#and 'YOU MOVE ME. YOU MOVE ME. OPEN SEA AND CITY LIGHTS. BUSY STREETS AND DIZZY HEIGHTS. YOU CALL ME YOU CALL ME'

[dont-be-late-to-the-dance]

yall I was JOKING about how this would fix me but like

HE ACTUALLY FUCKING FIXED ME.

that man Fixed Me for real. this actually isn't a joke

I WENT BACK TO MY CHILDHOOD FRIENDS AU FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THE MY EFFIN LIFE SHOW AND DIDN'T WANT TO DIE AT ALL!! DIDN'T CRY EITHER‼️ NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT!!!!!

I EVEN WROTE THREE (3) PARAGRAPHS WITHOUT GETTING SAD!!!!!!! LOOK!!!!!!!!!!!!

[kikiswriting7]

Take a Chance ✵ JJK ✵ MYG - 5

✵ Pairing: Yoongi x Reader x Jungkook

✵Summary: Y/N just move across the world to start her University. She is paired with a roommate who is complete social butterfly and makes a bet, Y/N needs to take more chances. And at the hint of her new found friend, her social and romantic life take a dramatic turn.

✵Tags/Warnings: Smut, College AU, red flag, sexual tension. angst, dirty talking, drinking, friends with benefits, full of cliches, friends to lover, temptation

✵Notes: Hello! Now that I somewhat have a vacation time and I could not stop thinking about this, my fingers slipped so here goes another chaper! And if you want to be added to the tag list and be notified when theres a new chapter please sign up on this link!

lots of love, Kiki

CHAPTER 5 - Guiding lights and shadows

The week was a relentless sprint, each day bleeding into the next in a haze of exhaustion.With finals approaching, it feels like every teacher is piling on extra work, making the days even more grueling. The highlights are lunch with the boys and the lingering memory of that kiss, which I am trying not to overanalyze. My heart is skipping a beat each time Yoongi’s name is appearing on my phone with a new message about a show or something he’s done. The conversation is always light and definitely far off from the moment we shared the previous weekend. So when he texts today asking if I want to join him in the city center to shop for headphones, I can’t resist. The stores are staying open later than usual, which works perfectly—I just need my finance teacher to let us out on time.

As the clock is ticking toward the end of the period, I am finding myself glancing at it repeatedly, willing it to move faster. When the bell finally rings, I am quickly gathering my things and rushing out, excitement bubbling inside me.

Yoongi is saying he doesn’t want anything serious. He has put the brakes on whatever we have, and I don’t understand why I am still hung up on him, other than the fact that he is clearly my type. When I arrive at the city center station, I spot Yoongi leaning against a lamppost, his gaze focused on his phone. He looks up as I approach, a small smile on his lips.

"Hey," I greet, slightly breathless from my hurry.

"Hey," he replies, his eyes lighting up. "Ready to find some headphones?"

"Absolutely," I say, matching his smile.

We are wandering through the busy streets, popping into various electronics stores and comparing different models. Yoongi is in his element, enthusiastically testing out headphones and discussing their pros and cons. I am admiring his passion for even the smallest things.

Eventually, he finds a pair he likes, and we make our way out of the store. The sky has darkened, with city lights casting a warm glow on the streets. We walk side by side, our conversation flowing effortlessly from one topic to another.

"Want to grab a drink?" Yoongi suggests. “We can get a bottle of something and take a walk by the beach?”

"Sure," I agree, glad for the chance to spend more time with him, though slightly concerned about the growing chill. The days have been warmer, but the nights, with the cold sea breeze, are frigid.

We stop by a nearby convenience store before heading back to our neighborhood bus, hoping to reach the beach faster. I can’t help but steal glances at Yoongi. Even in silence, his presence is comforting.

The city noises are fading as we reach the beach, the gentle sound of waves crashing against the sand taking over. We walk to the end of the beach, where a lighthouse stands amidst a stretch of rocks. It isn’t a long distance, but it feels removed from the city’s bustle. We drink from one of the bottles of wine we have bought, and conversation picks up again. Yoongi talks about his week and how he is grateful that his grade is based mainly on projects rather than exams—a luxury I am wishing for.

“I’m definitely a hands-on learner. It’s not my forte to just sit and absorb a subject,” I say as we reach the rocky path at the end of the beach. “So even though I have just started, I can’t wait for it to be over.”

“There’s definitely a strange feeling when you start,” Yoongi agrees. “Being away from home, studying in a different language... you grow up fast.”

His words are resonating with me. “Yeah,” I say softly, gazing out at the dark, rippling sea. “It’s like you’re forced to figure out who you are, but it’s hard to keep up.”

We are quiet for a while, sipping from the bottle of wine and watching the waves. A shiver is running down my spine, snapping me out of my thoughts. The cold is more biting than I’ve realized. I am stuffing my hands into my jacket pockets, desperate for warmth.

“You know, being cold is just a state of mind,” Yoongi says, breaking the silence. I shoot him a skeptical glance while blowing hot air over my hands.

“Yeah, sure. Try living your whole life in a warm country and then talk about cold being a state of mind,” I huff, making him chuckle. He takes my hands in his, warming them with his touch.

The contact is light, but it sends a jolt through me. Yoongi subtly moves closer, focusing on the sea ahead to distract from the growing warmth between us. “It’s strange how much can change in such a short time,” he muses, taking another sip from the wine bottle before handing it to me.

I also drink from it, feeling the warmth spread through me, but it pales compared to the heat between us. “You know, I never thought I’d be here, sitting with you like this,” I admit, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Dice…” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. It is as if everything suddenly crashes into his mind, and he pulls away, leaving me missing his warmth immediately.

I swallow hard, feeling the effects of the wine as my words tumble out. “I’ve never had a relationship before. But I think what’s important is doing things because you want to, not because someone told you to.” I look back at the sparkling city. “I don’t want to date someone who buys me flowers because they feel obligated. I want to live in the moment and enjoy whatever life throws at me.” I shrug, avoiding his gaze. I notice he is nodding slightly and taking a bigger sip from the bottle.

I turn to him to take my turn and realize it is almost empty. Have we drunk that much? I take a sip, feeling his eyes still on me. A smile starts forming on my lips. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but Gabi is right. I just want to roll the dice and see where it lands.”

He chuckles, his gaze lingering on my lips. I find myself unable to look away from the softness of his gaze and the smile playing on his face. The world around us seems to fade, leaving just the two of us in this moment that feels both exhilarating and intensely intimate. My heart is pounding, almost drowning out the distant city sounds and crashing waves.

I try to maintain my composure, but Yoongi’s gaze makes it difficult. Thankfully, the darkness hides my blush. “You know,” I say, my voice wavering slightly, “sometimes it’s easier to talk about things when you’re... a little tipsy.”

Yoongi’s smile widens as he wraps his arm around my shoulder. His touch is warm and comforting against the cold night air. I lean my head on him. “Yeah, I get that,” he says softly. “Sometimes it’s easier to say what you really feel when you’re not overthinking everything.”

We are sharing a moment of silence, just enjoying the closeness, the intimacy of our shared warmth against the cold. I feel like I could stay here forever, lost in this strange, captivating bubble we are creating.

“Dice,” Yoongi says, his voice barely more than a murmur. He tilts his head slightly, his eyes searching mine. “If you really want to roll the dice... what would you want to happen?”

I meet his gaze, and the question is hanging in the air between us. My pulse is quickening as I struggle to find the right words. “I guess,” I start slowly, “I’d want to take chances. Live in the moment.” I frown. Who would say that I would be thinking like that.

“What is it?” he asks, confusion laced in his expression.

“If you tell Gabi that I said that, I will have to kill you.” I chuckle.

Yoongi’s eyes widen in surprise, but he can’t hide the amused smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, so it’s that kind of secret?” he teases, his tone light but his gaze still intense.

I laugh softly, shaking my head. “Yeah, definitely. I don’t need her making fun of me for being all... introspective and sentimental. Especially when it makes her right.”

Yoongi chuckles, and his laughter seems to dissolve the last remnants of tension between us. “I promise, your secret is safe with me. I wouldn’t dare spill it, especially not to Gabi.”

He leans back slightly, but his hand remains gently clasping mine. The touch is both grounding and electrifying. “So, you want to take chances and live in the moment,” he says more as a statement than a question, his voice softening.

I look down at our entwined fingers, feeling the warmth from his touch seeping into me. The silence is comforting, filled only with the gentle sounds of the waves and the distant hum of the city. Yoongi’s thumb is tracing small, soothing circles on the back of my hand, and I find myself leaning in slightly, drawn to the intimacy between us.

“Do you want to know something?” he asks suddenly, his eyes locking onto mine with a mix of vulnerability and determination.

I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. “Yeah, tell me.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, his expression serious but soft. “I don’t want to overthink things either. I’ve been trying to figure out what I want, but... being here with you, right now, it feels right. And I think maybe that’s enough for now.”

The sincerity in his voice makes my breath catch, and I can see the same longing mirrored in his eyes. The distance between us feels like it is shrinking with every passing second. I take a small, deliberate breath, feeling the weight of his words and the promise they hold.

Yoongi’s gaze remains fixed on mine, and I see his eyes soften with a mix of relief and affection. He leans in, his face close enough that I can feel his warm breath against my skin. The world seems to slow down, the only sounds the gentle rush of the waves and our quickened breaths.

Yoongi’s face is inches from mine, his warm breath mingling with the cool night air. Our eyes lock, and in that shared gaze, I can see a mix of hope and vulnerability. His lips are soft and inviting, and as he leans in, I feel a flutter of anticipation.

When our lips finally meet, the kiss is gentle and exploratory. There is no rush or intensity—just a tender connection that speaks volumes in its simplicity. I can taste the faint, tangy flavor of the cheap wine on his lips.

Yoongi’s lips are warm against mine, moving with a soft, deliberate rhythm. He doesn’t press too hard or deepen the kiss, instead keeping it light and delicate. His kiss is like a whisper, full of unspoken promises and gentle affection. I can feel the slight, hesitant brush of his lips, a caress rather than a demand.

The sensation is comforting, almost comforting in its tenderness. His hand, still holding mine, is providing a reassuring warmth that makes the kiss feel even more intimate. The touch of his fingers against my skin is gentle, almost as if he is afraid of breaking the spell of the moment.

When we finally pull away, our foreheads are resting together, and I can see the soft smile playing on Yoongi’s lips.

Yoongi’s arms are wrapping around me, drawing me into a close, comforting embrace. We stay like that for a while, our bodies pressed together, with the city lights twinkling in the distance and the cool sea breeze gently brushing against our faces. The night feels suspended in time, a quiet and intimate pause amidst the chaos of our lives.

His warmth is seeping through my jacket, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest is a soothing rhythm against mine. We sit in silence, simply existing together in the stillness, the soft rustling of the sea and the distant hum of the city our only companions.

The kiss lingers between us, a tender moment. It is soft, fleeting—a brief spark that doesn’t demand anything more than what it is.

Yoongi’s gaze remains on the city, his expression contemplative but relaxed. His hand is resting lightly on my back, a casual touch that speaks of comfort rather than commitment. I lean my head against his shoulder, feeling a sense of calm wash over me as we share this peaceful moment.

“Cold isn’t so bad when you’re not alone,” he says softly, breaking the silence with a quiet, reflective tone.

I smile, nodding slightly. “Yeah, it’s not so bad.”

We remain there, side by side, wrapped in each other’s warmth and the tranquility of the night. The city lights continue to shimmer in the distance, a backdrop to our shared silence. It is a moment of connection, open-ended and unspoken, leaving the future uncertain but the present moment perfectly still.

The library is unusually quiet for a Saturday morning. The usual hum of activity is replaced by the soft rustling of pages and the faint tapping of keyboards. Eli, Gabi, and I have claimed our favorite study spot near the windows, the table covered in books, notes, and highlighters. Despite the serene setting, there is a palpable tension in the air, especially around Eli.

Ever since the club night last week, something has shifted. Eli is seeming distracted, her usual bubbly demeanor replaced with a more subdued, thoughtful one. I keep my head down, focusing on my notes, trying to ignore the undercurrent of awkwardness.

 “So, Eli,” Gabi says, breaking the silence. “Any updates on the marketing project?”

Eli snaps out of her thoughts, blinking rapidly. “Oh, um, yeah. I think we’re almost done. Just need to finalize a few things.”

Gabi nods, looking satisfied. “Good to know.” She drops her head on her books. “I’m seriously stressing about this test.”

Eli forces a smile. “Yeah, me too.”

The exchange is polite but strained. I can feel Gabi’s curious eyes darting between us, sensing the awkwardness but not pushing for answers, even though we probably knew the answer to it. Yoongi. I also definitely needed to keep quiet as I have also been keeping things from my friends.

Just as the silence threatens to swallow us again, Jungkook and Taehyung arrive, their presence like a breath of fresh air. Jungkook’s warm smile and Taehyung’s energetic demeanor instantly lighten the mood.

“Hey, everyone,” Jungkook greets, pulling up a chair beside me and resting his arm on the back of it. “Hope we’re not interrupting.” He offers the brightest smile that doesn’t fail to bring up the mood.

“Not at all,” Gabi replies, her eyes lighting up. “We could use the company.”

Taehyung plops down next to Eli, grinning. “So, what are we studying today?”

“Marketing,” Eli answers, her smile returning a little. “Big test and deadline coming up.”

“Fun,” Taehyung says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Good thing I’m here for moral support.”

As we settle into our study session, the atmosphere gradually becomes more relaxed. Jungkook and Taehyung’s playful banter helps ease some of the tension, and even Eli seems to loosen up a bit. However, my phone buzzes incessantly, a series of messages from Jimin lighting up the screen.

Jimin: "Hey, what are you up to?"

Jimin: "Studying again? On a Saturday?"

Jimin: "C'mon, let's do something fun!"

I sigh and quickly type a response.

Me: "I really need to study, Jimin. Maybe later?"

But Jimin, being Jimin, was relentless.

Jimin: "Pleeeeease? I'm bored out of my mind."

I try to ignore the messages and focus on my notes, but my phone buzzes again.

Jimin: "Fine, if you're going to ignore me, I'm just going to complain in the group chat"

A few seconds later, the group chat litghts up with Jimin's messages.

Jimin: "Why are all my friends so boring? It's Saturday! Someone come save me from this boredom!"

Gabi snorts, reading the messages over her own phone. "Sounds like Jimin's having a meltdown."

I roll my eyes, a small smile playing on my lips. "He's just being dramatic."

"Isn't he always?" Jungkook says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

As we continue studying, the group chat buzzes with more messages, most of them teasing Jimin for his dramatics. Even Jungkook and Taehyung join in.

Taehyung: "Jimin, maybe you should try studying. It's very stimulating."

Jungkook: "Or you could come help us. Plenty of fun to go around here."

Yoongi: “Don’t you have a test to study for?”

Jimin: "Ugh, you guys are the worst."

I chuckle at the exchange. It was comforting to have these people around. I am deep down glad of the friend group we formed. I don’t know how I would’ve survived so far without them. 

Eli catches my eye and gives me a small, appreciative smile, as if to say thanks for not pressing her about her unease. I return the smile, but feeling the heaviest feeling in my gut from also holding stuff from her.

After Jungkook and Taehyung joined us, I notice Eli glancing at her phone more frequently, her fingers twitching as if she was expecting a message. Each time it buzzed, she looked both hopeful and anxious, her eyes darting quickly to the screen and then away.

"Everything okay, Eli?" Taehyung asks gently, clearly clueless about all the slightly akward day we had so far. 

She nods quickly, too quickly. "Yeah, just... family stuff."

He nods back, not entirely convinced but clearly willing to let it go for now. 

Throughout the afternoon, I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. Yoongi's absence is unusual. He was usually a steady presence, especially during our study sessions. Even though quiet and burried in his computer. During the week he acted like nothing had happened after he dropped us off at the apartment. But I guess last night might have drawn him away.

As we take a break, Taehyung stretched and glanced at me. "By the way, have you heard from Yoongi today?"

I shake my head. "No, I haven't. It's weird that he's not here."

Taehyung leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and shruggs. "Maybe he needed some time alone. You know how he can be."

Eli's face tightens at the mention of Yoongi, and she quickly looks down at her notes, pretending to be absorbed in her work. The look on Gabi’s face came and went like lightning. She also saw how she reacted. And the quick glance we shared afterwords was enough to tell me we were going to be talking about this later. 

"Yeah, maybe," I say, giving Taehyung a small smile. "He does like his alone time."

As the afternoon wore on, the group started to leave one by one. Leaving me alone with Jungkook at the library. He claims that he knows the subject by heart and that he already finished his part for the group project of the class. He was lucky. Unfortunetly the girl who decided to team up with me convinced me she was hardworking and that we would be done with it in no time. All lies as she would never show up to any of the meetings I tried to set up with her about this damn project.  “I can help you if you want.” Jungkook says looking up from his phone. “I hear the wheels turning inside your head from here” I quickly throw him an annoyed look. “I just feel so overwhelmed. How am I supposed to present this with someone who didn’t even write a single word” 

“Well she did write like 3 paragraphs?” He tries to comfort, but it doesn’t work.

“Yeah, that I had to re-write because it didn’t make any sense.” I can feel my shoulders drop as the realization that it will be my first failed report in school. Great.  Jungkook reaches over and gently pats my shoulder. "Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. You're smart, and you'll figure it out. Maybe we can brainstorm some ideas together?"

I sighed, appreciating his constant attempts to lift my spirits. "Thanks, JK. I might take you up on that."

The library is starting to empty out, the quiet atmosphere becoming almost too peaceful. I glance at the clock, noting that we still had a few hours before closing time. I decided to take a short break and walk over to the vending machine to get a snack. Jungkook follows, his presence comforting in the silence.

As I feed coins into the machine, Jungkook leans against the wall, his eyes fixed on me. "So, what's really bothering you? I mean, besides the project and Eli."

I hesitate, not sure if I was ready to unload everything that had been on my mind. But Jungkook's earnest expression convinced me to open up, at least a little.

"It's just... everything feels off lately," I admitt. "Eli's been acting weird, because… well, you probably know why.” I have to bite my own tongue for not spilling out that Yoongi and I made out. Not once, but twice now. ”And this project is stressing me out. I feel like I'm drowning in everything."

Jungkook nods thoughtfully. "Yeah, I noticed Eli's been on edge... But you don't have to carry all this by yourself, you know? We're all here to help."

I give him a grateful smile, feeling a bit lighter. "Thanks. It helps to hear that."

We returnto our table, and I resume my work with Jungkook's support. His presence made it easier to focus, and I manage to make some progress on the project. We bounce ideas off each other, and I start to feel more confident about the upcoming presentation.

Just as I was starting to feel a bit better, my phone buzzes again. It was Jimin, of course.

Jimin: "Im still broed. Seriousljy, can't you come hangt out with mwe?"

I chuckled, shaking my head. He clearly had already his share of drinks tonight by the looks of it. "Jimin really doesn't know when to stop, does he?" I show the phone to Jk who is peeking above my shoulder.

Jungkook laughs. "Nope, but that's part of his charm. Maybe we can do something fun later, after you've finished studying."

"Maybe," I say, glancing at the time again. "I just need to wrap this up first."

As we continue working, I can’t help but think about Yoongi. His absence was gnawing at me, and I wondered what could have driven him away. Eli's reaction to his name had been telling, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions. I decide to check my phone once more and noticed that Yoongi had been active in the group chat earlier, but hadn't sent any messages since. 

The evening progresses, and the library starts to fill with the low hum of closing announcements and the gradual packing up of students. By the time we wrap up, I feel much better about the project, thanks in no small part to Jungkook’s help.

“Ready to head out?" he asks, slinging his bag over his shoulder. 

"Yeah," I said, feeling a mix of relief and lingering stress. "Thanks for staying with me."

"Anytime," he replied with a warm smile. "And remember, you're not alone. We can figure all this out together."

We exit the library doors, blinking in the sudden twilight. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of the faint tang of the approaching sea. Jungkook stretched beside me, his phone clutched in his hand.

"Well, that was productive," he says, more to himself than to me. "Hopefully, your teammate will magically appear before the presentation."

I offer a weak smile. "Yeah, hopefully."

Suddenly, my phone rings in my pocket. My heart leapes – maybe it was Yoongi, finally reaching out. I pull it out, a smile faltering as I see the name on the screen: Gabi. I glance at Jungkook, who was still stretching and checking his phone. I pick up the phone with a soft smile on my lips. Jimin must have gotten into her head about going out and now its her turn to bother me. 

“Hey thank God you picked up,” her voice is shaky at the other end of the line “I need your help. Jimin’s hurt. Can you come over right now? I’m worried.” “What do you mean?” I ask her,  frowning.  Jungkook notices my sudden change in demeanor. “Everything okay?”

My eyes lock with Jungkooks as he is quick to drop the attention from this own phone. 

My breath catches. Something happened to Jimin? He had texted me not long ago about going to hang out with him. I feel a rush of panic and concern. “We came to this new bar and Jimin got into a fight. Hes not looking too good. I’ll send you our location.” She rushes and before I get the chance to reply she hangs up.

“I—Gabi says Jimin’s hurt,” I say, my voice tight with anxiety. “We have to go.”

Jungkook’s expression shifts to concern. “Do you know where they are?”

I agree quickly, looking at the directions to the bar. “Yes, she just sent me their location.”

We hurry through the darkening streets, each step heavy with worry. I try calling Gabi, but her phone went straight to voicemail. As we approache the place, the music throbbed through the night and silhouettes move on the sidewalk. My eyes scan the area, landing on two figures – one slumped against the wall, the other pacing impatiently. Relief washes over me momentarily, but then I see Jimin.

He is sprawled on the sidewalk, his hair disheveled and his clothes askew. A grimace contorted his face, clutching his stomach with a groan. Gabi hovered beside him, her face pale and streaked with tears.

"He… he got beat up," Gabi stammers, her voice cracking. "I don't know what happened!"

Jungkook kneels beside Jimin, his brow furrowed as he assesses the situation. Thankfully, there was barely any blood, but Jimin definitely looked worse for wear.

"What the hell happened?" Jungkook asks, his voice laced with concern.

"I don't know," Gabi sniffles. "We were just leaving the bar when these guys started shoving him around. They kept calling him names…" Her voice trailes off, tears welling up again.

Jimin winces as he tried to sit up. "Ugh, my head…" he mumbled, his voice slurred, as he sat back down.

I kneel beside Gabi, my own worry bubbling up. "Are you okay, Gabi?"

She shakes her head, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "I'm scared. What if they come back?"

Just then, a group of three young men emerge from the bar, their faces flushed and their voices loud. They spott us and start swaggering over, a menacing glint in their eyes.

"Hey! Looks like the little party's still going on," one of them sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Leave us alone," Gabi says, her voice trembling.

The leader of the group scoffs. "Not until we settle the score with your little boyfriend here."

Jungkook stands up, his jaw set in a hard line. He was a big guy, but you could barely notice underneath the jacket he wore. But he radiates a quiet intensity that made me feel a flicker of hope.

"We don't want any trouble," he says calmly, though his voice holds a steely edge. "Just let us go."

The leader barks out a laugh. "Trouble? You started the trouble when your friend got mouthy with us."

The situation was escalating quickly, and I know we were outnumbered. My mind races, searching for a way out.

The tension in the air is palpable, and the group's hostile approach sent a shiver down my spine. I glance at Jungkook, who was visibly bracing himself for a confrontation. My mind desperate to find a way to defuse the situation before it got any worse.

Jungkook steps in front of Jimin protectively, his posture solid and unyielding. “Look, we don’t want any trouble,” he states firmly, though the strain in his voice was evident. “We’re just here to help our friend.”

The leader of the group’s eyes narrow, his gaze shifting between Jungkook and Jimin. “Help, huh? Seems like you’re just trying to play the hero. You should have thought about that before your friend decided to act tough.”

The men behind him shuffle closer, their faces etched with aggressive intent. I could see the situation spiraling out of control, and my heart pounds with fear. I take a deep breath and tried to gather all the courage in me. 

Squaring my shoulders, I rise to my feet, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. "Listen, gentlemen," I say, my voice surprisingly steady considering the tremor in my legs. "This is all a big misunderstanding. We're just leaving."

The leader's gaze flicks to Jungkook, who remains a stoic figure beside me. A smirk played on his lips."Misunderstanding, huh? Looks like your little boyfriend here needs a lesson in respect."

My smile falters. Respect? These guys were looking for trouble, and I wasn't about to let them take it out on Jimin. "He didn't do anything wrong," I counter, my voice gaining a touch of defiance. Maybe if I played it tough, they'd back down.

One of the guys snorted. "Yeah, right. Maybe you should teach him some manners yourself, sweetheart."

Their amusement fuel a surge of anger within me. They clearly didn't see the pepper spray nestled discreetly in the side pocket of my backpack. This wasn't a situation that called for playing nice.

With a deep breath, I reach back, my fingers brushing the cool metal canister. They didn't need to see it, just know it was there. "Look," I say, my voice dropping to a low growl. "We're not here to fight. But if you keep pushing, things could get messy. And trust me, you don't want that mess."

The leader's smirk falter for a brief moment, replaced by a flicker of something that might have been apprehension. He glances at his buddies, a silent question hanging in the air.

But then, as quickly as it appeared, the sneer returns. "Empty threats, doll?" he scoffs. "Let's see you back that up."

He takes a menacing step forward, his hand reaching out as if to grab me. It was now or never.

My hand shoots into my backpack, emerging with a hiss. The pepper spray gleams in the dim streetlight, a silent warning.

The leader freezes, his eyes widening in shock. His hand retreats as if burned. The air crackles with a different kind of tension now, thick with fear.

"Maybe you should reconsider," I say, my voice leaving no room for argument. “We’re not here to fight, but if you push it…”

The leader’s smirk falters, replaced by a flicker of hesitation. He glances at his buddies, weighing the situation.

Finally, he gives a dismissive wave. “Whatever. We’re done here. Get your friend out of here and don’t come back.”

The group turns and walk away, their retreating figures dissolving into the night. As the adrenaline begin to fade, I let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of relief settle in. Jungkook takes away the can from my hand and quickly analyses if I am ok. He softly squeezes my hand in reassurance, before returning to Jimin’s side, helping him to his feet as Gabi wipes her tears away. 

“Lets get him home.” He quickly says while leading the way.  Previous ✧ Next

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[myreia]

As We Move Forwards

CHAPTER ONE: YOU ARE THE BEGINNING

Chapter Rating: Teen Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Thancred Waters Pairings: Aureia/Thancred Chapter Words: 3,437 Notes: Set post-Endwalker, spoilers for the base expac. Summary: With the Final Days averted and the world in recovery, Thancred and Aureia finally have some time to themselves. It’s nice—good even—to spend time alone, focusing on the things that matter most. But as they depart on a trip across Ilsabard, the question of what comes next lingers in his mind. Where do you go from here? How do you pick up the pieces of something broken and put it back together? Prompt: wolcred week - i. warmth | home Chapters: part one • part two Read on AO3

Night has well and truly fallen by the time Thancred heads back to the clearing.

The woods is quiet. Tall pines stretch to the heavens, black against a star-strewn sky. The air is light and cool, humming with the buzz of insects and the chirp of distant birds, and the underbrush shakes as nocturnal creatures chitter in the greenery. Commonplace sounds for a commonplace woods, nothing he is unused to after his time in the Dravanian Forelands.

He pauses, casting a quick eye down the path. Despite everything the past year and a half has thrown at him, he can’t rid himself of the sense of unease that comes with being on Imperial soil—former Imperial soil, that is. Too much time spent scouting, he supposes. The Garlean Empire may have crumbled to dust, but his instincts still scream that he is in enemy territory and should prepare for the worst.

South is the way he came. To the north, nothing but trees and thickets, and the meandering path. To the east, the faint outline of a cliff and the sound of rushing water as it flows over the edge. To the west, a yellow glow rises through a gap in the trees, outlining the crest of a distant hill. Terncliff will be alive and bright tonight, bustling with activity as the shops close and the taverns open. The city has changed much since the incident at Werlyt, a gradual turn from a somber, anxious place to one of cautious optimism as it defined itself on its own terms.

They could have stayed after their guided journey through the Ghimlyt Dark, but Aureia insisted on departing at once. She didn’t say it, but he has his suspicions—she will do anything to avoid running into Gaius van Baelsar. The former legatus-turned-mercenary can often be spotted on Terncliff’s walls, watching the sea whilst deep in self-reflection. Thancred is keen to avoid him, too. He has little to say to him, and anything he could say would be overshadowed by the oddity of their history. What happened in the Praetorium is near a decade past, but to Baelsar he bears the face of an Ascian.

That aside, Aureia is easily recognizable. Once she was capable of slipping unnoticed through a crowd, but the noose of her celebrity has slowly grown tighter and tighter. As the invisibility of roaming busy streets is no longer afforded to her, she prefers solitude and privacy over bustling city life. Even if it means forgoing an inn room to camp in the woods.

Suits him just fine.

He steps over a fallen log, the hem of his coat catching on the jagged wood. Cursing softly, he twists around to free it and a branch cracks beneath his boot. The sound echoes through the woods like a gunshot, sending the hidden critters scampering away.

Some fulms away, Filo clicks his beak with warning—a warning not for anything in the woods, but a warning for him.

Thancred sighs wearily and glances over his shoulder. The bird is little more than a yellow beak and glaring liquid eyes, his black feathers blending into the night. As if to reassert his point, he rustles his wings and stalks forward a pace, pawing at the ground. 

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, for the love of the Twelve, who do you take me for—?”

Filo chirps and scrapes at the fallen log, gashing a strip in the wood.

“Aye. I know. I am readily aware of that—”

Filo hisses and shakes back and forth, the movement threatening to shake off his saddlebags.

Thancred gives him a flat stare. “Keep on with that, be my guest, but you risk losing all our water,” he says. Aureia emptied their flasks when she declared she was making soup tonight, then sent them on their way. Considering she is perfectly capable of creating more water with ice-aspected aether, he suspects she had ulterior motives for throwing the pair of them together. “And then what will happen, hm? It will be you and me, out in the woods once more, back to that spring. Not a pleasant situation for either of us now, don’t you think?”

Filo falls still, as if contemplating his words. Then, without warning, he surges forward and butts his beak against his arm.

“Ouch! Hey—”

The bird hisses, fluttering his wings.

“Has it not occurred to you that the only reason we are walking to and from our destination is because a certain someone would be appalled to have me as a rider?” Thancred snaps, gesturing sharply. Thinking better of it, he withdraws quickly and folds his arms, stuffing his hands protectively in his armpits. Best not risk his fingers getting too close.

Not that Filo would bite him, Aureia would be very displeased if he did and there is nothing this overprotective, overgrown chicken hates more than seeing her upset. It is the only reason he deigns to tolerate him. But he never knows with Filo; it’s been near eight years on from the incident that put him on the bird’s blacklist and at this point he’s certain he is never getting off it.

“If you are dissatisfied, it is more your fault than it is mine.”

If looks could kill, he would be a dead man.

“All right. Point taken. My apologies. Off you go.”

He steps to the side, gesturing for the chocobo to take the lead. Filo chirps and bats him in the face with a restless wing as he trots past. Sighing heavily, he runs a hand over his chin as he watches the bird disappear down the path. He gives him a moment, reaching behind him to check that his gunblade is secured while he waits, then trudges after the bird.

The trek through the woods is uneventful—as he suspected it would be—and it isn’t long before he spots the flickering light of a fire that marks where they made camp. Thancred emerges out of the woods, a small smile on his face as he spots Aureia.

The Warrior of Light sits on the ground with her back against a log by the campfire, dark hair unbound from its customary tail and flowing loosely over her shoulder. She balances a leather-bound folio on her knees, brows narrowed with concentration. She pauses now and again to stir the pot without taking her eyes off the page, tsking and tutting in disagreement with whatever she is reading. A brilliant white carbuncle snuggles beside her on the log, its eyes closed, its ears flopped over, its tail whisking back and forth.

