#and she has to be strung if she wants to be able to Move but she stays together even without string…

[femboy-central]

what if I said I thought Velvette’s body parts connected like the dunmeshi living armour…….

[theballadofharkness]

You did what?… With who?

Mason and the Macabre Masterlist

Pairing: Maya Mason x HorrorExec!reader

Summary: A casting crisis ruins date night, but things really fall apart when you find out Maya once hooked up with your boss Matt. Hurt turns to heat, and in the aftermath of a messy conference room blow-up, Maya takes back control, reminding her bratty horror queen exactly who she belongs to.

Word Count: 8.8k

Warnings: Explict smut so as always MDNI xo

A/N: I think I’m not the only one who was jump scared at the Maya Matt hookup scenes, which is where this little fic came from ft. Reader being just as shocked as me xo

The clock reads 9:17pm, and the only thing worse than the flickering fluorescent overheads is the fact that you’re still here. Still at Continental. Still in this goddamn conference room.

What was supposed to be dinner and the Boris Karloff Black Sabbath retrospective, one night only, 35mm print, perfect eerie vibes, has instead become stale trail mix, Maya yelling into her phone, and Quinn lying flat on the floor like she’s emotionally decomposing.

The table is a battlefield: headshots, post-it notes, crumpled printouts with studio-approved names scribbled out in Sharpie. Somewhere near the center lies a half-full bottle of Advil and someone’s forgotten vape pen.

You haven’t spoken in ten minutes. Mostly because if you open your mouth, you might scream.

Tyler clicks away on his MacBook with the fervor of a man about to quit the industry and go live in a yurt. Matt’s pacing. Sal’s leaning back in a chair that you’ve threatened to destroy three separate times. And Maya, your girlfriend, your beautiful, high-strung, Prada-wrapped, chaos goblin of a girlfriend, is at the head of the table, barking into her AirPods at an agent who’s clearly lying about availability.

“She’s not booked out through Q3, Gary, she’s at Erewhon every morning and she took a Hulu guest star last week, don’t lie to me—”

You look at the clock again. 9:18.

You shift your gaze to Maya, who catches it for a second. Her expression softens just for a moment. There’s guilt there. The kind that says: I’m sorry, I didn’t forget. I wanted to spoil you rotten.

But then she’s back to shouting. “Then give me someone better. We were about to announce. You want me to put out a press release saying our Cannes-contender lead ‘politely bailed due to exhaustion’? Gary, this is not a fucking Benadryl commercial, this is a prestige thriller with blood and teeth and you owe me for that Variety spread!”

Matt slumps into the seat beside you. “He couldn’t wait till after filming to check into rehab?”

Quinn, from the floor: “Mental health is health, Matt.”

You say nothing.

You’re too busy watching Maya. Watching how fast she moves when something goes wrong. How she thrives in chaos. How much you love her, and how much you resent her for being able to switch gears without missing a beat, even when she promised to hold your hand through that haunting Karloff close-up you’ve been dreaming about all week.

You cross your arms and lean back, nails biting into your sleeves. If she notices your silence, she doesn’t show it.

You’re trying to be a team player. You really are.

You get that this is a crisis. You get that losing your lead actor two weeks before announcement is a full-blown, PR-nightmare, press-cycle-imploding catastrophe. You get it.

But also?

You had these tickets for months.

The Karloff screening was one night only. One night. You’d planned it down to the detail, dinner at that weird little vampire-themed French place on Melrose, then the 10:30pm showing at the New Beverly. You had an outfit. You had lipstick named after a fictional vampire. And Maya had said yes. Maya had promised.

And now she’s playing agent chicken in cargo pants while you rot in a swivel chair next to Matt “crisis is my cardio” Remick.

He slumps closer to you again, chip crumbs on his hoodie. “Hey. You okay? You’re, like… very quiet. And your eyes look like you’re planning a murder.”

“I’m great,” you say, voice thin as piano wire.

He squints. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” you say, smiling coolly. “I’m mad at the circumstances.”

Matt nods, sagely. “Yeah. Totally. Unforgiving circumstances. You know, I had dinner plans too.”

You blink slowly. “Did you have tickets to a once in a lifetime horror screening and a girlfriend who swore on her Saint Laurent collection that she’d wear a dress with a slit so high it’d make your nosebleed?”

He pauses. “I… did not.”

“Then don’t talk to me.”

Matt sits back.

Maya glances up from her phone at the exact wrong moment, eyebrows furrowing just slightly. She tilts her head like she’s trying to catch your eye, checking in, but you’re already looking away, arms crossed, fingers drumming tight against your elbow.

She sighs. Loudly. Then turns back to the group. “Okay, if we’re tossing out anyone with a criminal record or a secret second family, we’re down to, like, four viable leads. This is a mess.”

Tyler says, “I’m putting the narrowed list in the doc now.”

Quinn mumbles, “Can we manifest Andrew Garfield… oh or Anthony Mackie? We helped him by getting rid of that deliriously boring ending to Alphabet City? Maybe he would want to help us?”

And you sit there, jaw clenched, wondering which will happen first: Maya noticing that you’re barely breathing around her, or you finally snapping and telling everyone in this room to go to hell.

Spoiler: it’s going to be the second one.

The door creaks open and Matt’s assistant, that poor trembling twenty-something with crazy eyes and a name you never remember, steps in balancing four greasy brown takeout bags and a drink tray.

“Okay,” she says, voice chipper and doomed. “Dinner run! Um, I’ve got three poké bowls, one salad with no croutons, and one… bacon cheeseburger?”

Everyone barely glances up. Except you.

You sit up straighter. “I didn’t order a bacon cheeseburger.”

The assistant blinks. “You didn’t?”

“No,” you say flatly. “I ordered the spicy miso ramen. With soft-boiled egg and scallions. And the kombu broth, not tonkotsu. It was very specific.”

“Oh,” she says. “Okay. Right. Um. Yeah, I think they forgot to include that one and I had to sub something in and I thought this would be—”

“It’s not,” you interrupt.

The entire room stills.

Matt chuckles, that awkward little I want us all to have fun chuckle. “Hey, it’s food though, right? Fuel for the chaos. That burger probably tastes great if you close your eyes.”

You swivel your head toward him so slowly it’s cinematic.

“Matt,” you say, ice in your voice, “if you say one more thing about this situation being ‘fun’ or ‘quirky’ or anything short of catastrophic, I’m going to take this burger, hurl it through the window, and then I’m going to go home and personally leak to Deadline that you’re considering Armie Hammer for the lead.”

Sal blanches. “Okay, wow. Vivid.”

Tyler is silently typing faster. Quinn has frozen mid-sip. Maya, who had just stepped away to take another call, turns back at the sound of your voice and clocks your expression instantly.

The assistant holds out the bag to you, hands trembling.

You don’t take it.

“Put it down,” you mutter. “And tell them next time, if they can’t handle reading a four-item order, they shouldn’t be in delivery.”

The assistant nods like she’s just been saved from the gallows, barely, and vanishes.

Matt tries again, brave little idiot that he is. “Hey, look, I know tonight sucks, but we’re gonna fix this. We always do.”

You stare at the burger. It’s oozing melted cheese you didn’t ask for onto a paper napkin. Your stomach growls in betrayal.

“I don’t need reassurance,” you say, eyes still on the food. “I need someone to give a shit that this night mattered to me.”

Matt, for once, says nothing.

Maya watches you carefully, lips slightly parted like she wants to say something but knows better than to try right now.

Good.

Because if she tries to talk to you with that soft voice, the one she uses when she’s trying to calm you down ‘baby, come on, it’s not that deep’ you’re going to lose it.

You exhale slowly, blinking down at the offending burger like it personally insulted your family line.

Then you push your chair back, the screech loud and final, and stand.

“I’m going to smoke,” you say.

Across the room, Quinn lifts her head from the couch where she’s now fully horizontal, half a Red Bull can balanced on her chest. “Didn’t you quit?”

You meet her gaze, deadpan. “Yes. I did.”

The room is quiet as you grab your coat off the back of your chair. Not a single person tries to stop you, not Matt, not Sal, not Tyler who definitely pretends to type but is secretly tracking the emotional temperature in the room like it’s a goddamn hurricane warning system.

Maya watches you like she’s deciding whether to follow or give you space. You don’t even look at her as you leave.

The door clicks softly shut behind you.

And then it’s just the hallway, dim, echoing, empty. You fish through your bag for the emergency pack you swore you threw out three months ago. The lighter’s tucked in your inner coat pocket, because you always keep one on you. Just in case. For moments like this.

Moments where your girlfriend forgets the thing you’ve been looking forward to for weeks. Moments where everyone around you thinks you’re just a work machine who doesn’t need a night off, doesn’t deserve softness or spooky vintage horror or god forbid a meal that tastes like something other than cardboard and stress.

You step out onto the rooftop access balcony, light up, and take a long, furious drag.

The city below sparkles like it doesn’t care you’re having the worst night of your life.

Behind you, the door creaks open.

And you know it’s her.

You don’t turn when you hear the door open. Just flick the ash off the end of your cigarette and keep your eyes on the skyline, all glittering buildings and smog-hazed moonlight. The kind of view people would die for.

You’d trade it for a decent bowl of ramen and thirty uninterrupted minutes in a dark cinema with Maya’s hand in yours.

Her footsteps are soft behind you. Rubber soles on concrete. She’s not in heels today, she never is when shit hits the fan. Maya in crisis mode means sneakers, slicked-back hair, oversized streetwear that still somehow screams money.

“Hey,” she says, soft and casual, leaning against the wall beside you. Not too close. Not yet. “I was wondering where you snuck off to.”

You exhale a slow stream of smoke. “I said I was going to smoke.”

“Yeah, but like… dramatically,” she says with a small grin. “You’ve got that whole ‘tragic noir widow who poisoned her husband’ vibe going.”

You don’t laugh.

Maya shifts her weight, biting at the edge of her thumb. “Okay. So. You’re pissed.”

“Nope,” you reply coolly, eyes still forward. “I’m disappointed. Different thing.”

“Baby…”

“I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Well, tough, because we are doing this right now. I’m not going back in there to listen to Matt talk about how maybe Timothée Chalamet has ‘genre potential’ without fixing this first.”

You roll your eyes.

She steps closer. “I know I ruined tonight.”

“Do you?”

Maya pauses.

You finally turn your head, flicking the last of your cigarette over the railing. “You promised me, Maya. You said dinner and Black Sabbath. You said you cleared your schedule. I wore my stupid little dress and you—”

“I know.” She sounds guilty now. Not soft. Not smug. Just tired.

“I wanted to go,” she says. “I did. But when this shit hit the fan, I had to—”

“No,” you interrupt. “You chose to. And that’s fine, Maya. That’s your job. I get it. I’m not mad you’re good at your job. I’m mad that I didn’t even register to you tonight.”

Silence.

The only sound is the faint hum of traffic below and your own heart, pounding like it’s trying to crack your ribs.

Maya steps in, finally closing the space between you. Her hand hovers at your wrist.

“You always register,” she says, quiet now. “You’re the only thing that registers. Even when I’m on the phone with Gary the lying agent and Quinn’s comparing headshots like she’s swiping Tinder for psychopaths… I’m still thinking about how pissed you are. About how I let you down. I know I did.”

You stare at her.

“And I’ll make it up to you,” she adds, more confidently now. “I’ll find another screening. Or I’ll buy out the fucking New Beverly and force them to show it again. Just us. You can wear your little dress and I’ll wear heels and lipstick and no bra. I’ll make it right.”

Your mouth twitches. “You’re such a manipulative bitch,” you murmur.

She grins. “Takes one to love one.”

And finally you let her reach for you, her hands settling at your hips, her body warm and familiar against yours as the city glows below and the disaster inside fades, for just a second, into something survivable.

Maya’s hands slip around your waist, thumbs pressing into your hips like she’s trying to anchor you. You hate how good it feels. How easy it is to melt into her, even when you’re mad. Especially when you’re mad.

“Still want to be mad at me?” she murmurs, lips ghosting just beneath your jaw.

You huff. “Yes.”

“Okay,” she says, dipping her head lower, mouthing at your neck. “Want to do it while I’m kissing you?”

