes as he joins you in climbing the old stairs. They didn’t creak under your combined weight, despite looking like they’d cave in if one too many people were on them at once, which surprised you. Haechan was next to follow, whining about the not so subtle dig you had directed at him. Jaemin hesitated before scurrying up the steps to cling to Jeno’s arm, muttering something about Jeno being the one to protect the group if something were to attack you. Mark was last, begrudgingly trudging up the steps with heavy feet, claiming that if things went south, he would leave everyone in a heartbeat.

   You rolled your eyes before turning to the grand main entry. It was a black wooden door, beautiful down to the very last detail, with a shining metal knocker in the shape of a boar with a nose ring. You gently run your fingers over the boar’s head before wrapping them around the nose ring to knock, the metal biting your hand with numbness.

   “Oh, please don’t Y/N, we-”

   Knock, knock, knock.

   “Ah, seriously, you’re going to get us murdered!”

   “Relaxed, Nana, it’s just an abandoned house. We’ll be okay.” Jeno laughed, watching the latter dig his nails into his bicep with a sweet eye smile.

   “Yeah, I’m just being polite,” You turn back to glance at him and the door opens behind you with a swooshing gust of wind. It’s almost strong enough to knock you off your feet, but you only stumble as Mark reaches out to help stable you. Your styled hair is now messed up and you notice Jaemin’s disappointment under the raging fear. All of their eyes are fixed on the door behind you. “What?” You ask, glancing at Mark. “Is there something behind me?”

   “No. Thank goodness. I didn’t want to have to save you,” Haechan walks up next to you, his chest puffing up as he tries to look tough while peering into the dark house. You resist smacking him upside the head for his comment. “It looks empty.”

   “Just like we thought,” Jeno adds, his words meant to comfort the group, but you could tell it was mostly directed at Jaemin who was shaking in his boots. Jeno gently fixes the spy cap on Jaemin’s head before his own.

   “So, we go in?” Haechan asks, again pretending he didn’t just ask a question as he starts to walk through the crack in the door. Mark, again, yanks him back by the collar, to which the former whines about choking.

   “Would you stop doing things all willy nilly?” Mark stresses, fixing the wrinkles he had caused in Haechan’s button-down. Haechan shrugs and Mark sighs, using his foot to open the door the rest of the way.  The darkness fades instantly when the lanterns flicker to life inside the house. “Okay, now let’s go.”

   You all walk inside with you in the front for once, the door closing behind Jeno and Jaemin but you aren’t sure who closed it. There’s an ambient sound of the fire crackling softly from the lanterns. The inside of the house is a stark contrast to the exterior. It’s well maintained and neat down to the very last speck of dust, almost like a museum. The room you had all walked into was the foyer, a thin room almost like a long rectangle with stairs stretching up the right wall toward a landing with three doors. You notice everything is severely outdated, the carpet red with gold floral accents and the walls half dark wood paneling and half faded floral wallpaper. There’s a dark wood table just to the left of you between two dark archways, it holds a priceless porcelain vase filled with stunningly preserved roses and you can smell their faint aroma from where you stand. To your right, just before the stairs is another archway leading into the right side of the house, and next to it is a coat rack which holds a small, but expensive, fur coat.

   “Woah, this place is-”

   “Stunning,” You breathe, your feet taking you down the hall as if you were floating and Mark’s hand narrowly misses your cape. Your eyes trail along every detail. Surprisingly, Jaemin is right behind you, leaving the rest of the boys at the door. You both reach the farthest arch on the left side, practically hand in hand, and you step through it first. The lights in this room flickering to life as well, revealing a lavish living space.

   You and Jaemin both gasp. Floor to ceiling bookshelves line two walls, a marble fireplace between a couple on one wall. There’s dark wood flooring in here but the couches and chairs are the same patterns as the carpet in the foyer. There’s a bearskin rug between the three couches and an antique coffee table sits on top of it. The shelves have collectibles too, dispersed between thousands of books. One of them, you note, is a Moomin figurine which is out of place in the traditional home.

   You glance back at the fireplace, suddenly regarding a large portrait above it, your feet gluing themselves to your spot on the floor. The person in the portrait is beautiful, much like the house. His eyes seem to pierce your very soul as you stare into them, and his expression is that of arrogance and power. He’s dressed in black gothic clothing but he has a stark white choker with a deep red-ruby. His hair is black, pulled out of his eyes but it brushes against his forehead in a few stray strands. You felt you could stare at him for hours, he was that handsome.

   “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Haechan chuckles into your ear, snapping you out of your daze as you flinch away from him. Your fist comes out to punch him in the shoulder before you can even process it. He yelps, catching the other boys’ attention from their spot examining the books.

   “What’s wrong?” Mark asks, still on edge as his eyes scan Haechan frantically.

   “Nothing, nothing,” Haechan grunts softly, rubbing his shoulder while he points to the piece of art. “Just making fun of Y/N for falling in love with a painting.”

   “I wasn’t falling in love!” You protest, your cheeks flaring with heat.

   “Okay, then what were you doing? Admiring the art?” Haechan asks, a little quirk to his lips. “Or that guy’s face?”

   You reach out to hit him again and he flinches, running away from you to hide behind Jeno, his tongue poking out to mock you. You get ready to chase him, but you decide against it, not wanting to accidentally knock something expensive over.

   “Oh, Y/N, I don’t blame you,” Jaemin gasps, his hands cupping his cheeks before one hand lowers to fan himself. You look over at him. “He’s so pretty!”

   “Hey,” Jeno suddenly speaks up with a pout.

==≎==

   You all spend the next hour exploring the bottom floor of the house. Jaemin follows you around to take pictures of anything he thought looked cool which was mostly you in your vampire costume doing casual things around the house. “Your vibes, Y/N! You suit this house so well!”

   You didn’t pay him any attention, focusing on finding out who that boy in the painting was. You snoop through the bookshelves in the living room while the others mess around in the kitchen. Jaemin got bored of you ignoring his pose ideas and left to join the others. You found a black and white picture of a toddler in a suit, a bit blurry as it seemed the toddler would not stop moving, but it was definitely him. You barely noticed your fingers starting to trace the boy’s features, quickly withdrawing upon realization, a sharp heat scorching the apples of your cheeks as you walk around and see what other pictures you can find.

   You found another of the boy, a bit older than the last picture, in the front garden you and the boys had gathered in. He was sweetly observing the flowers and a few specks that were most likely bees, and even in the poor quality, you could see the precious smile he wore. Your lips slowly curve into a smile the longer you stare at the photo. You were viciously torn from your daze when a loud shatter rang through the house, loud yelling following after and alerting you.

   “Haechan you idiot!” Mark. He sounded like he was on the verge of bawling his eyes out and, when you find them in the foyer, it looks like he is. The priceless vase that once stood on the table, lay on the floor in absolute ruin. There were shards of porcelain everywhere.

   “What have you done! We’re going to be cursed!” Jaemin wails, his face in his hands.

   “Guys, guys, relax. Just watch out for the pieces.” Jeno’s hands stuck out between the group of boys as a means of mediation.

   Before anyone could speak again, Haechan’s mouth already open to defend himself, the sound of a door opening upstairs alerts everyone. Dread fills everyone’s faces, yours included. Mark is the first to move, snatching Haechan’s collar and bolting for the door as fast as he can, pushing Jeno out of his way in his haste to get out. Haechan’s voice is pitchy as he cries out in fear. Jeno is right behind them, his arms tightly around Jaemin as he hauls him out, both of them muttering to each other what you can assume are comforting words. You try to leave as well, but a voice calls out to you, accompanied by the door slamming shut in front of you. Instantly, you hear faint banging and yelling from the other side of the door, but it seems you have other things to focus on.

   “Who are you?” The voice is soft and would seem timid if it weren’t for the forceful undertone. You slowly turn to face the person addressing you, your jaw almost dropping in sheer awe.

   It was the boy from the painting, standing at the top of the staircase in all his glory. He was even prettier in person, even with the flecks of paint on his cheeks and the casual clothing he sports. He has a pair of spectacles low on his nose that you can’t help but find adorable, he squints at you over the top of them. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions as if he was tugging at it restlessly. You notice cute little Moomin slippers on his feet as well.

   “Hello? I asked you a question. Who are you?” He calls, his arms crossing and his pretty bottom lip quickly sticking out in a pout.

   You gulped down the spit that had collected in your mouth. Was everyone in this town drop-dead gorgeous? “I-I’m Y/N.”