It is rare to see her so peaceful.

Not that she is unprepared. Her gunblade lies within arm’s reach, propped up against the log. She gravitated towards it immediately when they decided to travel light, arguing that her staff is too much of a hindrance. She is never without her magic, not truly. He has no doubt she could rain hellfire down on her enemies, staff or no staff. And he knows with certainty that she stuffed her nouliths in her pack, and has a couple spare daggers strapped to her leg and stuffed in her boot. Aureia can never be accused of underpreparing. Overpreparing, on the other hand…

Thancred ducks out from the thicket and stalks through the thick grass. Their tent is already pitched on the far edge of the clearing, their belongings stowed for the night. Filo lies curled beneath a tree, relieved of his saddle and his saddlebags unpacked. He seems to be sound asleep, a wing covering his head.

“You’ve been busy, I see,” he says, coming to a stop by the log. He unstraps his gunblade and sets it next to hers.

A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. She doesn’t look up. “And you took your time, I see.” She wets a finger and turns a page, making a face as she reads. “I thought there was a stream nearby?”

“Oh, there is. Take it up with your chocobo as to why we didn’t go there.”

She snorts. “You shouldn’t let Filo get under your skin.”

“I’m not letting him under my skin. Though I suspect he dreams about doing so in the literal sense more often than not.”

“You’re going to have to learn to get along.”

“I am not the issue here.”

She lowers her folio and fixes him with a look, an eyebrow arched.

“I am not. I am more than content to tolerate him, he is the one who has it out for me—”

Filo’s head pops up and he lets out a loud chirp, his dark beady eyes eyeing Thancred with blatant dislike. So much for being asleep…

Aureia throws her head back and laughs. Throwing her folio aside, she rises to her feet, brushes grass off her trousers and pulls him in for a kiss. Any further arguments evaporate, forgotten in an instant. Her lips are soft, her fingers warm where they press gently into the back of his neck. The scent of simmering broth and cooking seafood cling to her, the side effect of her hard work. It’s funny how much she has gravitated to Doman cooking after years of claiming no interest in the skill. Raulf and Anzu’s influence played a role, but they aren’t the only reason.

He will never tell her this, but he suspects it has something to do with casting off her Garlean roots. The memory of years spent living on tasteless military rations replaced with flavour and spice.

The smell of something burnt strikes his nostrils.

Aureia pulls back. “Oh, hells,” she curses, dropping to her knees by the fire. She grasps the spoon and stirs quickly, making a face as she scrapes something on the bottom of the pot. “I think I burned the bottom…”

He chuckles and takes a seat on the log, stretching out his legs. It’s good to finally sit. “A little burnt soup will not hurt either of us—”

“Yes, but—”

“Aur.”

“Yes?”

“You do recall I once lived in the woods, aye? I assure you this is a veritable feast compared to what I fed myself then.”

She meets his eyes and makes a face. Brushing hair out of her eyes, she stubbornly lifts the pot off the fire and places it on a rock to cool. His gaze wanders as she fills their bowls, his attention drawn to the folio tossed and the carbuncle nestled above it on the log. Such a small, frail colourless little thing, and yet blinding white if you look at it from the wrong angle. A runt, a librarian at the Noumenon remarked. Summoning has never been her forte, though Alphinaud—in his well-intentioned, bright-eyed excitement—pushed her to experiment. She has yet to use it properly in combat, yet she is fiercely protective of it all the same.

He frowns, his gaze passing from the carbuncle to the folio and back again. “Aureia,” he says as she thrusts a bowl into his hands. “Did you summon Nox just for a reading light?”

She wets her lips and flops onto the grass, taking care not to spill her own bowl. “…no.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Fine reading material?”

She grimaces and stirs her spoon round and round her bowl. “Y’shtola’s letters, notes from the Noumenon… I am grateful G’raha compiled them for me before she set out, but gods I feel like I am either twelve steps behind or twelve steps ahead and on a completely different path. I do not understand where her head is at.”  

“In what way?”

“You tell me. Are all Archons this dense and convoluted, or is that just one of our dear friend’s charming merits?”

“‘All Archons…’ you speak as though you haven’t spent the past decade in the company of several.”

“Pfft.” She blows out a puff of air, ruffling her long, sideswept fringe. “I’ve never prided myself on being observant. Here I was counting on your insight, considering you’re an Archon yourself.”

She lets her spoon fall from her grip, shoots him a teasing look from beneath her lashes, and raises her bowl to her lips, the rim obscuring her smirk. 

He sighs and scratches the back of his neck, uncertain whether he has it in him to keep up with her at this time of night. Chances are no matter what he tries, she will find a way to make an utter fool out of him. Not that he minds—not when it’s just the pair of them. Besides, if he were to inquire about her current work he would soon find himself outmatched. He is acquainted enough with basic aetherology, but Aureia and Y’shtola’s current subject is far beyond him.

Admittedly, he feels like a simpleton trying to follow their lines of thought. If Aureia is confused by Y’shtola’s theorems or findings, then Twelve know where that would leave him. Still, her frustration is palpable. Y’shtola is a demanding partner, and does not always consider that others may not follow the same leaps of logic she does.

Aureia lowers her bowl, her brows drawn together as her earlier humour evaporates. “I don’t know if I should have gotten into this,” she admits. “I don’t know if I can follow.”

“You can and you will,” he replies firmly.

“Thank you for the encouragement, but I am being serious.”

“As am I. Have you considered that perhaps tackling a subject as expansive as travelling freely between Shards isn’t best done on an empty stomach after a day’s worth of travel?”

She fixes him with a look. “I do so hate when you’re right.”

Thancred chuckles and spins his spoon around his bowl, unearthing what he suspects is crab meat. He isn’t certain what she has put in here—there is far more than he expected—and for a moment the pragmatist in him compels him to worry that she has gone overboard and used too many of their best rations on the first night.  

His survivalist instincts may disagree, but he knows this is a good sign, coming from her. There was a time in her life when she had no choice but to skimp on rations, when she ate only what was required to keep her body moving and nothing more. Food was never something to be enjoyed, but fuel not to be squandered. Such was the environment she was raised in as a disposable member of the Garlean military.

Not so different from Sharlayan, he remarks to himself. He has suffering through too many servings of archon loaf not to see the similarities. How Fourchenault would hate that comparison.

Back to the point at hand. Realistically—should they happen to run out—resupplying is no trouble with her as a travel companion. He has no right to worry when she can very easily teleport to a city of her choosing, buy what they need, teleport back to the closest aetheryte, then fly the rest of the distance on Filo. Alternatively, they could hunt and gather together; they’re both accustomed to time in the wilderness, and though she swears she is horrible at it, she has an eye for botany and has become a passable fisher.

Warmth floods his chest. A byproduct of drinking the soup, of course. It’s a stray thought, but imagining traversing the wilderness with her, finding what they need from the land, is far more appealing than—

“Thancred.”

He blinks.

Aureia stares at him, an amused expression on her face, and nudges his foot with hers.  

He flushes. “Ah, my apologies,” he says, clearing his throat. “I, uh—”

She maintains eye contact and slowly drinks her soup.

He coughs. “Well. What I intended to say—”

“Intended?”

“If these notes are so troubling to you, why not contact Y’shtola by linkpearl? I am certain she would be happy to explain her thought process in detail—”

“No.”

“No?”

Aureia makes a face—the kind she makes when she knows her gut instinct may be overreactive—and sets her empty bowl in her lap. “It’s stupid,” she mutters, head bowed. “But if I ask her for clarification, I’ll feel like I’ve failed. I should be able to understand this on my own.”

Ah.

Funny how one’s worse insecurities have a habit of coming back around unasked when you least expect them. He has seen her kill fiends and monsters, duel Garlean legati, slay Primals, even dispatch the embodiment of Despair itself, and yet for all that earth-shattering confidence she still crumples at the thought of being uneducated—at least compared to Y’shtola. Magic is her domain and she has an innate understanding of the Void befitting of any black mage. She was so proud of her skill and talent, an easy show-off in the Thaumaturges’ Guild, only to have that all come crashing down the moment she met someone who knew more than she did, and had the confidence and poise to go along with it.   

It has taken her years to see her and Y’shtola’s skills as compliments, rather than competitors, to each other.

Knowing there is little he can say to assuage her, rises to his feet then stoops and takes her bowl from her lap. He refills it silently and proffers it, giving her an insistent look. She smiles gratefully, a faint flush on her cheeks, her fingers brushing his as she takes the bowl from him.

“I’ll think about it,” she says as he treads back to his spot. “Not tonight. I need time to sit with this and think it through when my mind is clear.”

He smiles. “I know you. You of all people will figure it out.”

“There’s another reason, of course.” She meets his eyes. “I’d rather not use the linkpearl for some time. Perhaps a week. Or two.”

“Oh?”

“Barring emergencies, of course. But I think it would be good… nice, even… to have some time to ourselves without opening the possibility of being barraged by our friends from a distance, well-meaning though they are.”

A pause. She wets her lower lip, hesitant with the conclusion she has arrived at—as if by asking him to forgo linkpearl use, she is taking him away from his responsibilities. His duties, whatever those happen to be now that the Scions of the Seventh Dawn have disbanded. Perhaps she worries she asks too much of him. Perhaps she has forgotten what drew them out here in the first place, a topic he himself is hesitant to broach.

“…is that all right?”

He returns her gaze. Firm, solid, sound in his certainty. “Aye. It is.”

Aureia nods, a wistful expression on her face, and looks to the fire. The light of the flames dance across her face, illuminating her in a soft orange glow. The faint laugh lines, the mole on her upper cheek… features thrown into prominence as much as the intensity of her ruby eyes or the sharpness of her jaw. A few strands of silver mark her dark hair, woven between the flashes of deep red. True silver this time, not like the time on the First when light-poisoning poached the colour from her hair. She is not as young as she once was. Neither is he, for that matter. They have left youth behind, faded and scraped away by time and circumstance and survival and death and grief and love.

By life.

He has always thought her beautiful. His insides cringe at the memory, but it was the first thing he took note of when they met in Ul’dah all those years ago. This pretty, fierce black mage with a keen eye, a sarcastic wit, and a combat intuition of the likes he had never seen. He recalls thinking how distinct and becoming her features were, and a number of wandering thoughts indicative of the kind of man he was back then. Had she been receptive to his advances then they would be in a very different place.   

He doubts their friendship would have had a chance to grow naturally, for one. She would have been a conquest in a long line of conquests, a list Urianger is more than happy to remind him of when he feels compelled to embarrass him. And he would never have fallen in love with her, for another. Without that friendship, without the years he spent kicking himself for not recognizing what he felt sooner, without the time they spent apart on their separate paths…

They had so much growing to do. Painfully. Slowly. Independent of each other.

Was it worth it? He thinks so.

[demonicangelics-world]

Redamancy - Zestial X Angel!OC

Chapter One: The Parade

Synopsis: In the shadowy realms of Hell and the celestial heights of Heaven, two souls grapple with the ache of unrequited love. Zestial, the formidable demon overlord, commands respect and fear. His past has forged a reputation that isolates him. Resigned to a life of power and isolation, he yearned for companionship and understanding, knowing that his intimidating demeanor made such connections seemingly impossible. Gabriela, once a radiant angel, admired the archangel Michael from afar, her heart swelling with unspoken affection for his divine strength and kindness. Casted into Hell on a mission, she now struggles to survive in a world where danger lurks at every corner, her angelic essence buried beneath a demonic exterior. Amidst the chaos of Hell and the secrets of Heaven, a profound and forbidden love ignites between them, challenging the very core of their beliefs and values.

Chapter One: The Parade Next Chapter: The Extermination

word count: 4,328 

*********************************************************

The sky above Heaven shimmered with radiant hues, as if the very essence of joy and triumph painted the heavens. 

On this glorious night, known as the Parade, we guardian angels from across the Earth returned to our heavenly home. Streets of pearl and gold thronged with winners and heavenborn, their songs of praise echoing through the air. The Parade was a grand spectacle, a testament to our hard work and dedication in successfully guiding countless souls to the gates of Heaven. 

I scanned the sea of radiant faces for familiar ones. It had been over a year since I last saw Aramel and Charlotte, and the anticipation of reuniting with them added an extra flutter to my wings. The golden light and the throng of celebrating angels made it difficult to spot anyone, but I was determined to find them before the gates opened.

As I maneuvered through the dense crowd, a burst of laughter caught my attention. I turned towards the sound and there they were—Aramel, his light eyes sparkling with mischief, and Charlotte, her broad smile as radiant as the heavens themselves.

"Aramel! Charlotte!" I called out, waving energetically.

They spotted me almost immediately. Aramel elbowed his way through the crowd with his usual enthusiasm, while Charlotte followed, her laughter ringing like a bell.

"Gabriela!" Aramel shouted, reaching me first. "You look like you've just stepped out of a painting. Must be that heavenly glow."

"Aramel, you're still as charming as ever," I laughed, hugging him tightly.

Charlotte joined us, her eyes twinkling. "It’s been too long! How have you been, Gabriela? Still managing to stay out of trouble?"

"Trouble? Me? Never!" I grinned, embracing her. "But you two look fantastic. How was your year on Earth?"

"Busy," Charlotte said, rolling her eyes playfully. "I swear, humans find the most creative ways to mess up their lives."

"And here we are, cleaning up the mess," Aramel added with a mock sigh. "But hey, all worth it for this moment, right?"

"Absolutely," I agreed, feeling a surge of warmth and happiness. "I've missed you both so much.”

As the gates of Heaven began to slowly open, we stood together, ready to step into the next chapter of our divine journey, our hearts full of joy and camaraderie.

This parade occurred each year on December 31st, which mortals considered as New Year’s Eve. Over the gates, the Eternal Clock stood as a towering masterpiece at the center of the celestial city. Its hands, slender and elegant, moved with a grace that belied their immense size, each tick resonating with a melodious chime that echoed through the celestial realm. When the chime finally struck midnight, it signaled a new year and all of heaven broke into joyous celebration.

The gates of Heaven opened wide as we floated high on golden platforms through the crowded streets. Among the procession, I floated with Aramel and Charlotte, dressed in white robes and my wings gleaming with a soft, divine light. I basked in the adoration of the heavenly crowd. Trumpets blared, and a shower of golden petals rained down upon us, each petal symbolizing the purity and virtue we had upheld.

"This is what we strive for, the ultimate recognition of our efforts!” Aramel shouted over the cheering crowds, "To be celebrated here, in the heart of Heaven!"

Charlotte laughed, her voice carrying a musical quality even over the noise. "Aramel, you always know how to make everything sound like a grand adventure."

My heart swelled with pride as I waved to the crowd, my eyes catching sight of a grand banner bearing the words, "Welcome, Guardians of Light." The celebration seemed endless.

"It is a grand adventure!" Aramel declared, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Just think of all the souls we’ve saved, all the chaos we've averted. And now, we're back here, the heroes of the hour!"

"Heroes, huh?" I said, grinning. "And here I thought we were just doing our job."

"Hey, if doing our job means we get to ride on golden platforms and have petals thrown at us, I'll take it," Charlotte quipped, adjusting her halo with a playful wink.

Aramel nudged me with his elbow. "Remember that one soul in New York? The guy who almost jumped off the bridge? I swear, he had more issues than a newspaper stand."

"Oh, definitely," I nodded, recalling the tense moment vividly. "But you handled it well, Aramel. Your knack for talking people down is unmatched."

"Thanks, Gabby. And Charlotte, remember that time in Paris with the artist who lost his muse? You practically inspired a whole new art movement!" Aramel added, his tone admiring.

Charlotte shrugged modestly, but her smile was proud. "Well, someone had to remind him that beauty exists everywhere. And speaking of beauty, look at this place! Heaven really knows how to throw a parade."

We floated higher, the adoring crowd cheered louder as we passed. I took a moment to soak in the scene, the grandeur of the celebration a stark contrast to the moments of doubt and hardship we faced on Earth.

As we floated on, the golden petals continued to rain down, and for a brief, perfect moment, everything felt exactly as it should.

The platforms ascended gracefully, lifting us higher into the radiant skies toward the grand banquet hall. As we floated upward, the sounds of cheering and music gradually blended into a harmonious symphony. The hall itself was a marvel, constructed of shimmering crystal and gold, with vast windows that opened to the celestial vistas beyond. At the center of the platform stood Sera and Emily, their divine presence even more striking amidst the splendor.

Aramel, Charlotte, and I exchanged excited glances as we neared the banquet. “Look at this place,” Charlotte whispered, awe evident in her voice.

We touched down softly, the platforms seamlessly blending into the grand expanse of the banquet hall. The air was filled with the enticing aromas of heavenly cuisine, and tables laden with ambrosial delights stretched out before us. Guardian angels from all corners of Earth gathered, their faces glowing with pride and joy.

At the heart of it all, Sera and Emily stood in the center with welcoming smiles. Sera spoke, her gaze warm yet powerful. “Welcome home, guardians. Your dedication has not gone unnoticed.”

Emily, standing beside her, nodded in agreement. “You’ve all done incredible work. Tonight, we celebrate you!”

The crowd settled into their seats, the buzz of excited conversation filling the air. Aramel, Charlotte, and I found a table near the front, our eyes constantly drawn to the central stage where Sera and Emily presided.

Once everyone was seated, Sera raised her hand, and a hush fell over the hall. Her presence commanded instant attention, the room’s atmosphere shifting to one of reverent anticipation.

“Guardians,” Sera began, her voice resonant and clear, “Today, we honor your tireless efforts and unwavering dedication. Each of you has played a vital role in guiding souls to our heavenly home, and for that, we are eternally grateful.”

The crowd erupted into applause, the sound a joyous affirmation of her words. Sera waited for the noise to subside before continuing.

“In a world filled with challenges and trials, you have been beacons of hope and light. Your bravery, compassion, and perseverance have not only saved lives but also upheld the virtues we cherish. Tonight, we gather not just to celebrate your achievements, but to recognize the strength of your spirits and the purity of your hearts.”

Emily stepped forward, her smile radiant. “Let this banquet be a testament to the unity and love that bind us all. May you find joy in each other’s company, and may your hearts be filled with the peace that only Heaven can bestow.”

Sera raised her glass, the golden liquid within catching the light. “To the guardians of Heaven. May your wings always carry you forward, and may your souls forever shine.”

“To the guardians!” the crowd echoed, raising their glasses high.

Sera smiled, her eyes twinkling with a hint of something special. “And now, esteemed guardians, it is my great honor to introduce a special guest speaker. Someone who has guided many of you with wisdom and strength—Archangel Michael.”

The room buzzed with excitement as Michael stepped forward. Towering above the crowd, he was the epitome of divine strength and grace. His long blonde hair cascaded down his broad shoulders, catching the light and creating a halo effect around his head. His piercing blue eyes scanned the room with a commanding presence, and his chiseled features exuded an aura of both power and kindness. Clad in armor that gleamed like molten gold, he was every inch the warrior angel I had always admired, perhaps a little too deeply.

My heart pounded in my chest as I watched him, every inch of him radiating an unearthly beauty and strength. I had trained under him, learned from him, and somewhere along the way, developed feelings that I had never dared to express.

Michael raised his hand, and the hall fell into a respectful silence. “Guardians, tonight we celebrate your incredible achievements. You have faced unimaginable challenges on Earth, and yet, you have risen above them, guiding souls with unwavering faith and courage.”

He paused, his gaze settling briefly on me, and my breath hitched. “As your mentor, I have had the honor of witnessing your growth and dedication firsthand. Each of you has shown remarkable strength and compassion, embodying the very essence of what it means to be a guardian angel.”

The crowd listened intently, hanging on his every word. “Your hard work and perseverance have not only saved souls but have also strengthened the bond between Heaven and Earth. It is this bond that makes our mission possible, and it is your unyielding spirit that upholds it.”

Michael’s smile broadened, his eyes shining with pride. “As a token of my appreciation, I have crafted a special gift for each of my mentees. A weapon that symbolizes your courage and dedication. These weapons have been delivered to your residences, each one unique and tailored to your strengths. May they serve you well in your future endeavors.”

The room erupted into applause. I felt a mixture of awe and humility wash over me. Michael’s words were a powerful reminder of why we did what we did, and his gift was a tangible symbol of his faith in us.

He raised his glass, a final toast. “To the guardians, may your light continue to shine brightly in the darkest of places.”

“To the guardians!” We echoed once more, our voices filled with renewed determination and pride.

The celestial music began to play and the feast commenced. I couldn't help but steal glances at Michael, my heart swelling with a mix of admiration and longing. He was everything I aspired to be—strong, wise, and infinitely kind. And though my feelings for him might remain unspoken, I took comfort in knowing that I was among those he trusted and valued.

As I turned back to my friends, Aramel and Charlotte were already making faces at each other.

“Can you believe Uriel didn’t even show up?” Aramel grumbled, crossing his arms. “It’s like he doesn’t even care about us.”

Aramel and Charlotte were under Uriel’s mentorship.

Charlotte nodded, rolling her eyes. “Typical Uriel. Always off somewhere, doing who knows what. Probably lost in a cloud or something. We get all these epic tales, but when it’s party time, poof! He’s a no-show.”

“You two are just unlucky,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

Aramel leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Unlike you, Miss Fortunate. Not only did Michael show up, but he also made a special speech and gave you all weapons! You hit the mentor jackpot!”

Charlotte smirked, nudging me with her elbow. “And don’t think we didn’t notice how flustered you got when he looked at you. Your wings were practically glowing.”

I felt my cheeks flush and tried to wave them off. “Oh, come on. He’s just... inspiring, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Aramel said, raising an eyebrow. “Inspiring in a tall, handsome, heroic kind of way, right? I mean, those chiseled features could probably cut through clouds.”

I place both hands on my reddening cheeks. “Oh stop it, Aramel!” I mentally picture the description. 

I sighed, unable to keep a smile off my face. “Okay, fine. Maybe I admire him a bit more than just professionally. But it’s not like it matters. He probably doesn’t even see me that way.”

Charlotte’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, please. Did you see the way he looked at you? If looks could launch a thousand ships, you’d be Helen of Troy.”

“Don’t feed into my delusion,” I hopelessly said

Aramel shakes his head in disagreement. “Hey, even if he doesn’t, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re an amazing guardian angel. He trusts and values you, and that’s something to be proud of. Plus, we all know you could outshine any archangel with your skills.”

I looked between my friends, grateful for their support. “Thanks, guys. You always know how to make me feel better.”

“Anytime,” Charlotte said with a grin. “Now, let’s enjoy this feast. We’ve earned it. And who knows, maybe Michael will come over and ask you for a dance.”

Aramel wiggled his eyebrows. “Or maybe he’ll just swoop you off your feet and fly you to the moon. Literally.”

I laughed, feeling a bit lighter. “Well, if he does, I hope he knows how to waltz.”

As we dug into the delicacies before us, the laughter and conversation flowed easily, making the celebration feel even more special. Despite the undercurrent of unspoken feelings and occasional pangs of longing, I knew I was surrounded by friends who had my back, and for now, that was enough.

Suddenly, the room dimmed slightly, and all eyes turned toward Emily as she stepped forward, her hands raised gracefully. With a knowing smile, she began to weave intricate patterns in the air, each movement creating trails of shimmering light. The room filled with gasps of awe as the lights morphed into a dazzling display of magic and fireworks.

Celestial flowers bloomed in mid-air, their petals made of pure starlight. Comets streaked across the ceiling, leaving glittering tails in their wake. The colors were beyond earthly comprehension, a blend of hues that seemed to sing to the soul. As Emily continued her enchanting performance, the hall transformed into a dreamscape of light and wonder.

Aramel and Charlotte watched in awe beside me, their faces illuminated by the brilliant display. “She always outdoes herself,” Aramel whispered, his eyes wide.

“Yeah, she’s like the Picasso of light shows,” Charlotte added, her gaze fixed on the spectacle above.

Around us, the other angels reacted in various ways. Some danced beneath the celestial canopy, their movements fluid and joyful. Others chatted animatedly, their voices rising and falling with the rhythm of the light show. Many continued to eat and drink, toasting to the beauty and magnificence surrounding them.

I glanced toward the center of the room, where Michael stood, his presence commanding yet approachable. He was surrounded by a group of angels, all eager to speak with him and bask in his radiance. My heart tugged with a mix of admiration and longing. I wanted to approach him, to share a moment, but he was already enveloped in a sea of admirers.

Aramel nudged me gently. “Thinking about making your move?”

I sighed, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I was, but it looks like he’s a bit busy.”

Charlotte gave me a sympathetic look. “He always draws a crowd. But hey, if anyone can get his attention, it’s you. Just wait for the right moment.”

I nodded, appreciating their encouragement. For now, I decided to simply enjoy the celebration. The light show continued, casting a magical glow over everything and everyone. The air was filled with a sense of unity and joy, a perfect reflection of Heaven’s eternal glory. 

Perfect. That word keeps lingering in my mind. Surrounded by the laughter and music, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. It was as if I was a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit, a discordant note in the symphony of perfection.

Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed when Michael approached me, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. It took me a few seconds to register his presence.

“Gabriela,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “Can we speak privately in the gardens?”

I blinked, startled out of my reverie. “Oh, yes, of course.”

As we made our way to the garden outside the banquet hall, I could feel the curious stares of Aramel and Charlotte burning into my back. Their smirks and playful gestures were not lost on me, but I pushed aside their antics, focusing instead on the enigmatic archangel at my side.

Once we were alone in the tranquil garden, Michael turned to me, his expression grave yet gentle. “Gabriela, I couldn’t help but notice that something seems to be troubling you. Is everything alright?”

I hesitated, unsure of how to articulate the turmoil raging within me. “I... I suppose I’m just feeling a bit... overwhelmed. Everything here is so perfect, and yet...”

“And yet, you feel as if you don’t belong,” Michael finished, his eyes understanding. “I know the feeling all too well.”

I looked up at him, surprised by his admission. “You do?”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Even in Heaven, there are moments when we question our place in the grand design. But I believe that each of us has a purpose, a unique role to play in the divine tapestry. Perhaps you just haven’t discovered yours yet.”

His words resonated with me, offering a glimmer of solace amidst the uncertainty. “Thank you, Michael. That... that means a lot.”

He reached out, his hand warm and reassuring on my shoulder. “Anytime, Gabriela. You’re not alone in this journey.”

In a fleeting moment, the depth of Michael's gaze revealed a vulnerability that stirred something deep within me. It was as if he carried a secret, a hidden longing that yearned to be shared. For an instant, our eyes locked, and I felt a connection that transcended words—a silent exchange of unspoken truths and unexplored desires.

In that moment, it felt as though he wanted to confess something, to bridge the gap between us and lay bare the emotions that simmered beneath the surface. But like a fleeting dream, the vulnerability vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a mask of composure and professionalism.

“You’re one of the best guardian angels I’ve had the privilege to train,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm. “You take your work seriously, and it shows. I appreciate your dedication and your unwavering commitment.”

I nodded, grateful for his words of praise, but secretly disappointed. “Thank you, Michael.”

Michael turned his gaze to the duck pond in the garden, where the water shimmered under the soft light of the moon. Ducks glided gracefully across the pond's surface, creating gentle ripples that spread outward.

He smiled, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “You remind me of someone I once knew, someone who was dear to me. I lost them a long time ago, and since then, I’ve made it my mission to protect all those under my guidance, to ensure they never fall into the same fate.”

I felt a pang of sympathy for him, sensing the weight of his unspoken sorrow. 

It wasn't a big secret in Heaven that Michael's twin brother, Lucifer, was once very close to him. Their bond was legendary until Lucifer was cast out of Heaven for causing the Great Betrayal, a moment that changed the course of history forever. However, I was created many years after Lucifer's exile and had only heard stories of those tumultuous times.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said softly. “And I admire your strength and your determination to prevent others from suffering the same fate.”

Michael nodded, his expression somber yet resolute. “Thank you, Gabriela. It’s a duty I take very seriously. And with guardians like you by my side, I know that together, we can make a difference.” 

We turned our attention back to the duck pond and stood together in peaceful silence, watching the ducks. 

As Michael watched the pond, I turned to admire his white skin, a signature look of the archangels, gleaming in the moonlight. The red circles on his cheeks, his signature eternal blush, stood out vividly against his pale complexion, adding a touch of warmth to his otherwise ethereal appearance. We continued to stand in silence, observing the family of ducks as they floated effortlessly on the water's surface.

I contemplated whether now was the moment to confess my feelings to Michael, to end my inner turmoil. Even if my feelings weren't reciprocated by him, sharing them might bring me some relief. The tranquil setting, the gentle sounds of the ducks, and the soft glow of the moon created an atmosphere of intimacy that seemed perfect for such a revelation

Just as I was about to confess, we are interrupted by a small sheep cherub. She fluttered eagerly towards us, her innocent face contorted with urgency as she delivered her message to Michael. 

"Michael! Oh, pardon the interruption, but there's an emergency meeting, and you're needed immediately!"

Michael excused himself politely. “Thank you, Keenie. Looks like the party's cut short for me, Gabriela, but that's the life of an archangel”  His expression was apologetic as he offered me a fleeting smile.

As he soared off to address the emergency, Keenie's innocent facade crumbled the instant Michael's back was turned, her gaze turning icy as it lingered on me. There was a jealousy simmering beneath her surface, palpable enough to send a shiver down my spine. With a pointed glare, she flew off after Michael, leaving me alone in the bustling garden, the weight of her unspoken animosity lingering in the air.

I brushed off Keenie’s hostility, and I decided to explore the garden, to clear my mind. The pathways were lined with blooming flowers, their sweet fragrance mingling with the crisp night air. Twinkling fairy lights hung from the trees, casting a soft, magical glow on everything around me. I wandered deeper into the garden until I reached the edge, where the garden's boundaries met the vast expanse of Heaven's city.

Peering over the edge, I was greeted with a breathtaking sight. The entire city was alive with celebration. Fireworks burst in brilliant colors across the night sky, their dazzling displays reflected in the rivers of golden light that flowed through the streets below. Winners and heavenborn danced joyfully in the squares, their movements graceful and free, while music filled the air, a harmonious symphony that seemed to emanate from every corner of the city.

With a deep breath, I turned away from the edge and made my way back to the banquet. The music grew louder and the laughter more infectious as I approached. I quickly spotted Aramel and Charlotte engaged in animated conversation, their faces alight with mirth.

"Well, well, well, look who's back from her little rendezvous in the garden," Aramel teased, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

Charlotte joined in with a knowing smirk. "Oh, don't try to play innocent, Gabby. We saw the way Michael was looking at you."

I rolled my eyes, trying to suppress a blush. "Oh, please. It was nothing. Just a conversation."

Aramel leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Just a conversation, huh? With Michael? Alone? In the moonlit garden?"

Charlotte nodded in agreement. "Sounds awfully romantic to me."

I couldn't help but laugh at their playful teasing. "Trust me, it was anything but romantic. We were interrupted by a cherub."

Their eyebrows shot up in surprise. "A cherub?" Aramel exclaimed.

Charlotte chimed in, her tone incredulous. "What was the cherub doing interrupting your moment with Michael?"

I shrugged, still bemused by the unexpected turn of events. "Looked like Michael was needed elsewhere urgently. But whatever it was, the cherub definitely killed the mood."

Charlotte chimed in with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, if the party's over here, why don't we continue the celebration at my place? I've got some delicious red wine waiting to be uncorked."

Aramel grinned, his excitement evident. "Sounds like a plan to me. Nothing like a little impromptu gathering to keep the festivities going."

I nodded eagerly, the prospect of continuing the night's revelry with my friends too tempting to resist. "Count me in. Lead the way, Charlotte."