You don’t dignify that with an answer.

Instead, you grab her collar and pull her in hard, kissing her like you mean to punish her for every moment she made you feel invisible tonight. It’s angry, all teeth and open mouths and smudged lipstick. Her rings dig into your back as she pushes you gently against the wall, one leg between yours, her tongue slipping past your lips like she owns you. (She does. You hate it… you love it really.)

Your fingers tangle in the back of her shirt. Her hand cups your jaw, possessive and greedy, like she’d crawl inside you if you let her.

You’re still furious.

But you’re also starving for her, for closeness, for the night that got stolen from you.

She kisses you like she’s trying to give it back.

You’re breathless when you finally pull away, her forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting like you’ve just run a mile.

You blink up at her. Then pout. “I’m still mad.”

“I know.”

“And I have nothing to eat.”

Maya sighs dramatically, hand still on your waist. “Okay. Do you want me to go downstairs, threaten that assistant into running to Little Dom’s, and bring you back a real meal while I blackball every poké place in LA?”

You pause, considering it. “…Yes.”

She kisses your nose, grinning. “That’s my terrifying little goblin.”

You swat her ass as she turns to leave.

She blows you a kiss over her shoulder. “Stay mad. I’m gonna fix it.”

And for the first time all night, you believe her.

When you walk back into the conference room, it’s like nothing happened. Well, almost nothing.

Quinn raises one eyebrow but wisely says nothing. Matt offers you a sheepish chip. You ignore him. Tyler avoids eye contact like you’re a wild animal that bites.

And Maya? She’s back at the head of the table, arms crossed, glaring at a printout of an actor’s IMDB credits like she can will charisma into his face. The moment she sees you, her expression softens just enough for you to catch it.

Without a word, you cross the room, slide into her chair, and settle into her lap like it’s your rightful throne.

She doesn’t blink. Just wraps her arm around your waist and pulls you in closer, her fingers tracing circles at your hip like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like you’re not both high-ranking executives in a Hollywood studio actively clinging to each other in the middle of a very serious emergency meeting.

You grab the stack of casting options Quinn’s compiled and start flipping through them, sharp-eyed and fully engaged for the first time tonight.

Maya’s chin rests on your shoulder. “Do we like him?” she murmurs, nodding at a headshot.

You snort. “He looks like the kind of guy who’d get cast in a remake of something and say in the press tour that he’s ‘not really a horror fan.’”

Maya hums. “Death penalty.”

Matt clears his throat. “Are we just… are we doing this? Like, are you… are you just sitting—”

“I’d stop talking if I were you,” Quinn says without looking up.

Sal mutters something about needing therapy.

You sigh, flipping another page. “Okay. We need someone with heat, with depth, and with a name that won’t make Variety think we’ve lost the plot. Who actually wants to do genre. Not prestige posturing. Not some Marvel rebound gig.”

Maya squeezes your waist proudly. “She’s back, baby.”

You glance at her. “Don’t push it.”

She bites back a grin.

And just like that, the meeting resets. The energy shifts. You’re still hungry. Still annoyed. But you’ve got Maya’s warmth beneath you, your hand sorting through the chaos like you’re building an altar out of headshots and spite. It’s not the night you wanted. But it’s yours.

It’s a full-on war room now.

Papers litter the table like battlefield debris. Someone’s ordered more coffee. Quinn’s abandoned the floor and is pacing in socks, muttering actor names like she’s summoning demons. Matt has one AirPod in and two phones on speaker. Tyler’s got six windows open on his laptop and keeps saying things like, “If we shift the press embargo window to Thursday, we could still meet the media lead-in without violating the NDA.” Sal’s in the corner on the phone with someone, you don’t know who, and frankly, you don’t want to know.

And you?

You’re still on Maya’s lap, her arms looped lazily around your waist as the two of you scroll IMDb Pro like it owes you money.

“We’re running out of options,” she mutters, chin on your shoulder.

“No,” you say, flipping through headshots. “We’re running out of good options. We’ve got plenty of bad ones left.”

You scroll past a mid-tier heartthrob and grimace. “He thinks ‘The Babadook’ is a slur.”

Maya snorts.

You feel the vibration of her phone before you hear the ding. She shifts under you, grabbing it from the table, scrolling a few beats, then—

“Wait,” she says, and her voice changes. It sharpens.

You lean back slightly to see the screen.

A photo. A name.

You blink. “Him?”

“He’s free,” she says. “Just left that three-film deal with Netflix, so he’s loose. And he wants awards again. Said it in his GQ interview last month.”

“He hasn’t done a thriller since that Swedish noir remake thing,” you murmur.

“Exactly.” Her eyes are gleaming. “He’s overdue. He wants something gritty, something sexy and smart. We give him this, with you as exec producer, me running the campaign, he eats. He feasts.”

You glance at the name again. A-list. Oscar nominee. Under 40. Still hot enough that the trades would sell it as a comeback. Your gut twists.

“That’s a real star,” you say quietly.

Maya grins. “Then let’s fucking go.”

~ Twenty minutes later ~

The room is silent. Breathless. Tyler’s phone is on speaker.

A female voice says clearly: “He’s in. He loves the script. He’s asking for a quick polish on act three, but he’s in if you’re in.”

Tyler mouths ‘holy shit’.

You and Maya look at each other. She’s grinning like a woman who just closed a million-dollar deal. Because she did.

“Tell him we’ll have a new draft by Monday,” Maya says. “And that we’ll build the whole campaign around him. Fall festivals. Viral drops. Let him play serious again. Full resurrection treatment.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the voice says.

The call ends.

The room explodes.

Quinn is dancing around the table, chanting, “WE DID IT! WE FUCKING DID IT!” while holding her Red Bull like a trophy. Tyler’s fully teared up, muttering something about “professional peak” as he rapid-types a new press release draft. Matt’s hugging people he normally avoids. Sal opens his personal stash of whiskey from the bottom cabinet man’s behind to gulp it down in celebration.

And you, you’re just sitting there, dazed, still on Maya’s lap, the adrenaline hitting you in waves as you both watch your team lose their minds in the best way. You feel her hand stroke your back, grounding you.

You turn and face her, and her smile softens.

You’re both exhausted. You’re both glowing.

You kiss her.

Right there in front of everyone, without thinking, just full-on lips crashing together, the kind of kiss that says we did it, that says I love you, that says we’re a fucking empire, you and me.

She kisses you back with a little groan like she’s been dying for it all night.

When you pull away, she tucks a bit of your hair behind your ear. “Fuck me I’m good.”

You smirk. “Baby you know I’m the bottom here.”

She rolls her eyes, but you feel her squeeze your thigh under the table.

Someone cranks music, something loud and celebratory and wildly inappropriate for a work setting, and suddenly Quinn’s tossing around casting sheets like confetti, Tyler’s laughing, and Matt’s on his second glass of Dom Perignon.

Then…

“I’m just saying,” Sal calls over the chaos, already tipsy, “I’m so glad Maya and Matt aren’t fucking anymore because a fucking win like this would’ve ended in one of those weird celebratory makeouts with, like, tongue and teeth and that whole… thing.”

Record scratch.

Everything stops.

You don’t move. You don’t blink. The music is still playing but it sounds underwater now. Distant. Wrong. Because your body just froze around one word: fucking.

Your brain does the math. And the math is bad.

You were not aware that Maya and Matt had ever…

Your gaze snaps to her before you can stop yourself.

And Maya? She’s pale. Like someone just slapped her across the face. Her arms loosen around you just slightly. Like she wants to speak but can’t figure out which version of the truth to start with.

Maya stiffens beneath you. “Sal.”

“What?” Sal blinks, clearly not reading the room. “I’m just saying it’s refreshing not to end a big win with that weird forehead-touching, neck-biting, sweaty thing you two used to do. Like, get a room—”

“SAL.” Maya snaps.

Matt chuckles, a little too defensively. “Okay, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh my god,” Quinn says from the couch, voice deadpan but gleeful. “Wait. Wait. You and Matt actually—”

You slide off Maya’s lap slowly. Mechanically.

No one speaks.

Not even Sal, who finally realizes far too late that he just opened a black hole in the center of the room.

You look at Maya, but this time, you don’t see her in her triumph, or her glory, or the way she kissed you like she’d won a million dollars. You see someone who never told you something big. You see a betrayal you didn’t even know you had to look for. And Maya? She looks like she’d give anything to take the moment back.

“No no no no no,” you say, waving your hand like you can physically clear the words from the air. “This isn’t real. Tell me this isn’t real.”

Matt’s hands go up, palms-out. “Hey, okay, it was a long time ago! Pre-pandemic! Practically a different era. We were hot!”

“No you weren’t,” Tyler mutters.

“Thank you,” Sal says.

“I mean, I didn’t think it was important,” Matt tries, shrugging. “We’re adults. It’s ancient history.”

You round on Maya, who looks like she wants the floor to swallow her whole.

“You fucked Matt?” you whisper. “Matt? My boss?”

Maya’s hands go up in surrender. “I swear to god, it was barely a thing. Like three times. Maybe four and some make outs—”

“Four?!”

“And we agreed it was a mistake! That it was weird and a boundary issue and we were never doing it again!”

“Oh my god,” you say, stepping back. Your face is hot. Your ears are ringing. You genuinely think you might pass out.

Maya stands, panic rising in her voice. “It was before you, okay? It didn’t mean anything—”

“It means something now!” you snap. “You’ve been in meetings with him, pitching with him, touching me in front of him, and never thought maybe, just maybe, I should know this?!”

“Babe,” she says, pleading. “It wasn’t—”

But you’re already walking. Past Quinn, who mouths holy shit. Past Tyler, who looks like he’s about to throw up. Past Matt, who mutters, “I mean, it wasn’t bad,” and Maya, who yells, “Matt, shut the fuck up!”

You don’t look back. Not even when Maya calls your name, urgent and anxious behind you. Because if you do, you’ll cry. And you won’t give her that. Not in front of all of them.

You don’t make it to the elevator.

You barely make it past the hall.

You stumble into the nearest quiet corridor off the main floor, press your back to the wall, and slide down until you’re crouched in the shadows beside the fire extinguisher, hidden from the party you used to be part of ten minutes ago.

Your hands are shaking.

Not in a poetic, trembling-lip way, no you’re shaking like your body’s short-circuiting. You can’t get a full breath in, like your lungs are folding in on themselves. Your fingers fumble for your phone, but it slips once before you catch it again, screen lighting up far too bright in the dark.

You open the Uber app.

It takes three tries to type your address.

You don’t even look at the price. You hit Confirm pickup, then curl your arms around your knees like you’re holding yourself together with sheer force of will.

A car in six minutes.

Six minutes, and you can be out of here. Away from the conference room. Away from the memory of Maya’s arms around you while she neglected to mention her little HR-certified hookup history with your literal boss.

Away from Quinn’s face going no fucking way, from Sal being… well, Sal, from Matt trying to laugh it off like you’re all just characters in one of his shitty improv sketches.

You stare at the blinking dot on your phone.

It says your driver is named Eli.

You’re going to climb into Eli’s Honda and pretend you’re not the idiot whose girlfriend used to fuck the head of the studio you work for.

You wipe at your eyes angrily. No tears. Not yet.

You’ve got to get home, take off your makeup, wash this night off your body like it didn’t happen. Get three hours of sleep, if that. And then come back here tomorrow to the same office, the same glass-walled rooms, and the same people who all know exactly how humiliated you were.

You’ll have to walk into that conference room and look Matt in the face. And worse you’ll have to look at her.

You grip your phone tighter. Try not to scream.

Four minutes now.

Just four more minutes.

You close your eyes.

You do not fall apart in the hallway.

Not yet.

Back in the conference room, the mood has absolutely tanked.

The music’s still playing, some obnoxious party track with a synth drop no one asked for, but now it just feels cruel. Tyler quietly lowers the volume without asking.

Maya’s standing at the head of the table, arms crossed, jaw tight. She hasn’t said a word since you left.

Then she lets go. “Okay. What the fuck was that?!”

Everyone freezes.

Sal, still halfway through pouring another whiskey: “That was not on me.”

“Really?” Maya snaps, eyes blazing. “Because you’re the one who decided to resurrect the ancient, cursed Matt-and-Maya-era like it was relevant.”