   “Y/N?” He tests your name on his tongue, looking thoughtful as he cautiously steps down a few stairs. He gives you a once over, his eyes resting on your exposed collarbones and neck, where Jaemin had created fake puncture wounds, before they met yours again. “I’m Renjun. Now, I don’t usually get visitors. Ever. So, what are you doing in my house? Besides breaking expensive stuff and looking like an overly sexualized version of my friend YangYang? It’s a little rude, you know, we don’t look like that or dress like that, actually.”

   You felt yourself become tense. Great, not only has he trapped me in his house to probably kill me, he’s mocking my costume which isn’t even mine! He said it - wait a minute, “W-We?”

   His lips part in surprise, like he wasn’t supposed to have let that slip. You quickly take notice of a pair of little fangs protruding from under his top lip. Your face quickly flushes, your fading makeup doing little to hide it. He lets out a shy chuckle. “Well, yes, I-I’m a vampire. Do humans not think we’re real anymore?”

   You’re speechless, your mouth opening and closing uselessly like a fish out of water. You can’t decide if you are afraid or in awe. You feel faint, the words almost not processing completely.

   “I-I’m sorry to have dropped that bomb on you, but could we get back to the task at hand? Your friends kind of, you know, broke my favorite vase and ran.” His hand slowly stretches out to point at the collection of shards on his carpet. You shake your head to come back to Earth.

   “Oh right, I am so, so sorry, Renjun.” His name feels funny coming out of your mouth and you feel like you don’t have the right to call him by his name. However, it seems you using his name softens something up in him and he looks away from you shyly. 

   “I guess you’ll have to pay me in some way,” He suddenly says, his eyes finding yours again. You deflate, you knew something like this was going to happen, maybe not getting stuck in a vampire’s house, but you knew you would have to pay for your friends’ stupid actions tonight in some way. It happened when they all forgot their wallets when you went out for McDonald’s at three in the morning and it was happening again, but this time you wondered if you would be paying with your life instead of spare change. “That vase was priceless.”

   You close your eyes, waiting for him to finally attack you. “I understand,” You whisper.

   “W-Wait,” Renjun’s soft voice sounds panicked and you furrow your brow in confusion before opening your eyes again. He seems to have an epiphany. “Ah! I’m so sorry! I’m not going to hurt you! Oh gosh, did you think I was going to kill you or something? Drink your blood?” You nod slowly, even more confused. “Oh, Y/N, I’m not like that! I don’t drink straight from humans, that’s gross.”

   “What are you going to do to me then?” You ask.

   “D-Do to you?” Renjun stammers, his cheeks turning a pale blue hue, and his eyes growing to the size of dinner plates. You nod again, watching him start to frantically wave his hands. “Nothing! I won’t even lay a hand on you! I was just gonna ask you to keep me company!” 

   “Keep you company?”

   “I just - I haven’t left my house in like... years. And, YangYang actually moved to Germany so I haven’t seen him in a while and I’ve just been,” He hesitates, the conflict behind his eyes evident. “I’ve just been really lonely.”

   You feel like you’ve been hit with a brick to the chest, the air leaving your lungs and turning into pain, feeling for the boy in front of you. Even with friends, you know exactly how he feels. It hurts you to know that the first social interaction he’s had with anyone in a while has been you and your friends breaking into his house.

   “Oh, Renjun,” Your arms reach out to pull the boy into an embrace before you can even process it. The way you say his name makes him shudder despite not being able to feel cold. You pull away suddenly when you realize, both of you growing shy. “Wait, are you sure you want to be friends with someone who broke into your house? And someone who’s friends with an idiot who smashed your favorite vase?”

   “Absolutely, I would like that more than anything” He mumbles, finding it in himself to gently take your hands. “You are really lovely -- s-so far, at least. And, I want you to introduce me to this idiot friend of yours, I want to give him a piece of my mind.”

   You both share a laugh after that, and you hug him once more without even telling yourself to. “Then I would love to keep you company.”

   “Th-Thank you.”

==≎==

   “Y/N!” Before you could even close the door behind yourself, Haechan’s arms were suffocating you in one of the tightest hugs you had ever received from him. His face quickly buries into your shoulder and you feel the sticky wetness of his snot and tears on your bare skin. You forgo disgust in lieu of comforting your friend who seems to be more shaken up about the situation than you. You gently pet his hair while he nuzzles against you, rambling through his sobbing. “I’m so sorry! I swear, we tried to open the door, we really did! It was locked!”

   You try to talk, but he hugs you tighter with the rest of the boys quickly following suit, only a puff of air passing through your lips. “We thought we had killed you!” Jaemin cries, his head taking up your other shoulder from behind. You can’t exactly tell whose arm is whose around you. The hug lasts a little longer, Haechan and Jaemin mumbling and sniveling against your neck, and even with the obvious bodily fluids you can feel spreading around, warmth spreads through you at the notion that they care.

   “Was there a demon in there?” Mark asks with a trembling voice, backing away from the group hug with his eyes boring into yours as if to make sure your soul was still intact. He seems to scare himself looking back inside through the windows.

   “Nothing hurt you, right?” Jeno’s hands reach over the two boys still squeezing the life out of you to cup your cheeks and turn your head side to side.

   “I’m fine! I’m fine!” You rasp, “I just… can’t breathe.”

   Instantly, Jaemin and Haechan let you go, apologizing to you and choosing to coddle each other instead. The boys let out a collective sigh of relief. You let a small smile spread across your face before it drops. “Wait, I just realized something!” You gasp, the boys growing tense.

   “What? What? What is it?” Jaemin asks, leaving Haechan to hold both of your hands between his. His eyes worriedly scan your face.

   “You guys grabbed each other and just left me!”

   “Uh oh,” Haechan whispers, knowing your tone all too well. “Run!”

   Instantly the boys take off, much like they did inside the house, however, this time they are laughing. You race down the stairs after them before your body stops and turns you around to look at the second-floor windows. You can faintly see Renjun smiling brightly at you through the moon’s glare, he raises his hand and yours does too. He waves, but your hand doesn’t. Mind control. “Cool,” You whisper under your breath and he laughs from inside the house. You smile and wave back before Haechan calls from the tree line and you run to catch up.

I guess I owe myself ten dollars.

[nyctolovian]

Chapter 17: easy being nice to a bitter boy like him

Summary: Shouto's worries about his relationship with Bakugou reach a boiling point and something tips over.

Shouto took a deep breath as his thumb hovered above the dial button. 

It was difficult to find any time where he could be left alone long enough to make a call. Most of the days were spent at the hero agency as Preeta taught Shouto and Bakugou the ropes. Additionally, Preeta’s agency was collaborating with several other local and overseas hero agencies to deal with some cross-border smuggling. Shouto's skin tingled with adrenaline at the prospect, but that basically meant that sometimes there were even workdays that stretched into the night.

Even if there wasn’t work at night, Preeta occasionally invited the two interns out to eat and chat with their coworkers, who proved to be a fairly rowdy bunch. So far, Bakugou seemed to be having quite a blast trying the different foods in Singapore, especially when chilli seemed to always be readily available anywhere. Not to mention how many types of food were spicy to begin with. But that meant that Shouto’s poor tongue had died several times over the span of the single week they had been here.

Sometimes, Kaiqi would join them. When she did, she would fit right into the crowd of rowdy heroes. She also seemed to have taken a liking to Shouto. (“You can’t give special treatment to specific interns!” “I don’t work here, Preeta. I can do what I want.”) And so they talked often and though it was difficult to keep up in a foreign language, he found himself slowly getting the hang of it. 

Another thing he found was that occasionally, he'd notice Bakugou watching him like a hawk. When he turned around, Bakugou wouldn't be looking anymore, but months of being with him had made him more perceptive of the feeling when he glared at the back of Shouto's head. But he never raised the issue with Bakugou. 

Needless to say, the days, with their bombardment of socialising and adapting to new stuff, were tiring. Most nights, Shouto would fall asleep before his head even hit the pillow and he’d simply open his eyes the next day to Bakugou shoving out of bed from under his arms.

But nightmares were more frequent for them both. Bakugou had one on their second night. But it was the regular case of simply shaking a jerking Bakugou awake before he just took several deep breaths before calming down again.