With laughter and excitement, we made our way out of the bustling banquet hall, eager to extend the night's festivities in the comfort of Charlotte's home.

*********************************************************

Hours later, the three of us found ourselves sprawled out on a fluffy cloud in Charlotte's celestial residence, empty wine bottles scattered haphazardly around us. The room was filled with the soft glow of moonlight, casting a serene aura over our intoxicated forms.

Charlotte hoisted her half-empty wine glass in a tipsy salute. Her robe was stained with wine. "To impromptu parties and nights that'll make the cherubs jealous!" 

Aramel chortled, clinking his glass against hers with a slosh. His face was red and happy. "A-men tuo tha-t! *hiccup* Let's shope our librers can forgib ush in the mornin'”

I joined in with a hiccup, the euphoria of the evening making me feel like I was floating on, well, a cloud. "And here's to never forgetting the night we got so drunk, we mistook stars for pillowcases!"

As we drifted off into a drunken slumber, the echoes of our laughter mingled with the gentle rustle of celestial winds, a testament to the enduring bond of friendship that had brought us together on this unforgettable Parade night.

*********************************************************

Thank you for reading the first chapter! The other chapters are also available on AO3 !

Next chapter: The Extermination

[the-fiction-witch]

The Dungeon Master P1

Media IRL X Fantasy 

Character Thomas Brodie Sangster 

Couple Thomas X Reader

Rating Flirty 

Concept Dungeons 

I sat stewing in my endless anger, As we traveled along the cobblestone bridge across the vast sea. I was chained around my neck, my wrists and my ankles all of them chained to the wooden seat I occupied with sixteen other souls sharing the small barred cart. I knew the fate I would meet once we arrived in the city (The City of mantalis, East of the Salt sea and north of the Woods of mercy, Population of 2000 not including traders and travelers accounting for a daily allowance of 500 visitors, Home to The Castle of Man and The bay of Stars). They had caught me for witchcraft or so they called it. I would be beheaded if I was lucky, burned if they were feeling dramatic and be drowned if they were feeling merciless. My fate rested wholly in whomever it was in charge to decide my death. The Sun now high into the sky as we arrived at the tall green gates open wide for all travelers and traders to come and go once the checks had been made of course. We stopped before the gates and the soldier hopped off handing paperwork to the man at the gates door. He signed some things and gave it a stamp before handing it back. So the soldier hopped back onto the cart giving the floxin (A large rodent with thick steal like teeth, a grey fluffy body and a tail that could poison you if it made contact with your skin) a kick and it scurried off down the cobbles of the city, down the bustling streets lined with tall houses, Taverns, shops and other such business’. We went through all the way to the tall towers of the castle of man the most northern seat of royalty that still exists here, five tall towers reached high into the sky with the main castle rooms branching off from these towers, a large nest in the centre of hay and straw where sat Inrecatanus (Dragon of the King of Man), He was fast asleep his orange reptilian skin moving back and forth as he took breaths, the spikes along its back seeming to flex and move as it slept. The King On his silver throne watching and discussing with the people in long green robes around him. 

“Prisoners My King” The soldier bowed low 

“I see,” he says looking the cart up and down “One by one, face me with their crimes” He says 

So one by one each from the cart was dragged begging and pleading before the king, their crimes exposed to him and he decided their fate. Some would be the executioners line, some a life of slavery in labour and servitude, I was last to be dragged before him, I didn’t bow, I didn’t plead or beg, there was no point me making an embarrassed fool of myself to try and change his mind as no doubt his mind had already been made. 

“A witch My king. I found her on the edge of the woods of mercy peddling potions and prayer packets. Violet magic.” 

There was a rush of shocked gasps before silence fell upon the court yard 

“Violet magic. Young lady that has been outlawed for centuries” an Advisor said 

“Only by you” I snapped back 

“Send her to the Dungeon, Our master their will educate her on the severity of her crimes” The king demanded and without another word I was forced away and inside the castle. 

I was given a cell no larger than the cart, I had no windows, no light, a simple slap of the stone walls fashioned into a ledge as a bed with a rough blanket over it. I had a toilet and sink with nothing to conceal them. And the large barred wall to my side. Outside was the rest of the dungeons busy with criminals, many of which were driven mad down here. Many often screamed from the torture inflicted upon them. The floor stone, the walls all stone with only bars to break them up, a few candles loomed by each cell but little else. Not even the rats journey this deep into the castle. I was utterly alone in my cell, but unfortunately not as alone as I’d like. Just outside of my cell was clearly some type of office area for the people who called this place work. With a desk, area for paperwork, keys and a door that lead to the dungeons' infimus room of pain known full well for being a horrific place filled to the brim with equipment designed to torcher you to utter madness. On a chair by this desk loomed a boy. Tall, thin, in black leather pants and a belt with something on I couldn’t see what. A dirty bloody shirt left loose on his thin body, his skin dirty and clearly been bandaged where many other prisoners had attacked him and left their mark, his dark eyes watching me carefully with a faint smile. I didn’t know who he was. I assumed some kind of Dungeon assistant or something, as he was far too young and far too small to demand much more authority. The door opened and a man came through kicking an almost unconscious prisoner with him throwing him into a cell before returning to the office. 

“You sure? We got that new one tonight?” He asked leaning on the desk 

“I’ll be fine” the boy answered “You get home, Tell her I said hi”

“I will, Have a nice night thomas” he says heading to the stairs out of the dungeon

“Ohh I will” he smirked, returning his gaze to me after a while of his staring . I had to admit I felt uncomfortable, I glanced back at him and he smiled giving me a little wave I pouted and looked away. I heard him chuckle. He moved to his feet confidently stepping over to lean on the bars of my cell looking me up and down much more before making kissy faces at me which just made me turn away again. But still he loomed there for almost an hour just standing there watching me, giving me nowhere to escape his eyes. I glanced back seeing him now leaning on the bars having his hands inside my cell still staring at me with a sly smirk across his lips, it was then I saw what was on his belt and a fear rushed over me. A holster down his leg with the twisted stem of a charge wand. It was a dark wood with a twisting design up its shaft but I couldn’t see its end even if I knew it could only really be one of two. He noticed me looking and smirked, getting it from his holster holding it in his hand. “This what you were looking at, Little one?” he asked, holding it close to him and I saw… Crimson. The stone of blood red at its tip immediately I tried to bolt for the door even if I had little hope of anything with him looking at me the moment my feet touched the floor I was frozen in place and the crystal glowed “Now, now. No need to panic” He smirked without even a flick of his wrist I was forcefully moved to the bars without an inch between us “we going to behave? Or do we have to do this the hard way?” he smirked 

“Let me go!” I demanded 

“Fine.” He says the crystal dimmed and I was able to move my body once again as he returned it to his holster “You’re no fun” He pouts holding my hips so I couldn’t move away “Very pretty though” he says stroking my hips “And yes, I know what you are before you start trying to threaten me” he smirked moving back to the desk 

“I was framed” I argued

“Liar.” he laughs “I already searched your bag” he smirked “Very beautiful” he smirked grabbing from the desk my own charge wand 

“Give that back!” I demanded 

“Humm you're a prisoner little one, you don't understand how that works? Awww your so cute” he cooes “Its very nice, handmade I see. That’s why they threw you down here. You little lady are very dangerous”

“Am I? Or are you just not able to handle me?”

“I think I could handle you pretty well little one” he smirked 

“If your so sure give it back?”

“You think I’m that stupid?” he laughs “No, I’ll be keeping this for the duration of your stay with us”

“Which will be?”

“Well, we’ll see” He smirked, returning it to his desk and coming back to the bars to see me “Cute little one aren’t you? Now I have some paperwork to do right over there, will you be a good girl and give me something to enjoy looking at?” 

“I’m a prisoner. I don’t have a choice”

“No, but you could… decide to give me something nice to look at while I work?” he smirked 

“Drop dead” I told him returning to my little stone bed 

“Suit yourself little one, but believe me this will go a lot easier if you just submit.”

“Never”

“We'll see about that” 

[kassymalone]

Allow me to share with you, dear reader, a story of what happened today. There is no lesson to be learned in this story, no deeper parable: it is merely a snapshot of a moment in time.

So Manchester City (the football team, not the city) has won the treble (which seems to be a big deal if you’re into football), so naturally this is cause for Manchester city (the city, not the team) to celebrate.

On Friday some representatives from the business improvement district came by to warn us that if City won the treble, there’d be a parade that went right by our shop. Today, that parade happened.

It was a nice day. Even on the way to work this morning, they were starting to close off the roads in the city centre. At lunch time it was 31 degrees, an absolute anomaly in the north of England, with a powder blue sky and next to no breeze.

At around 2pm they started.

The vuvuzelas.

If you’re lucky enough to never have heard a vuvuzela (and you are lucky), imagine if someone made a goose out of cheap plastic, somehow turned the volume up ten times louder than you thought possible from such a little thing, and then gave it to a small child.

HONK, HONK, HONK-HONK-HONK, HONK-HONK-HONK-HONK, HONK-HONK. If you know the song you know it. The parade wasn’t due to start until 6.30pm, but around 2pm it started.  

The workers rolled the security fences out around 3pm, closing the road directly in front of our shop. Luckily we had already made the target for the day, because our business tanked after that. Not for lack of people - the people were gathering all along the road, staking out good places.

Fast forward to 5pm. The honking in unbearable, I have to close the doors just to hear the person next to me speak. We’re packing up early because of how quiet it’s become. Outside, a sea of powder blue (the teams official colour) is lining the street, the shirts looking like they drained the colour straight from the sky. Horns are honking, people are yelling.

I look to the doors. A child has climbed a lamp post, and is sat quite happily on the crossbar. I look away. When I look back, a couple of hefty young men have climbed another lamp post. The third time I look, they’re all shirtless. The street is getting busier and busier, the door to our shop is blocked by people.

At this point, the light is changing. All the shirts that took the blue sky left an angry slate grey in its place. The temperature drops rapidly. Horns are honking, people are yelling.

Thunder rumbles.

The sky opens.

The entire crowd cheers.

Not a single person moves from the spot they’d been staking out for hours. They cheer, chant, and jump in place, but they don’t move as hail the size of marbles rains down from above.

Finally, we closed. In the time it took me to cash up the tills, I managed to miss the actual parade.

“They weren’t wearing any shirts!” the young Indian girl working with me gasped “And it was raining! They’re going to get sick!”

What else would you do, stuck on a parade float in a thunder storm because people have been waiting literal hours to celebrate you? Might as well give them a show.

It was still raining when I locked the door, and that was long enough for me to get completely soaked. The parade was gone, and everyone else is leaving too - the die-hard fans following the parade route, everyone else ducking through back alleys and side roads. A blue river of people flowing towards the buses, trains and trams, squealing and splashing through the rain and cold, wet puddles, the kind of wet you forget exists until the next time it thunders.

The bus is so busy I seriously consider just walking home. Its an hour walk, in a thunderstorm, but I think about it. By the time I reach my stop the heat is starting to return, and the petrichor is almost suffocating. Students crowd in their doorways smoking, dressed in bikini tops and shorts and talking about Amsterdam. 

I finally open the door and a ginger cat screams at me. Some normality at last.

[kilannad]

Decay and Growth Chapter 4

Masterlist

This chapter:

Nesta struggles with mental illness.

Lucien visits Summer.

Tarquin makes some friends in Spring.

Nesta starts drowning.

TW: suicide.

In the beginning

and in the end;

there was Darkness

and nothing more.

o.0.o

Februarius 13th, Velaris.

She couldn't breathe. There was a weight on her chest, pushing down, down, down. She knew, distantly, she should move it. She should fight to get out, to let the scream cutting her throat raw calm or be heard or something. She did none of that. Couldn't bring herself to care enough.

Everyone deserves healing.

Absolutely wasted.

I've loved you since the first time I held you in my arms.

Around and around and around, words spun in her head, clamoring noise, echoing over the sounds of the upstairs apartment being cleared out in the wake of its occupant's death. She couldn't find the energy to shut it out. Couldn't find the energy to explain how wrong they all were.

She couldn't breathe. Worse; she dreamed.

Februarius 13th, Adriata.

Lucien appeared in Adriata just as a typhoon hit. He'd heard, of course, how Summer's storm season was unusually long this year, but his vague memories of Summer fall from his past visits couldn't even begin to compare to the massive cyclone off the Adriatan coast.

“Lord Lucien,” an attendant greeted as soon as he landed, clothing soaked immediately from the rain, hair pulled in every direction from the wind. He'd winnowed to a large balcony off the palace, the traditional greeting location for diplomats during this time of year. Water soaked the sandstone palace, making the tan bricks dark and foreboding in the swollen cloud cover. Despite being early evening, the whole sky was dark and heavy; Lucien's gold eye spun and clicked as it saw trails of turquoise and teal magic on the coastline, lighting up the otherwise invisible fae trying desperately to corral the storm away from flooding the streets. The rain was so thick that if it wasn't for his ability to see magic, Lucien would've been blind to anything beyond a foot away.

Shouting to be heard, the attendant said, “This way. The High Lord is indisposed but has ordered your comfort seen to.”

Lucien nodded in agreement rather than attempting to be understood in the howling wind. He was led inside the castle, through shell-encrusted archways and richly decorated halls to a seating room with tightly shut windows and plush seats decorated in blue and gold. The attendant bid him wait, drinks appearing from invisible servants. Through the windows, he could make out a flash of thick magic, his eye spinning in its socket at the sudden influx. Tarquin was busy trying to redirect water into the city drains and aqueducts no doubt. Lucien took the chance to use his magic to dry himself and retie his hair so he looked less of a mess.

Just in time, as the door opened and in strode a tall, willowy female with black skin, white hair in a long tangle of tiny braids, dripping in pearls and fine, imported silk. He did his best to hide his surprise.

“Triumvirate Lena,” Lucien greeted, bowing over an arm crossed against his stomach, her answering curtsy perfectly executed with smooth grace. “The seas bless me with your presence.” A small, pleased smile appeared on her lips at his perfect Summer greeting.

“The currents lead us where they will,” she responded simply. She waved her hand and on a table, a tray of bread and salt appeared. “On behalf of High Lord Tarquin, I welcome you to Summer, Lord Lucien of Night.”

He sprinkled salt on the bread and took a bite, the taste familiar after all the times he'd had guest right offered to him. He did not consider, as he had not considered for two-hundred-fifty-one years, how his title was that of a Lord Emissary and not a born Prince. After he swallowed, he said, “I thank the High Lord for his hospitality.”

Formalities observed, Lena handed him a glass of sparkling strawberry wine. “This is a poor time for a visit, I'm afraid. The High Lord extends his apologies for his absence, but I'm glad to speak with you in his place.”

Lucien had no doubt about Lena's willingness to take Tarquin's place. Summer, like Dawn and Day, allowed females to inherit equally to males. So long, of course, as they were purebred High Fae. The oldest of the Triumverate--the three families that ruled the three great cities of Summer besides Adriata and advisors of the High Lord--Lena had held her family's title since the Slave War. Rumor claimed she'd survived fourteen assassination attempts from various cousins that wanted her seat in the city Nario, the Southern Flower of Summer. Propaganda said she'd kept Nario protected and untouched through all forty-nine years of Amarantha's reign. The truth as Lucien knew it: she'd willingly handed over the lesser faerie citizens of Nario to Amarantha's underground prison camps in exchange for the right to remain out of the Mountain. She once hoped to marry Vivaldo, Nostus's Heir before the whole family had been killed. Lucien would bet she'd been trying to marry Tarquin since he got to power.

Since he couldn't say any of that, or tell one of the Triumverate to fuck off, Lucien offered a pleased smile and tipped his head towards the arrangement of plush couches and soft lounges. They both sat.

“I'm glad to know that High Lord Tarquin holds Night in high regard; it's a relief to speak with one as accomplished and acclaimed as yourself in these matters,” Lucien drawled, taking a long, slow sip of wine. Lena's eyes followed the bob of his throat, her eyes sharp and amused. No doubt she saw the praise for what it was--a pleasant opening to a long line of half-truths that would follow.

She smiled a little, tipping her head so the long column of her throat was exposed. Lucien doubted the position made her in any way vulnerable like it was no doubt intended to convey. “In the wake of the Hybern War, all Courts owe a debt to Night.” There was a lilt to how she said 'debt' that made him doubt it was a favorable position to be in. Summer, Lucien knew, had a reputation for paying back their debts. No one could forget their prized Blood Rubies.

“High Lord Rhysand calls for no debts,” Lucien smoothly replied. A technical truth, though it wouldn't hurt to remind everyone what Rhys and Feyre had sacrificed. “For the lives he and his mate gave, all they ask is that the Seven Courts come together in alliance and help them build a better world.”

“High Lord Tarquin has long held dreams of a better world,” Lena assured. Again though, Lucien caught an undercurrent of distaste. Lena was a High Fae supremacist, Lucien knew. She must absolutely hate Tarquin's equal faerie initiative.

“Don't we all?” Lucien smiled. “What is the purpose of these long lives of ours if we don't do something with them?” It was a pointed insult, considering Lena was over seven hundred and had done absolutely nothing worth mentioning besides swell her treasury and fail to marry a High Lord or his Heir. Her dark blue eyes swirled, shimmering in time with the pounding of the rain. Lucien, privately, admitted he could've been more subtle in his destain of her.

“I couldn't have said it better myself,” a new voice announced, and they both turned to find Tarquin himself standing at the door, wearing loose, flowing clothing of blue and gold cotton. Standing, Lucien bowed deeply over an arm crossed against his stomach.

“Swift tides and deep currents to High Lord Tarquin of Summer,” Lucien intoned. It was inappropriate for a High Lord to bow in any setting, even when normal court culture would call for it, so Tarquin settled on crossing an arm as Lucien had and tipping his head.

“Deepest dark and brightest stars to Lord Lucien of Night,” Tarquin responded. Lucien did his best to hide his wince.

It wasn't the first time a High Lord had greeted him traditionally since he'd started working for Rhys and Feyre, but it still startled him to hear Night's address applied to him. He'd gotten used to 'sharp thorns and colorful blossoms' when he'd been of Spring. And before that, long ago but never, ever forgotten, Lucien had been greeted with 'fierce inferno and crimson oaks to Prince Lucien of Autumn'.

Sometimes Lucien wondered if he'd live long enough to be called by each Court address. If any court would even take him after he'd sullied himself with Night. If, like Eris had promised months ago when they got drunk together, Lucien would return home and again be greeted as a son of fire and oaks.

“Thank you for keeping Lord Lucien company, Lady Lena,” Tarquin was saying. Lena smiled agreeably as she rose from her curtsey, dropping her crossed arm. The lines around her dark, swirling eyes had gone tight.

“An honor to be of service, High Lord. Lord Lucien is as fine company as I expected.” He smiled at the insult in her words, and she bared her teeth in response. Tarquin, young but by no means as idiotic as everyone assumed, raised a brow in poorly hidden amusement. With few words, Lena swept out of the room and Lucien was left alone with Tarquin.

“I hope no offense was taken at my delay,” Tarquin began once they were alone.

“None, High Lord. I hope the damages from the storm were few.”

“Nothing we aren't used to,” Tarquin assured. “Please, I've had dinner served in my private chambers if you'd care to join me.”

“I'd be glad to, High Lord.”

Lucien was led through the shell-encrusted palace halls; eventually, they arrived in a small sitting room, a table set for two near a wide wall of windows overlooking the bay. Rain and wind rattled the glass, and Lucien waited for Tarquin to indicate a seat for him. The room was lit by dim faelights, creating a soft, calming atmosphere. Lucien tried to figure out why Tarquin wanted their meeting in such an intimate setting--had this been Helion or even possibly Thesan, Lucien would've assumed seduction--but he couldn't even begin guessing at Tarquin's intent. His gold eye spun and spun, but Lucien could detect no traps, no magical poisons (which did not preclude herbal ones), not even the usual faerie servants that were enchanted to stay invisible at all times.

“Please,” Tarquin said with a smile, taking a seat. “Sit. I suppose Rhysand sent you to discuss the treaty?”

The fact that he used 'Rhysand' was not a good sign. Of course, perhaps it was simple formality.

“The treaty,” Lucien agreed smoothly, sitting and serving the wine since there were no servants. “As well as how Summer is faring in the wake of everything; we've heard about Winter's troubles and Rhys and Feyre hope that you'll ask for help if you need it.”

A muscle in Tarquin's face twitched, his smile becoming tight. Lucien had the feeling he'd said something rude, but wasn't sure what he'd mentioned that could give offense. “Help. Of course. That is what friends are for, after all.”

This, Lucien suspected, had something to do with whatever nonsense had led to the Blood Rubies being sent. Lucien had never heard the full story of what had happened, only that it had involved Feyre and Amren stealing Summer's half of the Book of Breathings and Tarquin sending them and Rhysand Blood Rubies for the offense.

Silently, he cursed Rhys's inability to share details. How was he meant to play courier and emissary if he didn't know what would give offense and what wouldn't?

“Summer is doing well, however,” Tarquin went on before Lucien could try to recover from his foe-pas. “And while I thank your High Lord and Lady, Summer's climate is not so extreme as that of Winter, and we are not in so much danger.” As if to counter his very statement, outside the storm gave an especially loud howl, rain slapping the side of the building. Lucien chose not to comment on the unseasonable weather.

“I'm glad to hear it,” he offered honestly. “There was growing concern among Night's Inner Circle for Winter and her people.”

“How surprising that the High Lord and Lady stayed out of it,” Tarquin noted and Lucien fought to keep his eye from clicking. Feyre had described Tarquin as a good male with a kind heart; she spoke of him fondly. Lucien would have to find a way to warn her that the fondness wasn't returned if Tarquin kept making snide comments like that.

Lucien had only the barest knowledge of Tarquin, but he didn't think snide was his normal tone of voice.

“It seems as if High Lord Kallias had it under control,” Lucien agreed blandly, biting into his fish. The spices burst across his tongue. “I admit some surprise about his announcement though.”

An honest smile pulled across Tarquin's face, his dark skin crinkling around his eyes. “Yes, but I am happy for him. Winter has long had some of the best freedoms for faeries and females alike; it deserves some recognition for it.”

“Agreed. Vivianne has always been a fierce female. I look forward to what she does with her title.” Lucien tried not to make the comparison to Feyre; she hadn't had enough time to figure out what it truly meant to rule and it wasn't fair to compare her to Vivianne when the latter had been alive for four hundred years.

“You know the new High Lady?” Tarquin asked.

“Yes; her and Kallias are only a few centuries older than I and we were often shoved together at parties. More so when I joined Spring and helped Tamlin renegotiate the trade deals.”

“I forget sometimes,” Tarquin said in a tone of voice that meant he had never forgotten at all, “That you served Spring. It was for, what? Two centuries?”

“Two and a half,” Lucien admitted, finishing his glass and pouring another. His jaw ached from the last time he'd seen Tamlin; the visit had ended with him getting a broken jaw. Considering Lucien had broken Tamlin's nose, he didn't hold a grudge. Much. “I joined him when I was fifty.”

“And what is your opinion on Spring's current state?”

Lucien buttered a warm roll, considering how to respond. This must have been why Cresseida finally agreed to Lucien visiting and yet hadn't made an appearance at all. Rhysand and Feyre, as far as Lucien knew, had no intentions of dealing with Spring any time soon. They were too worried about repairs to Velaris and the Illyrian discontent they didn't think Lucien knew about. Feyre was of the opinion that she could forget about Spring and move on from what had happened with Tamlin; Lucien knew nothing was ever that simple.

“It breaks my heart,” he said honestly. From what he could tell, Tarquin had little love left for Rhys and Feyre; Lucien didn't blame him. That didn't mean that he had any intentions of leaving. He'd make whatever excuses he had to for Rhys, but Lucien had come to reinforce his connections to Summer and he'd be damned if he failed at the one thing he was good at. If he could get someone to help Spring, then he'd consider it a bonus. “With General Madog and General Niclas dead, the south and west have turned into mad houses. They were hit hardest by Hybern's invasion after Feyre killed the Prince and Princess; barely anyone managed to evacuate and those that are still there are turning into a militia under one of the surviving lieutenants in the hopes of getting food.”

“Hybern raized the farmlands?” Tarquin asked, but by the darkening of his eyes, he knew the answer.

“Hybern raized everything,” Lucien said. “The north and east territories still have some good soil, but it's mostly hunting woods and fishing areas. What food they have is being dried and hoarded by General Giralt and General Gwent would rather burn himself alive than make a deal with Giralt--as the magic leaves the land more and famine becomes a bigger problem, north and east will have no choice but to fight over the remaining supplies to feed what settlements they've managed to protect.”

Tarquin pushed around the spiced fish on his plate, contemplating. “For someone who knows them all so well, you seem ill-inclined to step in.”

Lucien swallowed his initial response--which involved a few choice curse words--and offered more diplomatically, “I openly work for the female they all see as the center of the destruction of their homes; whatever friendships I once had are dead and gone.”

“I was under the impression they sided with Feyre,” Tarquin offered with some surprise. “Isn't that why they abandoned Tamlin?”

“Initially,” Lucien conceded. He had to be careful how he phrased things. He was meant to be here on behalf of Night, not Spring. “Feyre's attempts to cripple Hybern's movements in Spring did center around getting the people to trust her, and it worked. But then, after Tamlin saved her life--”

“Wait, what?” They blinked at each other, Tarquin surprised and abruptly focused, Lucien silently cursing himself. He had forgotten that Elain's capture and subsequent rescue weren't common knowledge. With no good way of avoiding the story--and figuring this might be a good way to earn some trust--Lucien explained;

“Lady Elain was captured by Hybern for a brief time; Azriel and Feyre went to rescue her from Hybern's war camp where Tamlin exposed himself as a traitor in order to get them time to escape. After that, Tamlin managed to unite most of his armies--Madog had been one of his best friends and had held faith; his word was enough for the other three generals to fall back in line. Somehow, word spread about Feyre's deceptions and it caused enough cracks that, when the war was over and two generals were dead, people started fighting over whether it was her fault or Tamlin's that Spring faced so much destruction.”

“And then Tamlin fell into his current depressive state and hasn't come out of it since, so the whole court is falling apart,” Tarquin summarized. Lucien couldn't deny that he had a point, though it hurt to hear it put like that. Tamlin, Lucien believed even now, was a good male. Maybe with his rough points and problems, but they all had those.

“Spring has always respected strong roots,” Lucien pointed out, staring into the rain-lashed windows. “They respected Tamlin because he loved them and worked hard for them--even changed the government to assure that general and lieutenant are titles given based on ability instead of noble bloodlines--but now...” Lucien trailed off, leaving the room quiet. So much had changed over the centuries but this year everything seemed especially unstable. Especially since so few people seemed to remember that Lucien was their friend.

Tarquin let the silence linger for a few minutes; then he ordered gently, “Tell me of Rhysand's plans for the treaty.”

And, as the emissary of Night, Lucien did.

Februarius 14th, Velaris.

The bottle clattered onto the ground, empty glass clinking against its brethren. She'd bought over a dozen before barricading herself inside her dismal, crumbling apartment. The only place she'd ever chosen for herself. The place she deserved to be.

Feyre, standing abruptly at fourteen and announcing she was going hunting. Nesta didn't stop her; had no idea how to stop her or how to hunt or how to fix this mess when she was only seventeen. She stared at her father but he did nothing.

She didn't deserve help.

Cassian, pulling away from her as Mor swept in.

Didn't deserve friendship.

“Stay away from Cassian. He deserves better than you.”

She felt nothing but a vast, swallowing emptiness.

Once, when she'd been human and poor and felt, a village girl had fallen through the ice of the lake and drowned. A sad accident, but a lucky way to go, the village women tittered. Drowning was peaceful, the elders said in comfort. Once you let go and stopped fighting, the water claimed you and you felt only peace.

She longed for that peace.

Februarius 15th, Spring and Summer Border.

Once again at the border of Spring and Summer, Tarquin looked out at the dying land before him. Calanmai was still two and a half months away, but it didn't seem nearly long enough. Even then, would the ritual renew anything more than the magic? Tarquin feared they were all expecting some magic fix that was never coming. Worse still, if Spring's High Lord didn't bother with the rituals at all-

Well. Tarquin didn't want to know what would become of the land. Not after all the consequences the rest of the courts were facing. Especially with the Spring Equinox only a month away.

Taking a final deep breath of Summer air, Tarquin stepped past the border and walked the short distance into Spring territory. Like last time, there was no snap of magic, no alarm raised, no winnowing guard force. Absolutely no indication that anyone was paying attention.

Despite the way it made his skin crawl, Tarquin forewent a glamor. He was, after all, trying to be found. The Oak Woods had once been a vivid maze of twisting deer paths and blossoming flora; now, all around Tarquin saw brittle branches and brown leaves. Flower petals lay dead and scattered beneath bent trees. Reaching out with his powers, Tarquin could detect no river or brook, despite recalling that the Wooddurn Tributary flowed through the area.

Cringing at each cracking branch underfoot, Tarquin wove his way through the trees, heading towards Rosedew Manor. He hoped Tamlin still had enough sense to keep a roof over his head, if nothing else.

With every minute that passed, Tarquin became more discomfited. No deers or elk crossed his path, no songbirds sang in the trees. The air hung stale and thick with decay. By the time half an hour had come and gone, he'd seen not a single sign of life. Worry beginning to grow, he twisted his way more westward, towards the Wooddurn. In time, the cursed silence broke with the quiet beat of gentle sobbing. Following the sound, he quieted his steps until he found the source.

On the banks of the Wooddurn--what had once been a massive, cutting river but was now no more than a trickling stream with a dry bed--Tarquin stumbled onto a funeral.

A naiad lay prone in the middle of the ditch, the barely remaining Wooddurn flowing around and under not even an inch of his flesh. Around him, several other forms, dryads of the surrounding trees he suspected, held each other and wept at the sight while one sobbed over the dying naiad.

Tarquin approached slowly, the dry dirt crumbling under his steps. The weeping female snapped her head up, revealing the dark bark skin of an Urisk. Her bark was peeling though, the long sweep of branchlet hair gone brown and gray. Deep whirls and lines cut across her round and sagging face. The Urisk faeries--the hearts of the Great Trees of Prythian--had some of the longest lives of any fae and were respected as wise elders, their lives tied directly to the tree whose heart they held. Unlike normal dryads, who were souls of trees and couldn't go far from their roots, Urisk were free to travel so long as the tree that gave them their heart stayed healthy.

In all his years, Tarquin had never heard of one that looked so sickly and ancient as this one.

“Why does the Summer Lord step on these lands?” the Urisk demanded, voice cracking and ancient. “By what right does the Son of Waters intrude on our grief?”

“I mean no harm,” Tarquin assured, unsurprised that he was identified. Even in Summer, where forests were few and the vast savannahs ruled, the trees talked. If this Urisk had lived even half the age she looked, she likely knew more of history than he did. “I came seeking High Lord Tamlin and heard your grief through the woods.”

“He is no High Lord,” one of the watching dryads hissed.

“Traitor,” another condemned. “He leaves the roots to wither, the rivers to dry, the people to starve.”

Tarquin didn't look away from the Urisk, surprised to see not anger and condemnation on her withered face, but grief.

“I hope to help him regain control of Spring's magic,” Tarquin offered. “To ally our courts and bring peace again.”