Sal shrugs. “Didn’t realize it was classified.”

“Oh my god,” she says, rubbing her temples. “Do you just say things to hear yourself speak or was tonight special?”

Quinn’s still staring like she just watched a plane crash. “You two actually had sex?”

Maya paces now, agitated, unspooling in front of them. “I didn’t tell her because it didn’t matter. It was a blip. It was so long ago, and it was awkward and messy and I thought… it just never came up, okay?!”

Matt nods too fast. “Yeah. And I supported that! I supported not bringing it up! Because I thought it would be weird to tell her!”

“We were stupid. It was sloppy!” Maya barks. “It was during the Blue Fox merger, I had bronchitis and a PR embargo hanging over my head!”

“Oh my god,” Quinn whispers. “Was there tongue?”

Maya throws her hands up. “Yes, okay?! There was tongue. There was stress. There was bad lighting. It was a low point for everyone involved.”

Matt winces. “Okay that’s kinda harsh, I think it was kind of beautiful…”

“Matt,” Sal says, “shut the fuck up.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell her,” Quinn mutters, more to herself than anyone.

Maya turns, sharp. “Why would I?! So she could, what? Laugh? Pity me? Set fire to her retinas with the image of me and him in a West Hollywood bar bathroom while Luther Vandross played in the background?”

Quinn blinks. “…it was to Luther Vandross?”

“Of course it was Luther Vandross! I have taste, Quinn!”

The room falls quiet again.

Maya deflates a little. She’s still furious. Still too raw to know what to do with herself. “I didn’t tell her,” she says, quieter now. “Because it was nothing. It was a blip. It was before. Before her. Before I even knew what it felt like to want to come home to someone.”

“She looked at me like I was someone else,” she says quietly. “Like I’d lied about everything. Like I’d humiliated her.”

“She’s not wrong,” Sal says, uncharacteristically soft.

That’s what makes Maya go still.

Sal shrugs. “I’m just saying. If I found out my girlfriend used to bone the guy who signs her paycheck, and she didn’t tell me? I’d be halfway to my dealers for medical grade coke by now.”

“Well it’s not technically me who signs them.. that would be Lucille from accounting…” Matt interjects

Maya’s jaw clenches. “Not helpful Matt.”

~

You slam the door behind you.

Hard.

The keys hit the floor. Your bag drops somewhere near the entryway. You don’t even bother turning the lights on, you just march straight into the kitchen like a storm in heels, throw the fridge open, and stare inside like something in there’s going to fix this. Spoiler: there’s nothing but a bottle of white wine, a leftover oat latte, and a Tupperware of pad thai that’s three days past edible.

You grab the wine. Twist the cap off with shaking fingers and drink straight from the bottle.

The second the first gulp hits your throat, you pace back and forth, back and forth, bare feet slapping hardwood like you’re wearing a hole into the foundation.

“Matt,” you hiss, to no one. “Matt fucking Remnick?”

You laugh. It’s ugly. “Of course. Of fucking course.”

You fling yourself down on the couch and dig your nails into the throw pillow like it personally betrayed you.

So let’s just tally it up, right?

The guy who pays you, the guy who nods along during your pitch meetings like he’s just smart enough to track the plot but not smart enough to understand why it works, that guy? That doughy, beige suit wearing, oat milk-drinking, workaholic dipshit?

He fucked your girlfriend.

Your Maya.

The Maya who kisses your throat when you’re reading in bed. The Maya who calls you her “creepy little horror wife” in meetings like a badge of honor. That Maya?

Fucked. Matt. Remnick.

You press your hands into your eyes. Oh, and the best part? Sal knew. Sal. Fucking Sal, who you’ve sat next to in a hundred meetings, who’s texted you bad memes at midnight, who’s thrown shade at every actor you’ve ever cast.

He knew.

How many people knew? How many people sat across from you in conference rooms, watched you and Maya flirt and smolder, and thought, Wow. Hope she told her she used to hook up with the boss?

You drag your hands down your face and make a sound that’s somewhere between a scream and a sob. You feel sick. Like the butt of a joke you didn’t know was being told.

Your phone buzzes from your bag across the room.

You don’t even look.

If it’s Maya, she can wait.

~

You wake up face-down on the couch, blanket halfway off, one leg tangled in your throw, and a wine bottle dangerously close to rolling off the coffee table.

Your head pounds. Your mouth is dry. It’s 5 a.m. and you feel like someone took your rage, poured it through a filter of grief, and blended it with three hours of half-sleep and one unfinished nightmare about Matt Remnick in a hot tub.

You groan. Sit up. Immediately regret it.

Then you see your phone.

18 texts.

4 voice notes.

1 missed call.

All from Maya.

You stare at the screen for a long moment before thumbing open the thread.

The first one hit around 12:23 a.m.

<Maya: ok so i’ve been lying in bed for two hours staring at the ceiling like the little match girl but instead of cold i’m dying of shame>

<Maya: just fyi tho the matt era was VERY short-lived and powered entirely by alcohol and bad decisions and i got bronchitis right after. draw your own conclusions.>

<Maya: I should’ve told you. I didn’t because i thought it was irrelevant and then i convinced myself it was embarrassing and then it turned into a weird shame snowball and then sal threw a grenade and now we’re here>

<Maya voice note: Hey. Um. I don’t know what I’m doing. You know I’m shit at this. I just… fuck, you looked at me like you didn’t know me and I’ve never wanted to crawl into a Bottega clutch and die more. Just… please tell me you’re okay?>

<Maya: i’m gonna go to sleep before i drive to your place in a hoodie and crocs and throw pebbles at your window like a fuckin Lana song but specifically for lesbians>

<Maya: unless that would work??>

~

Your alarm didn’t go off.

Actually, no, your alarm did go off. You just threw your phone across the room sometime around 6:30 a.m. after rereading Maya’s latest text for the fifth time and muttering “fuck off” into your pillow.

So now it’s 9:12 a.m.

And the Continental morning meeting starts at 9.

You bolt out of bed with a groan, mouth dry, head pounding, last night’s wine and rage still thick behind your eyes. You shower in record time, slap on concealer, mascara, a black turtleneck, and sunglasses that scream do not speak to me I will kill you where you stand.

No breakfast. Just coffee in a to-go cup that tastes like cardboard and regret.

Traffic’s hell. You scream once in your car just to get it out. You park like a menace, don’t even check the mirror, and stomp across the lot toward the building with your bag half open and your badge clipped to your sleeve.

When you push through the glass doors and into the marble lobby of Continental Studios, you’re ten minutes late and vibrating with fury.

Matt spots you immediately from the hallway. He’s holding a protein bar and his big dumb reusable water bottle and smiling like it’s casual Friday.

“Hey,” he calls, jogging to keep pace beside you. “You’re late for the morning slate check-in.”

You don’t even look at him. Instead you snarl, voice low and venomous, “bite me, Remnick.”

He freezes mid-step.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “That’s fair. You’re mad. Totally valid. Just… don’t bite me in the meeting, okay? Bite Sal. He can take it.”

You don’t respond.

You just keep walking. Because the only thing worse than seeing Matt today… is knowing she’s already in the conference room.

And you have to sit through the morning meeting like none of this happened. Like your entire sense of stability didn’t just crack open in front of half the fucking team.

The door swings open.

You step inside the conference room with that perfect blend of silence and menace, black silk shirt, razor-sharp tailored blazer, sunglasses pushed up into your hair like a crown. You’ve got your coffee in one hand, your notes in the other, and the kind of expression that says I dare you.

Tyler starts the meeting like he doesn’t smell the emotional blood in the air. “Okay, so first things first—our guy’s officially confirmed, and the trades are prepped. We’re greenlit to announce end of week if we can finalize rollout assets.”

“Cool,” you say crisply, flipping open the folder. “We’re not announcing Friday.”

Everyone looks up.

Matt blinks. “We’re not?”

“No. It’s too crowded. Dune: Part Three has an early stills drop Friday morning and Searchlight’s doing an ‘Anatomy of a Fall’ deep-dive with the New Yorker that afternoon. We’ll get buried. We push to Monday and own the morning cycle.”

Maya opens her mouth to speak, and you don’t even look up. “Unless you’d like to announce our Oscar-bait thriller between a sandworm and a French woman falling down the stairs.”

Silence.

Then Quinn mutters, “God, you’re scary when you’re on.”

You still don’t look at Maya. But you feel her eyes burning into you.

Matt clears his throat. “Okay, Monday. We can make that work. Uh… Maya, what do you need for assets?”

~

The rest of the meeting trudges forward like it’s wearing lead boots.

You don’t speak unless you have to. Every sentence that comes out of your mouth is clean, clear, and lethal. Maya keeps glancing your way like she’s trying to find an opening, a soft edge, a tell, anything.

But there’s nothing.

You give her nothing.

No warmth. No flicker of forgiveness. Not even a look.

Just silence and strategy.

“If we’re shifting, talent needs their glam appointments moved up. We’ll need rep confirmation before lunch.” No snark. No emotion. Just fact.

Maya nods slowly. “I’ll handle it.”

Still, you don’t look at her.

Even Sal picks up on it now. He’s not cracking jokes. Matt fumbles through the updated calendar notes. Quinn adds a few scheduling tweaks. Tyler asks something about embargo coordination, which you answer with the kind of precision that makes Sal mouth “yikes” into his coffee.

Eventually, the meeting wraps.

Chairs scrape back. Laptops close. No one says much.

And Maya? She stands. Lingers behind her chair, one hand resting on the back of it like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. You don’t look up. You’re reviewing the press deck. You are calm. You are composed. You are the queen of horror at Continental fucking Studios. And right now? She doesn’t get to have you.

You gather your papers in silence. Neat. Controlled. No sign of the volcano beneath the surface. You slide them into your folder, close it with precision, and stand.

You don’t look at Maya. You’re halfway to the door when you hear her.

“C’mon, wait.” Her voice is low. Urgent.

You pause just enough to let the tension snap taut, but not enough to look back. “I have work to do,” you say coolly.

She scoffs. “Oh come on. You can’t get mad at me for having a past, fucking hell.”

Your spine stiffens.

“I’m nearly double your age,” she continues, stepping forward now, voice rising just slightly. “I’ve fucked people. Like, sorry? Grow up.”

That’s when you freeze.

Turn.

Your voice shakes, not with weakness, but fury. ���Yeah. I’m fucking aware, Maya.”

She blinks. Like maybe she thought you wouldn’t bite back.

“But this isn’t just anyone,” you hiss, stepping closer now. “This isn’t some ex from New York or a personal assistant you ghosted after Sundance. This is my boss. This is the man who signs my paychecks. Who I have to pitch to, smile at, navigate. And you didn’t think I deserved to know that you two had history?!”

“It was barely history…” she starts

“It doesn’t matter!” you snap. “It matters to me! And you didn’t tell me because what? You thought I’d be jealous? Uncool? That I’d what, throw a tantrum? Guess what, I’m throwing one now!”

Everyone else outside the glass conference room is simultaneously edging closer and pretending not to exist. You can still feel everyone’s eyes on you, even if they’re all pretending they aren’t. Sal suddenly finds the far wall very interesting. Quinn’s fake AirPods are basically a theater curtain. Matt’s holding a water bottle like he might use it as a shield.

Maya runs a hand through her hair, frustrated. “Look, I know I should’ve told you.”

You cut her off. “Then why didn’t you?”

“I was embarrassed, okay?” she blurts. “It was a shitty, messy mistake and I didn’t want to bring that into us. I didn’t want to give it weight. You matter. He never did,” she says, too fast now, words spiraling. “You know how this studio works. Half the people in that room have fucked each other. And yeah, I messed up not tell you, but you can’t just crucify me because I have a past you didn’t pre-approve.”

You laugh, cold and wounded. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

She sighs hard. “Then what the fuck is it about?”

“It’s about respect, Maya!”

Now you’re really in it. Eyes burning. Breath ragged.

“It’s about the fact that I was the last to know. That Sal knew. That Tyler didn’t blink. That you let me sit next to Matt in meetings like it was nothing. Like I was some clueless intern with a clipboard and not your…” You stop. Swallow. “Not someone you say you care about.”