On their fifth night, it was a hard kick to his shin that jolted Shouto awake. It took a while for his head to clear from his sleepy state and when it did, he looked down to see Bakugou, kicking violently and gripping the fabric of Shouto’s shirt. His breaths came quick and shallow and his eyes were screwed shut while he whimpered in agony. For a moment, Shouto was at a loss. Then, he cooled his hand and pressed it against Bakugou’s shoulder, shocking him just enough to pull him back into reality.

Bakugou looked up with a coat of wetness over his eyes. At the sight of his boyfriend, he let out a shaky sigh before burying his face into Shouto’s chest. “Thank fuck,” he muttered. “Okay. Okay.”

Meanwhile, Shouto used his warm hand to rub circles on Bakugou’s back until they eventually drifted off.

As for Shouto, his nightmare came on the sixth night, the first time in the last two months. And as he opened his eyes to a gruff but concerned Bakugou, he could still feel the echoes of “you were never suited for this” bouncing about the walls of his brain. 

It wasn’t because of those nightmares that Shouto decided to make the call though.

He was getting ready this morning, brushing his teeth drowsily, when Bakugou walked in to spit out his toothpaste and rinse his mouth. In his typical bastard fashion, the way he got Shouto to step aside was by bumping him away with his hip. As Shouto stared at him in annoyance, he let out an impudent open-mouthed chuckle. 

It should have been disgusting with all the toothpaste foam still in his mouth, but Shouto had to bite down on his toothbrush to stop a smile from growing on his own lips. Then, came the sense of guilt that Shouto was planning to stop all of this, and he really didn’t want to, despite how many times he’d told himself it would be the right thing to do. 

That was how Shouto found himself sitting on a bench near the basketball court on a Sunday morning, gathering his courage to call Izuku. Izuku had assured him time and again that he’d be free but Shouto still couldn’t help but feel he was imposing. But clearly, mulling over this on his own wasn't working out well with the stress he'd been having for the past few weeks.

Taking in a deep breath, he clicked the dial button and pressed the phone to his ear as he let it ring.

Izuku, in all his speedy glory, answered the call with a bright “Hello, Shouto!”

Smiling at his best friend’s voice, Shouto greeted him as well. They went through the usual motions of catching up with one another: “How is it there?” “Tiring.” “Mood.” “Huh? What mood?” “I mean, it’s the same for me! But it’s fun, right?” “Yes, a little warm though.” “Not that case for me!”

They continued to talk about their respective internship, Shouto with his more mundane bits, and Izuku with his insane first week battles. Shouto swore his best friend was living the life of an action series protagonist. As Izuku recounted in great detail what happened to him on patrol three days ago, he nodded along, smiling fondly. To be honest, Kaminari had sent the trending Twitter video of his best friend hopping from building to building and into the heat of the battle already, but Shouto took certain delight in hearing it first-hand – terrible sound effects, hero fanboy enthusiasm, and all. 

They continued talking until a lull in their conversation appeared and finally Izuku asked, “So something you need to talk to me about, right?”

Despite knowing full well that Bakugou was resting in their room, Shouto found himself glancing around before admitting, “Mm yeah… I have a problem." Shouto looked at the ground and kicked a pebble beside his foot. He sucked in a deep breath of air. "I… I might be feeling a little homesick,” he lied.

At that, Izuku laughed and began chattering away excitedly about the things he missed about Japan as well.

***

Shouto was deep in thought when his train of thoughts was broken by his transmitter. “Calling for Shouto and DynaMight,” Preeta said, “are you in position?”

“Yes,” Bakugou replied immediately.

“Ah, um, yes,” Shouto stammered back.

Although Bakugou was crouched at the opposite end of the shipping container, Shouto could practically feel the glare on his nape.

According to intel, an illegal trade was due to happen in this port at 4am in the morning. After a general briefing, Bakugou and Shouto were positioned to hide behind a shipping container, a distance away from the predicted location of the trade. Their task was to ensure that the routes of escape were sealed off for the smugglers. Time and again, Preeta had warned them not to let their guards down. They may only be serving as backup, but criminals were unpredictable. They should be paying attention at all times.

Shouto could tell that Bakugou was rather restless at the thought of being distanced from the action, but he had nodded cooperatively when the task was assigned to them. Perhaps Bakugou was now transferring his irritation, which was probably exacerbated by the long day, into the stare he was sending Shouto. Granted, he shouldn’t be allowing his mind to wander like this, but he couldn’t help how he kept going over the way he was going to tell Bakugou the truth about his feelings towards Bakugou, or rather his lack thereof. When something that heavy rested on your mind, it was really rather difficult to forget it.

Shouto sighed at the thought. 

His mind went back to his conversation with Izuku. He was a coward.

How long was Shouto planning to keep mum about the situation? He knew he ought to talk to Bakugou about this. Sort things out properly between themselves.

But what was there to talk about though? The likely scenario was that a look of hurt would wash over his face. After that, ultimately, the best course of action would be to simply break up. There was no point in being such a one-sided relationship, right? He supposed-

“Shouto! Watch it!” Bakugou’s voice shattered his trance.

He looked up.

A man was rushing at him.

“Fucking hell!” the man roared. He aimed his right cannon arm at Shouto and fired.

In a moment of panic, Shouto swiped his hands upwards, sending a Heaven-Piercing Ice Wall towards the man. The man cried out before his voice was abruptly cut off.

“You…!” Bakugou growled, and Shouto turned to face him. “Have you got any idea-”

“What the hell was that?!” Preeta’s voice pierced through the scene. She blasted through the air and landed before the messy ice tower that trapped their perpetrator. Cursing under her breath, she pressed her palms into the ice and it rapidly melted away. “What are you doing, just staring?!” she yelled at the two boys. “Help me with this ice right now! He’s going to die there!”

A shiver ran through Shouto’s spine at the realisation. In his moment of panic, he had completely encased the man in ice. The cannonball the man had fired was merely ten centimeters away from the outer walls of his ice pillar. It fell to the ground with a dull clang as Preeta melted the ice.

Bakugou was the first of the two to react, moving to explode the ice to bits. 

“Be careful,” Preeta told him.

He let out a hum between anger and acknowledgement. 

Meanwhile, Shouto fumbled to his feet and joined the two in releasing the man from the icy death-trap he had created, all while guilt pooled in his gut. He had been incredibly sloppy, something he couldn’t possibly afford to be in this line of work. 

He should know this by now. 

***

By the time Shouto and Bakugou arrived back at the dorms for rest, it was already late morning, even after heading straight back to it without changing out of their hero costumes. The debrief had been short. All the perpetrators had been apprehended and this operation had been a success. For the most part.

Then, came Preeta’s debrief.

“You are a hero!” she chided. “You have a responsibility to control your quirk!”

Shouto had hung his head in remorse. He had no excuse for his behaviour. Thank god the man he had frozen had been largely intact after being suffocated in ice for an entire minute. 

She ended the lecture with a sigh. “I know you’re just a kid, but being a hero means you of all people must remain calm.”

What was also terrifying was how silent Bakugou had been. He had spoken while talking to Preeta and some other heroes when he needed to. But there was a steely coldness in his anger as he refused to exchange any words with Shouto.

It was as he closed the door to their dorm room that he finally said anything to Shouto. “Spit it out. What’s bothering you?” His voice was seething and low.

“I-I don’t–”

“Do you take me for an idiot?” Bakugou’s palms began to smoke. “Something has been on your mind since god-knows-when so quit acting like a pussy and goddamn spit it out.”

Shouto looked at Bakugou with wide pleading eyes. “I… I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t need you to fucking apologise! I’ve seen you bow your head so many times today already. If I weren’t with you 24/7, I’d think you were replaced with some life-size bobblehead. Just tell me what’s going on in that head of yours already!” He groaned. “To think I was gonna let you tell me or solve this at your own time. Clearly you fucking need it forced out of you if you’ve let it bother you this fucking much.” 

“It’s not…”

“I swear to fuck if you don’t tell me right now, I will rip your fucking jaw off and pull it out myself!” Bakugou spat. 

Frustration and exhaustion bubbled beneath Shouto’s skin. “I’m really sorry. I am. But could you calm down?”

“Calm down?” Bakugou yelled. He threw his hands in the air and marched past Shouto. “How do you expect me to? After that stunt you pulled–”

Shouto’s vision was beginning to tunnel as he glared at Bakugou’s back. “I can’t explain with you shouting–”

“–you expect me to be calm?!” he roared as he threw his bag onto the floor in a rage.