“What good is peace?” the Urisk asked. “There can be none while he is ruled by torment. What good is magic? The water ceases to flow, and the Great Wooddurn dries.” Her voice broke, all-encompassing grief consuming the dark depths of her eyes, her limbs creaking as she gestured around them. “Did I not sing to him as a youngling? Did I not give shade to his father, and father's father, going back millennia? Have Wooddurn and I not spoken to Wind and Sky and Earth and Flame and given and given and given, all for the High Lords that forget us when war comes? Am I to bend the knee to a male who wallows as my sisters and brothers die?” She got louder and louder, until she was roaring, the surrounding woods creaking and shaking alongside her fury. Tarquin stayed quiet, shaken by the green sap tears that fell in waves, cutting a twisting path down weathered cheeks. It was the first time in his life that he had been faced with unabashed, unhidden grief and rage. Even before he'd been High Lord, he'd enjoyed the privileges of princedom, and that included the constant political and social constraints when people spoke to him.

He wondered, in the wake of the rage when only sorrow bowed the shoulders of a fae older than his ancestors, if he had ever before known anyone's true emotions.

Around him, the other dryads wept in silent agreement. In each, he saw creaking limbs, dried leaves and dead bark. Most were too young for the number of wrinkles and lines on their faces. They were dying alongside the Oak Woods they called their home.

Slowly, keeping his hands visible and hiding nothing of the raging emotions on his face, he approached and knelt at the side of the Urisk.

“What are you called, Elder?”

The Urisk stared at him, dark orbs unending. “I am the heart of the Mother Willow, Son of Summer. I am First among the Hearts of Spring, a daughter of Magic and High Lord Oberon, First of Spring. And my tree weeps.”

Tarquin swallowed his surprise. He knew the legends of the Hearts; the fae creatures that were directly connected to the magic of the land that they lived in; the living, breathing conduits of magic. They hadn't been heard from for centuries, not since before the Slave War. And the Seven First Hearts, those born right after Prythian divided into courts, had gone into hibernation millennia ago. They were barely believed to have existed.

Yet here one sat before Tarquin, weeping over her dying brother.

Looking down, Tarquin saw that the naiad heart of Wooddurn was a too-thin male, blue skin pale and dried, face sharp in its starvation. His chest rose in shallow, delayed breaths and when Tarquin reached out a hand, he felt only a drop of magic and life; none of the raging intensity a great Tributary naiad should represent.

This wasn't Tarquin's court. These weren't his people or his responsibilities. By all rights, he should have given his condolences and moved on to hunting Tamlin, in the hopes that he, as Lord of Spring, could help. When he looked to Mother Willow and all the other dryads, seeing nothing but despair and resignation, he knew that they expected him to leave them to their grief. To abandon them to their dying land.

What a pity that Tarquin had never been able to turn away the needy.

“Where are his headwaters?”

Mother Willow stared, mouth opening in surprise.

Patient and coaxing, Tarquin asked again, “Where are his headwaters?”

Her tears renewed, and with palpable disbelief and doubt, she lifted her arm and pointed southwest.

As gently as he could, he scooped up Wooddurn, coaxing the little water in the air to expand into a small localized raincloud. Wooddurn stirred, but did not wake. A hand touched his arm, and he looked up to meet Willow's eyes. “What are you planning, Lord of Tides?”

“I plan to save him.” Without hesitation, Tarquin set out in the direction indicated.

Mother Willow followed, the dryads forming a procession until they could go no further. Others replaced them, again and again, going so far as their roots would allow before falling back and letting a new soul take their place.

And then Mother Willow began singing.

Tarquin did not know the words, nor did he recognize the language, but in the depths of his soul he could feel the song. A song of sweeping, withering decay and the heart-wrenching grief that followed. Of saying hello only to wave loved ones goodbye. Of fighting and fighting and never knowing if it would be enough. Mother Willow sang a dirge in the Old Tongue; for Wooddurn, for the magic of the land, for the fae of Spring who'd been abandoned.

The forest answered her call. Brownies and sprites and pixies; trolls and gnomes and leprechauns. All around them, the people of Spring came to bear witness, lining the path to guide Tarquin and then joining the growing train.

Finally, the trees opened up to a large spring. Like the banks of the tributary, it was dried to the point of cracking, the water little more than a puddle in the center. Around the embankment, the fae spread out, each looking more starved and weak than the last. Mother Willow's song rose into a crescendo as Tarquin carried Wooddurn into the center of the spring, the water barely coming to his knees. As the final, high note echoed in the air, he knelt down with a splash.

The long, algae hair of Wooddurn spread in the water and Tarquin dismissed the little raincloud he'd maintained. All around him, the forest and fae went dead silent, not even a breeze crumbling the leaves in the wake of Mother Willow's enchanting voice. With a low groan, the naiad blinked their stone gray eyes open and turned towards Tarquin.

“Thank you, Lord of Tides, for bringing me home one last time.”

“You're welcome, Great Wooddurn. But this will not be the last.”

He blinked slowly, movement clearly painful even in his own headwaters. “What can a Son of Summer do for a Heart of Spring?”

“Maybe nothing; maybe everything.” Tarquin smiled, grasping Wooddurn's webbed hand and placing it over his heart. “After all, are we not both children of the Mother?” Wooddurn's eyes widened, the tired glaze clearing for a brief moment. “Now tell me, brother; may I have your name?”

It was a dangerous, sacred thing, to ask to have a fae's name. Not to know it, not to speak it, but to have it, and all it meant.

For the longest heartbeat of Tarquin's life, Wooddurn only stared. He didn't know what he was looking for, what he could be thinking in possibly his last moments, but he only watched silently. Then, with a shaking smile and small sigh, he relaxed his body in Tarquin's arms. “It is yours, High Lord Tarquin of Summer.”

It was the first time Tarquin had claimed a name. The feeling was indescribable, and he suddenly understood why not even Amarantha had tried claiming the High Lords' names. It was like a hole in his own soul had opened up to make room for someone else. Like holding a child in his arms and knowing he could crush it with a single fist. Like having an ancient, unknowable thing crouching in his mind, there and not, one and separate. He hated it; he loved it.

He could destroy Wooddurn; he could save him.

All around him, Tarquin stretched his senses. The small rivulets that fed the spring from the underwater aquifer were dry and empty; he reached further down. The magic of the land, the connection between water and naiad was a distant, loose ribbon, frayed along the edges; he wrapped his magic around it. Deeper and deeper, until he could taste the earth and tang of the water deposit on the back of his tongue; out and out alongside the unspeakable thing that lived inside him now, until he could bolster the connection between Wooddurn and the dying magic of the land.

If Cresseida found out he was trying this, she'd kill him.

“Naiad of the Great Wooddurn Tributary, Heart of Spring, Son of Land and Sky, Brother of Mother Willow, Father of Rivers and Roots; you have given me your name, your soul, your life. And I order you to live.” And then he pulled. On his magic; on the water; on the name that was now by rights his.

The ground shook as every rivulet filled with water, cascading into the sky and flooding the basin; above, clouds swirled and burst with rainfall above the spring; in Tarquin's arms, Wooddurn's skin glowed with magic, body filling out as he took great heaving breaths. Tarquin couldn't stop a gasp as his own magic lurched at the sudden strain, but he kept pulling until he was sure the magic of the land, depleted and little as it was, had been bolstered enough to keep Wooddurn alive. It didn't like him, he could tell. He wasn't of Spring, and the land knew it. But in the end it obeyed him, and with a great roar and swell of magic, the naiad left Tarquin's grasp to go sweeping away, down the river, water rushing after him.

Tired and soaking and nearly all of his magic given to the land, Tarquin stumbled his way out of the spring and onto dry land.

He looked up at a touch to his face and into the smiling, cracked wood visage of Mother Willow. “Not since the First High Rulers of Prythian have I seen a High Fae give their magic for a Heart.”

“I didn't know if it would work,” he admitted, his voice rasping as if he'd been screaming.

“Yet it did.” She cupped his cheeks in her rough palms. “High Lady Titania would be proud to call you her descendent.”

“I--I don't know who that is.”

She reached one hand down over his heart, and from her palm a new, fresh branch grew and twisted, weeping willow blooms budding along it to form a hand-sized, circular token; the cresting wave of Summer. “She was First Lady of Summer, and a lover and dear friend to First Lord of Spring.”

Tarquin didn't know what to say. He had never heard of a High Lady before Feyre and Vivianne; he certainly hadn't known Summer's own founder was one. The names of the First Seven had been lost to even the most ancient scholars. But not here; not to the First Heart of Spring.

A loop of vine grew from the crest of Summer, and Tarquin silently bent his neck when Mother Willow offered it. “I, Mother Willow, First Heart of Spring, name you Torrent Bringer, as your ancestor once was.” Tarquin's heart skipped a beat, shocked at the kind gesture, at this piece of history he'd never known. The back of his throat burned, and he couldn't find the words. Gently, Mother Willow wiped his tears away. “Come what may, I will never forget this.”

“He didn't deserve to die,” he managed to croak out. He cleared his throat.

“No,” Mother Willow conceded. “He did not. But now that you have saved his life, and brought water and magic back to these woods, what will you do?”

“Go home and take a nap,” he offered with a laugh before sobering. “And then, I'd like to find Tamlin.”

She smiled, sad and a little hopeful. “When you come back to Spring, I will lead you to Tamlin. You have my word.”

“Thank you, First Heart. But--why now? I thought all the Hearts had gone to sleep.”

“We did. But magic is changing; I think it might be time to wake up.”

Februarius 16th, Velaris.

Molten ore poured into her veins, boiling her from the inside out and she screamed. A sea that had no bottom, no surface. There was no end or beginning merely dark and life and death and light. No shape or people or language. Moutains reached their clawed fingers into the sky and rivers' depths swept their currents into the echoing reaching black of eternity. All of it burned and burned, so hot it turned cold, so cold it knew no end, had no feeling in the blood and bones and flesh of the body that was hers no longer.

Something was holding her down, reaching inside of her and reshaping, claiming. As if she belonged to it.

She fought, as she'd fought when her mother had reached to hit a two year old Elain. As she'd fought when a simple village boy had not accepted her 'no'. As she had fought when they'd pulled her from her bed, leering and touching. She ripped and clawed and swallowed mountains and rivers and stars whole, drank eternity like a fine wine and pulled power into the cells of her Made blood; packed energy into the dust of her Made bones; crafted magic into the veins of her Made flesh.

She fought and screamed and drowned--

Nesta woke screaming.

It wasn't new. It'd been happening for days, weeks, months. Usually, the alcohol and sex dulled her mind enough to drag it straight into oblivion. Lately, it hadn't been enough. The bottles and bottles she'd kept in her apartment, hoarded like a squirrel in winter, had all been emptied. It hadn't stopped the dreams. The constant, horrible sense of drowning.

She wanted it to stop.

Lucien hadn't come in days. He'd said something, she knew, when he'd brought her home from the visit to the Library. She didn't remember what it was. She didn't know the date. Only that she was alone and deserved to be. Only that her body ached and her head spun and in her blood and bones and flesh something horrible lived. Something that had not meant to be.

She smelled of sweat and fear and misery. She felt none of it. Felt only empty and a vague desire for it all to stop. The creature of her flesh shifted, the magic in her blood howled, the bones in her body quaked. She wanted none of it.

She wanted peace.

She was so tired.

With startling, crystal-clear clarity, Nesta remembered what those old ladies had once said about drowning. How peaceful it was. If only you would let go.

She wondered if that was what the Cauldron had intended. For it to be peaceful if she'd only let go. If she hadn't fought and stolen from it.

The pipes creaked and rattled, the hot water coming in starts and stops. Her tub was yellow and stained, porcelain cracked, but it was deep since fae had larger base standards than humans. She counted the minutes it took to fill, trying, desperately, to feel something.

This wasn't an answer. It wasn't a solution. She'd probably take one step in and have a panic attack, just as she'd had the first time she tried to bathe after being Made. She would fail at this as she failed at everything.

Five minutes...

Who knew if drowning was actually peaceful? Nesta had been drowning all her life and never felt a moment's peace. She didn't even know the meaning of the word, not truly. Then again, she'd never stopped fighting, either.

Ten minutes...

Cassian would get over it, at least. He had Mor and Feyre and all the rest of his family to support him in the aftermath. He hadn't even come by to stalk her from afar in months; before that, he'd given up on her. Given up on them.

Fifteen minutes...

Feyre had already proven she cared more for her new family and her place as High Lady than whatever distant, loose connection their blood gave them. Nesta was only an embarrassment now. If anything, Feyre would be grateful in the long term, for Nesta making this all nice and easy. A belated mating gift. Rhysand certainly wouldn't shed any tears. Lucien (and Eris) would be sad for a little while, but they had more important people to grieve than her.

Twenty minutes...

Water lapped at her toes and she realized the tub was overflowing. She turned the water off, steam rising in a thick wave through the bathroom.

The front door was locked. No one was around. No one would miss her.

Her power grumbled in her veins and she shoved it down and down and down. She just wanted it all to stop. Wanted relief, and peace. Anything but this. Anything but the vast emptiness in her head and heart that echoed around her for eternity.

She stepped into the tub.

The water was blistering hot. She hadn't bothered to take off her thin cotton nightgown and it pooled in the water, her skin going red. Water spilled onto the floor, hands shoving her down she didn't fight the fear, welcomed a feeling. She fell in was swallowed whole by icy water, the water burning her skin, leaving her muscles tensed relaxed as she slid deeper and deeper. She fought and kicked and screamed She let herself go, reveled in the peace as her head was swallowed and sound became indistinct. She opened her mouth to scream and rend held her breath on instinct and then, with great will and an unfamiliar feeling of having a choice, released it. Bubbles floated out of her mouth; her chest burned.

Nesta Archeron closed her eyes.

o.0.o

In the beginning

and in the end;

there was Darkness

and nothing more.

[mygainyear2024]

Day 76 A Supratours bus to Essaouira and I’m taking my coffee black!

After seeing the open UHT milk stored under the sink I’m now having a long black and the pods I purchased for myself are splitting my portable machine, so I’m using Rose’s Starbucks coffee. Lucky for me she’s not interested in black coffee as we have a limited supply 😂

When we arrived in Marrakesh we noticed a lot of sheep being moved around the city. Hassan says everything will be closed for three days and people will head home to family.

Despite Rose telling Hassan she has a “made up” boyfriend at home, it does not deter either of them! Anyway I’m getting my incessant questions answered via their instagram chat from the bus. He writes to Rose and explains it’s the Muslim festival marking the culmination of the annual pilgrimage to Mecca and commemorating the sacrifice of Abraham. When I google shop opening hours I see Eid al-Adha, hours might differ!

The driver to the bus station explains to me that Marrakesh is now one of the safest destinations to travel, particularly in Africa. I enquired about what makes everyone so helpful. He said it’s the religion, culture, networks of businesses that work together to look after each other and the tourists, the responsive of government (eg lights in streets, cameras everywhere, more police).

A British tourist on the bus says each sheep costs 6500 dirham (that’s about $1200 AUD) and if you can’t afford a sheep to sacrifice you can swap for a goat that’s 2500 dirham. Rose confirms this with Hassan.

The three hour trip to Essaouira is comfortable with a loo stop about one hour out. When I look up from typing my blog into notes I see the occasional donkey pulling supplies, one part of the highway has a beautiful garden up the centre strip, there’s lots of dirt, a car crosses sides in front of the bus and the driver never looks our way and a young boy plays chicken with the bus driver on his bike at a roundabout!

After noisily wheeling one suitcase through the Medina for about 15 minutes to our Riad we head out for food. I read a blog of some recent digital nomads and I’m keen to try their street food pastilla recommendation. When we passed by it looked like he was all out. We went back and he made us fresh ones. We waited about 15 minutes, delicious but oily at 45 dirhams each. Keen to grab coffee I’d listed about four places where photos told the story of the possibility of a decent latte. Sisterhood Coffee & Shop is closest, the oat milk latte is passable but Rose’s iced oat milk latte looks like dirty water and maybe a good idea that it has no ice!

Given the imminent closure of business we prioritise looking around the shops. A lovely find was a large jewellery store with beautiful pieces. I hear an Aussie accent and engage, but she’s an unwilling participant. It looked like her and her offsider were potentially doing larger business with the store. Anyway I picked a beautiful pair of earrings with the help of the patient saleswoman, crafted locally using filigree (which I’d also seen in Portugal, the sales woman says it originated from here) and the Essaouira flower, the daisy (one of my favourites). It also has the Moroccan triangle and now I forget what this symbolises, but I recall it’s female related.

Dinner was at Triskala, another of the bloggers recommendations, and their menu focussed on whatever fish is caught and purchased on the day. I think because we had an 8pm booking we missed the sardines (maybe I’ll miss this season altogether, recall I was too early in Portugal) and we have the sea bass with roasted veg instead and a starter of smoked sardine pastries (Rose not a fan!)

[geddy-leesbian]

nooo thinking abt childhood friend au brain shifting from rick springfield to

YOU MOVE ME YOU MOVE ME. WITH YOUR BUILDINGS AND YOUR EYES. AUTUMN WOODS AND WINTER SKIES

YOU MOVE ME YOU MOVE ME. OPEN SEA AND CITY LIGHTS. BUSY STREETS AND DIZZY HEIGHTS

YOU CALL ME, YOU CAAAAALLLL ME

TOO MY HANDS ON MY TIME TOO MANY FEELIMGS TOO MANY THINGS ON MY MIND

WHEN I LEAVE I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M HOPING TO FIND, WHEN I LEAVE I DON'T KNOW WHAT IM LEAVING BEHIND

[dreamhous3]

First Chapter of a currently untitled WIP

CW: Violence, Language

 1.

Bleating sunlight cindered Sophie’s sleep away, she hunched out of bed with a groan and sombre sigh. The bedroom's darkness caged her, with a few blinks rubbing of the eyes she demanded: 'All lights, bright ivory, eighty percent.' and the dwarf planet that was her apartment discovered life. A hissing pot beckoned her to the kitchen, its fuming fuel inside ready to be enjoyed. Sophie made the motions of making herself coffee, her arms dragging her around the place. It tasted like dirt, just how she liked it. A blip came from the lounge room, a sheet cocooned the sound. The phone tumbled into Sophie's hand and illuminated itself. It was Vinnie, a missed call. She called back and pressed the thin screen against her ear, sipping her bad coffee in anticipation. 

'Aye Sophie, tried you earlier, thought you were still snoozing.' His energy made her spring up like a scared cat. 

'Sorry about that Vinnie, I’m good to go today, promise.' 

'Is that a ‘I wasn’t going to but am now’ or ‘I want to’?' Vinnies tone snapped much lower.

'I’m good-' Sophie gulped, the words could only crawl out, 'I want to go, I will go.'

Momentary silence held the conversation hostage. 

'Ok, alright.' He said finally. 'Just wanted you to know you don’t gotta, that’s all.'

'I know, thanks man.' Sophie sighed.

'You might actually like what the cap has for us this time,' He builds anticipation with an intentional pause, 'a corporate murder, and a clumsy one at that.'

'Clumsy? I don’t believe that. People in high places don’t fall without a splat.'

'Well me and you both, but that’s according to the first responders. So, whaddya say? This caterpillar gonna be a butterfly today or what?' Vinnies energy erupted back up once again.

'Hey, don’t diss caterpillars, or they’ll eat the bushes you piss on.' They shared a laugh and a sigh of relief. 

Sophie stumbled her way to her wardrobe, threw on her kempt suit in a rugged way, and restrained her glistening hair into a ponytail. Her belt and badge hung off her like tinsel, an obligatory decoration rather than uniform. She made her way to the conveniently close but less than preferable station. It was the best way to get to the precinct without paying for the luxury of a shuttle. The railcar glided across a thin track that winded like a rollercoaster across the cityscape. The windows were an open door to the expansive colony of Sierra. A sea of buildings with vastly different styles battled to stay afloat, but all drowned under the layer of holographic goliaths and cotton candy lights painted over it. Thick walls snaked around the city, a concrete wall that glared down at its prisoners. Separated metropolises that could be seen from anywhere but were as attainable as a forgotten dream. Empty promises spoke in every language through advertisements louder than the driver announcing the next stop, while the muffled hum and growl of shuttles moved around the railcar. People huddled next to each other, torn shorts swaying into business attire, stained hoodies towering over silk blouses. So close yet miles away. When the railcar stopped at her destination, Sophie swung upward in an almost involuntary motion, stretching her eyes open to keep herself grounded. The clean corporate maze of Lavender Square was laid out purposefully, each building stood as their seemingly predetermined roles. Privatised destiny with an air of authoritarian politeness. Many suited individuals about the streets, as it was still early, but anytime other than on the dot was late around here. Sophie casually walked through them like bushes and low hanging trees, getting a look of sour surprise before the next person followed the pattern. The precinct sat atop a hill of sandstone stairs, its blocky brutality of the architecture weighed down on the world around it. Large glass double doors opened back and forth as people came and went, cocooned by the dark metal shell of the precinct. Inside a receptionist poked her head up to a fuzzy window. It was a peep screen, made from reinforced monitors and a series of cameras that created the illusion of a window. 

'Ah! Sophie, good to see you. Thought I’d never get to see your badge again.' The receptionist looked at her with a playfully exaggerated puppy eyes expression that reached over thin framed glasses.

'Yea, me too.' Sophie muttered, then held out her badge to the slightly distorted receptionist. Bright blue shot out from the pupil of her right eye and made it glow for a moment as she stared at the badge. 

'And you’re all checked in.' With a blink, the scan stopped and she returned to her giddy performance. 'The Captain would like to speak with you by the way.'

'Thanks.' Sophie quickly turned to walk away, the word almost didn’t reach the receptionist, but before she could make a second step, an interruption stopped her. 'Sorry about what happened to-' 

'I know.' She stared at her with a sharp frown, then kept walking away. The elevator dinged, opening to reveal a pair of patrol cops and someone of another bureaucratic or important role that was good enough to not have a uniform and custom cybernetics. Sophie subconsciously rolled her eyes at the thought of another interaction. No one spoke to her thankfully, but she did have to listen to their pathetic work ethics. 

'How many arrests till you get promoted again?' A stumpy and rigid guy with the name tag ‘J.Mort’ looked up to his tall partner. 

'I don’t know,' he stopped to think for a second, 'two hundred?' 

'Two hundred?' Mort said agitatedly loud, the bureaucrat cringed at his volume. 'That’s a bit and a half.' 

'Nah, we’ll just go patrol Section Four and we can both get that much by the end of the day.' They both cackled, hands on their bellies before the elevator opened to their floor. One stumbled and almost tripped over Sophie, pushing her back slightly.

'Oh, sorry about that.' The tall cop backed out with his hands raised, then jogged off. His name tag, ‘C.Barker’, was for some reason crudely stuck to the back of his vest rather than the front.

'The Lieutenant’s going to smack him around for sure.' She thought to herself with an amused smile. 

'Two weeks, Detective Taureau, no one misses that much work here, no one can miss that much.' The Captain leaned forwards with a sneer, ready to strike before Sophie even closed the door to his office. 

'Well I took the time out of my leave, so it’s not like I broke the rules.' She shrugged. 'You know that’s not what I’m talking about!' He speared a finger at her. 'You’re going to make up for getting soft again, you’re going to solve this corpo murder and you’re going to do what you’re told, got it?' 

'Copy that.' Sophie looked at him as much lifelessness she could muster. 

'If you’re told to step off by a ‘third-party interest’, step off. Need to reach for a suspect you reach.' The Captain's ferocity was sincere but weak, desperate sadness leaked out his eyes in a twitch and shudder he dodged from Sophie's gaze. 

‘Who’s the ‘third-party interest?’ 

‘Vangriff Industries.’ The cap sat back with a smug smile.

'You want me to help someone get away with murder so you can please some flush suit? Ok boss, that’s your call. But don’t think for a second I’m doing shit for them. Not after what they did, not ever.'

'You’re still thinking about her, aren’t you?' He almost raised his voice further, but restrained himself to almost a whisper, 'She stepped out of line, like you often do, and couldn’t handle the consequences. If you want a future in this department, if you want any kind of future in Sierra at all, get used to them.' Sitting way back in his chair now, his demeanour was suddenly still. Sophie’s right eye twitched as she gripped the gun in her holster, squeezing so hard her wrist ached. 

'Dismissed.' He finally said after an eternity of silence. Sophie stormed out immediately, the door thrown around and left helplessly swinging about.

'Hey, you there?' Vinnie poked Sophie’s shoulder.

'Yes.' She jolted upwards, the answer punched out of her mouth at him.

'Did you get any sleep at all?' He raised an eyebrow at her.

'Plenty, I think.'

'Ok, ok.' He looked back ahead at the windscreen, avoiding any more questioning towards Sophie. His shuttle bounced slightly as they glided through and around skyscrapers and air traffic.The architecture began to shrink and become more confused, concrete and steel brutalism was gradually taken over by suburban brick, synthetic wood, unused chimneys, and parks that pleaded for visitors. Vinnie slowed and lowered the shuttle as they approached the crime scene, the only clear indicator of its location being the flashing red and blue amongst the plastic white hive of basic two story houses. Section Three’s famous mediocrity waited eagerly below. Landing next to the curb with a soft press, Vinnie hands Sophie a cigarette. 

'Thanks.' She winks at him as he lights it.

'So, who’s going to show up first you reckon? A suit or a private investigator?'

'Who cares?' She laughed.

'Come on, pick one.' Vinnie involuntarily smiled back.

'Fine, a suit.' 

'Really? No way, those nerds can’t stand the stench of a dead body, let alone look at one.'

'Who said they’d be doing that?'

'Well it’s a crime scene Sophie, of a murder victim.'

'They’re going to talk to us over the police tape, hands together over their crotch, badly feigning some kind of sophisticated dominance, when in reality they just don’t want anyone to see how much their legs are shaking.'

'You know what, that’s a good argument, solid case.' Vinnie nodded mockingly. 

'Oh whatever.' Sophie turned away trying not to laugh. They finished their cigarettes at around the same time, putting them out in a compartment underneath the radio that definitely wasn’t meant to be an ashtray. A few patrol cops were standing guard around the borders of the scene, but not many people were around for them to shove away. The police tape blinked green for a moment, revealing its holographic nature, before changing back to the illusion of physical tape again as Sophie and Vinnie entered. On the front steps of the white brick home was a twisted and contorted body of a thin man. A pool of blood sat under his head dripping down to the lower steps, the other side of his head looked cindered. It was some kind of cable port, the hole was a charred black that splotched around the implant and bright pink skin underneath. 

'What kinda tech is that?' Sophie leaned down at the corpse.

'It’s a neural chip, that port is for plugging into any kind of physical computer. People in this guy’s role need more processing power the average computer can provide. Cap says the victim worked in ‘business information technology'. A corp like Vangriff would have a pretty inhuman amount of that to manage.’ Vinnie slapped on plastic gloves and began moving the head around, inspecting the damage. 

‘So he was some kind of super accountant.’ 

'Sure something, like that. His temple, where it was slotted, was heated up somehow, but this burn clearly didn’t do enough.' 

'It’s gotta be on the other side of his head.' She leaned over his shoulder. He turned over the corpse slightly, twisting its neck. It was a mess, dented in, bruised, and bits of skin and flesh were torn about as if someone tried to dig into his brain. 

'Blunt force probably, quite a bit it seems.' Vinne’s thumbs pulled the skin back slightly, and the crater bled a little more.

'The burn looks more settled than that wound, this happened after that. Killer made a mistake, couldn’t get them with the chip so they had to get dirty.' 

'Good theory, but it still could’ve been an accident, thick stairs afterwall, and cyberware always has bugs from time to time.' Wiping his hands nonchalantly, Vinnie stood up again.

'Yea maybe but do you see how much blood there is? He was struck multiple times, after the chip malfunctioned and burnt him. His body is all mangled too, which sure could've been from falling down the stairs but his head is resting here,' she tapped the lower step with her foot, 'and his body is the wrong way for him to be going down. At the bottom of the stairs is where he got burnt, which is what mangled him, then he desperately tried to crawl up before someone came right here and beat the side of his head in.'

'Somewhat elaborate, but that explains the timing of the wounds and the awkward position he ended up in.' Vinnie turned to one of the cops standing guard. 'Were there any witnesses?' 

'Just one so far, she’s by the patrol car next to your shuttle.' He pointed towards a frail woman with her arms crossed. Her body vigorously shivered yet her expression was distinctly still. 'I’d tell you to contact the next of kin about it too but…they’re gone.' He shrugged.

'What do you mean? Were they here before?' Sophie asked. 'Yea, the victim has a wife and kid, the witness says. In fact that’s about all she said to us. There’s plenty of photos inside of them plus a kids bedroom and more, they’re just not here and we couldn’t find a thing that could tell us why.' 

'Guy gets burnt then beaten to death by his front door and his family gets taken without a trace…' Sophie shuddered.

'Hey, don’t jump to conclusions,' Vinnie snapped at her, 'we just got here and we still have plenty of work to do.'

'Ok, ok. Lead us to victory, Vinnie.' She raised her hands in surrender. He smiled and shook his head before walking away towards the patrol car.

The woman was seemingly stuck in some kind of loop, her animated shock being the only sign of any life left in her. Sophie slowed as she approached behind Vinnie, seeing the body language struck her deep. She acknowledged this, thinking about it for a moment, then grimaced as she swallowed hard and kept moving. 'Do your fucking job, Sophie.' She told herself. 

'Evenin, I’m detective Lynelle, this my partner detective Taureau. Is it ok if we ask you a few questions?' He leant forward slightly, looking down at the witness with a soft look in his eyes.

'They took a child,' She whispered, 'he saw it all.' 

'What did he see exactly?'

'He had a kid, a wife.' Her voice shot up in volume.

'Ok I know you’re in a lot of distress right now, but I need you to stop and think for me, what did you see? Please, take as much time as you need.' 

'He had…' She broke off and began to cry, her hands reached for her face but they could barely move.

'Woah hold on it’s alright-' 

'Vinnie,' Sophie tapped his shoulder. He looked back at her with a confused frown, clearly about to say something, but caught her expression and complied, stepping back from the witness. Sophie was beginning to well up, but she rubbed away the blue in her eyes with the red of her cold hands. She knelt down and took the shattered woman's hands. Her eyes widened as if she was just shaken awake and gripped Sophie's hands hard. They locked eyes, an invisible line from Sophies to the witnesses clicked. 

'What's your name?' Sophie's question brushed the air with its warm tone, slowly melting away the tension.

'Angela.' 

'Nice to meet you Angela, my name is Sophie. Could you tell me about your day?'

'Ok,' Angela wasn’t shaking anymore, 'well I got up, I went to work, at the bar with the- Donnavin’s. That’s where I work, um, and then got a railcar home and…' Her head fell and her eyelids started to twitch. 

'You don’t have to tell me the next part, ok? It’s alright.' Sophie tilted her head slightly, following Angelas. 'I just need to know what they looked like, anything you can remember at all. Can you do that for me?' 

'Yea, ok.' Her lips disappeared for a moment, 'It was two people, a tall guy and a stumpy guy, kind of rigid looking. They were in a van that had his company's logo on it, the guy they…killed. You know the one that made the walls, the borders for each Section?' She looked at Sophie for a response but immediately noticed her completely still expression.

'Tall guy and a Stumpy, rigid guy?' 

'Uh, yeah. Shorter one made some joke about the tall guy's name tag being misplaced or something like that. That’s all I heard though.' She frowned at Sophie, twisting her head slightly. 'Are you ok, ma’am?' 

Her mouth was slightly agape, and she was looking off and away, trapped in thought. The name tags, the same physical description, those patrol cops in the elevator. The realisation hit her like a truck. 'What were their names? J…Murray? C. something, shit.' She launched upwards, her composure switched in a flash to action mode. 

'Vinnie, read out all the cops name tags for me, right now.'

'What? Why?' He shared Angela’s confused expression.

'I think I got an answer but we’re dead if I say it out loud, you gotta trust me.' The words shot out as quick as she could make them. 

'On it.' He sensed the desperation in Sophie's voice and began scanning each of the name tags he could see. Sophie turned her back to Angela and held the grip of her pistol tightly. 