Maya’s face crumbles for real now.

“I do care about you,” she says, stepping forward, eyes desperate. “You think I don’t? You think I haven’t been losing my fucking mind since last night? I’ve sent you like sixty texts, I drafted a notes app apology, I didn’t even put on moisturizer this morning, do you understand how deranged I am right now?”

You blink. “That’s your barometer for grief? Moisturizer?”

“It was Dr. Barbara Sturm, you psychopath!” she snaps. “That shit is eighty-five dollars a pump!”

There’s a beat.

And despite yourself you almost laugh. Instead, you just shake your head, trying to calm your own heart, your own hands, your own instinct to forgive her too fast.

She’s watching you. Chest rising and falling. Waiting for you to say something. Anything.

And the room?

The room is silent.

She’s watching you. Breathing hard. Jaw tight. But her eyes? They’re tracking every inch of you like she’s trying to memorize your silhouette before you vanish.

Then she moves.

She closes the distance with one sharp step, and before you can stop her, her hands are at your waist. Light at first. Testing.

You flinch. “Don’t.”

But she doesn’t back off. Instead, she leans in, mouth grazing your jaw, voice low and warm and dangerous in your ear.

“Baby, come on,” she murmurs. “I love you.”

Your breath catches.

Her hands slide lower, fingers curling at your hips like she’s staking a claim. She presses in close, intimate, entirely inappropriate with your coworkers still very much looking through the glass conference walls into the room and brushes her lips just beneath your ear.

“You’re pissed. I get it. Be pissed,” she breathes. “Yell at me later. Call me names. Tell me I’m a stupid, emotionally constipated corporate nightmare.”

You don’t move. Can’t.

She nips lightly at your neck. “But don’t leave me.”

Her fingers tighten, sliding up under the edge of your blazer, thumbs brushing your sides, mouth now trailing lower like she can seduce the forgiveness out of you.

“I love you,” she says again, lower now, desperate. “I was a coward. I fucked up. Let me fix it. Please.”

You should push her away.

You don’t. You don’t because she knows exactly where to touch you and she’s touching you there now, hands firm on your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft spot just beneath your ribs like she’s trying to hold you together before you shatter again.

And then she kisses you.

Hard. No warning. No room to think. Just mouth on yours, hot and hungry and completely insane given the fact that you are very much not alone.

Your folder hits the floor.

Maya walks you back a step, her hands tangled in your blazer, mouth moving over yours like she needs it more than breath. There’s no gentle easing into it, it’s immediate, consuming, and deep. She kisses you like she’s trying to rewrite the memory of Matt fucking Remnick out of your bloodstream.

You pull back hard, breath heaving, mouth swollen from her kiss, mascara smudged, and Maya’s staring at you like you just gave her a second chance at life.

She reaches for you again.

You stop her with a single raised eyebrow and one lethal line, “…Matt? Really?”

The room goes dead silent again.

“Matt Remnick?” you repeat, voice dripping with horror. “You were into that?”

Sal audibly snorts and pretends to choke on his drink. Quinn lets out a wheeze and turns fully to the wall like she’s entering witness protection.

Maya groans. Loud. Embarrassed. Absolutely desperate. “Oh my god,” she mutters, eyes wide as she grabs your face and kisses you again.

Hard. This time it’s needy. Almost angry.

“I’m into you,” she growls against your mouth. “I’m into this. Not him.”

You’re still breathless when she pulls back.

You look at Maya.

She’s flushed. Wrecked. Entirely yours. And completely aware she’s still on thin ice.

You smooth your blazer. Pick your folder up off the floor. And say, as calmly as if you’re discussing box office projections: “We’re still having this conversation later. Somewhere private. Somewhere where I’m less inclined to claw your eyes out and let you fuck me against a filing cabinet.”

Maya exhales shakily. “Copy that,” she whispers.

Sal gives you a little golf clap. Quinn doesn’t look up, but says, “I hope we never stop working here.”

And without a word, you turn and walk. Down the hallway. Past the open offices. Through the glass doors.

Maya follows like a shadow. You swipe your badge and push open the door to your office, stepping inside with controlled hurt still radiating off your skin.

Maya barely gets the door shut behind her before you’re on her again.

You grab her jacket lapels and slam your mouth to hers, no buildup, no words, just heat. She groans into it, hands going immediately to your waist, pulling you in like she can’t stand to be apart from you another second.

This kiss is filthier. Sloppier. More desperate. You bite her lower lip and she gasps, nails digging into your hips as you press her back against the door.

“You drive me fucking insane,” you whisper against her mouth.

“Yeah?” she pants, licking her lips. “Well you’re fucking infuriating and I love you.”

Her hands roam over your back, up your spine, under your blazer. She tugs it off your shoulders like it’s offended her.

She laughs into your neck, breath hot as she whispers, “Is this… our version of conflict resolution?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, pushing her down into the couch with one hand on her chest.

You climb into her lap and kiss her again, harder this time, her fingers slipping under your shirt like they know exactly what kind of damage they caused and exactly how to earn forgiveness.

You grind your hips against hers and she groans, low in her throat. “You’re still mad at me.”

You pull back just enough to look her dead in the eye. “Yes I am.”

She smiles. “Liar.”

And then you’re kissing again like you want to ruin her, like she’s the only one who could ever deserve to be ruined by you. You’re breathless in her lap, lips swollen from kissing her too hard, your blazer long forgotten somewhere on the floor. Your fingers are clenched in the fabric of her shirt, your eyes hot, your body humming.

You’re still upset. Still bruised with betrayal. But god, her hands feel good on you. You pull back, panting, trying to steel yourself, to glare at her.

But your voice comes out shaky. “I’m still mad,” you whisper.

Her hands slide from your waist to your thighs, spreading you just slightly over her lap. “Good.”

And then she moves.

Suddenly you’re on your back on the couch, gasping as she pins you there, her body over yours, her mouth hovering just above your throat.

She’s looking at you differently now, like she’s done pretending you’re in control.

You shiver. “Maya?”

She kisses you. Slow. Possessive. Deep enough to make your stomach flip. When she pulls back, she speaks low against your mouth. “You’re being a little brat.”

Your thighs twitch.

Her hand slips between your legs, pressing over your panties, hot, firm, and unrelenting.

“Still think you’re mad at me?”

You whimper, arching into her hand.

She grins. “Thought so.”

She pulls your underwear aside, slides her fingers over you, slick, slow, maddening. You gasp, hips twitching. Her mouth is at your neck now, sucking lightly, just enough to make you writhe.

“You’re soaked,” she murmurs, smug. “Say you need me.”

You shake your head, breath trembling. “No.”

She presses two fingers in, deep and smooth, and you whine.

“Say it.”

You grip her shoulders like you might fall through the floor.

“I need you,” you breathe. “I need you, I need… fuck—”

“Good girl,” she says softly.

And then she fucks you. Harder now, fingers working you open, her body flush against yours, her mouth at your ear whispering things that make you gasp her name like a prayer.

“You gonna be good for me now?” she whispers.

“Yes! Yes, I promise… please don’t stop…”

You’re shaking beneath her, legs spreading wider, body losing every ounce of control you fought to hold. She’s everywhere, her voice, her hands, her breath, her mouth, and she doesn’t let up until you’re begging.

You come with a sharp cry, arching into her, body going taut, her name spilling from your lips like you were made for her.

She holds you through it, kissing your cheek, brushing your hair back, whispering, “That’s it, baby. That’s it.”

When the shaking slows, you cling to her, flushed and fucked-out, heart pounding. You nuzzle into her neck, voice tiny. “I’m not mad.”

She smiles against your hair. “I know.”

The room is quiet now.

Your body is warm and shaking gently, curled half on top of Maya on the couch. Her shirt is unbuttoned, your blouse’s somewhere on the floor, and your legs are tangled like you never plan on moving again.

She’s holding you. One hand stroking slow circles between your shoulder blades. The other resting lazily on your thigh, grounding you.

You’re breathing against her chest, face buried in the crook of her neck, eyelids fluttering. Safe. Fuzzy. Boneless.

Maya kisses your hair. “You alive down there?” she whispers.

You nod, slow. Muffled. “Mhm.”

She smiles, running her fingers through your hair now, kissing your temple.

You nuzzle closer, arms tightening around her waist.

Then, softly, voice quiet and thick with exhaustion, you apologise. “Sorry I was so dramatic.”

She blinks. Pulls back just enough to look at you. “Babe.”

You shrug against her. “I know I was bratting out. I just…” You sigh. “It’s Matt.”

There’s a beat.

Then Maya snorts.

You lift your head to glare at her, but she’s already laughing quietly, shakily, that signature Maya Mason chuckle that sounds like she can’t believe her life.

“I know it’s Matt,” she wheezes. “Believe me. I have to live with that fact every day.”

You flop your head back onto her chest. “God. Well I guess that’s punishment enough.”

Her arms tighten around you, still laughing as she presses kisses into your hair.

“You’re insane,” you murmur.

“I love you,” she says instantly.

You’re quiet for a moment. Then you whisper, “I love you too.”

She stills. Then lets out a soft little exhale, like the air just came back into her body.

You both lie there like that for a while. Quiet. Safe. Outside your office, the day goes on. Inside? It’s just you and her.

[moonstruckme]

HI MAE so i didnt send the shy remus x reader ask but i saw that u wanted ideas and i had one. what about reader who's very cocky and like confident and stuff and remus is intimidated by her usually but then theyre at a party or smth and shes all drunk and shes all over him telling him stuff like how shes got the biggest crush on him or like how hes genuinely one of the most attractive people shes ever met and shy remus is js like 😳 while also taking care of her bc shes so drunk and simultaneously trying not to combust

Hi my love, thank you so much for your request!

cw: alcohol

shy!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Really, it should be Sirius’ responsibility to look after you. It is his party, after all. But Sirius has a love for delegating unwanted tasks and also a love for meddling (which Remus theorizes he got at least partly from James). So, naturally, you’re in Remus’ lap. 

“You guys are so nice,” you croon, words strung together like cursive and fingers toying with a loose thread of Remus’ sweater. He’s resigned himself to letting you unravel the whole thing without complaint. “All of you, all your friends are the nicest…the warmest people I ever knew. How’d you do that?” 

Remus smiles down at you. “I think James has always been good at bringing out the best in people.” 

He’s not entirely sure how you came to be lying on your back on the couch, your head on Remus’ thigh and your hands reaching for the dangling thread above you like a cat enjoying some lazy play. If he asked you, Remus doesn’t think you’d know, either. It makes a lovely view for him, your eyes uptilted in his direction and features relaxed and unguarded as a result of the series of tequila shots Sirius had cajoled you into not realizing you’d already had a few drinks. Remus very much enjoys having you this close and being able to look at you so casually, even if your brassy, larger-than-life demeanor often terrifies as much as impresses him. Even if your head on his thigh makes his face feel like a fire hazard. 

“Don’t think he had to work very hard with you. You’re such a sweetheart already.” You say it so simply, an obvious truth, and Remus finds himself staying perfectly still like a rabbit in the woods that thinks it might yet escape your notice. His heartbeat pitters in everywhere from his cheeks to his fingertips. He worries he’s going to have to make a response, but your eyes widen suddenly. “Oh! Sit still.” 

No problems there. Remus moves only his eyes as you sit up from his lap, tucking your feet underneath you and reaching for him with your lip trapped between your teeth in concentration. You touch a fingertip to his cheek and smile victoriously. 

“Got it.” You turn your finger, showing him. “You had an eyelash.” You blow it off your fingertip and onto Sirius’ rug. Remus marvels at the unthinking loveliness of you. “Have I talked to you about your eyes before?” you ask conversationally. 

Remus blinks, ceasing his tracking of the eyelash to look at you. “I don’t think so,” he ventures, though he knows you haven’t. He remembers most exchanges you’ve had, and he definitely would have remembered that. 

“Oh.” Your brows purse softly. “Must’ve been with someone else,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “Anyway, it’s important to me that you know, they’re really beautiful.” 

Remus startles, partly at the compliment but mostly at the touch you lay on his cheek, your fingers cool and gentle, like you’re steadying his face for your perusal. You look into his eyes attentively. 