“Just let me–”

Bakugou was still back-facing him as he yelled, “Just what the fuck is going through your head?”

“I could ask the same thing!” Shouto retorted. “Your mood has been so awful lately!”

“Yeah? At least I don’t fucking let it distract me! I’m not the one who nearly died!”

With a huff, he mumbled angrily, “Who said I was distracted?”

Bakugou scoffed as he spun around, sharp red eyes finally meeting Shouto’s mismatched ones. “You’re a bloody awful liar, Todoroki Shouto,” he growled out. 

Fury spiked in Shouto’s blood. “I never felt the same way about you,” he stated. “Did you know that?”

[kingofdirtandnothing]

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Twenty Four

The water is beautiful, pristine and blue, with frothy white peaks from the waves as they crest and fall over each other. It was somehow even bluer than the sky, that was wide open and only dotted with fat white clouds, the sun beating down on their shoulders with the full brunt of summer. 

Ben was going to be lobster red by the time they were done today. Poe could already see the pink starting to spread across the bridge of his nose and the broad set of his freckled shoulders. No matter how many times he re-applied his sunscreen, Ben managed to burn. 

And he was going to burn to a crisp if Poe couldn’t get him off of this cliff and down into the water below. 

“Come on.” Poe was trying for seductive, cool. He was pretty sure it was coming out wheedling, given the look that Ben was shooting him right about now. “It’s not even that high.” That was a bunch of bullshit, it was at least twenty feet between the edge of the cliff and the water. But that wasn’t how you sold yourself to people. You had to look on the bright side.

Ben’s eyebrow flicks upwards in answer, sarcastic and silent all at once. Poe wonders, distantly, if anyone else has to have conversations with their boyfriend’s eyebrows, or if he was just lucky. ‘Lucky’. Heavy on the sarcasm there. 

“It’s one jump. I won’t make you do it again.” Poe was true to his word about that. With every hike and every cliff dive, and every octopus tentacle on a plate or slimy oyster in a shell, Poe’s request had only ever been: once. Try it once.

It was the same way his mom used to do to him when he was a kid. ‘You try this once, and if you don’t like it, that’s just fine. But you have to try new things out in the world, mijo.’ When he was really little, Poe knows he gave his mom hell about it. Little kids are made for comfort and routine. They wanted things to be the same all the time. But his mom, she was a stubborn woman. A smart one too. Because over time, Poe came around to almost all of it. It made him adventurous, once he was old enough to get brave all on his own.

And Ben needed that too. He needed time to get brave all on his own. Because as much as Ben wanted to pretend like he was buttoned up and calm, there was an adrenaline junkie hiding beneath the skin. Poe had found him by accident, a few too many drunken kisses behind Peter and Eddie’s bar turning into hands inside of pants in a back alley while pedestrians walked down the street a few feet away. 

Now he wanted to nourish that adrenaline junkie, to show Ben all the fun you could have if you just swallowed down your fear and kept moving forward. And hell, the fear could be part of the fun if you looked at things the right way.

Because it was never about not being afraid. Everyone was scared sometimes, and Poe would like to punch the guy in the mouth who taught Ben Solo that men weren’t supposed to be afraid. That they weren’t supposed to cry. That he had to be stoic and quiet at all times. 

There was way too much inside of Ben to settle for being stoic. He deserved better than that, and Poe was going to be the one who gave the world to him on a damn silver platter. He just had to get him off of the ledge first. Baby steps.

“Listen, I’m nervous too. It’s a long way down. My heart is going a mile a minute. Feel it.” Poe reaches out, taking one of Ben’s big hands and bringing it to his chest so that his boyfriend could feel the rapid fire beating of his heart beneath the cage of muscle and bone. Up close like this, Poe could count each and every one of Ben’s eyelashes. If he wasn’t in a hurry to get down in the water, he would stay here as long as it took to do so.

“But that’s okay. It’s okay to be nervous. It’s okay to be scared.” Ben still manages to look a little bit surprised every time that Poe says that. But he was going to beat it into that pretty head of his until it became the norm. There was nothing wrong with being afraid. “That’s your body going ‘hey pal, this seems kinda shady. Are we sure we want to do this?” Ben huffs a laugh under his breath, and makes no effort to pull away. 

“The thing is, the body doesn’t know what our head knows, now does it?” Poe inclines his head towards the water. “This is a safe spot. This is an allowed diving spot. There’s signs up by the legs and everything. Which means people have come through here and looked for sharp rocks and made sure that we weren’t going to hit anything on the way down. So in times like these, we respect our bodies for looking out for us, but we also respectfully disagree.”

Ben is watching him like there isn’t anything else in the world that matters, and Poe wants it to stay like that forever. It’s why he talks so damn much. Poe Dameron has always been a talker, he’s gotten himself out of more than a few tough scrapes with just his words, but when it gets him Ben’s undivided attention, he starts tacking on extra thoughts and extra words to fill in the blank and keep those pretty eyes on him. 

“We can jump together. We’ll hold hands and everything.” Ben scoffs, but instinctively his eyes trip down to the hand still splayed against the tan skin of Poe’s chest. He wants to, he’s just fighting against some old thought or hang up that was keeping his feet on the ground.

Fuck toxic masculinity. 

“I’m serious. I want to jump holding your hand. And it doesn’t make me less of a man for wanting to do it.” Poe’s chin juts out, defiance written across every line of his face. He doesn’t even know if this is what the hold up is in Ben’s head, but he’s already on the wind up, so the words were coming out. Sorry Ben.

“If anything, it makes me more of a man. Because I’m man enough to say when I need something and right now, I need my boyfriend to hold my hand and jump off a cliff with me.” And as his little spiel winds down, Poe’s disdain and his anger shift like the breeze changing direction and he grins. “We’re not going to Thelma and Louise it, Ben. We’re just jumping into the ocean so we can swim.”

And just to round out all his options, Poe steps in close against the hand on his chest until Ben’s arm bends at the elbow and he’s able to step in closer, to put them practically chest to chest. (Even Poe has to admit they haven’t been eye to eye or nose to nose since tenth grade. Stupid Solo growth spurt.)

“Just think of how much fun we can have in that water, babe. You and me and nobody else close enough to see what my hands are doing under the water.”

Would Poe actually try getting Ben off underneath the waves in the ocean? Absolutely, if Ben showed even the slightest inclination that he wanted it. And given the way Ben’s tongue had just darted out to wet his bottom lip, Poe was pretty sure that he had him on the hook. 

Now just to get him over the ledge.

There’s a dark glint in Ben’s eyes that Poe is crazy freaking in love with. His boy had a dark side, Poe just had to get it to come to the surface sometimes. “So? What do you say? It’s an adventure. All you have to do is take that leap.”

Ben shakes his head, a strand of dark hair spilling across his forehead. “Everything is an adventure to you.” See, Poe knows how to read Ben. And his mouth might be saying ‘Poe, you’re a dumbass’ but his eyes were saying ‘I want to do this too’. 

“So!” Poe finally steps back away from Ben, and with a half glance behind him, perilously close to the edge. He throws his arms out wide, and hears the sound of a pebble skitter off of the side of the cliff. Poe knows he really can’t hear it hit the water, but his brain decides he can hear the weighty thump of it hitting the waves.. “What good is living life if you don’t have any adventures. What are we going to tell our grandkids about, Ben?”

Yeah, so he’s pushing it there. Maybe one day Ben would decide he wanted to settle down, to really settle down and do the whole boring office job and a wife with two point five kids and a dog. But Poe is banking (hoping) that it isn’t the case, and that he’ll have Ben with him until they’re old and grey. 

Who said you couldn’t have adventures with kids? His mom and dad used to take him hiking and swimming and kayaking all the time when he was a kid, and Poe loved every damn second of it. He loved waking up in a tent to the smell of coffee over the fire and the soft sound of his parents talking quietly. 

He wanted to give kids of his own that same kind of life, one of these days. A life where they knew they were loved, and that they were safe even when the world wasn’t always safe. That they could be brave and reach out and try things and still know that at the end of the day, their family had their back.

Not any time soon, but one of these days. 

“Poe…” There’s a warning in Ben’s voice, and he’s got a hand outstretched, like he could tug on some invisible cord and get Poe away from the ledge. Tough luck, pal. You were going to have to come and get him. 

“What? You too scared to come and get me?” Listen, Poe lives a spaghetti at the wall kind of life. And he was just going to keep throwing things at Ben until something stuck and they were in that crystal clear water beneath them. Seriously, the rocks were starting to burn the bottom of Poe’s feet. It was hot out here. 