'T.Simmons, K.Lengells, B.Forim…' Vinnie made an effort to keep his voice down but heard, listing every name he saw and occasionally looking back to Sophie for a confirmation. 

'J.Mort, wait a minute, the guy next to him doesn’t have-'

'That’s it! Them Vinnie, what are they doing?.' Sophie was struggling to keep her cool, watching down the empty street for the slightest thing. 

'Just talking to the guy we spoke to earlier, they seem pretty amused.'

'What else?'

'I think that’s it.' Vinnie squinted, 'Hold on, one of them is reaching for their gun-'

Two cracks pierced the air. A round ricocheted off the patrol car behind them. Sophie swung around and levelled her pistol to the source in one lightning fast movement. All three of the officers had their guns pointed at them. They went to fire again. A quick burst of gunfire, then a shell hitting the ground stole the spotlight. The three officers fell down one after the other, one putting a hand over a hole in his head before switching off like a light bulb and smacking hard against the ground. 

'You good Vinnie?' Sophie shot a glance downard to check if she was hit. One bullet skimmed her leg slightly, another went through her a part of her suit jacket that only just dangled away from her.

'I’m good, fuck!' He waved his gun around frantically. His leg slipped to the left, and he noticed why when he tried to move it back. 'Second shot hit me, I think.' 

Sophie looked down to see a hole start leaking red, and she launched towards him.

'Stay down and cover Angela alright? Don’t move!' Sophie threw down next to the curb side of the patrol car and opened a door to give him light cover. 

'Nah I got you Sophie,' He struggled to get back up, 'hold on.' 

Before she could argue she heard footsteps behind them. Angla screamed. Darting back around, she saw another cop rushing with a shotgun. Crack, flash, smack. The shotgun bounced towards them, a shoreline of blood kissed its stock. 

'I’m going to push ahead,' Sophie pulled herself up, 'don’t move.' 

For a moment a still silence washed over, red and blue lights spiralled softly over Sophie’s face. The click of her boots echoed as she swung her pistol between one side of the street and the other, watching the other patrol cars with critical caution. What looked like a rifle about to level on her stuck out in the corner of her vision and in a flinch she opened fire in its direction. A burst of shots flung upwards, shattering a street light above Sophie. Fluorescent glass rained on her. While she desperately tried to shake it off another cop moved up behind her. Three shots. Thump. Sophie turned to see the aftermath. With stone eyes the cop slumped to his knees and hit the ground. Vinnie was leaning over the same car door, its window now had a hole, lining up with his chest. 

'Like I said,' He coughed, 'I got…you.' 

'Vinnie!' Sophie leaped forward and reached to catch him as he collapsed. Angela shuffled towards the open door but Sophie slammed it before she could get out, pushing her backwards. Once he landed in her arms, she could see the dent in his vest.

'The plate caught it, man come on.' Her words sprinted out, frantically tapping the side of his head to keep him from passing out. 

'Yea, ok. I’m good, just give me a second.'

'No Vinnie, we’re going.' She snapped at him, pulling him off the ground by his arm and dragging him to the other side of the car.

[violettelueur]

— RYOMEN SUKUNA || LET ME MARK YOU THEN

↳ featuring : ryomen sukuna from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : mention of sex, mention of hickeys and grammar issues

↳ form : imagine

↳ published : 22 january

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 3.7k

↳ synopsis : (modern!AU) after your lectures, you decided to pay your tattoo artist boyfriend a little visit only to then be persuaded to let him draw a tattoo design on you even though you never actually wanted a real one to be marked with.

↳ barista’s notes : just a little gift to you all before today’s episode and the reset the ‘coffees in progress’ list (wip) when i get enough sleep and after my disgusting online classes, i hope you enjoy the free cup of coffee everyone ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡ - also i feel like this is the longest imagine i have ever posted ʕ ㅇ ᴥ ㅇʔ

Having a morning full of tedious lectures was not someone’s ideal day and it was definitely not yours. Although, there was nothing you could do but pursue them through with as much enthusiasm and determination that you could possibly muster while being impatient about the hands on the clock taking forever to move a single inch.

However, at this moment in time, you were able to escape the suffocating lecture hall after many hours for today and was now walking down the busy streets of Tokyo with a white plastic takeaway bag in one hand while the other was occupied with your tote bag that was resting on your shoulder, which surprisingly kept hold of some of your textbooks as well as your laptop giving you some reassurance that the bag that your boyfriend gave you was going to last for quite some time.

Looking around the busy quarter of the capital, you began to notice a few high school students roaming about here and there with some hanging out with their friends - mostly likely going to a cafe or to the nearest karaoke lounge that they could find - while other were either rushing home as they entered the station or to their part-time jobs that they had managed to obtain for a few extra bucks to save up for their next step in life. Noticeably, there were also a few adults out and about with some working as street-food vendors selling delicious treats that you would be craving if you weren’t so full while others were dressed extremely professional with their laptops out on their cafe/restaurant table to what seemed like they were on their lunch break.

‘He should be on his lunch break right now, but if not, I’ll just put his food in the shop’s fridge’

Continue walking to your destination, you finally reached to a quieter area with the city leading you to then stand in front of a glass order with a ‘closed’ sign in front along with another extremely noticeable sign proudly stating ‘Malevolent Shine’ to which if you had said that to any tattoo fanatic within Japan, they would instantly know what you were talking about.

Opening the door, there was a sudden noise of a ring being heard leading you to immediately look up to see the silver bell that you told him to arrange since he always got annoyed about the number of potential clients popping up without his acknowledgement only to tell him that they didn’t book an appointment at all causing him to become more irritated - and as a matter of fact, you couldn’t blame him at all.

Looking around the tattoo shop that you had entered, there wasn’t a single person in sight leading you to come to the conclusion that you were right about his lunch break since his assistant would be at the front desk if they weren’t. Although there was no one to greet you, the dark atmosphere did. It gave an odd sense of comfort with its hints of red that could calm a customer down if they were worried about the tattoo they were committing to having on their body or if it was their first - especially when it came to him.

“Oya~ ain’t you a sexy customer? But I’m afraid we’re closed, but I don’t mind giving you a private session if you want, kitten” someone smoothly stated, leading your eyes to slowly shift to the person who was leaning against the desk with a confident smirk on his face. There he was, the mastermind behind the whole shop itself.

“Well, I’m not coming in for a tattoo but I am here to give a little gift, Sukuna,” you mischievously stated, as you lifted the white bag with the takeaway you had ordered for the man himself, leading him to look at you in surprised before tilting his head indicating you to come to the back with him.

Following his lead, you placed the bag on his table once you reached the backroom before placing your tote on the floor beside the table’s leg so it didn’t fall, letting any of your precious studious contents to be lost as well as avoiding any damage to your laptop.

“I’m surprised you’re using the bag, kitten,” Sukuna suddenly commented, as he sat on his chair while pulling out the white styrofoam box of Thai food that he always ordered along with a bento box that was wrapped in a black cloth.

“Well, how could I not? You did buy it for me,” you quietly mentioned as you took off your black longline coat before placing it behind your chair since there was nowhere else to put it.

“Did you make this?” Sukuna quickly questioned as he lifted the bento box causing you to nod at his question once you saw what he meant leading you to state, “I didn’t know if you were going to stay back tonight, so I prepared some food for you in case,” causing Sukuna to smirk since you were right about your assumption and it did catch him by surprise since he didn’t mention it to you today when he left your shared apartment.

“Thanks,” he quietly muttered before pulling his chair closer towards you so he could place a lingering kiss on your cheek to show his appreciation towards you. “How was class?” he then asked, as he began to unwrap the cloth of the box to your surprise since you bought his favourite item from the Thai restaurant but made no mention of it.

“Annoying, it was suffocating in there but the lecture was interesting so that’s a plus,” you answered, as you began to scan his messy desk that displayed the many drawings that he was working on. Some of the designs that Sukuna was drawing were almost complete, while others were in the same situation but for some odd reason, it was crossed out as if he was unsatisfied with the outcome that it was going to have which lead you to be perplexed since some of the drawings were incredibly detailed and beautiful. However, you didn’t have the eyes of an artist like your boyfriend did, instead, you had the eyes of someone that was able to analyse things exceedingly well hence why you decided to pursue a career as a criminal lawyer.

“How has the shop been while I was away?” you asked, as you carefully picked up one of the designs that the tattoo artist seemed to have scraped leading him to answer with an annoyed huff. “A pain, there’s been so many dumbass people coming in thinking they could just walk in and get a tattoo done immediately without even booking a meeting,” Sukuna answered before taking a bite of the soy-glazed fried chicken you made as he then continued with, “it was a good idea to get the bell since I could see if it was a customer I knew or not,”.

Looking at your boyfriend, you couldn’t help but smile at the man as he continuously munched the context in the box as if he hadn’t eaten in the past week when in reality he had been raiding the fridge back home only just this morning. Slowly, you turn your head back to the paper that you were holding as you continued to admire the work of art right in front of you. 

To be honest, it was quite simple compared to all the other ones that were lying about on his work desk but that didn’t mean it wasn’t beautiful. The light sketch depicted a short section of a branch or stem decorated with different types of beautiful flowers and next to it was the same design with the only difference of it being coloured lightly in case the client wanted to have options.

“What happened here?” you asked before tilting the paper to the side, letting Sukuna have a glance at the design he decided to discard.

“Oh, the client cancelled since I wouldn’t have sex with her,” Sukuna casually stated leading you to nod before taking another look at the design with a small smile on your face. Sadly, it was such a waste since the design was beautiful and it was disappointing to not see Sukuna put this beautiful art into life.

Some people might wonder why you were so calm about the statement he had just given you, heck even his younger twin brother Itadori Yuji thought it was weird that it didn’t bother you as much as other girls would have been. The reason was that you were so used to him having female attention as well as male attention and it wasn’t a surprise when people would book an appointment with him just for a fling or hoping for something more than just that - and even though you were calm, there was also a hint of jealousy and fear within your heart that you couldn’t help.

It was like the first time you saw him in your second year of high school.

                                               ꕥ 

Stretching your arms, you had finally finished the last sheet of the budgets for the school clubs leading you to carefully clip the pile of sheets into the folder as you then stood up from your desk before quickly heading out of your homeroom, so you could give the documents to the student council president, who was a third-year within your school.

However, as you were walking past a few classrooms with some people greeting you with a smile, you came to a sudden halt when you saw a whole crowd of female and males students in front of you leading to a blockage of the halls and a blockage of the classroom you need to go through to hand the documents to your senior.

“Did you hear, I heard he was back?!”

“I can’t believe he’s back, I missed him so much!”

“I like Yuji’s kind and goofy personality, but how could you not love a bad boy like him?”

‘Bad boy?’

Carefully, you managed to find a gap between the sea of students and forcibly made yourself fit within the gap before badly struggling to make it through the arc of the classroom door leading you to nearly trip the second you got the chance to push through the gap to ender the class. Quickly looking around, you found your senior sitting next to someone who looked like your friend and basketball club member Itadori Yuji - well more like a mature replicant of the boy you were used to. However, unbothered by the sudden appearance of the new third-year, you speedily made your way to the council president and handed him the booklet that he needed today leading you to receive his gratitude.

Yet, before you could even take a single step away from your senior, you unexpectedly felt someone grab your wrist causing you to quickly turn around to find Itadori’s replica behind you leading to a few gasps coming from the students from the outside as well as in the homeroom.

“Is there an issue?” you firmly asked, as you looked down at his hand that had a tight grip on your wrist causing you to have a small glance at the two black bands that were tattooed around his wrist - even though it was prohibited to have any in your school, you weren’t the type to scold someone for having them since you weren’t sure on how the teacher’s thought it affected someone’s education.

“Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?” the salmon-haired third-year curiously asked, as he began to admire your wrist by gently turning it for your veins to come into view before beginning to trace your skin with the tip of his thumb causing a light shiver to go down your spine due to the ticklish feeling as well as his deep voice which was the complete opposite to what you thought it was going to be.

‘So this is the infamous Sukuna everyone was talking about’

“Not really,” you answered as you looked at him causing his eyes to look back at you before you continued with “I don’t think it would suit me at all,”.

“I disagree,” Sukuna counteracted, as he went back to admire the blank canvas of your wrist that he wanted to draw on so badly. No not draw. Mark. “I think you’ll suit something, maybe something on your neck or collarbone at best actually,” Sukuna mentioned leading you to give him a confused expression before he then proceeded with his speech by saying, “I’ll convince you one day and mark you brat”,

‘What...did….he….just….call….me..?’

“Ah...good luck with that idiot,” you stated in an annoyed tone leading to a few of the admiring student to gasp at your wording as well as sudden confident as they were scared on what was going to happen to you now since Sukuna wasn’t the type to tolerate insults in a nice way no matter what gender you were. However, exceeding the audience’s assumptions, Sukuna began to smirk excitedly at your attitude as he suddenly found you more interesting than any other girl he has met at the back of the school.

“Be prepared, little kitten”

                                               ꕥ

‘That nickname….’

Back then Sukuna was known to be a playboy from what you could recall, every week there was news on the new girl he had managed to convince to meet at the back alley of the school while you were just being a model student with the dream of going to law school. However, during the middle of the school year, you began to realise that the common scandalous news that seemed to be popular enough for it to be on the front cover of the newspaper began to gradually fade as Sukuna slowly pushed himself into your life since you were close with his twin brother due to your friend being part of the basketball team as the assistant coach - she even mentioned that ever since Sukuna came into your life he had stopped his acts and change slightly because of you to which, of course, you denied at the time.

It was during the first term of your third-year that you agreed to give Sukuna a chance since he was constantly annoying you by popping up at the school gate after school to ‘walk you home’ ever since his graduation - when in reality it was to take you out somewhere - without fail even when you had to stay in a few hours. However, you had given him three conditions since you were still conscious of the consequences of dating someone with such a disgraceful built reputation - much to his dismay, he shockingly agreed.

If you are going to have a fling with someone behind my back, don’t think about seeing or talking to me again.

I know you are sexually active, but you have to wait until I’m ready.

Don’t tattoo me.

Let’s just say that Sukuna had managed to keep condition number one in check and you didn’t have to worry about it at all, while with condition number two he didn’t have to wait that long for you to give in to your desires which you could tell he certainly enjoyed when you finally gave him the ‘okay’.

Number three though...

“Do you want to try that design out?”

Breaking from your daze, you quickly turned your head to find your boyfriend staring at you - with the bento box practically empty at this point - while tilting his head to the paper that was still within your grasp.

“I think you giving me hickeys are enough in my opinion, babe” you jokingly mentioned leading to both you and Sukuna laughing at each other slightly.

“I mean, do you want me to draw it on you to see how it looks?” he then asked, causing you to look at the floral design one last time before giving him a hesitant nod.

‘Trying it out won’t hurt right?’

“I need a confident answer little kitten, where did that feisty attitude of yours back in high school go?” Sukuna teased, causing you to give him the side glance before giving him the verbal permission that he wanted, leading him to smirk at you since knew his mockery would get you to give him what he wanted since you were also the stubborn type - a side that he always loved to play with.

Grabbing his pen and a black pot full of his thin-tipped coloured skin markers, he wheels his chair even closer to your before pausing, leading you to look at him in confusion since you had already pulled your wrist in front of him, the same area he had grabbed back in high school.

“You’re wearing a lot of clothing today,” Sukuna muttered as he began to fiddle with the collar of your white silk dress shirt causing you to look at him with extreme confusion before mentioning, “well it is getting colder since the Autumn season is coming around,” leading him to hum in an understanding tone as he continued to play with the smooth fabric.

“I want to draw on your collarbone area, I don’t want to draw on the area where the client wanted it to be,” Sukuna stated as he lightly pushed away your wrist leading you to realise why he paused. “You can,” you quickly mentioned leading the tattoo artist to look at you to see if you were lying, only to see nothing but the light of the trust within your eyes.

Slowly, Sukuna began to reach over to the top button to then unhook it from its loop before continuously doing the same with the others until enough skin of your shoulders were exposed with the top half of your shirt resting on the side of your arms to which then he slowly moved away the right-hand side of your bra strap to fully expose the canvas that he wanted to mark so eagerly.

Admiring the skin that was in front of him, Sukuna began to trace the area with his thumb before leaning in to place a chaste kiss on the same side of your neck before cradling your face on the other side with his other hand - as if it was a way for him to say ‘thank you’ for letting him do this.

Regrettably pulling away, Sukuna quickly grabbed his black pen as he then leaned in towards your collarbone to start drawing the outline of his design on his now favourite canvas causing you to shiver somehow due to how ticklish and weird the sensation felt when the ballpoint pen continuously gently gilded upon your skin. However, what got you shaking the most was the constant feeling of your boyfriend’s breath being felt on your upper body now that your shirt was basically off - it wasn’t completely off to the same feeling when you were underneath him the first time you allowed him to make his claim on you.

“Baby, it feels ticklish,” you commented, the second you felt a different sensation upon your skin leading Sukuna to glance up to check if you were alright like you were an actual client before placing another kiss on your jawline in a way to comfort you since he had switched to his skin markers to colour in the design he had drawn on you.

“You’re being a good kitten though, you’re not moving a lot then I thought you would,” the tattoo artist whispered leading you to quiver as his deep voice was not helping so much with your beating heart - erratic to the point where you thought he could hear or even feel.

Due to Sukuna concentrating, you couldn’t help but keep silent to help him continue with his work causing you to glance around your room with your eyes before landing upon a wall where there was a multitude of messages written leading you to carefully scan the writings that were visibly presenting themselves.

As expected, there were messages of encouragement - not that the arrogant Sukuna needed it to be honest, but it was nice of the client to do so - and a few drawings from other tattoo artists that Sukuna had famously done. However, not to your surprise, there were a few numbers here and there causing you to sigh since you couldn’t help it - you couldn’t blame your boyfriend for being an extremely handsome man.

Unexpectedly, you felt another kiss being placed upon your cheek causing you to look towards your boyfriend with a smile on your face - it was as if he knew what you were looking at. “I’m finished by the way,” Sukuna announced, causing you to look at him with widened eyes since the drawing session was a little faster than you had anticipated.

Reaching over to a drawer in his desk, Sukuna suddenly pulled out a mirror before passing it to you, leading you to lift up the little instrument to see the result that was drawn on your skin.

“You changed the design,” you quietly stated, as you began to tenderly trace the design with your index finger as you began to admire the piece of art that was masterfully drawn on your collar bone. The tattoo beautifully depicted a single strand of a blooming lavender across your collarbone with each petal in different shades of purple while the buds that weren’t in bloom were in a slight pale pink shade making you smile more since Sukuna drew this straight from his head causing you to have a hint of proudness for him.

“I wasn’t going to give you that previous design, it doesn’t suit you one bit,” the salmon-haired artist mentioned as he continued with, “I’m not going to let that disgusting design touch your skin, especially since this is the first time you let me mark you somewhat,” as he then moved behind you before placing his chin on your shoulder to look at you through the mirror you were holding.

“I might let you mark me permanently then,” you suddenly announced causing your boyfriend to look at you with a surprised look on his face leading you to giggle at his reaction.

“Yeah, let’s break condition three then, you can mark me this one time,” you informed him as you turned to look at him, causing Sukuna to give you his classic smirk before possessively grabbing your chin leading him to lean closer to you.

“Let me mark you then”

© violettelueur 2021 : written and published by violettelueur - do not steal or repost

[radioduo]

roses and riots: chapter 1

i could count the stars (wait until the dawn

notes: apoc au ^-^ this has been in the works for a while, so hope u guys enjoy! thanks to @b1rdza for the title and the letting me plan things w them :}

tws: blood, injury, violence, talks of death and zombies

Ranboo stared at his phone, slightly cracked and looking worse for wear, reminiscing over the photo on his lock screen. A picture from two months ago of him, Tubbo, and Tommy beaming at the camera. Ranboo returned the smile. Probably a picture Wilbur took on their moving day.

Two months ago, Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo began living together. Two months ago was the last time everything was normal.

Ranboo leaned against the wall of the now crumbling apartment and laid his head back against the foggy windows with a sigh. He could hear Tubbo in the other room quietly singing a cheerful tune and fiddling with some new gadget on his own. Tommy still wasn’t home from the scouting trip he had left for hours ago, and as the minutes ticked by, more and more anxiety gnawed at Ranboo's stomach.

Speak of the devil, Ranboo thought to himself as the communicator next to him began to buzz. It was Tommy, unsurprisingly. Ranboo gingerly set the phone down and picked up the other device. “Hello?”

“RANBOO, GET - krzzkr - HERE, THERE’S - skrzzkz - FUCKING HORDE HEADING OUR - krzzssz - HELP-”

Ranboo flinched and held the speaker away from his ear as he sprang to his feet. “Oh god, alright. Hold on, Tommy, I’m getting Tubbo and we’re going. Where are you?” He pulled on his boots and grabbed the musty red rucksack that hung next to the door.

“WEST- kzzszrt - NEAR THE DINER-”

“Just stay calm, Tommy, find a hiding place, you know the drill,” he knocked on Tubbo’s door urgently, but there was no response. "Are you k- whatever," Ranboo threw open the door, muttering to himself. Tubbo yelped in surprise as the door swung open, flinging his arm out and knocking his project onto the carpet. “We’ve gotta go,”

Tubbo took a deep breath and raised an eyebrow. “What’s up, bossman?”

Ranboo began to explain, but Tommy seemed eager to take matters into his own hands.

“TUBBO, THEY’RE FUCKIN’ AFTER - skrzztz - YOUR HELP RIGHT NOW, GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE - kryzztz - TO GOD I WON’T FORGIVE YOU IF I DIE,” he yelled through the radio. Tommy was breathing heavily, and Ranboo and Tubbo could hear quick, heavy footsteps pounding against the pavement.

“Oh fuck, okay, we’re coming, Tommy!” Tubbo grabbed his yellow bag from the foot of his mattress, abandoning his gadget and nearly knocking over his trash can full of failed prototypes. “Where is he?” he asked Ranboo, straining as he tugged his shoes over his heels.

“West Elm, near the diner,” Ranboo said as he pulled his mask over his face, leading Tubbo into the kitchen and grabbing his crowbar from the counter. “We’re on our way, just stay hidden and stay put.” Ranboo ended the transmission before Tommy could keep shouting at him and pulled open the door. “Let’s go, Tubbo,”

Tubbo hoisted his bat over his shoulder and tugged his goggles over his eyes. Wordlessly, the duo slunk out from the crumbling apartment building and down the street.

Nothing new, Ranboo noticed as the two speed-walked around the dilapidated city. Broken glass lined the pavement in front of shopping outlets, rotting wooden planks covered doors and windows, and the smell of flesh and blood filled the air around them, pungent and nauseating. The acrid scent slithered through the mask over Ranboo's nose and snaked into his nostrils, and he fought back the urge to heave as he swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

Rapidly rounding a corner, Ranboo tore his eyes away from the city scenery, stifling a gasp of surprise as he and Tubbo found themselves face to face with a gathering of the undead.

With bulging eyes and mouths lined with yellowed, broken teeth, the pack shuffled down the debris-covered road in the opposite direction, still oblivious to Ranboo and Tubbo's appearance. They seemed too busy tracking something out of sight to pay attention to the smell of fresh, unspilled blood nearby. Unfortunately, Ranboo realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach, the thing they must have been searching for was Tommy, and to find him, he and Tubbo would have to make it through the horde of the starving dead.

Tubbo stared ahead at the mob, a sour expression painting his face. "Don't tell me-"

"We have to, Tubbo. Unless you want to leave Tommy to die over there."

"I'm gonna be honest bossman, that sounds pretty fuckin' appealing right now," Tubbo replied dryly.

"I really hope you're joking," Ranboo answered. "C'mon," he urged, gripping the crowbar in his gloved hands, and charged forward like a bull.

The zombies, luckily for Ranboo, moved slowly, giving him time to react between attacks. He swiped nimbly with his left hand, slamming the metal bar into the face of a corpse, taking its head off with a satisfying crunch. Ranboo heard a grunt next to his ear and rolled out of the way right as an undead creature swung at him, nearly grabbing his arm and pulling him back. He brought the crowbar down into the skull of his attacker and looked away as the creature made a strangled sound in the back of its throat. Bobbing and weaving through the sea of the undead, Ranboo slammed the crowbar into every shambling body he could reach, over and over again. He yelped as he suddenly felt something grab his arm, sending a wave of pain up his arm from the iron-like grip. He wrenched his hand away frantically and stabbed the crowbar into the zombie's eyes. Breathing heavily, he scrambled away from the horde and into the clear at last. Ranboo gripped his sore arm and anxiously looked over the sea of corpses. Tubbo hadn't come out of the mob yet, and Ranboo's stomach twisted with fear at the thought of something happening to him.

A loud smack came from somewhere inside the cluster of bodies, and at last, Tubbo appeared, waving his bloodstained baseball bat like a madman and shouting a string of curses at the undead hands grabbing at his clothes. He ran to Ranboo's side, gasping for air. "Don't ever fucking make me do that again, okay?"

Ranboo grinned, relieved that he seemed unharmed. "Alright, alright, whatever," he said, flicking a drop of blood from his face. "We have to keep moving or they'll catch up with us."

----------

Tubbo and Ranboo slid open the diner door silently, stepping over the upturned chairs and tables as they walked into the abandoned building. "Tommy?" Tubbo whispered. "Are you in here?"

"Tubbo?" A voice answered. A head of curly blond hair popped up from behind the counter, and an unmistakable look of relief swept over Tommy's face when he caught sight of the two. "Thank fuck," he muttered, breathing a sigh of relief and dragging himself to his feet, hauling his backpack with him. "I wasn't sure how much longer I'd last." Crawling out from behind the counter, Tommy pulled his green bandana down from over his mouth again and faced the duo. "How'd you get through that giant fuckin' mob back there?"

Ranboo and Tubbo held up their crowbar and bat, respectively. "We managed," Tubbo said with a shrug. "That's beside the point though, why have you been gone so long? You were supposed to be back, like, two hours ago!" The three inched towards the door as Tubbo talked, slipping back into the streets and booking it in the opposite direction they came from.

Tommy huffed, trying to keep up with his friends. "Other than those dickheads back there keeping me away, I stopped by Phil's place for a bit to get us some food," he explained through deep breaths. "We haven't been able to get out much, thought it'd help." He held up his lumpy bag, obviously full of cans and boxes.

"Tommy, you know carrying food long distances is dangerous," Ranboo huffed, pulling ahead of the group as they rounded a corner. "Those things can smell just about everything, what made you think that was even slightly a good idea?"

Tommy made an indignant scoffing noise in the back of his throat. "Well, ex-CUSE me, Boob Boy, for wanting to help out you and Tubbo. That's my bad," he said, placing unnecessary emphasis on the last two words.

Ranboo rolled his eyes with faux annoyance as the three of them kept walking. "How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?"

"Not enough clearly," Tubbo answered, amusement obvious in his tone.

"Oh my god-" A hand flew over his mouth as Tommy suddenly took a sharp turn and flattened him against the bricks of a rundown building. Ranboo bit back a pained grunt as his aching arm hit the bricks. "I can hear those fuckers nearby," he removed his palm from Ranboo's masked mouth, and the three of them pressed their backs against the crumbling wall. "Is there another way we can take?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line, eyes darting back and forth as he strained his ears to listen for the familiar groans of the undead. "There are only a few that won't take us, like, two hours," he whispered. "Most roads loop around the city, and-"

"-and there's no way in hell that we'd make it back alive if we travel in the dark," Tubbo finished bleakly. He stared at the ground, lost in thought as though he were hoping the answer would write itself on the sidewalk. "So what now? Just stay here and wait until the morning? Surely not," he looked up at the other two. "I mean, that's a death wish right there,"

Ranboo and Tommy nodded silently. "I guess there's always Phil's place, but that's a couple dozen blocks down the road," Ranboo suggested, glancing up at the sky. It was only marginally darker than when they'd left, but Ranboo knew the light wouldn't last for much longer - especially not with the luck they'd been having. He absently rubbed his sore arm, careful to keep something from hitting it again. "We'd have to leave now to be there before dark,"

"Don't tell me we have to fuckin' walk even more," Tommy griped loudly. "I just got back from his place, are you sure there isn't a faster way home?"

"We can leave you here with the horde, if that's what you prefer," Tubbo retorted. Slinging his yellow bag over one arm and hoisting his worn baseball bat over the other, he dashed down the street, calling to Tommy over his shoulder, "Hurry up, dickhead!"

"Tubbo, wait-!" Tommy shouted back as he and Ranboo followed suit, jogging down the sidewalk behind Tubbo to the safety of their friend's home.

It was nearly dark by the time the three came to the pale blue house. It sat on the city outskirts, barely safer than the houses on the inside but at least ten times cozier. Tommy rapped on the door raucously, and Ranboo and Tubbo cringed as the sound echoed, definitely alerting the nearby zombies to their presence.

They didn't have time to worry about that, thankfully, as Phil greeted them at the door, looking relieved. "You guys scared the shit out of me," he breathed as he ushered the three teens inside. "You can't just be out wandering and knocking on strangers' doors,"

"Phil, if you were a stranger, this would be very awkward right now," Ranboo said, kicking his boots off and shoving them in the corner.

"I'm- oh my god, you know what I mean," he replied exasperatedly. "Be careful out there, is all. I don't know what I'd do if you guys got hurt."

Silence fell over the group as they heard the subtext of Phil's words. 'If you guys got hurt again.' Ranboo peered over at Tubbo, whose hand had subconsciously drifted up to trace the burn scars that outlined his face. Ranboo's own hand had floated up to touch his bruised arm carefully. He wouldn't tell Phil about it. Not yet.

Coughing, Ranboo broke the silence as he drew his hand away from his injury and undid the clasp on his cloak. "Welp, uh, I'm gonna sit down if anyone else wants to come," he invited, plopping the heavy fabric in a pile with the rest of his things and wandering into the living room.

The fireplace was burning, and Wilbur laid next to the orange flames, half-lidded eyes staring sleepily at the ceiling. He blinked and sat up as Ranboo entered the room, still alone as Tubbo and Tommy followed Phil into the kitchen, discussing something Ranboo couldn't quite hear. "Hey, Rhombus," Wilbur smiled, holding back a yawn. "How goes it?" His eyes darted briefly to the yellow sweater Ranboo wore.

Ranboo shrugged, removing his mask and catching the brief smile that flickered across Wilbur's face. "Could be better, I suppose," he replied.

"I think you said that last time," Wilbur noted.

"Yeah, well, it's been hard to be great recently," Ranboo said, barely audible.

Wilbur nodded sagely nonetheless, shuffling away from the fire to sit on the carpet in front of the couch. "You're not wrong," he agreed. There was a moment of silence as Wilbur looked up at Ranboo, who sat stiffly on the sofa, clutching his arm lightly and staring blankly into the fire. "You all good?"

"Y-yeah, I'm fine," Ranboo answered, blinking himself out of his stupor and brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. "Just- pain is all. Nothing a little sleep can't fix," he insisted. Ranboo could see the doubt in Wilbur's eyes, and it made his stomach churn. He wasn't sure why. "I'm alright, seriously," he repeated. "I'd let you know if I wasn't, you know that."

"Right." Disbelief laced Wilbur's words, but he didn't pry, nor did Ranboo want to offer an explanation.

Wilbur opened his mouth to say something else, but he didn't get the chance as Tubbo peeped his head into the room. "Dinner's ready big man, if you're interested," he said, jabbing a thumb behind him towards the kitchen, the comforting smell of potato soup wafting through the house. "You too, Wilbur, I guess," he snickered.

Ignoring the lighthearted banter between the other two, Ranboo inhaled deeply, savoring the scent. It smelt like home, he thought, a small smile painting his face. Wordlessly, Ranboo padded through the doorway into the kitchen, where Techno, Tommy, and Phil sat around the table waiting.