“They’re brown,” Remus says in a soft voice. 

Your lips tilt like he’s said something funny. “Nobody’s eyes are just brown, Remus. There are so many different kinds.” Your index finger draws a short line across his cheekbone. Remus can’t tell you mean for it to or not. “Yours are sort of like a…like a gradient. They get lighter farther down.” 

Remus decides to study your eyes as you study his, and he sees what you mean. The shadow of your lashes makes your irises look darker at the tops. It’s difficult to tell, though, with your pupils eclipsing so much of them. 

“They’re, like, a warmish brown,” you’re saying, gaze unwavering. “Like the color you want your tea to be. You know, there’s some fact or study or something that says brown eyes make people feel safe. Did you know that?” 

“I didn’t,” Remus says. The weight of your attention is taking its toll on him, his body aching to sink into the couch cushions. He wants to ask if brown eyes have that effect on you, but he doesn’t have the nerve. “Is that so?” he asks instead.

You shrug. “I dunno. Works on me.” 

The breath stalls in Remus’ lungs. You’re looking at him like you haven’t said anything out of the ordinary, expression wide open and somewhat unfocused. 

You yawn, removing your hand from his face to half cover your mouth. It’s an awfully endearing show, and over too fast. “I guess that’s probably why—” You cut yourself off with a hiccup. Your eyes flare like you weren’t expecting it, hand jumping back up in front of your mouth. Remus grins before he can stop himself. 

“Oh.” Your smile is an afterthought, a response to his. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” Remus isn’t even certain what you’re apologizing for. 

Your eyes have that sweet, attentive look again. “I really like when you smile.” 

Remus feels heat spread up to the tips of his ears. It’s official. He’s got more in common with a live flame than a human anymore. “What were you saying?” he prompts. 

You bite your lip as though you’ve forgotten. “Oh!” Your eyes light. “Just, I guess that’s probably why I have such a giant crush on you.” 

Remus’ heart thuds. He breathes, “What?” 

“Yeah.” You roll your eyes, grinning at yourself. “It’s relentless.” Hiccup. “Super embarrassing. But—but you’ve got those eyes, and your freckles, and that sweetheart face…” You shrug again, helpless. Ride out another hiccup. “What am I supposed to do?” 

Remus stares at you. It seems impossible. You have a crush on him? It’s out of the natural order. The world’s gone to chaos. It’s supposed to be the other way around! Remus pines silently after you, you eventually find some big, cocksure bloke who can match you, and Remus continues to pine whilst you go on with your brilliant, dazzling life. That’s the way it’s meant to be. 

“I would…” Remus finds his mouth forming around words he doesn’t recognize until they come out. “I’d know a thing or two about a crush like that.” 

Your lips part, but you don’t look offended. “Well, yeah. I’d hope you knew I fancied you, I’ve only been seeking you out ever since we met.” 

Not what he meant. Remus did not, in fact, know that. 

“I didn’t notice you were,” he admits. 

Your head tilts. “Really?” There’s an obvious follow up question—then what did you mean just now?—but for one reason or another, you don’t ask it. You only lean onto his shoulder, your head slipping a few inches down his arm.

Remus channels all his bravery into an arm around your waist to keep you from slumping further. He vows to himself to tell you tomorrow.

[amxritt]

Robbery

Tim Bradford x f!reader

summary: when a call comes through that there has been a robbery at your studio, Tim is quick to respond despite being off duty

warnings: angst, gun, robbery, fluff

Y/n was halfway through preparing a rack of vintage fur coats when she noticed the back door creak open. It was late. Too late for deliveries, too late for interns, too late for anything but her own obsessive need to make tomorrow’s shoot perfect.

The studio was quiet—just her, her assistant Riley, and the echo of L.A. sirens in the distance. She hadn’t heard anyone come in, but the soft slam of the door made her freeze mid-motion.

“Riley?” she called out.

No answer.

She stepped out from behind the backdrop, heart ticking just a little faster, eyes scanning the open space. Then she saw him—a man in a black hoodie, face hidden, standing too close to the equipment rack.

“Hey!” Y/n shouted, her voice sharper than she expected. “This is private property. You need to leave.”

The man turned slowly, and that’s when she saw it.

A gun. Small, but real. Held tight in his gloved hand.

The moment stretched. Her lungs forgot how to breathe.

“Back off,” he growled, waving the gun slightly. “I don’t want to hurt you. Just the gear.”

He moved to unplug her camera rig—her newest investment, the one she’d been wanting for so long. She wasn’t thinking clearly. All she knew was that she couldn’t let him walk away with it.

“Please—” she stepped forward. “That stuff’s tracked. You won’t be able to resell it. Just go, a-and I won’t tell anyone.”

He didn’t listen.

Everything after that was a blur: Riley’s scream, her own feet moving before her brain could catch up, a crash of metal stands hitting the floor as she tried to block him, the gun going off into the ceiling. Smoke. Screaming. And then sirens.

—

Tim was off duty when the call came through, but old habits die hard. He still had his scanner on low in his truck, catching the end of a call for shots fired downtown. Then he heard the name.

Y/n Y/ln.

His stomach dropped.

He flipped a U-turn fast enough to make his tires screech.

By the time he reached the studio, it was a crime scene—yellow tape already strung up around the cracked pavement, red and blue lights painting the night. Officers stood in small clusters, murmuring. A paramedic was checking over someone on the curb.

That someone was Y/n.

Tim was out of the truck before it had fully stopped.

Her knees were pulled up to her chest, wrapped in a gray shock blanket, her usually styled hair a tangle. Her eyes were red, lips trembling. He barely recognized her, and it shattered something in him.

He crouched beside her. “Y/n/n.”

She looked up, startled for just a second. Then recognition hit. Relief flooded her face.

“Tim,” she whispered.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, hands hovering just above her, unsure where to touch, how to comfort.

She shook her head. “No. Just… scared. I-I tried to stop him. I don’t know why. It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” he said, eyes sharp. “It was brave. But reckless. Next time, you stay hidden, okay?”

She gave a hollow laugh. “Noted.”

One of the officers approached. Tim stood instinctively, slipping back into work mode.

“Bradford,” the officer said, glancing at his civvies. “You here for the victim?”

He nodded.

“We need her statement. Alone.”

Tim glanced back at y/n. She gave him a small nod. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “I’ll be fine.”

He hated leaving her side.

While she spoke to the detective, Tim paced. He ran through a hundred scenarios in his head—what if he hadn’t heard the call? What if the guy hadn’t missed? What if he’d hurt her? What if she had fought harder and lost?

When she was finally done, she found him leaning against his truck, arms crossed, tension in every line of his body.

“You okay?” she asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her, like he was trying to memorize every detail.

“Come on,” he said finally. “I’ll take you home.”

—

Her apartment felt unfamiliar, like she’d walked into someone else’s life. Tim locked the door behind them, checked the windows, then double-checked the locks. Y/n didn’t argue. She just stood in the middle of the living room, staring at her hands.

He walked up behind her. Quiet. Gentle.

“Hey.”

She turned, eyes glassy. “I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if I’d moved faster. Or slower. Or—”

He cupped her face, careful. “Don’t. You did everything you could. You’re okay. That’s all I care about.”

Her breath hitched. She leaned into his palm.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” she said quietly. “Your life is already…heavy.”

He pulled her in then. Arms wrapped around her tight, chin resting on the top of her head.

“You’re not a burden, Y/n. You’re… someone I care about.”

She clutched his shirt like it was the only thing holding her together.

“I’m scared this is going to change things,” she whispered.

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“It will. But not in the way you’re thinking.”

She swallowed hard. “How, then?”

“It’s gonna make me hold you tighter. That’s it.”

Her smile was broken but beautiful.

And when she kissed him—soft and slow and desperate—he kissed her back like it was a promise.

[loveroffemmes]

Devotion | Lottie Matthews x Fem! Reader

warnings: smut, blood, manipulation, talking about lottie murdering frog dude, establish relationship

summary: lottie refuses to leave the wilderness and shows you how much better it is here.

masterlist (requests = open)

"Lottie, what the fuck is going on with you?"

"I saved us, (Y/n)." Lottie stated, her expression unreadable.

"They were going to take us home, don't you get that?"

"There's no home for us there, not for the us that we created here." Lottie grabbed my hand, "Can't you see what I've done for you? I made this a sanctuary for us. A place where we can never be separated."

"This isn't a sanctuary for me!"

Lottie's shoulders slumped and she sighed, it almost felt like she was disappointed in me, "If we go back, I won't be the same person. I won't be the person you fell in love with out here. We won't be able to be together."

"Lottie, I'll love you even when we get back."

Lottie shook her head, she was acting like everything she said was an unnegotiable fact, "Don't you see how everything has improved here? We fell in love here."

"You fucking axed someone!" Lottie looked down at me, her big doe eyes looked so sad and I can't believe I was feeling guilty about the very true words I was saying.

Lottie leaned down, her eyes locking with mine, "Since when have you been scared of a little blood?" I looked away from Lottie, I knew exactly what she meant by those words. She grabbed me by my chin, forcing me to look up at her. Her eyes drifted to my lips, "I'll prove to you that this is a sanctuary." Lottie's lips met mine and her teeth immediately sank into my bottom lip, drawing blood. Lottie sucked the lip into her mouth, tasting the blood. She placed her hand on my hip, the other behind my neck, trapping my head in place as she drew blood from my lips. Her tongue pushed into my mouth, I could taste the metallic flavor on my tongue.

Lottie mumbles against my lips, refusing to separate from me for even a second, "Isn't the taste addictive?" I try to pull away, to try and talk some sense into Lottie, but her hand on my neck pushes me back to her lips.

Lottie pulls away, her hands leaving me, "Down." She commands as though I were a dog. I might as well have been a dog because I listened, sitting down on the floor of her hut.

Lottie began to undress, stripping herself of the fur strung over her shoulders and the battered dress that she wore, "Watch me." I didn't need the command, I couldn't take my eyes off of Lottie even if I wanted to. She undressed painfully slow, teasing me.

Once she was done, her eyes peered down at me, "Undress for me." The way she spoke made it sound like a ritual, like this was something vital that she had rehearsed in her head. I listened, sitting on her hut floor as I undressed and she watched. Her eyes scanned my entire body as I did so, taking in the sight with a content sigh. Lottie joined me on the ground once I finished, she always had this need to tower over me as she watched me. She liked the sense of control and the feeling of being worshipped.

Lottie's hands ran down my body, her nail lightly tracing the curves of my body, "If we left, we would never be able to lay together like this. I would never be able to touch you like this." Lottie's lips attached to my neck as her hands roamed over my body. Her teeth sank into my neck, once again drawing blood. I whined as Lottie licked the blood dripping down my neck, "Shhh, (Y/n), it's okay." I could feel the heat pooling in my core from the feeling of Lottie's tongue trailing up my neck. Lottie kissed the punctured skin on my neck, "It will heal." She assured, "For now, though, it's a mark of me on you." Lottie's lips traveled lower, leaving soft kisses down my body and some blots of blood on my skin along the way. Her lips made their way to my thigh and I could feel her warm breath against it before she bit down, harder than she had before. I whimpered and Lottie's arms moved underneath my thighs, hooking her arms around them to stable me. I could feel the blood drip down my thigh and I could feel Lottie's tongue drag teasingly slow up it.

Then, her bites stopped and I felt her breathing right against my clit, she was waiting. My hips bucked unconsciously -- exactly what Lottie was waiting for. She placed a soft kiss to my clit and it made me throb. It was an act of worship for Lottie, she was worshipping the most intimate part of me and showing her devotion to me.

Her fingers drew small circles on my thighs in an attempt to distract me from the pain of Lottie's previous bites. Her head dipped down lower, running her tongue through my wet folds and stopping on my clit, pressing her tongue firmly against the bud. It was like her tongue was trying to memorize how I tasted and how I felt before Lottie could fully indulge herself. My hips bucked once more and Lottie's grip on my thighs tightened, removing my ability to grind against her tongue, "I'm going to take my time with you."