“Are you…” He sees the second Ben catches on to what he’s about to do, and Poe even hears the mumbled ‘don’t you dare’ before he starts clucking like a chicken. And Poe goes all in on it too, tucking his hands up against his armpits and flapping his “wings”. “Bock bock!”

Who knew that in a stream of care, and constructive criticism and even a commentary on the state of masculinity in the world, that it would be good old fashioned childish insults that got Ben to move. 

Poe has just enough time to think ‘victory!’ before that big, broad shouldered body connects with him and they go hurtling off of the edge of the cliff, Poe whooping the entire way down. The water feels solid for a moment before they break through and cold rushes around him, bright and bracing. 

He finds his bearings, kicking his feet to make his way back to the surface, shaking the hair out of his eyes like a dog. Ben isn’t far behind, sputtering and laughing all at the same time. Ben’s smile had the same effect on Poe’s stomach as jumping off of a cliff. 

A real nice swooping. 

“See?” He’s going to be smug now, Ben. No two ways about it. “I told you it would be fun.”

[mileycyprus-hill]

An unfortunate update on “Three’s Company”, my Charles x Arthur x Reader fic:

 I know many of you have been waiting patiently for part two of this fic, but after much consideration, I have decided to leave it unfinished. Instead I will post what I have created thus far and explain my reasonings. 

I was so excited to create this, but a while back someone had been anonymously messaging my ask box venting me their frustrations on someone like me writing a Charthur x reader fic. Apparently they have issues with me—a white married woman— writing a threesome fic including a black/Native American character. 

I have been answering them privately so as not to give them the attention they want because I don’t know if this person is trying to troll me. I can only say I’m sorry I angered anyone. I’m not trying to start drama and I certainly don’t want anyone to be angered. 

I want it to be known that I have a love for Charles Smith’s character the same way I love John’s character or Arthur’s, or any other character in the RDR2 universe: not for their skin color but for their character development and good looks that is not involved with their skin tone. I am not “thirsting after Charles simply because he’s black” or “fulfilling a white girl fantasy”, these are outrageous accusations. 

Once this person stopped, I returned writing Part 2. But for days, I have been sitting at my keyboard and have lost my desire to finish it. I wanted to create something romantic and fulfilling between these three characters. A polyamorous relationship, if you will. I wasn’t planning on just writing smut to “fulfill a white girl fantasy” as this person accused me of. I simply wanted to write a love story. 

So instead of leaving you in the dark, I have my unfinished work posted below as is. Despite the warnings I originally wrote, there’s no smut and it’s SFW, as it only contains the buildup and some notes I wrote for myself towards the end. I imagine this explanation will be met with criticism, but I just wanted it to be known.

This story is open to anyone who wishes to take over for me. I openly accept anyone willing to take this for their own and finish it. I just ask that you message me first for permission and give me credit for the original story. (Who knows, maybe in time I’ll return to it when I’ve reached a better place mentally and if no one finishes it.)

Thank you for reading. 

Three’s Company

Part 2 that leads to NSFW smut between you, Arthur, and Charles.

Summary: The three of you notice a particular tension growing between you, and decide to clear the air after an unfortunate event happens at the Rhodes general store. 

A/N: Boy, this took me long enough—only b/c I wanted a particular scene to be perfect. This is my first writing a threesome, so I only hope I did well. 

Warnings: Smut. And references to racial slurs from some a-hole Lemoyne Raiders. 

Part 1 here.

—————-

Charles wakes just before dawn and feels his hand resting on his chest. Blinking his eyes to clear his vision, he suddenly remembers what he did in the middle of the night.

Before rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he freezes and cranes his neck to look up to you from his place on the ground.

Was it a dream? It had to have been.

But it felt so real. Charles still feels the phantom of your heat lingering on his skin.

From below, it appears you haven’t moved an inch and you’re still sleeping deeply. Your arm still hangs from your shared cot with Arthur.

Speaking of, Charles quickly darts his attention from you and notices Arthur’s awake and rising up off the cot, stretching his arms out to greet the morning sun. Arthur’s joints pop and crackle while he loosens the tension in his muscles. His arms and back bulge from within his tight red union suit. A small patch of sweat darkens the fabric in between his shoulder blades. 

Arthur turns to Charles with tired eyes, squinting in the morning light. He greets Charles with a soft voice so as not to disturb you.

“Mornin’ Charles,” he yawns. “Sleep well?”

Charles stares into those blue eyes of his, becoming lost in thought. Those eyes, clear as the sky, look to him with friendly affection. Charles feels so guilty for taking such a small liberty with you while Arthur slept unaware.

Arthur stares back from across your sleeping form, curious about Charles’ hesitation.

Sensing the awkward, prolonged silence, Charles finally speaks, “Yeah,” he coughs, “for the most part. ‘Bout the same as sleeping on the ground anywhere else. But it’s at least dry.”

The side of Arthur’s mouth wrinkles with a lopsided smile and a dry chuckle rumbles from him across the way. 

“Yeah, well...You’re welcome to stay here ‘til we get you a new tent,” Arthur says. 

A gentle cough diverts their attention away from each other. They turn their heads to watch you wake and rub the sleep from your tired eyes. You groan in subtle pleasure while stretching your sore muscles and running your fingers through your hair, untangling any knots. 

“Guess I should get out there before Miss Grimshaw comes in here screamin’.” You state, beginning the day with a dreadful realization. You don’t even bother to say ‘good morning’ as it could quickly turn into a foul one at any moment. Turning behind you, you grab your shirt from the table at the head of your bed.

Charles had forgotten you slept in just your gray, form-fitting union suit. You always found it much more comfortable than a long nightgown or chemise that would bunch up throughout the night. The top buttons are all popped except for one, which holds the fabric just over your cleavage. That one small button, a dot of pale wood holds responsible for keeping your breasts covered. The same cannot be said however, for the perkiness of your nipples, which poke through like small pebbles under a cotton sheet.

Charles’ eyes are immediately drawn to those tips poking underneath the fibers of your undergarment. His throat suddenly feels dry and rough, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows to calm himself. It’s a short-lived moment once you pull your shirt over your head. The little mountain peaks are now gone beneath another layer of fabric.

Which is lucky for Charles’ sake, lest you or Arthur catch him staring.

Normally you wouldn’t dare let the other men witness you dress and undress, but somehow you don’t mind Charles seeing. After all, if Arthur trusts him why shouldn’t you?

Arthur’s voice snaps Charles back to reality, and he draws his gaze away from you to his own boots. 

Arthur says to you, snapping his suspenders over his shoulders, “Well, maybe you can come with me this morning. Got a tip ‘bout a stagecoach and I could use some help...and I know how cooped up you’ve been in camp.”

While you and Arthur redress, Charles sits awkwardly from his bedroll as he slept the night fully clothed, as usual.

Your eyes lit up as you pulled your trousers on. “Really? You think Grimshaw will spare me?”

“I’m sure she can. She’s got the other girls to help out,” Arthur points. “We can even take our time getting back and help Charles find a new tent.”

Charles perks his head up at the mention of his name.

“You don’t have to do that,” he tells Arthur.

“Why not?” Arthur asks. “Ain’t much trouble. We can stop on the way back after we all finish it.” He waves a hand, referring to the three of you.

Charles eyes now widen and his forehead softly wrinkles in surprise, “You want me to come with?”

“ ‘f course,” Arthur says blatantly. “Lord knows I can’t do it with any o’ these hot heads,” he mumbles. “Including this one.”

He points to you and you react with a slip of your tongue past your lips, followed by a soft punch in his arm.

A tiny smirk grows on Charles’ lips and he replies, “Sure.”

————

After the job, the three of you rode back to camp in a flash. It was truly successful: a stagecoach of a wealthy plantation owner who had their valuables hidden in the seats of the carriage. Thankfully, you didn’t have to resort to killing anyone to get it. You had lassoed the driver off the carriage, leaving him with bumps and bruises, while Charles and Arthur interrogated the passengers into giving up their goods. It was Charles’ keen eyes that caught the odd stitching on the leather seats inside the carriage, and found the three gold bars in the stuffing.

You all rode hard and returned with adrenaline still surging through your veins and smiles on your faces. It was the best score you’d gotten in so long. A gold bar would be given to the camp, another for Charles, while you and Arthur share the last one.