"There you are," Techno greeted him, reaching for the soup spoon. "We were starvin' to death in here, c'mon man," he joked.

Ranboo huffed a laugh through his nose. "Sorry about that," he apologized, running a hand through his hair. "Been a long day." He caught Tubbo's eye, who agreed with a slight head nod.

"It's alright, mate," Phil assured him. He held the bowls as Techno ladled soup into them carefully. "We get it." Phil handed him a bowl, steaming and cozy, and Ranboo gratefully accepted. "Just hang out for a while, alright?"

The six of them sat around the small kitchen table, eating together and listening to the radio as songs old and new alike filled the air. Tubbo and Wilbur sang duets, and Techno and Tommy made increasingly strange parodies as Phil and Ranboo watched with amusement.

Tommy and Techno were mid-song about Phil when the music suddenly stopped, harsh static cutting through the joyful atmosphere like a knife.

"WE INTERRUPT YOUR PROGRAM FOR AN EMERGENCY ANNOUNCEMENT," the prerecorded sample recited. "ATTENTION, ALL CITIZENS OF NEW LENSLING COUNTY: A MANDATORY EVACUATION IS BEGINNING TOMORROW AT 11 AM. ALL PERSONS LIVING IN THE CITY MUST RELOCATE BEFORE THE END OF THE WEEK."

The once bright mood at the dinner table quickly sank, dread and icy cold fear replacing the warm feeling of family and safety.

"What the fuck?" Tommy murmured, turning the radio volume up to the max.

"COUNTY OFFICIALS WILL BE INSPECTING HOMES TO ENSURE THAT EVERYONE HAS EVACUATED. SAFE CITIES ARE AS FOLLOWS: ATTSTONE, WORWICKE, LANGSTEDSHIRE, SHANTOWSEA, AND SOUTH BIRBED. FURTHER QUESTIONS WILL BE ANSWERED AT-"

Wilbur turned off the radio with a harsh slam. "Great," he growled. "What the fuck do we do now? Surely they don't expect us to just be happy with this!"

"All our shit is still at home!" Tubbo added, agitated. "There's no way we have time to grab it tonight, and it'll take ages to get back to the apartment in the morning!" He grumbled. "This is bullshit!"

"Calm down, you two," Phil cut in, trying to curb the anger bubbling in the air. "We'll figure something out, okay?"

Tubbo and Wilbur had the same disgruntled look in their eyes, jaws set and eyes shadowed. "Fine," Tubbo muttered, standing up to look at Phil. "Tell us then, what's the plan? Do you even know what's going to happen to us?"

"Tubbo," Ranboo warned. "Calm down. We're all figuring it out as a group."

Tubbo folded his arms and sat heavily in his chair, still irritated.

Techno was already rifling through his things for a map of the county. "The safe zones were all cities nearby," he said, seemingly to himself. He rolled a thin map out over the table, careful to avoid the drops of soup. "Attstone, Worwicke, et cetera. The closest one to us would be-"

"South Birbed, innit?" Tommy finished, shoving his now-empty soup bowl out of the way to lean over the table. "It's 'bout a week-long trip on foot," he explained. "We could be there in no time if all of us leave first thing in the morning,"

"Hold on, Tommy," Techno stopped him as Tommy took a breath to say something else. "One of us needs to stay behind and let someone know where we're goin', right Phil?"

"They need to send a message to all the safe zones to tell 'em how many people to prepare for," Phil confirmed. "I'll stay behind, tell whoever may stop by that the six of us are heading south, yeah?"

Ranboo and the other four shared a look of hesitance, none of them quite sure how to respond. "I don't want to leave you behind, Phil," Ranboo admitted. "Are you 100 percent sure you'll be alright on your own?"

Phil waved a hand dismissively. "You don't have to worry about me, mate. I'll catch up with you all in no time."

Phil's promise sent a wave of relief around the room. Wilbur and Tubbo looked more at ease, and Ranboo, Techno, and Tommy all breathed a sigh. "We should probably pack up our shit, I guess." Tommy rose to his feet, stretching and yawning. "Early start tomorrow, aye?"

They all stood, some more hesitant than others, and dispersed to their respective sleeping quarters. Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo trekked upstairs single file, carrying their bags, weapons, and everything in between into the large bedroom silently. It wasn't like they hadn't done this same thing before, but something about knowing it might be the last time for a while made the mood feel more somber than usual.

Tommy flopped onto the large, pillowy mattress with a sigh. "I can't believe we're being fuckin' kicked out," he muttered crossly, a change in mood from the upbeat leader persona he'd put on downstairs (probably to prove himself to the adults). "And to South Birbed of all places!"

Ranboo snorted, his eyes crinkling up with laughter. "What did South Birbed ever do to you?" He asked, watching as Tubbo crawled onto the bed next to Tommy.

"I dunno, it just seems like a shit city," Tommy shrugged.

Tubbo smacked him with a pillow, and Tommy yelped in protest, shouting a string of curse words at his assailer. "Mercy, mercy!" Tommy begged as he and Tubbo began a pillow fight.

Ranboo looked on with mild intrigue but didn't join the party. Instead, he slipped away from the other two into the bathroom and shut the door.

He pried his gloves off his hands and rinsed his face, desperate to clean the dirt and grime from his forehead and fingers. Ranboo stared at himself in the mirror, watching beads of water run down his face. He looked like a mess, he thought briefly, before drying the water with a towel. He winced, feeling a shock of pain flow up his arm as he blotted the water with the scratchy cloth. Deftly, he rolled up his sweater sleeve to examine his arm.

A little bit of broken skin, Ranboo noticed. He caught sight of a few small indents, which he assumed were from fingernails digging into his arm when the zombie had grabbed him. He made a mental note to keep checking the wound before it got infected and rolled his sleeve down again.

With a newly clear head, he reentered the bedroom quietly. Tommy and Tubbo had already claimed the bed, he noted, as the two laid on either half of the mattress, Tommy's head and Tubbo's feet on one end and the other way around at the foot of the bed. Ranboo sighed as he realized he'd have to sleep on the floor. Swiftly, he snagged a pillow from the bed, careful not to wake the already-snoring Tubbo, and dragged a throw blanket from a basket to sleep beneath. Begrudgingly, he laid on his makeshift bed, staring at the ceiling.

He had never noticed it before, but shining overhead was a galaxy of artificial stars, blinking and twinkling. The question of "why" briefly crossed Ranboo's mind as he stared at the bright little shapes above him. It made sense, he supposed, since the room belonged to Wilbur years before he, Tommy, or Tubbo ever stayed there. Still, he thought, it was surprising that Phil had kept them up there after all this time. Maybe he wanted to keep a little piece of the good times with him.

Ranboo felt a pit form in his stomach as he thought about the future (or possible lack thereof). The uncertainty made his stomach churn as he yawned, eyelids drooping. Thoughts of traveling and an image of the artificial galaxy were fresh in his mind as he rolled over that night, shutting his eyes and letting the darkness of sleep wash over him at last.

[wtf-yoongi]

Let me drive. / JJK

pairing | jungkook x reader

summary | road trip + california + your koo 🥺

genre/warnings | fluff + light smut + established relationship + kinda shy/quiet jungkook

words | 3,522

note | okay so i had this idea almost a year ago and wrote around 5 versions of this since then lol i guess the stuff i write is *already* very chill but i have to say this is the chillest

If you could, you’d freeze this moment. This very moment. Right here, right now. Just as the wind blows on your hair, just as everything around you smells like sand and the sea, just as Jungkook’s smooth driving lulls you to sleep.

You look at him then. Focused on the curves of the road, a small crease in between his eyebrows as he is forced to make a particularly sharp turn. You twist again to look outside the half-opened window and all you can see are the waves coming and going, somehow closer when the car shifts — and it calms you even further. 

It’s hard to fight the heaviness of your eyelids, but you’re determined not to miss any second of this. Everything looks perfect, all around you — you can’t take it for granted. You should cherish it, imprint this in your memory, take pictures with Jungkook’s camera now that he’s busy driving and can’t do it himself. It’s within arm’s reach, but you can’t find it in you to grab it.

“You should take a nap,” Jungkook says with an unusual air in his voice. It is deep, but dreamy, and you wonder if you’ve actually fallen asleep. His right hand leaves the steering wheel to lightly touch your thigh. “You didn’t have enough sleep last night.”

“You’ve had just as much as me,” you protest, turning your body to seat properly again and blinking a few times to wake up, eyes opening as wide as possible in between each of them. “Do you think we can stop for a coffee somewhere? I bet you need it too.”

“I’m okay.”

“That’s what you always say.”

You end up convincing Jungkook you should stop somewhere, even if that somewhere is the nearest underwhelming gas station. He takes the opportunity to fill up the tank, later going inside to join you and look for the most appetizing caffeinated drink. It’s not his favorite, and neither is the one in your hands, but it’ll do for now. You take the can out of his long fingers to pay before he has a chance to protest.

“How far away are we now?”

Jungkook’s head tilts as he follows you outside, eyes wrinkling while his brain tries to remember what the GPS said before. “Not much, really. Maybe a little bit over half an hour.”

“Let me drive, then.”

He throws you the keys without thinking twice, but mostly because you know Jungkook wants to take pictures of the road — he’s never been good at hiding things and, with you in particular, there’s no point in trying anymore. He’s been driving since you left this morning and you wonder if you should’ve taken over after Pismo Beach.

Maybe you should have. He looks perfectly content as he sits on the passenger’s side and reaches for the camera not a heartbeat after putting on his seatbelt. That’s when you know you should’ve said something earlier — he’s not going to ask you to drive if he can keep going. It’s the way Jungkook’s mind works: selfless all the time.

That thought melts as soon as you look to your right and he’s pointing the camera at you, bright smile only partially covered by the device in his hands as you hear the shutter. For a second, all you can see is him. Suddenly, all you care about in the world is how you can make that smile last longer.

Is it too greedy to want it forever?

//

The rest of the way to Santa Barbara goes as smoothly as possible. Jungkook is right — it does take a little bit over half an hour to get there and you’re glad it’s early enough for you to explore the city tonight. As you cross what seems to be the main road, filled with life, shops and pretty lights, you and Jungkook make a silent agreement to come back as soon as you drop the bags in the house you’re staying in.

To be honest, Jungkook was excessive when he chose the place. He said he wanted it to be close to the beach, with a pool he could swim in at two in the morning if he wanted to — oh, yes, and private. He repeated that at least three times while you were researching. In the end, the house isn’t as close to the beach as he wished it to be, but he agreed the pool was worth it. 

When you land your eyes on it for the first time, you’re sure Jungkook made the right call.

There’s a host there to welcome you and you follow Mrs. Johnson around as she shows you all the little corners of the house. She is surprised to know only two guests are staying when the house could easily fit six, but nods with a warm smile when you mention the pool situation and the way Jungkook’s eyes lighted up when he saw the pictures. You also can’t miss the way he tries to hide himself behind you when you say that or the hand that travels down to your waist. You couldn’t see him, but you bet a thousand dollars a shy smile is in full display — dimples and all.

It only takes a few minutes for you to drag your bags inside, drink a cup of water and leave again. The house isn’t very far from the main road you’ve seen earlier and a walk after a few hours of sitting inside a car sounded like a great idea. Just before leaving, you playfully pull Jungkook’s bucket hat further down as he sits his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. Then, again, you wish you could freeze the moment, but only if you could attach an audio file with his giggle and that playful stop it with it.

There’s a comfortable warmth from all around you as you walk. The breeze is hot and, although the temperature is bearable, Jungkook’s hand in yours becomes clammy in under five minutes — not that it is enough reason to let it go, it’s just not the most comfortable and definitely not as pleasant as the feeling of his hands intertwined with yours midwinter.

You can tell Jungkook is excited. His feet are light on the scolding asphalt and he’s paying extra attention to every detail his doe-like eyes are able to reach — almost as if he’s also looking to imprint this moment in his brain. In fact, he could be getting help with that by taking pictures, but decides to leave the camera hanging by its strap on his waist for reasons you don’t quite understand. You also don’t ask, too happy to raise questions about anything.

There’s something about this city that makes you feel welcomed. It’s much like the charming towns you’ve visited along the coast ever since leaving the busy San Francisco a couple of days ago, but there’s something particularly special about it. You were expecting it to be filled with tourists enjoying their summer day, streets buzzing with cars and no available parking spots whatsoever only to be met by a steady rhythm of people walking, chatting and passing you by without a second glance. It’s less busy and more easygoing than you anticipated.

Jungkook also seems to notice that.

“I like it here,” he says, echoing your thoughts with ease. Jungkook’s head turns all around, taking it all in before landing his curious eyes on you. “I think this one is my favorite so far.”

You can’t help the snort that leaves your nose. “You’ve said that for every place we’ve been to.”

“Well, every place has been better than the last. What do you want me to say?”

Just as the words leave his lips, the elegant lamps lining the sidewalk come to life. You notice you’re not the only ones with chins up and surprised eyes — suddenly, you can point to every tourist standing within this block as locals move on with their lives as if nothing happened.

“Honestly, how can this not be my favorite so far?” Jungkook asks rhetorically, finally letting go of your hand to reach for his camera. He turns it on without even looking at the device, snapping picture after picture until he’s satisfied with the framing and lighting. “These lights are so pretty…” He comments as he checks his viewfinder. “Let me take one of you just standing there.”

He takes a few steps back to fit you in frame and you hear the shutter many times before he’s back by your side.

“Why don’t we get something to eat?” He suggests, quick to take your hand again as soon as the camera is back to its original place.

“That’d be nice. Craving anything in particular?”

“Food,” he answers simply and with a smile. “Anything you want.”

You end up inside a diner eight minutes from where you were. The reviews online were great and you can see the place is popular by the amount of people sitting when it’s still so early in the night. The sun hasn’t completely set, but you can already feel the temperature drop a little — not too much, you think, to forgo the pool later.

Jungkook eats like he’s been starving the whole day. One entrée isn’t enough for him, so he orders two and you feel like you should save some room for the burger coming in later. His fingers are greasy from all the fried chicken, so are his lips, and you can’t help but smiling fondly at him when he looks up from the bone he just sucked on. 

Right then, you wonder how in the world you ended up with him on the other side of the planet — the odds were never in your favor, but everything worked out somehow.

Ending up on the other side of the planet was the easy part.

//

The walk back to the house seems longer. Maybe it’s the weight of all the food in your stomach, maybe you’re finally feeling the need to rest after another busy day driving and seeing new places — maybe it’s both. Jungkook seems to feel it too, lazily swaying your connected (thoroughly cleaned) hands, dragging his feet and showing signs of running low on energy. For a moment, you think it’s possible he forgets about the pool and decides to just go to bed.

However tired, his eyes light up when he sees the pool area like it’s the first time and you have to admit it looks incredible. The water is so still it doesn’t look real and small decorative lamps illuminate it all around, creating a peaceful and inviting atmosphere. You can see how spent Jungkook is by the way his shoulders seem to be leaning forward a bit, but, still, he’s taking off his shirt and mumbling something about changing into a different pair of shorts.

Maybe he’s right. A quick dip in the water might just be the thing to relax your body and prepare it for the best sleep of your life.

Jungkook is already in the water when you come back in a bikini — with his back pressed to the pool, head resting on the edge and hair a wet mess. His eyes may be barely open, but he still sees you and raises a lazy hand out of the water to invite you in.

“It’s surprisingly not cold,” he assures you, a comforting smile on his lips. “Also, it’s not as deep, I’m just not really standing properly.”

A giggle leaves your lips as you move to sit on the edge right next to where he is, carefully letting a foot in to surprisingly — as Jungkook said — not immediately remove it because it’s too cold. You just wanted to sit there for a while getting used to the temperature before committing to a full dip, but he’s not having it.

“Come on,” Jungkook whines a little, clinging onto one of your legs. “We don’t have much time before I fall asleep in the water and drown.” He snorts and you can’t help falling for his shy smile. “I want to hold you in the water while we look at the stars together.”

“We can do that tomorrow if you want,” you suggest, trying not to let his words melt you completely while you move to fix a wet strand of hair in front of his eyes. “We’re staying here for one more night.”

However, in true Jungkook fashion, he doesn’t give up. “But I want it right now.”

And, in true you fashion, you give in to him.

//

The next morning, you wake up with a heavy and warm arm on top of your frame. The heat from Jungkook’s body on your back becomes too much as the hours pass and the room gets hit by an increasingly hotter sun. Unfortunately, it seems like your brain can’t get your limbs to move away from him without regaining consciousness.

It’s past 9 in the morning by the time you stretch an arm towards your phone. Groaning, you try reaching out for the air conditioner remote, but it’s maybe an inch too far. Before you can wiggle out of his grasp, though, you hear a low objection, grunt muffled by your own hair and skin.

Softly, you mutter a few words. “Just a second, Guk, I really need to get that.”

Subconsciously or not, Jungkook eases the grip he has around your middle and you’re finally able to hold the remote in your hands, lowering the temperature and increasing the speed. After the few beeps, a minute passes and you’re taking a deep breath, happy to feel the cool air around your limbs. 

“You’re shivering now,” he says, surprising you after a long and comfortable silence. Blindly, he feels around for the white sheets, fixing them on your torso all the way to your chin.

“I’m not shivering,” you assure him, uncovering an arm in a stubborn act. “I have a t-shirt on, it’s fine.”

He hums. “I’ll have you out of that in around thirty minutes. Don’t count on it too much.”

You smile, turning to him, but Jungkook still has his eyes closed. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“I told you: thirty minutes. Don’t rush, we’re on vacation,” he justifies himself, words lazy just like the smirk that appears on his lips. “Let me wake up properly.”

True to his words, you both rest for a little while before Jungkook starts making his move. You would’ve guessed he had fallen back to sleep from how steadily he was breathing just a few seconds ago, but you couldn’t have been more wrong — not when his lips are connected to the column of your throat and you begin to feel the weight of his body on your left side.

Suddenly, your whole world is surrounded by him. All you can feel, see and smell is made of Jungkook, from his hair tickling your face to the firm hand wandering around like it’s discovering your body for the first time. You sigh and moan a little when he marks you particularly hard or when his right hand moves to place your leg around his waist and you just know he’s satisfied. Jungkook lives for that, for knowing he does that to you.

There’s a light and soft laugh coming out of his lips before he turns to the other side of your neck, head stopping midway to plant a chaste and quiet kiss on your lips. 

“Promise me we’ll stay inside the whole day.” He’s just slightly out of breath, a feat that doesn’t go unnoticed by you — not after he’s taken care of your left side like that. He’s always so dedicated. “I really don’t want to get out of the house.”

“If you don’t want to.” The words would be perfectly accompanied by a shrug, but his body weight doesn’t let you. It’s just the right amount of pressure to feel him everywhere and, if you paid enough attention, you’d be able to sense his quick heartbeats too. “Yeah, we can stay in.”

“Good.”

You can see his eyes sparkle before he’s too close to focus, head dipping in to take your lips again. This time, however, the kiss is far from pure, delicately but firmly moving to open up your mouth and work restlessly until you’re completely out of breath.

You don’t know exactly when he starts slowly motioning his hips forward, senses overloaded with him everywhere, but you can feel your whole body respond to it. When you sigh yet again and his name comes out in a whimper, hand gripping his neck like your life depends on it, he knows.

“Let’s get you out of this,” he suggests, now a little bit past slightly out of breath as he proceeds to lift the t-shirt up and up until it’s free and thrown somewhere.

You couldn’t check the time then, but, if you could, you’d notice exactly thirty one minutes have passed.

//

“Have you even applied any sunscreen?” You call out from the inside of the house, holding a simple and delicious cup of cold water in your hands.

When you’re thirsty, everything will taste incredible.

“No!” He simply answers, ridding his hair of the excess water. “I’m only staying for twenty minutes while you shower, no need for sunscreen.”

“Yes need for sunscreen,” you disagree, sipping your water one last time before rummaging through your bag in search of the light blue bottle.

You immediately feel it in your skin as soon as you’re not covered by the roof of the house anymore. It is, after all, almost lunch time and the sun is at its peak — beautiful, majestic and burning hot. It only takes a few steps for you to reach the border of the pool and Jungkook gets the message, slowly walking towards you in the water.

“Dry your face and shoulders, please,” you demand at once, throwing him a small towel that was hanging around one of the lounge chairs. Luckily, he’s quick enough to catch it before it falls into the pool.

Still, Jungkook complains quietly. “It’s just twenty minutes, it’s really not a big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal until your cheeks are completely red,” you argue, squeezing a bit of the product on your fingers and soon applying it to his forehead and down his blushed nose. “Look, it’s already rosy from the walk we took. You should’ve asked for the sunscreen earlier.”

“Okay, okay,” he begrudgingly agrees just as he closes his eyes, your hands running close to the eyebrows. “You know what? We should’ve booked this place for one more day.”

“You think so?” You ask, finally bringing your hands back and closing the lid of the sunscreen bottle. “Don’t dip your head in the water for at least a few minutes, please,” you warn.

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve been to LA before, we know how it is. I think I like it here more,” Jungkook explains, swimming backwards towards the middle of the pool. “We’re staying in a hotel for two days before going back home. A hotel doesn’t have this.”

“The hotel has a pool.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes playfully. “You know what I mean. We can’t have this in a hotel.”

“We can just rest for two days,” you suggest. “Wake up and eat and nap and eat and…”

He laughs and twirls in the water. “I hate to interrupt you, but we’ll be late for checkout if you don’t go shower.”

“Right.”

//

There’s something about being on the road with him that brings you nothing but peace. It must be the perfect combination of clear skies, warm winds, the comfortable silence and the freedom of being on the road. Even with a destination in mind, it doesn’t feel like you need to follow it through. You can go anywhere, do anything, stop the car in the middle of nowhere and stare at the sea for an hour if you want to.

It almost makes you feel nostalgic for something that is happening right now.

The road gets busier and busier the closer you get to the city. Around here, you can see the mansions up in the hills, the exclusive restaurants here and there, and the fancy cars accelerating past the maximum speed displayed on the road signs of Malibu. Still, when you slowly press the brakes to stop on a red light, it feels like you’re in your own little world.

It’s always like this. He’s there and, suddenly, it hits. Everything around you melts, there’s nothing else. Sometimes, when Jungkook’s in the room, it almost looks like he shines — to you, there’s a bright, golden aura surrounding him. It’s warm, inviting and irresistible.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything when he sees the corners of your lips tug up without a reason, deciding to just mirror them. Once again, you find yourself wishing you could freeze this moment — this very moment. Just as his smile reaches his sparkling eyes and an airy laugh escapes his lips.

“Baby, the lights have just turned green.”

Read more ›› masterlist

[sashi-ya]

Ch. 2 ~ NSFW ~ Trafalgar Law x F! Maid! Reader ~ A Dangerous Attraction

AU: Mafia AU. Mafia boss Law. Slightly longer hair for him.

TW: BLOOD. So much blood and violence. Mafia boss Law. Graphic depictions of violence. Slow burn. Mutual pining. Smut coming soon. Driving fast. Maid costume.

WC: 5.7K

Chapters: one ; two; three; four; five; final

Tag List: @chocokaylarobin

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33273136

"Let’s go” Law says, pulling you from your hand. You stumble upon your own feet. You don’t really know if it is because you are weak or traumatized. It doesn’t matter really. “Grab your coat, and let’s head out. You are in danger” he says. You snatch your black coat and put it on.

The bar is a mess, everything is scattered all over the floor, glasses shattered all around. The smell of booze and blood mixed, your co-workers scared as hell. But everyone seems to be safe, thanks to “Law’s people”.

Even if you wanted to stay, you just can’t. Law keeps pulling from you towards the exit. You interlock eyes with your friend Lilly trying to tell her you are alright, but she is terrified. Where is that gangster taking you? Are you going to be, ok? frankly, you don’t even know. You smile at her and mouth something similar to a “I’m ok” before leaving the place.

Outside the bar, a typical Saturday night. No one notices what has just happened, everybody is too busy passing out on the streets with more alcohol than blood running through their veins. Others are hooking up, others fighting. You dismiss them but keep looking everywhere in case more enemies decide to attack you.

“(Name)-ya, put this” he says and helps you with putting on a motorbike helmet. He clips the strap under your chin, he bends a little tilting his head to see if it’s well secure. The feeling of safety you experience with him, even him being a murderer, is insane. You are insane, insane but infatuated with a murderer.

You quickly become aware that Law is sitting on a huge black with yellow details motorcycle. “Are… are we riding that? you ask, surprised and even a little scared. “If you prefer riding other things after I’ll be pleased to, but for now, let’s go” he says, fixing those crystalline grey eyes on yours through the eye shield of the helmet.

You choke when you realize what he meant about “riding other things” and stand still in the middle of the street. “Hop on, come on” he says and even if his mouth is covered you can sense a sexy smirk under the helmet. You nod and jump to the little seat that motorbike has behind him. Your body gets naturally bent towards his back, and you wonder where that thing has a grip to hold on to. But that doubt is quickly faded, as Law snatches your arms and makes you hug him by his waist. “Heh, hold on tight, I like to drive fast” he says. The feeling of the leather gloves he is using against your hands makes you shiver as he grabs them tight.

The katana that he has hanging on his back is pressed against your chest. He is not wearing his typical suits, but a black leather jacket with an orange stripe on his left arm and tight jeans. The scent of his manly perfume invades your scents, your hands feeling the way his hard rock abs move with each breath he takes, the proximity with this man feels heavenly.

But the roaring sound of the bike engine and the sudden speed scares you. “Law!” you shout. “Hold on tight” he says once again before his hand twists the throttle and everything in the street turns on lights passing by instead of buildings. You close your eyes, your heart beats like crazy. “Open your eyes” he commands. “How… How did you know?” you shout, trying to make your voice be heard in between the sound of the wind. “You are trembling! Open your eyes, enjoy the speed. You are safe with me” he tells you. You slowly open your lids, aware of now being on the highway. There is almost no transit, and you can see the sea on your right side. You focus on how awesome the view is, even if the speed barely allows your eyes to differentiate the scenery.

Behind you the city lights, you sometimes turn around a little just to see what’s left back. Slowly but surely getting used to the slight motion the motorcycle does when Law changes lanes or takes curves. “Let go and put your hands up in the air” he tells you. “What?” you shout. “Just do it!”.

And you do so, and the wind hits your palms, making you feel free for the first time in your life. The adrenaline, and the dangerous movements does not scare you anymore, but it excites you. Your blood pumps faster, and you smile without even knowing really why.

Some minutes after, Law takes the exit and drives through an open lane that apparently heads to the beach. You have never been there, there are some big mansions. It looks like a really rich neighbourhood. He stops meters from the coast, a big three story white mansion in front of you. A modern construction, luxury all around. A place worthy of someone like Law, for sure.

“We are home” he says, and those words hit you. “Home…” you whisper. Law helps you get off the bike, grabbing you by your waist. You don’t even know if this is all flirting or he is naturally sexy and arousing. You hope for the two options and walk behind him following you towards a big path of rocks until the main entrance.

He scans his fingerprint and the door unlocks. Inside, opulence yet minimalism. Everything is so white, so clean and in its place. Modern decoration, marble floors. You haven’t ever seen a place like this, and you are amazed. “I’ll have a lot to clean” you joke. “Let’s leave that aside for tonight, all right?” Law says while leaving your helmets on a light brown wooden table next to the door. “Follow me” he commands and you do as he tells.

Your steps resonate all around the place, it’s cold and no one seems to be awake. When you get to the kitchen, Law finally takes his gloves off and cleans his hands on the sink. You giggle, because he might be a murderer but his hands won't get the blood of his enemies for sure.

“Want something to drink?” He asks. “Uhm, water would be ok” you tell him. He serves you a big glass of water, and then takes his katana off his back. You watch every movement he makes, fascinated by how cold and calm he could be after killing someone with that exact same blade he is now cleaning with dedication.

“Tsk, I hate blood” he says, frowning as apparently some red spot has coagulated somewhere over the sword. You can decide whether you want to say something or keep looking at his strong arms scrap de edge. “You have made me kill twice already, huh? Stop getting in trouble” he says. Is he joking? Is he recriminating something to you? “I’m sorry” you say, flinching and looking at the ground. Law turns around and looks at you, confused.

“I was just joking, don’t worry. I don’t mind killing those bastards for you” he tells you and smiles before turning around and keeps cleaning the katana. Your eyes widen, did he just… did he just tell you he doesn’t mind killing people for you? Is that supposed to be romantic?

“Uhm, Law?” You ask. “Mhh?” He says, still obsessed with that little drop of blood that doesn’t fade away. “Do you kill people often?”. You regret instantly asking that question. Do you really wanna know the answer?

Law looks at you, fixing once again his grey eyes on yours and takes a little time to answer. “Not really, I don't like to kill people. After all I’m a doctor” he says, smiling.

Oh that’s why he is called the “Surgeon of Dead '' you think. “So you are really a surgeon? That’s awesome!” You express, genuinely amazed, somehow forgetting the fact that he is a mafia boss. Law expresses a subtle smile, so handsome, so sexy, and mysterious. A smile that left you speechless for a second. The silence between you two is not uncomfortable, but you surely feel the tension eat your bones. “Wanna see something cool?” Law finally breaks the silence. “Of course!” You accept right away. “Well, follow me then”.

You walk towards dark hallways, at each side closed doors and weird looking art, maybe a Monet or a Munch. But you don’t shit about art so it doesn’t really matter. You follow him, watching secretly the muscles on his back, wondering if it is also covered in tattoos.

“So, here we are” he says and opens the door of a gigantic room. Inside, everything still has a minimalist style, the room has a big bed in the middle of it, and a big glass wall that leads directly to an infinity pool. The view is amazing too, you can see the coast ahead, waves crashing meters from the pool. “This place is amazing, Law! Is this your bedroom?” you ask, walking towards the glass wall. “Uhum. Would you like to swim?” he asks, and you can denote some shyness in his voice. “You mean, now? It’s freezing cold!” you utter. “It is, but the water is heated…” he points out something obvious. “Oh, I see” you say, giggling.

“I’m gonna take a dip to relax, if you wanna join” he says, and you watch him nonchalantly undress in front of you. Everything ends on the floor, and he walks past you only wearing grey boxers. Your mouth is unable to close, you are dumbfounded. Dumbfounded, surprised, and horny. Your eyes are blessed by the way his hips move when he walks, that caramel skin covered in fancy drawings, some white spots scattered all around his body, how his slightly long hair falls over his shoulders. A true geek god in all its splendour.

He submerges into the warm water, swimming so gracefully. You come closer to the edge of the pool, feeling the steam coming off of it. Law finally emerges, he takes his wet black hair out of the face and ties it in a loose ponytail. “Come on, it’s warm” he says as you follow every single drop of water that falls from his chin towards his inked chest.

“I… I don’t have a swimsuit” you tell him, acting as if you already didn’t know he wants you naked. “Underwear” he points with his fingers towards you. “But I don’t have any clothes besides this…” you tell him but get interrupted by him. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you some. Plus, your shirt has blood stains all over”. You realize he is right; your stomach has some blood spots all over. You squirm with disgust, and quickly take your clothes off. You have no option now, whether you want it to or not being naked in front of him, the blood has to be gone.

Your clothes end up on the floor, next to Law’s. Your lingerie, which wasn’t supposed to be sexy, suits you better than what you expected. Your toe tries the water, and when you are sure is warm enough, you slowly enter. Perhaps unwillingly acting a little sexier, I mean, you want to be railed by that man really bad.

“You like it?” Law asks. “I do, it’s super warm, I love it” you genuinely say, deep inside the pool until your neck. Law smiles sexily and heads his sight to the coast. The sea looks a little choppy tonight and there are no clouds in the dark sky, so the moon shines bright above it.