Lottie's tongue moved painfully slowly against my clit as she licked, occasionally circling the bud to tease me. I moaned her name and her tongue began to move faster, rewarding me for saying her name. I didn't have to beg Lottie for anything, she knew my body far too well. She knew exactly what I wanted. The heat I felt was building inside me and Lottie knew, her tongue dragging across my clit with more purpose now, like she wanted me to feel every inch of her tongue.

"L-Lottie, can I--" Lottie's mouth wrapped around my clit, sucking it into her mouth harshly. My back arched as I attempted to squirm in Lottie's grip. Her tongue flattened against my clit as she sucked on it. I came, loudly chanting Lottie's name as I did so. Lottie's grip on my thighs loosened as I finished. Lottie stopped her tongue's movements on my clit and she placed a soft kiss on it instead and I whimpered from the sensitive contact.

Lottie's arms unhooked from my thighs as she sat up. My wetness dripped down her chin. Lottie brought her hand to her face, wiping the juices off of her face and onto her hand. She stared at me as she sucked on each finger of hers, basking in the taste of me. Once she finished, she laid beside me. "The wilderness wants us to stay here, (Y/n). It wants us to forever be intertwined, for us to build our futures here." Lottie pulled her fur cape over the both of us, pulling me flush against her naked body, "I love you, (Y/n). The wilderness loves you, (Y/n)."

[bokettochild]

Just saw the update!

So, first thoughts!

Gremlin Legend and Sky is something I am LIVING for. Sky's little look of approval as he stands between Wars and Legend after that little move is sending me!

(Wild is not impressed)

I also really love that JoJo played with Warriors' cape/scarf being capable of doing that, which is a major risk btw, but I love that we see it's potential now!

Like, Legend's timing is perfect (and I love that this confirms the Legend v. Wars dynamic we all love) especially considering Hyrule was literally talking about the same thing and you'd THINK Captain-War-Hero over here would be more cautious because of it (although the fact this implies Legend doesn't trigger Warriors danger sense is GREAT for the fluff fic writers like me!)

Time and Wars looking like disappointed parents though is brilliant

(Warriors with messy hair is so funny to me, help)

The continued portrayal of Time being too harsh with the boys, all tense after what happened to Twilight, that's great. i'm glad the consequences of past events are following them, it really makes this all feel linear!

I also am ALL HERE for the boys finding their differences! Warriors and Wild both admitting to being new to dungeon crawling and the monsters involved is a great thing we've all been playing with in fics, but making it cannon feels like validation :)

Also, Warriors being defensive of that, and maybe a bit prickly about their judgement, I think it shows a lot of him. he's got his pride,a although he's learned to tame it. He's feeling a bit miffed to realize how different he is, but doesn't want them seeing him as lesser as well (although they never would). I can also hear him using a clipped military sort of tone when speaking here. It's just the way his words are selected and strung together that makes it seem he's being very to the point, direct, and cold in his tone, which really sells the whole difference between a soldier and the "average nobody" that the rest of them were (ironic, since he's trying to act like the difference isn't a big deal but only further accentuates it this way).

Twilight being pleased that Epona is fine and just enjoying a meal made me grin so big though. He's all worried for his girl but she is, quite literally, happy as a horse over there LOL

Also, this bit:

recognition for Sky's right-handedness, my beloved! (JoJo is giving us all the easter eggs!)

The fact that the passage is too small to let them all fight though is a brilliant way of preventing some of our heavy hitters and more skilled heroes from being able to do anything though!

I like how that gives us the chance to see Time one-shot the foe and also gives him the impression that the rest are maybe not skilled enough to do this alone. WE all know they are, but they're a handicap to each other right now, and it's only further cementing in his mind that they're not ready for all this, which will make his overbearing speech and the judgement he casts on them in combat all the more an issue.

I mean, we all know the hero's shade was like that, but JoJo has shown Time acting this way from the start

(Deep Shadows P.2)

(Likelike)

So I guess we're in for more of that now, and most likely someone (probably Legend, as it's usually him, or Wind, who is very aware of judgement from teh rest) is definitely going to have to call him on it soon, maybe in the dungeon. Will that lead to some bonding with Time where he has to admit he cares and worries about them as though they're his own? I hope so!

Anyways, all this to say, we really are seeing how much they struggle to work together, so hopefully this dungoen will teach them all how to do that better, as Time mentioned earlier

(Dawn p.8)

Now, to finish it off!I would like to thank JoJo for giving us so many beautiful shots of Twi this time around. I'll admit it now, he's pretty darn fine <3

That said, I'm loving the Legend content too! i hope we get to see some more starring moments from him going forwards, what with him being the dungeon veteran and all! It's great seeing his childish/playful side these last few updates, but I'm really craving some veteran Legend right now >:)

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Eight - Sparkling diamond

♡♡♡

Benedict joined his sister, Eloise, out in the garden again long after the other had gone to bed. She was smoking on the swing like last time.

As Benedict takes a seat on the opposite swing, she passes him the cigarette. He takes it.

"I found bits of your sketchbook in the fireplace," Eloise says.

"Are you spying on me now?"

"You'd actually have to be interesting for me to bother spying on you," she chuckles.

"The drawings in that sketchbook were abominable," he says firmly. "I could not stand to look at them."

"I believe that is why they call it a sketchbook." Eloise looks at them. "I write in my diary, which is not the same as wiring in my novel."

Benedict chuckles.

"It must be very difficult to want something and not be able to get it."

"Eloise..."

"If you enjoy drawing but need practise, then practise," she goes on. "Hire a drawing master. Find a young lady to act impressed."

You cross his mind. However, he doesn't want you to act impressed. He wants you to be impressed by his work. Genuinely so.

"If you desire the sun and the moon, all you have to do is go out and shoot at the sky. Some of us cannot.

"Look no further than Lady Whistledown. She possesses a huge talent for writing, and yet she must hide away and publish under a false name."

"Yes, because if anyone knew who Whistledown truly was, she'd be strung up for what she said," Benedict states.

"That is not my point. Whistledown is a woman, therefore she has nothing, and still she writes. You're a man, therefore you have everything. You are able to do whatever you want. So do it. Be bold."

Eloise envies her brothers.

"At least that way I can live vicariously through you." She rises to leave.

"Eloise... are you Lady Whistledown?" Benedict asks.

Eloise laughs.

"You're an accomplished writer, always scribbling in that diary of yours. You certainly know everyone else's business. You have more opinions than anyone else I know in London. You would have my full support and admiration either way, sister."

Elosie laughs again.

"So... is it you?"

"No." She looks at him. "Though if it were... do you honestly think that I'd admit it?"

Elosie heads back inside.

Benedict is left with his thoughts.

♡♡♡

The ballroom was elegantly designed. Soft shades to light up the room. You find yourself without a dance partner, however.

Prince Friedrich was in the middle of a dance with Cressida Cowper.

The duke was standing sternly off to the side with Lady Danbury. They appeared to be talking quietly, though judging by the stern faces, it was not a pleasant conversation.

You find yourself gently, and you admire the room. Benedict wasn't here. You couldn't see him at all.

That is not to say you had gone unnoticed. You glance to your left and find a perfectly suitable gentleman looking your way. You smile softly and turn your gaze away.

Tactics of flirtation were not completely out of your power.

Before anyone could make a move, however, the doors at the top of the stairs opened. It wasn't so much the doors that caught everyones attention, more like who had come through them.

You swear you all breath left you when your eyes landed on Daphne coming down the stairs with her mother. She was wearing the most beautiful silver gown you had ever seen, and her hair was beautifully done. She looked like, well, a princess.

In her hand was a feather fan. It went beautifully with her attire. She began to descend the stairs.

All eyes were on her.

Prince Friedrich was at the bottom of the stairs. Not once did he look away. You watch with interest as Daphne gets closer, closer, and closer to him.

The prince leaves Cressida's side to meet Daphne at the bottom stair.

The duke does not move.

Daphne stops.

"Miss Bridgerton, I simply musylt have your first dance." He speaks to her softly.

"It would be an honour, your highness." She curtsies.

A moment passes between them, and then you watch as Daphne drops her fan. Just like that, the prince kneels down to pick it up.

The prince kneeled.

You don't even realise the soft gasp you let out as you watch.

Prince Friedrich offers her the fan, and she takes it. She smiles at him and then gives the fun to her mother as she takes the prince hand.

They dance.

The duke leaves. Though he turns back to look at Daphne before he goes.

In the words of Lady Whistledown, why settle for a duke when one can have a prince?

♡♡♡

The invitation to attend the boxing match came from Anthony Bridgerton. You were rather pleasantly surprised by his invitation.

Anthony apparently needed some help to keep his mother quiet about finding a wife for himself.

You laughed.

You follow the siblings until they reach the prince. He approaches Daphne, but greets you, also. You curtsy.

Anthony then offers you his arm. "Shall we?"

You chuckle and take it, allowing him to lead you over to some seats. As you settle, you turn to the eldest Bridgerton.

"Where are you brothers?" You ask.

"My brothers? Currently talking to one of the fighters." He gestures to the edge of the ring where you spot Colin and Benedict.

You don't even notice you're smiling.

"You and my brother seem to have grown rather close." Anthony points out, looking at you.

"I can assure you there is nothing untoward. Your brother is my friend, as are you all now." You smile at him.

Anthony chuckles.

"Benedict seems to have a lot on his mind at the moment. I am not one to get in the way of someone's business."

"Smart woman," Anthony chuckles.

You nudge his arm lightly and wait for the fight to begin.

As the match is announced to begin, the other brothers find their way to you and Anthony. Benedict looks rather surprised to see you. "I had no idea you were attending."

"Your brother invited me to keep your mother off his back. It seems that is all I'm good for." You chuckle.

"No true, but appreciated none the less," Benedict comments.

You smile, and he takes the empty seat beside you. It does not go unnoticed that you keep your arm looped with Anthony's. He doesn't comment on it.

The fight is intense. You gasp with every hard punch. The men around you cheer on their victor.

You had never witnessed such a match before, and you would be lying if you said you were not somewhat into it.

As the crowd stands, you stand with them and cheer along with the Bridgerton brothers. William Mondrich was their friend, and he was putting up hell of a good fight.

Benedict finds it amusing how excited you seem to be.

Mondrich wins!

You cheer along with the brothers. You laugh at the excitement. It was a thrilling match, indeed.

Anthony helps you down from your seat and speaks close to your ear so you can hear him. "We're off to collect our winnings. I shall see to it you get home right after."

You nod and thank him. As he leaves to fetch his earrings, Benedict turns to you.

"Did you enjoy that?"

You chuckle. "I did. Surprisingly."

"I must say, I did not expect to see you in attendance."

"I am full of surprises."

Benedict looks at you quietly for a moment. "Yes. You are."

You smile and look away. However, his gaze lingers on you for a bit.

Later, the Bridgertons see to it that you get home safely before they head off to the club. A place for the gentlemen only.

Anthony helps you up into the carriage and thanks you for humouring him today. Yo return the gesture and wave as the carriage leaves.

Colin has to nudge Benedict out of his thoughts.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd -

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff -

[ihavethedreamiesx]

Don't Poke the Bear | Jongho [NSFW]

Choi Jongho - ATEEZ

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~6.9k 🫢 (over 2k of it is smut btw)

Pairing: Bear-Hybrid!Jongho x Fox-Hybrid!AFAB!Reader

Genre: Hybrid AU!, Historical/Period, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Some Plot, Strangers-to-Friends-to-Lovers

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Sweetheart, Sunshine, Precious, etc.), Swearing, Kissing, Hickeys/Marking, Heat/Rut, Pheromones, Oral (M! Receiving), Deepthroating/Face-Fucking, Big Dick! Jongho (of course), Size Differences, Size Kink, Praise Kink, Cockbulge, Over-Stimulation, Unprotected Sex (This is pre-birth control so…)

Trigger Warning: There is mentions of guns in this, but its just a revolver and the reader shoots it once at a target. That's it.

Author's Note: This is NOT Omegaverse, but there is a mention of Jongho being an 'alpha'. They have animals ears and tails. Jongho is bigger here than he is in real life, probably about 6'5"/196 cm, since he's a bear hybrid. This is set in about Wild West times, so around 1830s, but it's not a Western themed story.

I will be doing all the members and uploading them as I go. I normally like to upload a whole series at a time but I'm trying to pack to move.