Holding the heavy bar in your hand, you look to Charles. The smiles haven’t faded from either of your lips, and your cheeks already feel sore.

You say to him, “Charles, I wanna buy you the biggest stakes and canvas I can find. You deserve a big spot in camp after this.”

Dropping his chin and scoffing humbly at your generosity, Charles responds, “You don’t have to do that. I can afford my own.”

“Please,” you continue. “It’s the least I can do. I wanna thank you for being such a big help on this job.”

Charles tries his best to keep his composure after hearing your sweet voice. His heart hammers in his chest, and not from the adrenaline this time. You have shown him nothing but kindness since he’s joined the gang, and will go out of your way to make sure he’s content.

Arthur speaks up from behind you, “Best let her do it, Charles. She won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” He chuckles.

Without turning, you quirk a brow at Charles. You hope to make him yield under your cool gaze. A drop of sweat trickles down the back of his neck behind his thick hair. The bead suddenly feels cold and sends a shiver to his skin.

Realizing his argument would be futile, Charles shakes and bows his head in defeat.

“Alright, fine.” Charles sighs. Lifting his head, he watches you smile as you relish in your small victory.

His attention darts over your shoulder to the source of a hoarse chuckle from Arthur.

“Good man,” Arthur laughs softly, to which Charles follows with a laugh of his own. 

————

You had stumbled to bed first early in the evening, thanks to a bottle of whiskey you were nursing. The opportunity to run into town was postponed ‘till the morning, as you all wanted to celebrate your achievement.

Charles waited for Arthur to follow you to bed, but the man would not leave his spot at the campfire. Charles felt self-conscious about being alone with you in the tent. He’d feel safer with Arthur nearby— though he couldn’t explain why.

He could just bed down in the scout shelter, but it was currently being occupied by Bill and Javier. Besides, his bedroll is still in your tent. He didn’t want to wake you and be asked why he was moving out.

Because he’s worried he can’t control his urges around you and Arthur? Yeah, that’d go over well.

He’d be better off sleeping out under the stars on the bare grass tonight.

He had half a mind to until Arthur slightly pushed his shoulder.

“Hey,” Arthur said. “Fallin’ asleep over there?”

Charles was so busy with his thoughts, he didn’t notice Arthur watching him from across the fire. The rugged outlaw must’ve seen his drooping eyelids and stepped over to check on him. Charles didn’t even hear his light footsteps, which were muffled by the soft Lemoyne clay.

Arthur’s broad shoulders brush against his as he sits down next to Charles on the dry log. Their soft cotton sleeves rub against each other and each of them feel the other’s chiseled muscles against their own for a brief moment.

Keeping his voice cool, Charles answers bluntly, “I’m fine.”

“Always a man of conversation, ain’t ya Charles?” Arthur teases.

An ‘I told you so’ is cried by Uncle across the way, who sits drunk beneath a tree.

“Just because you never have anything interesting to say, doesn’t mean I don’t either,” Charles quips to Uncle. 

Arthur holds a bottle of bourbon in his hand and brings it to his mouth with a dry, wheezing laugh. His plump lips wrap around the top of the bottle, gently slurping in the warm amber liquid.

Charles watches the large lump of his Adam’s apple bob as Arthur swallows the sip of bourbon. Wordlessly, Arthur hands Charles the bottle, offering it to him.

Charles obliges and takes a hefty swig of the smooth bourbon. It’s so warm, like a hot piece of caramel running down his throat, followed by a smoky aftertaste of maple. Heat flushes his cheeks and the feeling of his fingertips is numbed, along with his anxious thoughts. A wave of relaxation washes over him.

Arthur watches from the corner of his eye, noticing Charles relaxing and struggling to keep his eyes open.

He says to Charles warmly, “C’mon. Finish that bottle and head to bed with us...you ain’t gotta watch tonight, do ya?”

Shaking his head in response, Charles finishes the last tiny swig of bourbon and tosses the bottle into the fire. Those nervous thoughts are long gone and the memory of you sleeping soundly in your bed sends a warm feeling to his stomach.

Arthur continues, “Well, alright. C’mon then.” He pats Charles on his back, “Don’t want ya gettin’ ate up out here. The ‘skeeters are bad t’night.”

Charles follows him back to the tent and is greeted with your sleeping form on the cot, covered in a thin blanket. His heart flutters while he undoes his gun belt and kneels down on his bedroll nearby.

Arthur closes the tent flaps while Charles watches you sleep, undisturbed.

He whispers up to Arthur, who climbs in bed behind you, “You’re a lucky man, Arthur.”

“Thank you,” Arthur whispers, looking down at you with a loving smile. “I couldn’t ask fer a better woman.”

He tucks your hair behind your ear and presses his lips against the top of your cheek. A velvety groan softly rises up from your throat as you roll over to nuzzle your face into Arthur’s chest. An arm is tossed over his side and you cuddle him tightly.

The two men inside the tent chuckle softly in response and Charles lays back onto his bedroll, looking up at the ceiling.

He turns his head to the sound of Arthur’s quiet voice.

“You’re a good friend, Charles. G’night.” Arthur says.

“G’night, Arthur,” he replies with a smile.

“G’night, Charles,” your muffled, sleep-slurred voice calls from the comforting nook in Arthur’s arms.

—-——————

“Charles is a fine man, isn’t he?” You state, watching from your seat. 

“The best I’ve come across,” Arthur answers with his hand in his journal. He scratches away with the small lead pencil loosely gripped in his fingers, sketching what he sees.  

It’s quiet from your tent. The flaps are drawn up to let you watch the members of the gang go about their business. All is calm. The air gently rolls in to relieve you from the humidity. The birds chirp softly from their shady perches, and your eyes stay fixed on Charles.

Folding Arthur’s freshly laundered shirt, you continue, “I sure hope he finds someone.”

“What you mean?” Arthur asks, his attention still on his rough sketching.

“Oh...I dunno,” you reply, dropping a shirt onto the pile of folded laundry. “He doesn’t deserve to be so lonely like he is. I just hope he finds happiness.”

Arthur eyes you suspiciously, watching you fold his clothes onto a neat pile. He follows your gaze over to Charles, who readies a pile of fresh lumber to be chopped into firewood. Arthur watches Charles remove his rawhide vest before unbuttoning his crimson shirt to reveal his masculine form. His smooth skin glistens with sweat. 

Arthur never noticed until now how very little body hair Charles appears to have. His chest shines with a bright, welcoming sheen that promises to be warm...bold...and fulfilling. 

A sudden feeling catches Arthur by surprise. 

It’s not jealousy. No, far from that. 

A feeling of low self-worth is what it is, a blushing embarrassment that fills his stomach. For Arthur rarely gets jealous, but easily self-conscious. Could it be you have developed feelings for Charles?

Could it be Arthur feels them too?

Wait, what?

Arthur squints his eyes in confusion. He hasn’t felt this way since he first started courting you. That same flutter in his stomach that rises in his chest, he’s feeling it again. 

“Arthur?” you ask. You pause your folding and watch his vacant stare. His eyebrows furrow for a moment as if he’s in deep thought, until he blinks them away at the sound of your voice calling him. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Arthur coughs. “*ahem* Yeah, I hope he does too.” He rolls his shoulders to relieve the sudden tension that was growing. With a pop of his neck and a clear of his throat, he resumes his sketching. 

Your gaze doesn’t falter from Arthur, and he senses it. He feels you watching him with a curious look. The tension in his shoulders return and he struggles to draw in his journal under your stare. 

With a frustrated huff, he looks up from his journal. 

“What?” he asks, reserving his annoyance. 

“Nothing,” you reply cooly. A quirk of your lip shows a subtle smile that quickly melts away, but Arthur catches it. He recognizes that little mischievous smile that fleets within a second. 

It’s as if you already know. 

Could you read him that easily? 

——————

With a final strike of the axe and the tick of his pocket watch marking 11:00, Charles finishes his chore. Fixing the string that ties his hair back, he walks back to his trunk where his tent once stood. He grabs a clean shirt and his billfold, before stepping to the horse station to saddle Taima. 

......

A/N: (This is where I stopped, everything else here is the rest of the rough draft riddled with notes. The three of you head to Rhodes to help Charles get new tent supplies. He goes into the store on his own while you and Arthur wait at the saloon for him. Two Lemoyne raiders at the saloon decide to give Charles trouble while you and Arthur defend him. Nothing physical, just the raiders saying nasty things and Charles decides its best the three of you leave to avoid an altercation. Luckily, the sheriff shows up anyway to put the raiders in their place. )

After the Rhodes saloon.