You enjoy Law’s profile, golden little hoops that shine like they are made with the purest gold, a perfect straight nose. “He must be so popular among women” you think as you fix your eyes on his back tattoo. It looks like a smiley face, as well as the one in the middle of his chest. You wonder about its meaning, and why he has it.

“(Name)-ya?” he asks, pulling you out the reverie his body got you in. Soon you realize you were fixing your eyes on his chest, and quickly stop looking. “I-I’m sorry” you excuse yourself, looking towards the sea. “I know you want to fuck me, but I was asking you something” Law says, so coldly looking up and down at you.

“What?!” you say, choking on your own words. Covering your face, you think if you are that obvious with liking him. Your cheeks burn, and your makeup is all smudged because of the water. “Why are you covering your face? Don’t do that, you are pretty” he says, swimming towards you and taking your hand out of your face. You swallow when you see him so close, looking down at you. Your eyes try not to focus on his mouth, but you fail. Those lips, so perfect, so tempting.

His mouth draws a subtle smile and takes his hand to your chin lifting it up, gently. Law comes closer, little by little. Noses almost touching, fire burning inside you. The anticipation, the need to feel those lips against yours. You slowly close your eyes as he approaches you, the time goes by so slow, the moment seems to never end. He wants you to beg. You pout your lips, as you feel his mouth linger over them. Mixed breathing, the first step, the first kiss…

“Law! Are you home?”

You open your eyes; your mouths are now apart. That voice… that voice, you know it well. “Don’t come in” Law says, exalted. “Wait here” he tells you and quickly gets out of the pool. A white towel around his hips, a towel that can’t even hide the size of his arousal.

“Ah I see you are finally with a… girl? Is that a girl? Fufufu” the voice of a man you can’t see his face, but for some reason you know really well. A shiver runs through your spine. It can’t be… he can’t be the same… Law closes the door of his room, and then the voices aren’t heard anymore. You tremble. The memories of your dad cross your mind, and everything hurts.

A few minutes later, Law is back. You hear him locking the door and coming back to the pool. “I’m sorry” he says, lending you a hand to help you get out of the water. He grabs a white towel and wraps you around the fluffy material. He looks pissed, annoyed. The surgeon is not even looking at your almost naked body and how the water has turned shear the material of your underwear.

“Is everything ok?” you ask, worried. “My uncle, he is an asshole. But it is my boss, after all” he sighs. You are tempted to ask more about his family, where are his parents? Why does his uncle piss him off? Why does the voice of that man sound so familiar to you, and reminds you of your father's death? But you just remain silent. You know he is not gonna speak, he is a damn gangster, a delinquent.

“I’m going to sleep on the couch right there, you can sleep in my bed” says Law while looking for something in the wardrobe and pointing towards a big leather couch in front of the bed. “Here, use this. I will make sure tomorrow morning you have new clothes to wear” he says, lending you a pair of boxers and a loose white t-shirt. “Is he giving me his clothes? Why is he not here… fucking me already?” you think to yourself unable to understand why a mafia boss is being so respectful with you.

“Thanks” you say and run towards the in suit bathroom to change. Minutes after you go back, and discover Law already lying on the couch, wearing some shorts and a black shirt. The bed is so damn big, that even if you two slept there your bodies will never touch if you didn’t want it to. “You can sleep in your bed if you want, Law” you tell him. “Are you sure?” he asks. “Uhum. I trust you”.

He smiles and walks to the bed. You are sitting over the huge comfortable mattress with your legs crossed, contemplating the intimacy of Law wearing pajamas. He slides into bed and looks at you. “What are you waiting for?” he asks. “Oh, uhm… nothing” you tell him and get in bed too.

“Law… I’m sorry but will I get back to my apartment tomorrow?” you ask, because you frankly don’t know what is going to happen with you. Law turns to you, his cheek pressed against the pillow, and simply says “You are living here from now on, or else you would be in danger”.

“Am I living here?” you utter, surprised. “Yeah, I thought you meant that when you told me to bring you with me” he tells you, confused. “Y-yes. Well, let me please be your maid at least. I’m good at cleaning, but I can manage to learn anything you need me to do” you say, mainly because you need the money for your family.

“If you insist on being my maid, well, then I’ll have to accept” he says, and the sexy grind returns to his face. “But for now, why don’t we go to sleep?” he says, and you understand perfectly that he is being politely sending you to sleep. “Yes, you are right. Goodnight” you whisper, turning to the other side, giving Law your back. “Goodnight” he says.

“Thank you, Law”.

The silence invades the room, you can only hear the sound of the waves and Law’s soft breathing. The way he inhales and exhales, relaxes you. For some reason, even if you are sleeping next to a murderer, you feel secure, safe, as if you have always belonged to his side.

You want to see his face so you turn around and crawl silently closer to him. He sleeps so deep, his frown is now relaxed, his mouth slightly open. He looks so innocent, so angelical. “Why do you have to be a gangster?” You whisper, while lingering your hand over his face without touching him.

You spend a good hour looking at him peacefully sleeping, admiring how sometimes he clenches his jaw and grunts. He must be dreaming of something, you think.

Finally, exhaustion wins the battle against your eyelids and you fall asleep synchronizing your breathing with his.

——

The smell of coffee wakes you up, you get a little scared when you wake up in a room that it’s not yours, but soon remember where you are. You stretch your whole body, looking at the windows. A bright day, blue skies and sun shining over the sea. Law is next to you, still asleep. His face is lightened by some sun rays that filter in between the fronds of the palms that surround the pool.

You turn around to discover a little cart with a big breakfast waiting for you. When did they bring this? Did anyone see you sleeping there?

“Morning” says the man on your side with a sleepy voice. He stretches his arms, and with one of them touches your back. He goes up and down, caressing your skin over his white shirt. You froze still.

He stops and stretches up his arms, making his biceps mark even more. The tattoos, the colour of the skin. Everything, everything drives you crazy. “Morning” you greet him, shyly.

“You should eat” Law says to you as he stands up and walks towards the cart next to the door. He puts his hand over his stomach, lifting his shirt, allowing you to see those perfect abs and a happy trail that leads to ecstasy. You cross your legs, your body needs release, and perhaps some pressure over your core could help. It doesn’t. Not at all. That need only eases by giving your body what it wants. And what it wants is in front of you, yawning with dishevelled hair, tempting you so badly.

“Do you like toast and eggs?” He asks so calmly. “Y-yes” you nod, what you actually want to eat is his body, but some eggs would do. Law passes you a plate with a full menu prepared. Toasts, eggs, fruits, everything. You notice he is not eating toast, so you find a good conversation theme -or at least something to distract you from the hornyness.

“I can share with you my toasts” you say, thinking that perhaps there wasn’t enough for the two of you and he gave them all to you. “No thanks, I hate bread” he says and you can see a grimace of disgust on his face. “Oh, I see” you giggle a little, because that expression reminds you of a little kid saying no to its vegetables.

“You have plans for today?” He asks you. “Uhm… not really. I mean, I should start working, right?” You tell him, because you don’t really know if you are here to be protected and treated like a queen or like work personnel.

“Sure, you will start tonight with that job” he says. “Oh, night shift then” you innocently express. “Sure, night shift…” Law says, sarcastically laughing. You don’t really catch it at first, neither later.

“Let’s have some fun today” Law suggests, and you get excited as he says so. He leaves his plate over the cart, walks towards the bathroom, and tells you he is taking a shower. You can hear the water running and bite your lip imagining him bathing his body… “Stop, (name). You should stop right now” you say to yourself in order to calm your hormones down. You can’t but at least you try.

Searching your clothes you don’t find them and panic a little. “What am I supposed to wear? Who took the clothes off the room?” You say while searching everywhere. “The service took your clothes for cleaning; they will be here at any moment with new clothes. Don’t worry” you hear Law’s voice coming from behind. You turn around scared and find him standing at the bathroom door wearing only a white towel loosely tight around his hips. He is still wet from the shower and is ruffling his hair with another towel. Is there any reason why he has to be more than irresistible? …

“T-thanks” you mumble, lost in the ink lines his skin has drawn on. “You are welcome. By the way, if you want to bring your stuff here, I can tell Bepo to bring them for you, or we can go to your apartment. You will have your own room to put them there, too” he informs you. You appreciate him being so kind and helpful, but your mind only remembers the last words. “You will have your own room to put your stuff”. “Does he want me to sleep here from now on? Is my room only for putting my stuff?” You think.

“Thanks, we can go whenever you can. I mainly need my clothes and some medication” you tell him. “Meds? What meds do you take?” Asks Law, perhaps curious about your medical record.

“Just some vitamins and uhm… birth control” you tell him, flinching at the last part. “Right, don’t worry. We are buying a new pack now, so you can take them and then we could go pick your stuff up” he commands. Law is somehow worried for you not to skip a single pill, and you wonder if it is just because he is a doctor, or he has other intentions in mind. You are actually fine with both, to be honest.

Suddenly, a knock on the door. “It must be your clothes” says Law, opening the door and bringing inside a box that has been left on the floor. Inside, underwear, several pills including birth control, clothes, and toiletries, perfectly arranged, like a hotel service. “Thanks” you bow a little. “You are welcome, you can use the bathroom if you want”.

Grabbing the box you run to the bathroom. The place does not spare luxury either, white marble all around, a shower and a jacuzzi. “This man must be richer than it seems. Of course he is, he is a mafia boss” you say, shaking your head.

Lukewarm water falls over your body, cooling the heat your skin feels. The toiletries they gave you include things you haven’t ever used in your life. Soaps, serums, hair treatments. Everything feels like a vacation, and for once in a lifetime you decide to enjoy it a little.

When you get out of the bathroom, you see Law outside, next to the pool. He is on a call with someone, looking suspiciously worried. You decide to wait inside, you are still afraid about interfering with his “job”. Yet, your ears want to hear. In between the sound of the waves crashing on the coast, you hear the words “Her dad? Are you sure? Fine”. Law turns around and discovers you sitting on the couch, acting naive. He flashes a smile and hangs up the phone.

The glass door opens and Law instantly speaks so you are not able to ask anything. “Let’s go pick up your stuff, and then we can go on a little day trip. I want to show you a special place I own” says Law with a sparkle in his eyes. You smile and quickly forget about his phone call.

While getting out of the room, Law turns his head to the right and tells you again “tonight, you will start with that job”. “Uhm, the maid one?” you ask. “Heh, right”.

Walking faster next to him you pass through the multiple halls the house has. You hear some murmur from a special room where the doors are not closed. “Good morning Sir! Good morning Miss!” a bunch of women, dressed in a subtle uniform similar to scrubs wave at you while cleaning clothes or preparing themself to work. “Good morning” waves Law and keeps walking. You nod at them with a shy smile and follow him. “That must be my uniform from now on, well it is not cute but at least looks comfy” you think.

Outside a matte black Aston Martin Vantage is parked. Law takes the keys from his jeans and unlocks the luxurious car. You have always loved cars, and that one screams perfection. “OH LORD IS THAT YOUR CAR?” you shout. “Yes… one of them” says Law, surprised by your excitement. “WOW. This is what I want to ride for sure” you tell him and open your own door. Law was about to do it for you, but he simply laughed and closed the door for you when you got inside, instead.

“Now, this is where I want to go fast, Law!” you tell him, jumping on your seat. “Right, put the seatbelt on” Law says and bends over you to reach for it. His hands graze your chest when he pulls the black material that is gonna keep you safe, your faces so close to each other, the tension once again, the need. Law smirks for an instant, and what you thought was gonna be a passionate kiss, once again ends up in nothing.

“Well, let’s go” he says and puts his own seatbelt on. The engine roars, the gravel behind flies away and forms a dust cloud when off you go. Quickly, Law heads to the highway. You are amazed by the sound of the car; how modern and technological it is and you wish you could drive such a beast.

Quickly you arrive at your apartment, and Law asks you to bring just the important stuff and a little bag with something to spend the night, telling you Bepo and his men would make sure all your stuff gets delivered to your new home. You nod and run upstairs. “I think he is planning on spending the night somewhere else” you think and decide to carry with you the finest pairs of lingerie you own, make up, toothbrush and of course the photo of your family. You don’t really need anything else, to be honest.

You quickly charge your phone and turn it on, a million messages from Lilly and your co-workers flood the screen. “Are you ok?” “(Name) are you still alive?” “Contact us, please”. Even your boss has sent you several texts asking you if you plan on working tonight… “I won’t come back to that fucking place, ever again!” you shout, happy, relieved.

You grab your bag and head out, closing the apartment door, saying goodbye to it. Goodbye and fuck you.

You go downstairs texting Lilly about how good you are, and Law is waiting for you outside the car resting over it, with his arms crossed and wearing black sunglasses. When he notices your phone he changes from a laid back posture, to an alarmed one. “What are you doing with that?” he asks.

“Uhm, my phone? Texting Lilly…” you tell him, surprised at such a question. “Turn that off” he commands. “Why?” you ask, alarmed. “I’ll give you another one, this one could be easily tracked” he says, looking at you pissed and stretching his hand for you to give him your phone. “Oh” you say and give it to him. He takes the phone cover off, and you think he is going to break it. “Please, allow me to download my pictures first!!” you shout. “Don’t worry, I was just taking off the SIM card, you can have it back then, but please don’t use this one to communicate with anyone. You will have a safer one” he says and takes the little card off, throwing it to the street. You breathe released, he doesn’t want to isolate you or worse…

"Well, let’s go" Law tells you, this time opening the door for you. He drives away from your now, old neighbourhood, and you see how your apartment is left behind, through the rear mirror. You sight with your head over the window, and Law notices it. He puts his hand over your thigh, making you jump scared a little. “Is everything ok?” he asks, caressing your thigh up and down, while he gets his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Yes, it is that everything happened so quickly… but it’s ok. I don’t want to come back to that place ever again” you tell him.

“I’m pleased to hear that, to be honest” he says, dedicating a sexy smirk to you.

Your cheeks burn once again, your core too. The touch of his hand over your leg is killing you, like sweet torture. He has been teasing you for so long, and still you haven’t even kissed.

The drive takes almost three hours, half of the ride is done through the mountains. Apparently, the place he wants to go is located in the middle of nowhere. He leaves the route to take an unpaved road through the forest. Red, copper, and yellowish tones all around, dry leaves rain over the car, some snow patches the sun is melting at each side of the path. Ahead, a cabin, a big cabin. Luxury wooden builds a two story chalet in front of you.

“Welcome to my vacation home. I used to call it Punk Hazard when I was younger” he says, hiding how excited this makes him. “Punk Hazard?” you ask, giggling. “Yeah, I used to love punk and I was a bad boy, so, yeah, Punk Hazard” he says, proud of it. “You WERE a bad boy?” you laugh. “You have no idea…”

The place smells like cinnamon and honey. Perhaps something spicy too. Law tells you to get comfy while turning on the fireplace as the house is a little cold. The sun filters through the windows, making everything inside be bathed by a subtle orangey light. You can see through them, huge mountains rising around the place. A wonderful place, a perfect place to be alone, to ask for help and not be heard… “Wait, (Name). Stop right there. He is keeping you safe, he is not gonna hurt you” you say to yourself, trying to ease the scary thoughts.

You are suddenly pulled out from all your thinking, as Law has grabbed you by your waist. His chin rests over your shoulder, his sideburns graze your skin and you shiver a little. “I thought about waiting until the night, but I can’t take it anymore” he says and quickly turns you around. Your back against the wooden wall, Law pinning you against it while he kisses you so violently, passionately. You let yourself go, your tongues playing with each other. The fire increasingly turned on. This is it; Law is fucking your right now…

“Wait a second” he says, and leaves you there, panting. “Is he running away once again?” you think, aroused and a little annoyed.

But Law is not leaving you, he has gone outside and is searching for something on the trunk of his car. He returns with a box in his hands and gives it to you. “Your uniform. Go and change your clothes. Your shift starts now” he says.

“Uhm… ok?” you say and go towards the bathroom with the box. “This fucking asshole, I thought… damn it” you grunt while opening the box and discovering a maid outfit. Not like the ones you saw at the mansion, but a black and white one. Sexy as hell, not supposed to be used for cleaning for sure. Ruffled skirt, white thigh highs. Everything you need to look like a sex maid. “Oh damn…”.

You get into the costume and then head outside. Shyly you stand in front of Law who is now waiting for you, sitting on a single couch with his legs crossed. He relishes your image. “It suits you, perfectly” he says. You don’t say anything, you have already understood what he wants… and oh girl, you do play along. “Whatever you want Sir, I’m here to please you”.

“You are gonna serve your master from now on, little maid” he says and calls you patting his lap. You start walking towards him, but he stops you.

“No, not walking. Crawling”. “Yes, master”...

PART 3

[kashimos-hajime]

twenty questions (7/8) | r.b.

summary: No, he refuses to lose someone else. Not again, not you. Never fucking you. Or, after four years, Reiner meets you once more.

WARNINGS: angst, just conversation, a bit of violence, mentions of trauma, children ummmmm yeee, jean also appears <3 true king pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 8.3k

a/n: reiner returns!! welcome to the penultimate chapter and thank you for being on this journey with me :) again, song is not mine! it’s the wellerman sea shanty hehe

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

Morning streams through the curtains.

You part the billowy white fabric, pushing open the window breathing in the late morning air. As always, it’s warm and ripe with the aroma of the fresh bread from the bakery you live above, and as you lean on the windowsill, you hear the door below you chiming with new patrons. You smile to yourself, resting your chin on your hand.

Even still, you can’t help but admire how beautiful it is, especially in the streets here, far away from a industrial zone. The Liberio interment zone is small, yes, but it’s no less beautiful. The architecture of brick and glass all hold an austere beauty, and when the sunset is upon you, the shadows they cast and the warmth that embraces the stone is something you’ve never quite seen before. There’s a church, and you’ve sat inside day a few days before, watching the light stream through the stained glass in amazement.

A knock at the door takes you from your thoughts and you let out a sharp noise of surprise, gaze ripping away from the busy streets. A tremor shoots through you and you swallow harshly, waiting in bated breath.

“The shop’s busy as bees, today!” your landlord admonishes on the other side. You let out a relieved sigh, relaxing a bit. “If you want, I can still save you a loaf!”

“No, thank you!” you shout over your shoulder, reaching to close the window and get ready for the day. Sliding a warm vest onto your shoulders, you adjust the hat on your head and grab your bag from the counter, your bare fingers a bit cold and numb.

You burn at the thought of Reiner. You don’t want to see him, even if you live in the same city now, but all the same, it’s hard to avoid him. After all, it’ll only be so long before you’re forced to confront your past, push yourself into his way because how long, really, can you stay away from him? As you slide the white armband onto your bicep, your heart tightens. You’ve seen the man he’s grown into—handsome, tired, lonely. That only reflects in you.

Pulling your arms through your jacket, you stare at the woodgrain beneath your feet emptily.

Why am I even here? 

Coming to Marley, of all places. Some days, you can’t wrap your head around it, before you’re reminded of the reason. It all has a purpose. You just have to keep going—keep moving forward.

Continuing through your loft, you shove your feet into boots and head out for the day. The festival’s tonight—you have lots to do before then.

.

Night slips in.

Reiner frowns when he realizes he’s walking back to the stage. He’s been trailing after the sound for a good half-hour, but considering they stay relatively nearby his final destination, he’s never felt the urge to detract. 

He still can’t place the tune that’s been hummed, whistled, sang gently and leading him on, and as the sky darkens and the crowd noise grows louder, he realizes that his trail is slowly growing colder and colder.

“Hey, Reiner!” His head swivels to find Gabi waving at him and he meanders over, frowning a bit. “Where’d you go? The others said you wandered off.”

“I took a walk to clear my head,” he says dismissively, ignoring her frown deepening. “I see you’ve recovered from your food coma.” Immediately, Gabi’s frown turns into a pout and she rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine.” He snorts, turning to survey the area. The others are milling about. Zeke and Colt are talking by the bench, and Pieck and Porco are off together, as usual. They’re not half as inconspicuous as they think they are. Finding Udo and Zofia, his brow wrinkles when he can’t catch sight of a certain blond boy. 

“Where’s Falco?”

“He ran off earlier, saying he saw someone he knew,” Gabi says, waving it away. “He’s always being so weird. Who else could he know besides us?”

“What, are you jealous?” he teases, ruffling Gabi’s hair and she lets out a squawk, smacking at his hand. Chuckling gently, he surveys the area again as they walk towards their seats. Zeke and Colt give him a nod in greeting, one he returns. 

“Why would I be jealous?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” he replies distantly. His eyes keep searching, a ticklish feeling at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t know if he’s imagining it or if he can really hear that tune still at the edge of his hearing, nagging for his attention. Sighing, he crosses his arms over his chest. “What Falco does during his free time isn’t on your need-to-know basis, Gabi.”

“I know. I’m just saying—he doesn’t even have any friends besides us,” she says pointedly just as someone calls his name.

“Mister Braun!” Falco skids to a stop in front of him, his forehead gleaming with sweat, even in the cooler night air. Panting, he leans forward on his knees, meeting Reiner’s eyes, and Gabi tilts her head, confused and agitated and betraying her previous aloof words.

“Where the hell did you go?”

Ignoring her, Falco continues to try and catch his breath, barely punching out, “Can you come with me?” before looking down at the floor again, his shoulders rising and falling so quickly Reiner almost feels bad for him.

He frowns. “Right now?”

“You’ll be fine,” Zeke assures. The two look at the older man who glances at his watch. “It shouldn’t start for a few more minutes.”

Reiner debates it for a moment. Then again, it’s not like he’s the number one fan of this show. His presence is for appearance’s sake at this point, and if Falco insists, then it must be something important. Sighing, he nods and Falco takes off again. Telling Gabi to explain his absence to his mom should he not return in time, he walks after the sprinting boy, his mind a whirlwind on the possibilites of why he’s in such a hurry.

Falco stops past a blue curtain that’s near a residential building and points at the arch, smiling. His entire face is flushed and Reiner cocks an eyebrow, approaching closer before hearing a soft voice singing. It only grows as he passes by the blue partition, and his heart picks up as his eyes widen.

“…The Captain's mind was not on greed… But he belonged to the whaleman's creed… She took that ship in tow… Soon may the Wellerman come to bring us sugar and tea and rum. One day, when the tonguin' is done, we’ll take our leave and go…”

He knows that tune. The sailors sang it in the port city after Fort Slava. It’s one of their sea shanties—it’s rare to hear them anywhere except by the water, and when he reaches Falco, searching for that voice, his eyes fix on a figure leaning against the archway underneath the building.

The woman in purple.

Falco runs up to her. A hand is on her bicep when she shifts to look at the boy, and Reiner’s throat swells as his legs move on their own accord. Time seems to slow as Falco turns around, mouth open in words that go in through one ear, and out the other. 

The woman says something, and Falco twists back, frowning a bit, but she only nods encouragingly, and off he goes, running on ahead, down to the end of the pathway out of Reiner’s sight.

A strangled noise leaves his mouth as the blond slips from his view.

The woman in purple’s head snaps up at the sound, and Reiner’s entire body locks when he finally recognizes the face that searches his impassively. The white armband is covered still by her fingers, but when she pushes off the wall, it’s almost as if she bewitches him to come even closer.

And he does, his hand lifting up to reach for her. Reach for what has to be a ghost. No…

No, it can’t be. No. No, I’m seeing things, I am, I—

You lift your hand off your armband, and when his fingers meet your palm, he feels your warmth, the way your skin slides against his as he interlaces their fingers, and he chokes, entire body burning from the inside out as you fold your fingers over his palm, yank him into the shadow with enough force to unbalance him. You side-step and fling his hand off, let him crash to his hands and knees. Pain shoots up his joints and his eyes widen when he realizes his skin has scraped off on the stone.

“Hello, Reiner,” you murmur. He draws himself up, and there’s a strange lifelessness as he looks up to a face barely illuminated by light. You unbutton your jacket and crouch before him, arms on your knees. His skin steams and stitches itself back together and he swallows through a dry throat as your eyes flutter to the white wisps. There’s a raw damage lingering on your face, haunting like ghosts that should be long dead, before you blink.

Your long coat brushing the floor covers black armour, harnesses criss-crossing your legs and body. Your expression is severe, lips pressed in an impassive line, dark shadows under your eyes. The armband around your bicep is slathered in dark red, staining the symbol.

So that’s what you were hiding from Falco.

Reiner half-wonders who’s blood it is. If it’s the owner of the clothes you wear, or someone else’s entirely.

You lift your head, staring at Reiner properly for the first time in years. Clenching your jaw, you only look. You do not speak, you do not move. It’s terrifying. It reminds Reiner eerily of Captain Levi, with the same chillingly placidity, and he remembers how you used to smile so wide you’d complain your cheeks ached, how you would lean against him, clutching your gut ‘cause he made you laugh, and he had never heard a sound so perfect—

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “What are you doing here? Are you insane?” 

You barely move. Only tilt your head mockingly. “Probably.” 

Four years has changed you into a taller, leaner, stronger soldier—and he can only soak that in. You’re…

His breath catches in his throat. 

You’re beautiful.

But you’re crouching right in front of him, and you’re in danger. If Marleyans were to approach now, he’s not sure if he could lie his way out and that blood. How can he explain the blood on your sleeve?

You’d be left for dead, hanged for the crows. 

The image flashes through his mind like cold dread, a trickling drip of an icicle hanging in his mind and freezing his spine.

No, he refuses to lose someone else. Not again, not you. Never fucking you.

It is why he demands again through a hissed breath,“What are you doing here?” Why he stands up quick enough that their heads nearly collide, and you straighten up as well, smoothly running your hands over your coat.

You only look at him deftly as if he is as inconsequential to you as a roach. You don’t even twitch as his hand reaches forward, fighting through the searing ache in his chest. “You need to leave. You shouldn’t be here. I can smuggle you back to the port and take you home, I—.”

Your stare paralyzes him and his hand falters. “I don’t take orders from you. You are not my commanding officer, and I do not need you to tell me what I need.” Your fingers dig into the bloody armband at your bicep and Reiner’s eyes widen as you tear it off, planting it on his chest hard enough his lungs spasm and he lets out a sharp breath. Your fingers spread out over his chest, you step closer. “I don’t need you to save me. Not from Marley. Not from myself. And not from you.”

His hand comes to cover yours, but you slip out before he can touch you, and he’s left with an armband in his palm. Clutching it in a tight fist, he stares down at it for a moment before shoving it in his pocket and turning around.

Your name comes out of him without even thinking as you walk past him, and it must still hold something because you pause, head turning slightly to look at him. “I want to explain myself,” he chokes out, and the corner of your mouth curls into a hollow smile. “Please.”

“Follow me, Reiner,” you order softly, and without question, he falls half a step behind you, eyes trained on the ground. His head is swimming at your presence, and his knees are gummy, stomach convulsing as he tries to come up with what to say. Or maybe, what to say first. He’s had four years to come up with a proper way to say it, and he reaches for his breast pocket, where the letters he’s folded away rest, with shaking hands.

“Please…”

“I don’t know what you think begging will get you.” Something stony falls upon your face. “I’ve had four years to get over the fact that you used me. Now, I think I just don’t care anymore. I’m sure you have your reasons, but I don’t know if it’ll be the truth. You’ve had no problem lying to me before in the past.”

“That’s not true.” He doesn’t know to which part of what you said he means. The last part, every part. “I never lied about how I felt about you.”

“Right. Like I wasn’t just some pawn on your chessboard. Some lonely girl you could use to entertain yourself.” Your pace doesn’t slow, but your tone is laced with anguish you try so hard to cover. “At least Bertholdt had the courage to look me in the face and tell me he was going to kill me.” You stop by a crate, labelled as supplies for the play. Maybe they contain masks, or costumes, and Reiner stops, his shoes skidding against the stone as you reach into your coat.

Pulling out a knife, you wedge it into the crate and pry the lid off and Reiner’s entire body numbs when ODM gear gleams in the straw. It looks refashioned, sleeker, and in two parts, and he catches your hand reaching for the harness. 

Weapons, here.

You aren’t stupid enough to take on Marley on your own, which can only mean—

Shit, shit, shit. 

Dread trickles through his body.

“What are you two doing—Oh, Vice Chief Braun!” You slam the lid shut and press your left arm flush against Reiner’s body, covering it up as someone on their right approaches. Your hand tightens around the knife still wedged between the lid, and Reiner sets a hand on your shoulder, dragging you so he can cover you up better and as a warning.

Don’t do it. You’re stiff against him despite the easy expression on your face, and he sets a harsh glare on the intruder. Let go of that blade. Your entire body is rigid with a hot energy he doesn’t recognize as your fingers only tighten around the hilt. Don’t do it—

“Sorry to interrupt, but those are one of the crates we need for the play. It contains some costumes—“

 The performer looks stricken as you flash him an easy smile and Reiner’s blood freezes when the stranger seems to blush, voice fading.

“I actually work with Lord Tybur,” you explain easily with a tiny laugh, betraying the strength in your fist. “He wants to inspect it briefly before I return it. I think it contains the Helos costume? Gotta make sure every detail’s to his liking!” Your tone, innocent and cheery, floats through the distant sound of the crowd, and Reiner only stares at the performer who seems to shrink in his skin. Your fingers twitch when he hesitates.

“Oh, of course.” He scratches the back of his head, and you give him a gracious nod before he’s walking away.

You watch him go, and Reiner feels the way the air shifts when your smile fades away as soon as it came. You step away from him, loosening the knife from the crate. His hands burn as he reaches for your shoulder again, but you jerk back.

“You know,” you begin quietly, staring at the lid, “all this time, I thought I had actually found people again, you know. I thought you actually cared about me, but really, I realized all you’ve ever done is lie. Even after everything. Even after Marco died, and I told you how I felt about you, you just kept lying. Lying and painting yourself to be a knight in shining armour.”

“I tried—I tried to stop myself from caring about you,” he whispers raggedly, hands rolling into fists tight enough that his nails dig into his flesh, “but it happened anyway. That part of who I was was never a lie.”

“So you never saw me as someone you needed to protect? As this poor, lonely girl who loved you? Who fed your ego and—”

“Of course I wanted to protect you! I loved you, too!” he snaps and distantly, he recognizes this is the first time they’ve ever confessed that what they had… that it was somehow real and too good for him. It nearly makes him shatter. “How could I—“ He closes his eyes, teeth gritting as the flames inside him roar, consuming his heart. “How could I just stand back and watch you get hurt by the consequences of my actions? It’s because of me you were forced to leave the farm, leave that girl. Because of me you knew Marco and Mina and Thomas. You could have been so much happier if you never met any of us—I knew that—I just thought I could somehow—”

“Happier if I never met you,” you echo blankly before nodding to yourself. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds about right.” He flinches but you continue on, “In the end, it doesn’t matter, though. I’ve learned to not let the what ifs haunt me, because my time with you… it still means everything to me.” You shake your head. “That’s the truth. You dropped a building on me and broke my bones. Truth. You left me alone in those walls with Bertholdt dead and Annie comatose, and you did so knowing you are the last damn person I’ve got that I’d kill for. Truth.”

Reiner’s eyes widen as your words sink into his skin like a vicious poison.

So that’s it then. Bertholdt is dead and Annie… Annie’s still alive?

You don’t give him a moment’s breath to ask as you take a step forward. On reflex, he steps back, hands raising, and your eyes flash to his palms. One wrong move, and a Titan will overtake the square. He’s sure he can read the thought in your eyes, but when you look at him again, he only sees cold indifference.

“You nearly killed me, Reiner. So tell me…”

Metal flashes and a breath stalls in his throat as a cold knifepoint digs into the bump along his throat. It bobs when he swallows, lips parted, and you meet his eyes, every inch of agony he’s forced upon you glaring back at him reforged.

“Why shouldn’t I repay the favour?”