🦁 Hongjoong's 🦁

🐕 Yeosang's 🐕

🐯 San's 🐯

Revised (1/31/25)

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

When your stomach groans, again, you groan back.

"Shut up, I'm looking." you tell it. You get no response. Sighing deeply, you stumble a bit on a root, catching yourself with a hand on the tree trunk. You have no idea why, but for the last two days, you haven't been able to find any prey. Sniffing in distaste, you hold up an arrow, looking at the completely clean arrowhead. Letting your arm down, the arrow lays at your side. You glance down at your other slack arm; bow held in that hand. What's the point of having a weapon if there’s nothing to kill to eat with it? You wonder what full foxes do when they can’t find anything to eat. Starve? No, the probably move on to a different area. A bit harder to do that since you settled in the area nearly four months prior and have no intention of leaving. Your semi-permanent shelter ss finally finished, nice and cozy, and you love the area you’re in. Normally it’s simple to get food, just step outside your hut and shoot a hare out in the field. When you’re not able to see anything, you instead go deeper into the woods that your home lies at the edge of. But there’s even less there, if it’s possible. You’re getting closer to the river, but you aren’t very good at fishing. Hitting a rabbit or squirrel with an arrow is actually much easier than a fish. Might have to try though, since you’ve run out of food completely the day prior. It’s late fall, getting closer to winter, and so there isn’t really anything to forage for either. Everything has been eaten by deer or other animals. Since you’re hungry, so hungry, your steps are uneven and clumsy.

"Fuck!" Your long tail catches on the thorns of some bush, knocking you down to your knees. Yanking the appendage to free it, you yipe, looking back at the branches to see a tuft of rusty orange fur left behind. Running your hands over your tail, the spot isn’t noticeable, but it stings. Scratching the back of your ear at the top of your head, you get back up, continuing toward the water. You can hear the river water rushing over some rocks, most likely a short waterfall. Before you can even see the river though, you see a building to your left. Getting closer, it’s a fairly large shelter, much bigger and nicer than yours. An actual cabin rather than a weird cross between a tent and a hut. It’s most likely older and whoever built it also most likely had known what they’re doing. What really catches your eye though, are the fish strung up on a line between two wooden poles. Your mouth waters, one of the giant salmon will easily feed you for a week if you cure it properly and ration it. You feel your tail wag a bit at the thought, and you eagerly stalk forward. The thought of who had caught the fish, and who the dwelling belongs to doesn’t even cross your mind, way too hungry.

"Come to mama~" You giggle and right when your long claw-like nails get close to pulling the fish off the line, someone grabs the back of your shirt. Yelping in shock, you feel your feet leave the ground, just an inch or two, your captor easily lifting you. Your legs scramble helplessly in the air as you flounder, hands going to grapple at the one holding you. The person lifts you even higher in retaliation and so you wiggle and squirm harder.

"Let me go!" you shout and that seems to work, but then you land hard on your butt.

"Ow, fuck!" You scramble to get up and to your feet, spinning to see who the heck has grabbed you. What human is stupid enough to mess with a fox hybrid- Bear. Bear hybrid, that's who. Not a human. Your ears press back and down against your skull, tail tucking between your legs, no longer snapping back and forth. The male raises an eyebrow, and you get a good look at his face. He’s gorgeous. All of him, really, not just his face. That, though, very handsome. He’s covered from the neck down in dark brown hide, the arms and collar of his jacket lined with thick fur. You don’t know if his pants are so tight from their cut or if his thighs are just that thick, and you honestly hope for the latter…Or do you? He’s thick with muscle all over. He shifts his stance, hands resting on his belt, standing over you, staring. The dominance emanating from him strikes through you, and you aren’t sure if you should feel scared or aroused. You have met bear hybrids before, that's not what’s doing it, it’s something from him. It makes you wonder…

"A-are you an alpha or something?" you boldly ask. There are some predator hybrids that seem to be more in touch with their animal nature than others, and he sure seems like one of them.

"I'm not a canine." He speaks down to you, literally, he’s fucking massive. The top of your head barely reaches his chin.

"I-I know…"

"Only canines have alphas."

"Then what are you?" He scoffs at your brazen question.

"Why should I answer, vixen, when you came here to steal my food?" He starts to walk toward you, so you pounce to the side, turning to keep your face toward him. You watch his hands go to the hook holding the salmon, taking it down off the line. Your tail whips once, nervously, and you hope he can’t hear your heart pounding. You aren’t sure how you feel about him, how to feel about how much bigger he’s than you, stronger. He smells so fucking good too-

"I-I'm hungry, okay?! I haven't had any meat in two days!" You try to defend yourself, your voice cracking pitifully.

"You say that like you don't normally steal." His sneer is evident in his tone, and you scoff hard.

"I don't!"

"You're a fox, right?"

"Not all foxes steal! You big…brute!" He doesn’t respond, just walks around the pole holding one end of the line, toward the front of his cabin.

"H-hey!" You know you should have taken the chance to flee, that would’ve been smart, but instead you trail after him. Those fish look too good, and you notice he’s easily carrying the string of five over his shoulder. His big boots thump across the hard, cold ground, your much lighter feet barely making a sound. When you catch up to him, coming around the cabin, he’s laying the fish down on a wooden table it looks like he might have made himself.

"D-do you cook them?" Your mouth waters. You prefer your meat cooked, that’s probably the human part of you, but the fox part of you can eat raw if necessary.

"I-if…If I do something for you in return, can I have a fish?" you ask, stepping forward carefully, tail snapping behind you. You’re pointing at the one you had been reaching for, which is the smallest one.

"What could you do for me, vixen?" He’s standing back up again, hands on his belt. Why does he have to just stand like that? There’s no need. Does he just stand like that normally? His question registers then, and your brain kicks into gear trying to think of an answer. You’ve offered help, but that doesn’t mean you know what kind of help. That’s his part of the exchange.

"What do you want me to do…he-bear?" For the life of you, you can’t think then of what a male bear is called. He huffs at your attempt to match his confidence. Your eyes flit to his chest, shirt struggling and stretching over his chest just from him breathing.

"Jongho."

"What?"

"My name. Please don’t ever call me 'he-bear' again."

"Oh…Jongho. Uh, I'm (Y/N)."

"Can you climb?"

"Climb?"

"Can you climb a tree?"

"Oh, yes." Your eyes follow his thumb when he jabs it toward his left. You glance around him toward where he’s pointing, an apple tree. It’s huge, you wonder how long it’s been there.

"Go get as many as you can." He picks up a basket from under the table, easily chucking it toward you. You manage to catch it, maybe fumble with it a bit, and head over to the tree. Maybe you can grab a couple of them…

"Where did you get an apple tree?" You call behind you as you approach it, "aren't they normally in human areas?"

"I sell to humans."

"Sell? Sell what?" You wrap your tail through the handle of the basket, curling it up to hold it up as you climb up the tree. He’s probably tall enough to get at the apples himself, but it’ll be easier to get them climbing.

"Furs. Wood and metal work." You sit on a branch, putting a narrow branch through the handle of the basket to hold it for you as you pluck a red fruit off a twig. It smells so good, but he’d notice if you take a bite. Dropping it into the basket, you continue, noticing which ones aren’t quite ripe yet.

"Metal work?" You peer through the branches of the apple tree, noticing a side building right next to his cabin, a blacksmithing forge inside.

"Wait, you've worked with full humans?"

"Yes."

"Have you seen those little guns they carry? That don't need powder and a ball?" You have picked about ten apples by then, balancing on the branch to try and reach an eleventh. He doesn’t respond, so you glance past the leaves to where he’s at the table, and he goes to a pouch on his belt. He opens it, pulling out a revolver.

"Woah!" You beam in awe, not paying attention to where you’re crawling on the branch. You yelp as it bows under your weight, making you lose your balance. You close your eyes, ready to fall. It isn’t too far, you won’t die, but it sure will hurt.

"Oof!" You do land on something hard, just not the ground. The wind gets knocked out of you as you fall face down onto Jongho, middle on his shoulder. While you catch your breath, coughing a few times, he unlatches the basket and carries both you and it back over to the table. The basket is set on the end of the table, and he then lets you down to sit on the other end. Even up on the surface, you have to tilt your head to look him in the eye. You rub your sore middle, though it’s much less painful that it would’ve been to bellyflop onto the ground. The bear notices your eyes flit to the little gun still on the table, and he sighs. Grabbing it, he pops the rotating barrel out, shaking the little bullets out, then hands you the unloaded gun. Taking it carefully with both hands, you’re surprised at its weight. It’s heavy for its size, but much lighter than a musket. He continues to work on the fish, cleaning them or something, eyeing you as you curiously look at the revolver.

"Man, this would be so much easier to hunt with."

"It's different than aiming a bow." He scoffs, swiping the weapon back from you, reloading it.

"Show me?"

"You're awful demanding." Jongho scolds, holstering the gun back to his belt. You sniff in disappointment, swinging your legs a bit from where you sit up on the table, watching him work.

"If I feed you, will you leave me be?" he asks after a few minutes of silence.

"No." You like to be honest. He sighs, putting his thin knife down.

"I'll leave you be if you show me how to shoot it."

"Why does it matter if you don't have one yourself?" You shrug in response. He can’t decide if you’re annoying or endearing. He stands up straight, stepping closer to you, so he’s standing right before you. Your ears droop a bit, tail lying flat from where it had been thumping on the wood softly. He’s so freaking big. You feel a familiar twinge in your tummy, and your thighs clench. His eyebrow raises, nostrils flaring slightly and your eyes widen in panic. Can he smell your arousal? So easily? The bear sighs deeply then, "Come here." He takes the gun back out and you hop off the table to follow him as he heads around a big tree. When you come around as well, you see that there’s a circle carved into another tree a bit in distance.

"Hold it up, arm straight out, level it. Then, line this little piece up with where you want to shoot." His thumb flicks at the sight piece.

"Pull the hammer back with your thumb, then press the trigger with your index finger. You'll have to press harder than you think." He snaps the barrel back out, rotating it to check the rounds, then snaps it back shut, handing it to you. You follow his instructions, keenly aware of him at your back. You stand much the same way you do for archery, but he corrects you. He brings his hand to your bicep, bringing it up so you grip the gun with both hands instead. To compensate, you turn your body a bit more toward the target. You click the hammer back, that takes more strength than you thought it would too, and wrap your finger around the trigger. Breathing in, steadying your aim, you line the sight up. As you breathe out, you press hard like he coached, and the gun goes off. It’s so much louder than you expected, your ears flattening to your skull, body recoiling along with the weapon. You stumble back into his solid chest, ears ringing painfully. You narrow your vision toward the target. You didn’t get a bullseye, but you do at least hit inside the target circle. That feat pulls your body out of shock from the loud bang, and you beam, cheering.

"I did it!" You jump in excitement, and he quickly takes the still smoking gun from you. He holsters it once more and can’t help but let out a small huff of laughter as you cheer for yourself. Endearing, he decides, cute even.

~θωθ~

"D-do I rotate it?" You look over at him, sitting on a log bench by the fire pit. He’s cleaned, filleted and skewered the salmon, letting the pieces roast by the fire. Jongho had set them in the dirt, skin facing the flames more, tilted toward the heat.

"It's fine." He’s brings the basket of apples over and you watch him roll one in his hand. His eyes flicks to your face, wanting to see your reaction, as he grips the fruit with both hands, splitting it perfectly in half with ease.

"Woah!" Your face lights up and he can’t hold back a smug grin. Holding the two halves easily in one hand, he hold it out for you, and you spring to your feet from your own log bench. Skipping over, you take the two halves from him, the scent making your mouth water. Sinking your teeth into the flesh, you groan in delight. You haven't had the pleasure of eating an apple before. Crab apples, yes…but those are absolutely horrible. The bear can tell you were honest about being so hungry with how fast you devour the fruit. When you’re left with the two pieces of the core, you hiccup. Your face grows more and more displeased with each hiccup, growing annoyed with the process.

"Geez." You breathe hard, trying to control your throat, but you hiccup again, a slight pain blossoming in your chest.

"Fucking hell." You swear softly, then let out another hiccup.