(All three of you pitch Charles’ tent, an a-frame much like john’s.)

You and Arthur talk to Charles who is brooding underneath a tree after the three of you left.

You both tell him you admire him. Arthur places a hand on his right knee, while you place a hand on his left, just above his thigh.

Charles looks to you both in confusion.

......

“Charles? You ok?” You ask him softly.

......

“We love you, Charles. You know that, don’t you?” You say, bringing your face closer to his.

“Yeah, I know.” He answers, turning his gaze to you. He assumes you mean in a familial way. That is, until your lips brush against his. He gasps softly at your kiss and looks over to Arthur in shock and confusion.

Arthur looks into Charles’ eyes and tips his head in permission.

“I...I don’t understand,” Charles says.

[signs-of-the-moon]

Moon Rise: Chapter 42

Warning: this chapter features minor mentions of an illness that may be considered similar to Covid-19, and could potentially upset those effected by it. Reader discretion is advised (this is the last time this message will appear)

With the guidance of Ruby, Swiftcloud and her patrol made their way through the Twolegplace. They weaved inbetween the rows and rows of dens, avoiding sleeping monsters and Twolegs playing out in the snow. Anxiety prickled Swiftcloud's pelt the further on they ventured. She fretted that this mission might be a failure. If the plants in the meadow had all died off, why wouldn't the ones in Twolegplace do the same?

Eventually Ruby slowed her pace, pausing in front of a particularly large Twoleg's den. Within the backyard was a smaller see-through den. It appeared to be entirely made out of windows, glass was what the material was called, Swiftcloud recollected.

"Look!" Mistyleaf pointed at the structure with her tail, excitement radiating from her pelt. "There's plants in there. Look how lush and green they are!"

"That place is called a Green House," Ruby informed the clan cats. "Housefolk use them to grow plants and herbs year round. I believe you'll find what you'll need in there."

"But how are we going to get inside to look?" Rabbitstorm questioned. He sounded doubtful that they'd be able to do so at all. Ruby simply tilted her head, prompting the other cats to follow. The five other cats followed the large molly over the fence, landing in the fresh snow on the other side.

"We will ask for a favor," Ruby explained at last. The clan patrol exchanged confused looks. "Wait here, I'll be right back." With a dash, Ruby cleared halfway across the yard in a single bound. She galloped, stopping in front of the Twoleg den. She let out a mighty yowl, summoning some attention from inside. Immediately Swiftcloud panicked.

"Hide!" Chicorynose commanded the patrol, ducking into a bush by the edge of the fence. Her clanmates did the same, although Max waited just outside. Through the shrubbery, Swiftcloud could see a Twoleg emerging from the den. From behind it, two kittypets strolled into view, happy as could be. Once its pets were outside, the the creature turned and lumbered back into its lair, the door swinging shut behind it. When she was sure the coast was clear, Swiftcloud took the first brave steps out from hiding and towards the strangers.

The kittypets appeared well groomed, with wet pink noses and bright eyes. Their fur was glossy, and their bodies plump. So different from the looks she was used to cats having. As she passed by the Green House, Swiftcloud caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass. She resisted the urge to wince at the sight. In comparison to the kittypets, she looked terrible. I look...I look like a wild cat, she realized. Now she understood why house cats typically shyed away from strays. Especially those from the clans. To a peaceful kittypet she must look dangerous with her thin frame, tired eyes, and battle scars.

When Swiftcloud finally came to a stop beside Ruby, one of the kittypets began backing away. His brown and white pelt bristled, his fat belly dragged against the snowy ground. He seemed scared, annoyed even. The other kittypet, however, remained calm. The molly's thick tail was high in the air, her focus fixed on Swiftcloud. She was curious. Swiftcloud was curious about her as well. The she-cat had brown and white fur with rich dark swirling stripes. Thick framed and chubby, the she-cat looked to be in perfect health. Her face was broad with chubby cheeks, her ears round. And her eyes glowed yellow in the sunlight, filled with kindness. Around her neck was a green collar, with pebbles lining it that twinkled like stars. For a heartbeat, Swiftcloud wondered if the kittypet was a show cat. Or a cat who was "bred" to produce them.

"Hey there, Ruby," the molly spoke at last. "You called?"

"I did," Ruby agreed, lowering her head so she was at a more equal level with her friend. "I have some cats here who need some help."

"Oh yeah?" The kittypet promted, shifting her focus from Ruby back onto Swiftcloud. "What can I do for you?"

Swiftcloud blinked, turning around for a moment. She waved a paw, motioning for her clanmates to come stand beside her. Apprehensively, the rest of her patrol emerged from hiding, padding over to stand with Swiftcloud.

"Aw hell, not more of em," griped the kittypet tom with ears flattening.

"Pipe down, Louie, they're not going to hurt us," the molly hissed at her denmate before giving her attention back to the clan cats. "Are you?"

"Not if you cooperate," Rabbitstorm grumbled with a tail flick. Mistyleaf gave him a disapproving shove.

"You have our word, no clan cat will bring either of you harm," Chicorynose promised after fixing Rabbitstorm with a glare.

The kittypet molly smiled "See?"

"Just get em to tell you what they want so they can go," the fat tom griped. The molly rolled her eyes.

"My apologies for my mate. Fat Louie doesn't really like strangers. Or, well, anyone for that matter. Sometimes not even me," she giggled although there was a twinge of sadness in her voice, "Anyways. Ruby says you're looking for a favor?"

"Yes," Mistyleaf stepped up. "We desperately need an herb for our clan. Many are sick, and some have even died. Obtaining these leaves will save many lives."

"We'd like to ask if you'd be kind enough to let us into your Green House to look for catnip. We see that you have many plants in there. And Ruby says you may have what we're looking for," Swiftcloud added with Mistyleaf nodding along agreeingly. Imminently, Fat Louie jumped to his paws.

"Ooh no," he growled, marching forward. "We are not letting a bunch of flea-ridden strays into our housefolk's garden den! We don't know if we can trust them, Tabitha. And even if we can, why would we? They're wild cats. They eat kits and kill each other for sport. Why should we give a sniff if the whole lot of them die?"

"Hey!" Rabbitstorm snapped, muscles bunching. Chicorynose and Mistyleaf flanked him on both sides, preventing him from bursting forward.

"You misunderstand our way of life," Swiftcloud decided to try reasoning with the kittypets. After all, she used to be one too. Surely it couldn't be hard to convince them that the clan cats weren't so bad. "We care very deeply for our clanmates. Clan cats do everything for one another, to ensure we all survive. We fight, hunt, and care for every cat in our ranks. From the smallest kit, to the most decrepit elder. Coming here to ask for help proves that. We go to great lengths to save our friends, our family, our home."

"And why should we listen to you?" Fat Louie snorted.

"Because I used to be just like you two."

"Ignorant?" Tabitha joked.

"No." Swiftcloud shook her head. "I used to be a house cat. Almost a year ago now."

Tabitha gasped, her pupils growing wide. "Really? And you've survived this long? That's pretty cool."

Swiftcloud smiled. She was glad to see at least one of the kittypets was warming up to her and her clanmates a little. "It is. And I never would've survived this long without my clan. Throughout the moons, Grassclan has taught me and suppoted me with everything. They'd do anything for me. And I'd give everything for them. It was Mistyleaf and I's idea to come to Twolegplace today, to look for the herbs we need to cure our sick. That has to account for something. Please don't let us leave empty pawed."

Tabitha's eyes watered a little. She turned to Fat Louie before turning back to the clan patrol. "Ok, you've convinced me. I'll let you into our Green House."

"Like hell you will!" Fat Louie spat, grabbing Tabitha by the collar. With a mighty tug he dragged her backwards, effectively choking her. The tabby and white molly gagged, paws scraping against the icy ground. Her toes spread for her claws to unsheathe and ground her, but nothing slid out from the slits in her paws. Helplessly Tabitha was pulled across the yard like prey. Swiftcloud's muscles buncued as she readied herself to spring to the kittypet's aid. She couldn't stand by and watch this abuse.