His breath stalls, and he looks down at your fingers, wrapped tight around the hilt, nearly shaking. He doesn’t know if it’s because you hold the weapon that tightly, or if you’re just as afraid as he is.

Either way, it doesn’t matter.

“Do it, then,” he whispers. “I’m the reason this all happened.”

Your eyes, wide, search his beseechingly and his heart crumbles to dust. Even after all this time, you still hesitate. Why? Because you think he’ll come back? That he’s… redeemable somehow? 

Reiner envies that—he wants to believe that there is still good. But there isn’t. He knows it.

“I have a thousand questions,” you murmur achingly, as if the words are wrenched from your throat. “Over the years, I’ve tried to come up with some incomprehensible list. I couldn’t decide which was the one I wanted answered the most, but I thought why did it matter? After all, it wasn’t like I’d ever see you again. But here I am, now.”

As you lower the knife, the tip of the blade scratches his skin, light enough only to leave a white trail until it falls away, just like when he held you at blade-point four years ago, the tip of a sword digging into your sternum. 

How poetic that he finds himself here, his life in your hands. This is your retribution, he supposes, and your mercy, fighting for control of your arm, but you sheathe your knife again with a sharp, smooth thrust at your hip. There’s a soft scrape before you set your hands atop the lid, sighing softly.

A terrifying glint lives in your eyes as you smile at him faintly, and hoist the crate into your arms. 

“So, Reiner.” You tilt your head, gesturing for him to follow you down the pathway to a set of stairs that must lead to a deeper cellar. Somewhere he can’t transform in. Smart. You always were, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell you he’d never hurt you again, especially when he’s already done so much to prove that his words are empty. Yet, nothing is more important than protecting you, and Gabi, and Falco, but— “What do you say to a game of twenty questions?”

.

You flip a page. The day’s labour has you sweating into your harness, but all you want to do is just finish this damn chapter. Pulling carts out of mud like a damn mule wasn’t fun, but at least it had you busy. But, God, did you just want to relax for an eternity now.

Even after four years, you’d think your body would grow accustom, but every day, something new tests you.

“Hello?” a voice by your door calls and you look up from your book, smiling automatically at the kid peering into your room. He’s one of the younger orphans who didn’t come from the immediate wreckage of the fall of Trost but rather just a few months ago, you had found him in the woods, walking away from one of the smaller settlements.

You don’t ask, let him come and tell you more, and although you know his name, you know it’s hard for him to talk about anything else.

What you do know is that he is one that still climbs into your bed when there’s a thunderstorm, and that he’s a sweet, yet studious child with a knack for trouble when the girls invite him to hang out with them. 

That doesn’t mean he’s any less attached. He’s probably the one who clings to you the most, and you get up, closing your book. Setting it down on the nightstand, you crouch in front of him and pat his head. 

“Hi,” he says again.

“What’s going on, Xavier?” His red hair is still damp. He must’ve just taken his bath and he shrinks under your hand, probably to protect the clean smell clinging to his skin and locks. Lifting your hand amusedly, you tap his nose. He breaks out into a gap smile. 

He lost his tooth just three days ago, and you remember how proud he was, bursting into the fields during study period to show you as you untied the horses from the plow.

“There’s a man who wants to see you.”

“A man?” You frown, looking over his shoulder. Placing a heavy hand on his shoulder, you pull him into your room, out of the way of the door. “Did he say what his name was? Or if he was military?” The kids know the military insignias. Praying silently to yourself, you glance uneasily at your nightstand where a gun is hidden in the drawer. You could probably arm yourself in time. Xavier tugs at your ear. You look back at him, eyebrows creasing as you glance over his shoulder. 

“He said his name was Jean and that you would know who he was. He’s waiting outside.”

“Jean?” you repeat sharply, standing. Xavier flinches, looking up at you, and you scoop him up before heading to the nightstand, yanking open the drawer and grabbing the gun. Arms worm around your neck, and you squeeze the child closer to yourself as you quietly slip out into the hallway, towards where the other kids’ room is.

“Girls, close the door and lock it,” you order quietly, as you walk into the . The two sisters—Alina and Anya who share the room—look up from whatever they’re doing, and Anya gets up from her bed, but you merely send her a warning look as you  “Everything’s okay. Anya’s in charge until I get back.”

She nods, and you set Xavier down but he doesn’t let go of your neck, hugging you tight to him. Letting out a strangled sigh, you slowly pull him away, cupping his face. Your heart is slow, steady, and you take a measured breath as Alina glances out the window that is right over their desk.

“I’ll be okay. I want to make sure we’re safe.” His eyes flicker over your face and you nod reassuringly.  “You know what to do. Listen to Anya, alright? Try to get some sleep.” The redheaded boy nods and you stroke his cheek with a thumb before he scampers towards Anya’s bed. You stand.

You leave the room, shut it behind you as Alina draws the curtains shut, and your mind is thrumming with ideas of who it could be.

Entering the kitchen, you head to the porch with a quick glance at the window. There’s a figure leaning against the fence, back to you, and your fingers around your gun tighten. Draped in dark fabric and ash-brown hair shining in the oil lamps hanging on the porch, you can’t make out a face as you step into the bracing night.

“What do you want?” 

The figure jolts to his feet, turning around. Edges dulled by the night, you can barely make out his features until he steps into the light, and your finger pad taps the trigger when brown eyes meet yours. Heart lurching, everything rushes back to you and you manage to control the sharp inhale, tempering it into a slow and steady breath that swells up in your lungs.

“It’s been a while,” he comments idly, and you swallow through the hard knot in your throat. Eyes flicking to the gun in your hand, the small smile that had been curving his lips drops away. “You’re a hard person to track.”

“How’d you find me?”

“It wasn’t easy, but Captain Levi saw that some of us were getting desperate.”

Four years.

Four years since you’ve seen any of them except Captain Levi, who only visits to make sure you haven’t been raided by bandits and killed in the months between his check-ins.

In that time, seasons have changed, you’ve sprained your shoulder, it healed; you’ve been thrown off a horse, and gotten back up. You had a period where you would write letters every waking second you were left alone in your room, debating whether or not you should destroy them or send them just for the sake of feeling like you had someone again.

All those letters are still wedged in a box under your bed, so there’s that answer.

Jean stands at the bottom of your porch and you nod, gesturing for him to come in. Your heart plummets as you do so. You don’t know why Jean even bothered.

He closes the door behind you, and you set the gun on the dining table before moving towards the stove, and you ask him if he wants any tea, gracious host that you are. He shrugs and you begin to boil some water. It’ll give you time to look him over as he sits down.

He’s grown the beginnings of a beard since you last saw him. And he’s taller. Way taller than you remember. He’s gotten more muscle, holds himself differently, he’s… still Jean, in all respects, but he’s…

Tired.

You’re sure that’s one word you’re looking for. 

Migrating to the hearth, you wonder if he’s doing the same to you. Studying you like you’re a stranger. 

You start a fire, feeding it freshly chopped firewood from the day before and stoking it before letting it feast.

You never liked doing that before. Swinging an axe down on wood, watching it split. Now, it’s the only time you get alone to your thoughts. You don’t have to focus on chopping wood. All you have to do is swing an axe until it’s nothing more than muscle memory. You can just… be. 

Maybe it isn’t so bad. Maybe it’s why Reiner liked doing it.

You sigh, and grab the iron poker, keeping an eye on the stove. You don’t know if Jean wants to skip the small talk. You do, but mostly because you don’t like it when your old life comes into your new one. You can make yourself believe you can’t go back when no one’s here to remind you, and that the guilt won’t gnaw you until you’re only bones. 

Absently, you remember Bertholdt used to like small talk—Jean seems less so.

“I have news. I don’t know if you want to hear it, but you’re still military.”

“Not labelled a deserter, yet?” you inquire dryly. Everything is moving so slowly around you, yet so quickly. It’s a terrible sensation. “I feel honoured.”

“Let’s cut the shit, alright. What the hell are you doing here?”

“No idea.”

“You disappeared! No one had seen you in weeks—we thought you were dead until the captain came back with strict orders not to look for you, but do you know how ominous that sounds?” Something bites at your gut as you stare into the flames, and Jean shoots to his feet, chair scraping against the wooden floor. “You were our friend!”

His words sink into your shoulders, but you only blink, staring into the growing hearth.

“Don’t you care? You left!”

“I don’t regret it. It’s not like I’m begging to become a Scout again,” you murmur, looking over your shoulder at him. A sort of tiredness pulls at your eyes, and you stand up again, walking around the table. “I don’t know what you want from me, Jean. You came to me first.”

“I want you to care. I want you to come back and fight. Aren’t you remotely interested in what’s going on?”

“I know we have a train, now.” The pot begins to boil and you move towards it, taking out a tin and small metal spoon. “Historia is doing well as queen. At least, that’s what people are saying. She’s expecting. If you ever see her, tell her I’m happy for her.” Scooping leaves into the teapot, you pour the boiling water into the porcelain and let it steep. 

Turning back around, your eyebrows rise when you see Jean has walked around the table. There’s not even a metre between them as he tosses something at you. Catching it, you realize it’s a rolled up newspaper and your heart drops. At his nod, you pry it open and read the contents, fingertips brushing over two rectangular slips of paper within stating a time and terminal.

“What is this?”

“Eren’s gone to Marley by himself. Probably to do something stupid. I have two tickets to go and rescue his scrawny ass.”

“And?” Dread knots at your stomach as Jean closes his eyes, exhaling softly. Pleading, then: “Jean, don’t.”

“You’re the least compromised out of all of us. None of the volunteers would recognize you or would have been able to relay information about you if they have allies back in Marley, and despite everything, I still trust you. Which is more than I can say for Yelena and the others.” You snap the paper shut and toss it onto the table. Shaking your head to yourself, you walk away from him, but Jean only grabs your arm. “You still have a duty to our nation.”

“Don’t try to plead to my sense of national pride,” you shoot back coolly. “I have other responsibilities.”

“What, like tending to wheat?”

“Everyone wants to kill us, so yes, tending to wheat.”

“If we don’t find Eren, they will kill us. He’s our one chance of getting out of this mess alive. As crazy as he is, he’s our one ticket to freedom and we need to find him.”

Turning around to face him, you pull your arm free of his grasp. The lantern hanging is glaringly bright, and something knots in your throat at Jean’s somber expression.

“I fought for our freedom and you know what I realized? There will always be more people out there who want to take that away from us.” You wish you could sound passionate, but you just sound rough and tired. The bite tastes different. “First, it was Titans, then, it was the people we called our friends. Do you think that we’ll ever be free? That we’ll be able to live without a sword above our necks. Levi told me we’re devils in everyone else’s eyes. What’s it matter?”

“Because we aren’t what they say we are. If you lay down and show your belly, why did you become a soldier in the first place?” You jerk back and Jean leans against the table, crossing his arms. “I thought you fought for a dream. Something. Anything.”

“I thought I did, too. I’m just…” A hissing breath, and you pinch the bridge of your nose, turning away. Images of the lake back from their cadet years flash in your head. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

“Tired?” he repeats icily. “You think the rest of us aren’t tired? We all haven’t had the luxury to sit down on a farm and escape all our responsibilities.” 

Head snapping up, your eyes find cold brown chips staring back. Bitterly, you grit out, “Excuse me?”

“Do you think there’s a day that goes by where I think about Marco and how I wasn’t there for him? We all lost someone. You’re not the only person who’s had to go through it. We’re all guilty of something, but at least, I didn’t give up! At least, some of us decided to do something about it!”

“Shut up!” A hand flies through the air but he catches your wrist and twists, pinning you down to the table. Another hand slams your other hand into the wood and you grunt as Jean wedges himself between your legs to stop you from kicking him. Eyes burning, you stare up into the face of your friend and in that moment, the sorrow overflowing spills into your chest as if you are a well and he is the flood. 

He sinks, elbows clacking against the table as he bows his head. His breath is rushed, cool against your face, and you search his features before uttering out a quiet, “Why did you really come here, Jean?”

His eyes widening, his hands loosen. You try to suck your tears back in, but your eyes are burning so intensely you have to let them fall anyway just as there’s a sharp gasp. Jean looks up before he jerks back as if you’ve really slapped him. Sitting up, you twist to look at the doorframe, and your heart drops into your gut when you see a redheaded boy, eyes shining with tears.

“What are you doing?” he cries, and you immediately launch yourself off the table, crossing the distance towards him as Anya appears over his shoulder, helpless. The brunette girl’s guilt punches through you and you lift Xavier up into your arms, hugging him tight before wrapping another arm around the girl and poking your head into the hall. 

Alina’s figure is a mere shadow at the end of the hall, and you sigh, gesturing for her to come. Taking off at a sprint, she charges down the hall and you bury your nose in Anya’s hair just as another body slams into you, latching onto your waist. You close your eyes as Xavier tries to snuggle even deeper into your neck.

“I’m okay,” you keep repeating. “Just a heat of the moment thing. I promise, he’s not here to hurt us. I promise.”

“Are you okay?” Anya murmurs, and you look down. The eldest girl’s pulled her head back to look at you. Her eyes are narrowed, perceptive as always, and her lips are upturned into a faint scowl. You smile faintly, running a hand over her head. 

“I will be. Why don’t you take them back to your room?” you advise, and her eyes wander from you to Jean again. Catching it, you brush your thumb along her temple soothingly. “Go.” Reluctantly, she lets go of you and turns to Alina who still latches onto you like a parasite, but you rest a palm atop her head. “Alina.”

A sniff, and then she steps back, rubbing at her face. Her older sister takes her shoulders, easing her away and you crouch down as Xavier silently grabs onto your shirt tighter in his tiny fists. 

“Xavier,” you soothe. “I’ll be back in just a moment, okay?” You tilt your head. “I promise.” Wiping at his tears, you wait for him to let go of your shirt on his own accord, and when he does, you brush his hair back from his brow and plant a kiss on his forehead. Anya calls his name softly down the hall, and he lingers for a moment more before walking away, head still over his shoulder so he can watch.

You stay crouched until he’s gone and then you let out a soft exhale, head dropping, eyes closing.

“We need you more than you probably need us,” Jean acknowledges quietly, and your eyes open again to look at him. He’s straightened himself up, watching you with softer eyes. He visibly swallows, and you wonder if it’s pity or jealousy in his eyes. “But, we’re outnumbered in trusted senior officers in the Survey Corps. You’re one of them.”

Quietly: “I shouldn’t be.”

He falters for a moment. “Yeah. Yeah, I suppose not.” He grabs the newspaper again. “But somehow, you are. If Captain Levi trusts you, then so do I. Bertholdt is dead. Annie’s a frozen log in a basement somewhere, and Reiner’s still alive. So are you.” He extends the paper to you. “This is what guilt got us. So what are you going to do about it?”

“Then, how about we go back to my hometown? There’s water nearby. We can go in the afternoons, eat all this food you’ve never had before.”

You haven’t seen a lake in who knows how long. Not since your cadet years, it feels like. Your heart yearns for the blue expanses, to plunge into the cold depths and gasp at how cold it is. You thought you’d given that up, but just there mere thought of it sends your mind spiralling into the images you’ve dreamed of since you were a child. 

“Regret begets regret—don’t have any when you go, and maybe you’ll live a life happier than most.”

You know you’ll never forgive yourself if you never take the chance to see him again. Heart peeling in your chest, you grab the newspaper from him.

“They call it the sea, don’t they?” you finally ask. Jean nods. “A lot of water and there’s… there’s animals in there.”

“Yeah. They live in this salty water and… they eat seafood a lot in Marley. I don’t know if you know.”

“Reiner might’ve mentioned it before,” you say. You look down at the newspaper in your tight fist and swallow. All at once, one door closes and another opens, and you look at Jean, the date and time of the ship already burned into your memory. “He said he thought I’d like it. I guess I’ll keep that in mind when we go.”

Jean’s eyes widen as you hand the paper back to him, your palm scalding as you shove the ticket into your pocket. He says your name softly, but you only hold your hand up, eyes fixed on the floor.

“I’ll meet you there, I promise.” You turn towards the shadows of the hall. In the silence of the night, you hear the hushed whispers of the children you’ve dedicated your life to and your heart disintegrates in your chest. “I just… I need some time to figure everything out.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.” Jean’s feet shift along the floor. You look over your shoulder for a moment to find his eyes on you. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” you reply. “Feel free to stay the night. It’s already late.” He nods, and you flash him the weakest smile. 

Then, you walk down the hall to your children. You have a lot of explaining to do.

.

You stubbornly try to ignore the tears tracing down your face as you reach into the compartment on your pants containing the letters. Reaching for it, you pull it out and crack it open, wondering if it’s even possible to bring yourself to read it.

“It’s not your last question,” Reiner had noted warily as they stood at the top of the stairs.

“Yeah. I guess we have to put a rain check this time.” You had set the box down, looking at him. You couldn’t recall feeling so warm, so empty. So convinced that there was something wrong with how much you still felt for him. “One more question, then?”

A nod, almost hungry for it. “Please.”

“Did you really, really love me?”

The gentlest of sighs, his warm yellow eyes. He had reached out for you, then second guessed, and reached for his breast pocket instead, extending the tin to you. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.”

The entire cabin is quiet as you stare at the ring nestled at the bottom, atop the stack of letters that are wrinkled and must’ve been refolded so many times it’s begun to permanently crease in multiple lines. 

No one’s dared to speak since Sasha died and you look up at the others before back down at the ring again before pinching it between your fingers and lifting it to eye level. You’re not sure what it means to hold it, but you gently close the tin with your other hand, feeling it click shut, and slide it back into your pocket.

The band is silver, rather simple, but it’s pretty, too, in a refined sort of way. There aren’t any gems, but there are simple engravings, lines that curve the metal, causing ripples along the surface and, without thinking, you stretch out your left hand in front of you, trying to gauge which one it’ll fit the best.

Sombrely, you slide it down your ring finger, and let it sit there, lowering your hands and curling them into fists and raising your shoulder, hearing a bone crack. 

You’re exhausted. 

The ODM gear feels strange on your body. It’d been a crash course to get you familiarized with the updates, and you hook a thumb on the strap on your rib cage before glancing at the others. Connie sits with Mikasa and Armin, and Jean is at the back by himself, rubbing at his face hard enough that his skin is beginning to turn red.

You don’t know what to say.

What is there to say? Four years have left you strangely numb.

Jean’s lips pull back into a vicious snarl and his head snaps up to find you looking. Then, everything seems to soften, and he looks away sharply, almost as if to hide his tears.

So you don’t say a thing. Instead, you walk on to the back of the ship, past him, where the prisoners are being held, and you open the door without a noise, first noticing the blond boy. Falco. He looks up at your entrance, eyes wide, and you give him a slight smile as you close the door.

You wish you could hate children for the part they played in killing your friend, but in this moment, you just feel nothing. Not even sadness. You had seen what Marley’s done in the friends you’ve lost.

“Hello, Falco.”

“You lied to me,” he whispers. “You and Mister Kruger—Eren,” he corrects himself. “You used me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” you tell him, looking at the walls. It seems like a supply area, and you grab the bucket and rag that’s been left by whoever checked in on them last. There’s a few clean rags and you walk up to them, crouching before the blond first. He seems to flinch back and the brown-haired girl lunges at you.

You have no problem pushing her aside and pinning her down.

“Don’t touch him!” she yells. “You don’t get to touch him!”

“Calm down,” you tell her calmly. “I’m not going to hurt him, and you are in no position to be making demands at me after you killed my friend.”

Her eyes widen. “You’re a devil. So was she!” she spits as you slowly wet the rag and dab at the blood cracking underneath Falco’s nose. It’s clear whoever was here before only used the bucket and rag as a taunt. Probably telling them they could piss in here if they wanted. A coy coil of disgust wraps around your gut. “Don’t touch him. You’re tainted! You give all of us a bad name!”

Your nose wrinkles as the girl squirms under your hand and you let go of her. Cupping Falco’s face, you continue to wipe at his cheek. The water is cold. You hope it soothes what must be a flaring face.

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs dully. Exhausted eyes find yours. “Why?”

“I’m sorry. I have no idea why kids are suddenly soldiers in an adult’s war.” You reach to rinse the rag. Dipping it in water, you begin to wring it out when suddenly, there’s a sharp gasp, and you turn to look at the other child—Gabi. She stares at your hands, eyes wide enough a ring of white is around her irises and you frown. “What?”

“Where did you get that ring?” she asks, voice shaking, and you look down at your hands. “That’s… that’s Reiner’s ring. Where did you get it?” You don’t answer, simply stare at her for a moment, and her breath comes out quivering. “He doesn’t let anyone know he has it. It’s for someone special. That’s—he wouldn’t even tell me. He doesn’t know I saw him with it. He… he —it’s supposed to be for someone!”

“Gabi—“ Falco grabs her arms as you regard her softly, and you have just an idea of what’s going in her head as she points at you. “Gabi, calm down—“

“Why do you have it?” she demands ferociously. “It’s not yours! Give it back!” You drop the rag back into the water, and sit back, drawing your knees up to your chest and resting your arms atop of them lazily as tears begin to trace down the child’s face. “It didn’t even cost that much! You won’t be able to sell it to, you know! Give it!”

“Gabi!”

“You have no idea what that means to him!“

“Stop—“

“You spawn! You devil woman!”

“Are you done?” you ask her quietly, fingers twisting the ring and Gabi inhales raggedly as you look at her flatly. Her eyes widen even more if possible, and she allows Falco to pull her back. Her wet gasps fill the silence and you swallow, tilting your head at your hands. “If you really want to know, I don’t really have an idea why I’m wearing it.” You sigh, dropping your hands and letting your head fall forward. “As for how I got it, if you ever see Reiner again, why don’t you ask him?”

Falco’s eyes widen as you look up and finding him staring at you with a strange scrutiny, and your eyebrows furrow as he lets go of Gabi and straightens up from where he’s sitting.

“Mister Braun didn’t even hear what I said when he saw you,” he murmurs, brow furrowing. “Like he’d just seen a ghost. You and…” He struggles for words, voice unsteady. “Eren said you guys were all old friends. But… but, if he gave you the ring—“

“Shut up, Falco!” Gabi beseeches, grabbing his arm, but Falco only stares at you. “Are you even hearing what you’re saying? You’re accusing my cousin of treason! He wouldn’t!”

“He stayed with you for so long,” he continues, as if in a trance. “Even Eren wondered what was taking so long. He… called it a lover’s quarrel. You…”

“I think you two should get some rest,” you interrupt, pushing yourself to your feet and ignoring the smokey feeling clogging up your chest as tears slip down Gabi’s face and Falco’s face pales at your blatant dismissal. “It’s going to be a few hours until we land, roughly. You’ll want to get used to being somewhere warm before they transfer you to some sort of prison. It’ll be a lot colder there.”

Taking the bucket and the rag, you return it back to its spot before walking out the room and closing the door shut behind you. 

You find the spot you once were standing at now occupied with Floch and his comrades, and then you turn your head to see Jean still leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression burning the metal floor.

You amble over to him without a word and lean in beside him, sinking to the floor.

[bloodycassian]

reader x azriel - azriel takes reader to a bakery.

Azriel's cool charm filled the room, his shadows snaking the floor and receding as the meeting quieted. Without a word, he nodded in dismissal at the group and they continued debating again. He sat back, stone faced while the high lords discussed what there was to be done about The Middle. More specifically, the mountain and caverns underneath that had hosted the horror show for forty nine years. 

Guards stationed behind each high lord and their company, Azriel devoured the information his shadows brought back to him. There wasnt a single person in the room without at least two daggers on them. 

You leaned back in your chair next to Thesan, resting your chin on your hand. The plush amenities of Day court and their pastel colors had taken some getting used to over the last week, but you grew to appreciate the massive table in front of you. Large enough to fit all seven high lords and their company around it, along with a few extra chairs. If it wasnt for the lofty ceilings and open windows into several balconies you would have thought such a harty table to be gawdy, but in this instance it seemed utterly necessary. Especially when Rhysand's cousin slapped a giant map of Pryhtian down on it and the high lord's power shifted pawns throughout. Mapping each court's armies and defenses. 

A few of the leaders adjusted pawns, moving a few troops from one side of their court to another. Azriel perked up from his darkened corner at this, stepping forward and taking a glance at the map. He glared in your direction, catching your eye. He was utterly breathtaking, even with such a malice filled look on his face. You broke his stare to glance at your court's pawns on the map. A moment's hesitation after each high lord had stopped moving their pieces made your stomach drop. You glanced toward Thesan, seeing if he would move.  Rhysand seemed to be waiting as well. Azriel slowly, threateningly moved two of Thesan's pawns further south. He crossed his arms and walked back to his corner, his shadows almost hiding him completely. You felt Thesan tense as he shot Rhysand a charming grin.

You met the dark eyes of the spymaster, and rose from your seat. Stepping between a Beron and Kallis to move two more pawns east. You met his eyes again and winked, turning and going back to your seat. Thesan had ordered you before you left for the meeting to disperse your forces throughout the land, so it would make sense that the spymaster didnt know if the extra changes.

The room was tense, each high lord looking to each other to see if anyone else was hiding their foces. Helion suddenly let out a booming laugh, makin you jump slightly. "Rhysand have you been keeping your spymaster too busy perhaps?"  Rhysand chuckled, leaning forward in his seat and purring his reply "I'll have to send them back to training camp." His general's wings flared slightly and you fought to hold back a smile. Azriel revealed nothing, and said nothing until the meeting was over.

You were cleaning the scattered pawns from the map when Azriel approached. He was silent, but pushed the figuines from his side over to you in a pile. You nodded thankfully, eyeing him as he moved to roll up the cloth map still laid out over the grand table. You felt your hands get clammy, the silence in the room was palapable. The only other sounds were the hushed rustling of the trees in the slight breeze outside. The balcony doors were still open, and a cool wind slithered into the room. You opened the cloth bag for the pawns, there was a sudden clattering against the marble floor. You sighed, setting the bag down. Before you turned to pick it up you noticed the darkened atmospehre of the room. Then bumped straight into Azriel's chest in your distraction. 

"Sorry I-" You felt your face turn hot and made to step back, only to find yourself slipping on the damned pawn. He caught your arm, stablising you. "Are you normally this accident prone?" He asked, a small smirk on his lips. You looked to where his hand held you, and noticed the textured skin there. He cleared his throat and lowered your arm. 

"I guess you could blame it on the wind." You stammered. What you meant to say was 'I guess you could blame it on the fine Illyrian shadow master in the room'. His smirk seemed to say he knew exactly what you were thinking. And maybe with those shadows he did know. His build seemed to fill the room standing this close to you, broad shoulders -t support the massive wings no doubt- and muscles and the hair was immaculate. He smelled of pine and leather, sea salt and something darker. Maybe that was the shadows themselves. 

"You dont like the cold?" He asked, head tilting slightly. 

"Should I really be telling a spymaster anything that I'm afraid of?" You challenged, smiling at him. His eyes seemed to light up. He nodded and stepped back. You forgoe the groan of displeasure at the empty space between you. 

"Have you ever really been in the cold before? Dawn court and all.." He trailed off, sauntering towards the balcony and motioning you to follow. You obeyed, dropping the cloth bag on the table. You took your time approaching him, marvelling at the wings he bore. How thick the outer edges were, and how delicate the inner folds looked. In the dull darkness you could barely make out the inky black forms of them as he stretched them out. They flared and tilted, and you understood why they were so hard to see. 

His shadows had melded into the darkness, shielding them and his lower half completely, Blending him into the night. Becoming a shadow himself. You felt a chill run through you at the sight. He was darkness, and all the whispers on the wind. The epitome of pure silence, but not pressing, a soothing darkness, silence and comfort. Liek a comfort of sleep. 

"Are you going to stare or come for a ride with me?" he asked, folding his wings in tight and turning towards you. He leaned back on the balcony confidently, the column of his neck exposing a few scars behind his ear. You shuddered to think of what kind of beast could make such an impact on someone who was mist and shadow. 

"If someone sees us Thesan will know immidea-" He cut you off with a stare, and you felt coolness begin creeping up your legs. You felt nervous, heart hammering in your chest as he stood so close to you, eyes knowingly glancing to your chest briefly. His shadows danced around you like a fog, asking permission to cover you further. And you were sure they were reporting back to him how badly he had riled you.

 "No one will see us." He promised, holding a hand out to you. You took a steadying breath and nodded nervously. As soon as you touched that scarred hand he had you covered in the snaking darkness, the tendrils weaving around you protectively. It felt like being in a heavy ocean mist, and it brought goosebumps to your skin. Azriel huffed a small laugh as he bent to scoop you up.

Before you could protest and come up with some sort of excuse, he had you cradled to his chest and he was summoning those shadows even more around the both of you. 

And then you were falling. Your stomach leapt into your throat, fingers clawing into Azriel's shoulders. You were sure you were dead when the feeling stopped. "Open your eyes." The shadow master squeezed you a bit extra, getting your attention. "I dont think I can." you muttered, but slowly peeked through your lashes to see the millions of tiny lights below. 

The breath was stolen from you as your eyes flew open, gazing in amazement at the city below. Dawn court was built more upwards than any of the other courts, so you were used to seeing castles towering above and lights shine from them. But you'd never seen the city from this high. You wondered how he had flown so high in such a short time but decided you didnt want to know the answer even if he could tell you. The enormous archways of the high lord's palace was visible from the sky. The stars above were dull, as usual in Dawn and Day court. You never found much pleasure or satisfaction at night in either  territory. It only made you wonder what Night court's stars were like. If the moon beckoned and blessed the land like the noon sun seemed to make everything in Day court shimmer. 

 "You can stop trying to claw me to death at any time." His voice rumbled softly, almost scaring you. You loosened your grip on him, only enough so he wouldn't complain. He banked slowly, you could only tell so because the spires coming closer to you as you approached the center of the city. The streets below were lit with clear bright lights that showed off all the boutiques of main street and the patio areas for bars all around. The stained glass windows of second story balconies reflected pastel lights on to the sidewalks, painting them in pastels. 

You could smell the bakery below, churning out different treats of pastries and breads for the late night drinkers. The sweet warm smell of it made your mouth water. "Would you like to stop in somewhere?" Azriel asked as he whisked you upward again, avoiding the tall lights as the city rose up hill. 

"I think you might be recognized a bit too easily." You chided, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. He was watching the sky, his face unlike any expression you'd ever seen him wear. At peace, it seemed. He didnt have the clenched jaw or stern eyebrow look anymore. His hair ruffled slightly at the small breeze that came through the shield he had placed around you. 

He considered his fame as Spymaster for a moment, then nodded. And plummeted you downwards into the city. You fought not to scream, only digging your nails into his skin again, hoping it hurt. He landed in a narrow alley, hidden from the blinding lights of the street. The smell of sweets hung in the air. You still held tight on to his arm after he set you on your feet. You then shoved him, palm straight into his shoulder and sent him a step back, his wings flared and balanced him before he could falter any further. "You could tell me next time!" You growled at him. A clever grin graced his features, smoothing out his surprise at the shove. 

"Only members of the night court get free flying privileges." He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. "I expect my payment with a side of cinnamon." He nodded towards the street. You glanced back and he was gone, likely shouded in the darkness somewhere. You whispered curses at him while heading to the bakery.

"Why do you like cinnamon so much?" You asked around a mouthful of sweet bread. Azriel had devoured his chocolate and cinnamon twist, along with the extra side of cinnamon. He still had evidence of it on his face and shirt despite the windy takeoff before he put his shield up. "Why dont you?" He retorted, his powerful wings gliding you around the east side of the tower where the week of meeting had taken place.

"I just wouldnt expect the Shadow master of the Night Court to have such a sweet tooth." You grinned at him, absently wiping the sugar from his face. His eyes went to yours in an instant, and your heart hammered being pinned by that stare. He landed gracefully on the balcony, eyes still locked on you. He merely stood there, holding you. Both frozen.