"Let go of her!" Rabbitstorm shot forward suddenly, leaping onto Fat Louie's back. The fat brown and white kittypet collapsed under the other tom's weight, yet still refused to let Tabitha go. Despite appearing out of shape, Louie turned out to be quite strong. And as persistent as a badger. No matter how passively Rabbitstorm tried to get hin to let go of Tabitha's collar, the spoiled tom refused. And so, Rabbitstorm was left resorting to violence. After giving his muzzle a scratch, Rabbitstorm was finally able to free the kittypet she-cat. Fat Louie jumped back, nose scrunched up with pain. Mistyleaf ran to Tabitha, herding her a fox-length away so she could be examined.

"Breathe deep," the medicine cat instructed as the other molly let out a few small coughs. She touched her nose to Tabitha's neck, looking for signs of tearing on the skin.

"What's wrong with you? Don't you know how to treat a she-cat?" Rabbitstorm snarled. Fat Louie grumbled under his breath, touching a white paw to his bleeding snout. He gave it a lick, trying to clear the liquid away. Fat Louie then waddled off to sulk, waiting for his Twoleg to let him inside through the door he came from. Rabbitstorm snorted with distaste, turning to Mistyleaf and Tabitha.

"Are you alright?" He asked the kittypet, voice surprisingly gentle. He nosed her, giving the molly a look over himself. Tabitha blinked, a small smile appearing on her face.

"I'm just a little winded," she responded.

"She'll be fine," Mistyleaf assured.

"Is this the first time he's done something like this?" Rabbitstorm asked seriously.

Tabitha's smile faultered, her expression revealing the truth about her treatment. "It's alright." she blinked away her sadness, "He loves me. I know he does. Louie doesn't do things like that to cause harm..its because he cares. He was trying to protect me from all of you."

"Clearly it's not us you need protection from. You deserve to be treated with kindness. I'd never sit around and let like that happen to any cat. Especially my own mate."

"Well, thank you for the concern. You're...you're very kind." Tabitha ducked her head shyly.

Rabbitstorm purred a very tiny purr. It made Swiftcloud's heart feel light. It was the first time Rabbitstorm had acted like himself since Heatherwing's death. And with a kittypet no less? How things have changed!

"Come with me," Tabitha stood up, shaking snow from her pelt. "I'll let you into the Green House."

"Even after all that?" Chicorynose prompted, raising a brow. Tabitha gave a firm nod.

"I don't care what Louie wants right now. You cats need help. And I'm going to let you take as much of the catnip as you need."

The clan patrol exchanged excited trills, eagerness prickling among them.

"But," Tabitha interrupted. "I'm only going to do this on one condition."

"And what's that?" Chicorynose asked. Tabitha turned to Swiftcloud.

"I'm very curious about the life you've led. I'd like to hear your story."

Swiftcloud blinked, pelt growing hot. She didn't expect the spotlight to suddenly be shifted onto her. But if telling her tale could help save the clan, then she'd say anything to get into that Green House.

With a nod, Swiftcloud began. "Over a year ago, I was born as a kittypet -a house cat. I was raised to become a show cat, like my mother and father, and eventually my littermates. But I wasn't cut out for that life. At almost three moons old I was given to a new housefolk, to live a normal house cat's life. But even then I wasn't satisfied. I began to dream of freedom, of a place that would give me that which I desired. At six moons I listened to those dreams and wandered to the meadow. There, I fought a wild cat- a tom that would eventually become my mate. And afterwards, I met his clanmates, and his leader. They told me all about the life of a clan cat, and I eventually settled on the idea of joining them. So, I changed my name, abandoned my collar and home, and left to live in Grassclan. I trained very hard for several moons, and fought in a few battles. And finally, I was named a warrior. I was named Swiftcloud, and finally found who I truly am."

"What was your name before?" Tabitha asked with intrigue. Swiftcloud glanced at each of her clanmates. She'd never told any clan cat her birth name before. When she'd joined them, she had changed it to the one she had been called in her dreams.

"I was born Hana. Then I became Swift. Now I am Swiftcloud, Hunter and Spy of Grassclan."

Tabitha let out a trill, her eyes sparkling. "Such an interesting life. What a fun character you are. Alright, a promise is a promise. Follow me I've kept you all waiting long enough."

Mistyleaf sighed with relief. Chicorynose purred with excitement. And Rabbitstorm moved to stand at Tabitha's side.

"Lead the way," he requested, earning a giggle from the molly. Tabitha padded through the snow, creating a path for the other cats to follow. For a heartbeat, she paused by the Green House's door. Her perfectly white paws disappeared under the snow, her body crouched and her rear wiggling. Max corralled the clan cats back, giving the other kittypet space to work. Swiftcloud observed Tabitha as she eventually pried open the door, just enough so that she could squeeze through. She slipped inside the den, waiting on the other side for the others to follow. Mistyleaf went in first, followed by Swiftcloud, Rabbitstorm, Chicorynose, Max, and finally Ruby.

Single file, the group padded through the glass den. The air in there was hot, humid; a major difference from the atmosphere outside. All around them were plants of all sizes and vibrancies. Exotic plants and familiar alike decorated the space, creating a powerful almost forest-like fragrance. Most of the cats got the oppurtunity to gawk about the sight. Mistyleaf, however, retained her sharp focus. Her jaws were parted slightly to taste the air for the herb she needed. Her delicate nose twitched as she seemed to catch onto the trail.

"This way," she mewed, taking the lead. Swiftcloud pulled ahead to walk with her, keeping an eye out for the herbs. Near the back of the den, in a special patch, was an abundance of catmint. The smell emanating from them was enough to make a cat's mouth water. Mistyleaf trilled out happily, delicately leaping into the center of the herb patch.

"This'll be enough to treat every cat in Grassclan!" Swiftcloud cheered.

"Twice over," Mistyleaf agreed. She carefully snatched up a few catnip stems, carrying them out of the patch with her. "How much are we allowed to take?"

"As much as you want. My housefolks grow this stuff for Louie and I to use to relax. I hadn't realized it could be used to cure sickness, too."

"Only greencough," Mistyleaf elaborated. "Would we be allowed to come collect more at a future time? The amount we take today will be an excellent start towards a path of recovery. But a lot of the sick are in critical condition. They'll need many doses of catmint to be cured."

Tabitha beamed. "Yes. In fact, I insist you come back for more! I'd be sad if I never got to see you all again. This will be a great excuse for you to come and visit."

Mistyleaf purred gratefully. She instructed each of her clanmates to tip-toe into the herb patch to pick as many stems as they could carry. When the patrol was packed heavy with herbs, the cats made their way back to the front of the den. Before exiting though, Mistyleaf paused once more. Her nose twitched, green eyes twinkling.

"Tabitha, would it be alright if I collected some of that lavander over there as well? It will help to rid the stench of illness from our dens, and to treat fevers," she mewed after putting down her herbs.

"Oh sure," Tabitha agreed. "Whatever you need, it's yours. They're only plants, after all, they'll grow back." Mistyleaf once again let out a grateful purr. She padded over and picked a few of the flower stems, adding them to her bundle of catmint. She tied it all together with a stray vine from one of the other plants surrounding them before picking up her herbs again. Mission completed, the cats made their way back out into the cold. The frigide air outside of the Green House felt more bitter when the cats emerged into the open again. They'd adjusted to the Greeleaf warm climate, and hardly minded the humidity. Now the moisture has turned to ice particles on their fur.

Swiftcloud rested her herbs by her paws. She gave her pelt a shake and began to tremble a little. "We'd better hurry home before we all catch a chill."

Chicorynose let out an agreeing grunt. She dipped her head respectfully to the kittypet. "Thank you for everything, Tabitha. Grassclan will be forever grateful for this. If you should ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Tabitha purred loudly, brushing her side against Chicorynose's in a friendly manner. "Farewell new clan friends. I'll see you again soon!" She bumped her head against Rabbitstorm's gently, looking into his eyes for a heartbeat.

"We look forward to our next visit. May the winds be with you." Mistyleaf touched her nose to Tabitha's.

"And-...what do you clan cats say in response to that?" The curious kittypet asked.

"We say 'And may Starclan light your path.' We like to bless each other with the guidance of our warrior ancestors," explained Swiftcloud.

Tabthia nodded along enthusiastically. "I see. Well then, may Starclan light your path!"

The Grassclan patrol let out a collective mrrow of amusement. After each cat touched noses with Tabitha one last time, Ruby took the lead, guiding the warriors back to Max's house. After one last farewell to Max and Ruby, Swiftcloud led the patrol the rest of the way back to the Land's Star; eager to bring something good news to the clan.