"Geez!" You groan, then your tummy rumbles, and a gas bubble erupts. You keep your mouth closed to muffle the noise, minding your manners, and the seizes stop.

"Thank goodness." You sigh and Jongho can’t help but chuckle. So cute. He’s a little upset with how cute you’re growing to him.

"What?" You whine a bit, feeling self-conscious.

"You're cute, vixen." Your tail snaps in embarrassment.

"I have a name." You correct coyly, not able to look at him, face warming. You almost add on 'he-bear', but he’d said please…

"(Y/N), you're cute." He fixes his compliment, and you sniff, secretly pleased.

"And?"

"And what?" You aren’t sure what you’re expecting, honestly.

"Uh…"

"Whatever, sweetheart." The little pet-name isn’t condescending or patronizing, and your entire body freezes.

"D-don't." you whisper, and he raises a brow in question, looking up from a second apple.

"Don't?"

"D-don't call me that…"

"Why not?" The bear smirks; you can see it from your peripheral. Your cheeks are quite red by that point. You don’t answer, focusing on watching your fish cook. He let it go, chuckling softly to himself.

~^///^~

"It's hot-" He warns, but it’s too late. The hot fish stings your tongue, but you’re much too hungry to care. Waving the skewer it’s on, like that would cool it off, you blow hard on it a few times, then take another bite. You devour the fish, much like the apple, he’s surprised you eat the whole filet.

"T-Thank you." You wipe at your mouth with your forearm, handing the skewer back to him. He takes the whittled bone from you, and it seems you’re getting ready to leave, picking up your bow and quiver.

"You live nearby?"

"Oh, yeah, just a few meters that way." You wave in the general direction. The sun is setting by then, the cold setting in.

"In that half-tent?"

"It’s a hut!" You try to defend your shelter since you built it yourself. He stands then, and you wonder what he’s doing, coming toward you.

"There's a storm coming, I'll help you get your things, you can stay here tonight."

"A storm? Like snow? Already? Wait, what!?" He walks past you toward your home and you gape after him like the fish you just ate. Shaking your head to gather your senses back, you trot after him. You’re a bit out of breath by the time you get to your dwelling; you can’t even see the fire from his place.

"B-but this is where I live, I'll be okay!" You seem to be trying to convince yourself of that as well.

"Get your stuff." He jerks his head toward your hut, and you huff but do so. If there really is a snowstorm coming, you’d prefer the much sturdier and less drafty cabin he has. You’re able to gather everything except the structure itself with his help and he goes slower for you on the way back. You wonder how the heck you’ve never noticed his cabin before, but you also never go this far into the woods, let alone so close to the river. As you pass the cursed bush that tore a chunk of your fur out, you sneer down at it, wrapping your tail around your leg to keep it safe. You hear him huff out a laugh, and you glare at his rounded black ears, one of them flicking slightly. At first, you were a bit ruffled by his suggestion, but you’re growing grateful as some snowflakes start to fall. Plus, ultimately, he is being kind. You thought he was going to set you up in his smithing lean-to, or maybe even just under the shelter of the roof over his porch. But he opens the door to his cabin, bringing your stuff with him. The bear looks over his shoulder at you, waiting for you to follow. Once inside, you look around. To your left is a table with a water jug and basin and to the right a large cedar chest. There’s a sitting area with an actual couch and a fireplace. Right across from the door on the other end of the one-room cabin is the bed, big and with a mattress. It must really pay to trade with humans… You watch him set your belongings against the wall near the bed and you notice a little side room.

"You have an attached outhouse?!" You gape at the luxury, and he hums. Not really an outhouse if it’s attached, but… You set your stuff you carried next to his load and look around his home more. The couch looks comfy, but you have little perspective, never having the luxury of sitting on one. It does beat sleeping on a bedroll, you assume, and you’re a bit worried that you won’t want to go back.

"I take up a lot of the bed, but you're tiny." His comment throws you out of your thoughts, nearly giving yourself whiplash with how hard you turn to look at him.

"W-what?"

"It's going to get really cold, even with the fire on. It'll be warmer." He states and you realize he’s right. Still, your insides flop at the thought. It’s hard enough being around him, and how good he smells, let alone in a room that smells mostly of him. Can you really handle sleeping next to him…just sleeping? You swallow, you aren’t due for a heat for a while, but he’s extremely attractive. The fact that he’s a bear should lessen your desire, but no. The unfamiliar, the new experience, the size difference…

"What are you thinking about, sunshine?" Jongho walks past you to shut the door, pulling out a small box. Matches. You’ve never seen them at work before, so you step closer, watching him scratch the little red end of the wood piece on the side of the box, flame erupting out of thin air. He lights the oil lamps he has on the wall, casting a soft warm glow around the room, seemingly right as the sun sets beyond the horizon. You don’t make a comment on the little pet-name, though it isn’t much easier to process than 'sweetheart'.

"C-can't you just use my name?" You sniff, moving around him to sit on the couch. The leather-covered cushion sinks under your butt, and you let out a silent 'wow' at the plush feeling. The bear chuckles, moving around to join you on the couch. You scoot over to allow him room, he takes up much more space than you. He rests back, arm slung to the side over the back, right behind you. His feet are firmly planted on the floor, knees wide, and he sits on the couch likes he’s a king on his throne. The confident dominance wafts over you again and your core pulses. Biting your lip, you look away from him quickly, and Jongho smirks at your sudden rigid posture. He watches the tip of your tail as the end thumps lightly on the cushion. You squeak when he carefully runs his fingers over the orange fur, right where you had a tuft ripped out.

"What happened?"

"You can notice it?" You whine, looking at the spot, trying to ignore that he’s still touching your tail. His eyes flit to your ear as it flicks in annoyance.

"It got snagged on some thorns earlier."

"Does it hurt?"

"Stings a bit…" You flinch when a sudden gust of wind rattles the door and shutters on the window. Your ears twitch when a distant rumbling travels through the air.

"Thunder?" You could have sworn that's what you heard, but that would be weird. When it happens again though, it’s confirmed.

"It can thunder in a snowstorm?" You wonder aloud and the bear hums, fingers once again stroking over the fur of your tail. Goosebumps rise on your skin, the fur raising a bit along with it.

"I'm gonna use the outhouse!" You stand up quickly, pulling your tail out from under his hand and curling it toward yourself. As you do so, you can smell your own arousal, and hope that since your pants will be back up, he won’t be able to as well. Going back into the house, you sigh at the warmth, he already has a fire going. It’s rapidly getting cold, and you can hear the wind whipping along with a low distant rumble. Despite the fire, you know he’s right about it getting pretty cold. Gently sitting on the edge of the mattress, you try to ignore how soft it is, and take off your boots. Slipping off your vest, you climb up further on the bed, bouncing a bit in delight.

"Move over, sunshine." He motions for you to follow, since you’re in the middle of the bed. You bounce on your butt to do so, too enamored with the mattress to really focus on him.

"Ah!" You squeak when he wraps his arm around you, lifting you with ease so he can pull the blankets out from under you and back. Your face is rapidly heating along with your lower stomach, and you finally look over him as he gets in the bed. He’s taken off his bear hide coat, leaving him in just a light brown henley shirt. The ends of the sleeves are rolled up to rest right below his elbows and you marvel at the evident muscle there.

"Sleep, (Y/N)." Jongho lays back, adjusting his head on the pillow and you slowly follows suit. You nearly moans in delight at the feeling of the mattress cradling you, the pillow under your head just as soft. Yep, you never want to sleep on a bedroll again. You’re startled out of your thoughts when he pulls the blankets up and over you, rolling onto his side so he can face you. He props himself up on his palm, elbow to the bed, delicately resting the end of the blanket up near your chin. Your face burns hot, and you nestle into the bedding to hide.

"Th-thank you for letting me stay here for the storm…" You mumble and he hums, finally resting down himself, still facing you. When he pulls the blanket up and over himself, you feel the heat rapidly rise under the covers. You’ve never felt so warm and cozy in your life, and you suddenly feel your weariness. Blinking, trying to stay awake, you look over his face, vision hazy from sleepiness. He’s…

"So handsome." You mutter, barely registering you said it aloud, and he hears it. The bear smirks at the compliment.

"Gets some sleep, pretty girl." His clawed finger comes up and brushes a strand of hair off your face and you can’t help but follow his instruction.

~UuU~

Probably only an hour or two later, you’re forced awake by a flash of light, a booming rumble, then the sound of wood snapping. You had rolled over onto your stomach, so you prop yourself up on your elbows underneath you. The blanket hangs over your head, but you can see through the shutters of the window to the side of the bed. You had heard of a thundersnow before but had never experienced one. You shiver at the cool air hitting your face, it’s so nice and warm under the blankets. Burrowing back under, you roll to your side, facing the bear. You had nearly forgotten he was right there, and you find your face right against his chest. It rises and falls as he sleeps, and you’re a bit surprised he doesn’t snore, like…you know, like a bear.

Swallowing hard to steel your nerves for your next move, you slowly reach out, pressing your fingertips against the hard muscle of his chest. You shiver, wanting to feel over him more, see him…

"Haven't you heard not to poke a sleeping bear, sunshine?" His voice rumbling startles you. It’s deep and rough from sleep and you roll your eyes back a bit at how it makes you feel, and his comment.

"Yeah, and?" You do it again, pressing just one finger against his chest that time, literally poking him. Poke. Poke. Poke.

"Huh?" You feel the bed shift, and he rolls, propping himself up over you on his forearm, pinning you to the mattress. Your hands are clenches into fists at your chest, holding them close to you for security. His face is so close, and you can feel the breath leaving his nostrils. As he looms over you, he shifts his knee up, his thick leg wedging between yours. You shiver, letting out a small whine when his thigh presses against your mound. Jongho smirks, leaning down so his mouth is right by your ear.

"Your decision. See what poking a bear does." You loosen one fist, index finger sticking out, shaking.

Poke.

His large hands suddenly seize your hips, claws slightly digging into the flesh of your ass through your pants. With his grip, he presses your core against his thigh, forcing you to grind over him. You sigh at the feeling; a bit of a whine laced through the exhale. He shifts his knee further forward and hauls you up so he can wedge it under your lower back. Jongho leads you to wrap your legs around his middle, still pressing you down to grind your covered cunt on his upper thigh. That pulls a moan from you, and you gasp hard when he starts laying open-mouthed kisses over your neck and shoulder. A low rumble hits your ears and at first you think it’s more distant thunder, but then you can feel it as you press your hands to his chest. Your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt, and you moan as his kisses turn to sucking, and he barely digs his sharp teeth into your shoulder. Without his, or your prompting, your hips jump, and he presses into your movement. The bear's cock is growing hard, and your eyes flutter closed when you feel it. Can he even fit?

"Are you sure about this, sunshine?" He pulls away, smirking as he admires the growing bruises he created over your shoulders and neck.

"Yeah, why?" Your eyes meet his as a bolt of lightning lights the room, then thunder rumbles, snow blowing harsh against the window.

"Think your little body can handle me?" Jongho tilts his head, that smirk still there and you purposely move your hips, whining.

"Yes!"

"You sure?"

"Will you just fuck me already?" You nearly shout. He doesn’t answer, but your next plea is silenced as he swallows it, tongue easily wiggling its way into your mouth. Your eyes rolls back as his hands dig into the flesh of your hips, avoiding using his claws too much. When your head starts to swim, he pulls back from the kiss, smirking at the end of your tongue sticking out a bit from your mouth. One hand goes to your jaw, thumb slipping into your mouth, and you eagerly suck on it, tongue avoiding the sharp part of his claw.

"Want something else, sunshine?" Jongho grins deviously as you nod, whimpering. He gets off of you then and you immediately miss not just the weight of him over you, but the heat his body releases. You just stare in awe as he finally pulls the shirt off, and his muscle is clearly from strength, brute strength, not to look good. Though…he does.

"Hurry up, sunshine." His hand grips over the bulge in his pants, and you rapidly sit up, your own hands going to the waist band. He watches calmly as you struggle to gets the button undone and you bite your lip as you get his pants open. His hard cock nearly springs out and you feel your mouth water at the sight, jaw already sore. Your long fluffy tail waves behind you, ears drooping as your small hand tries to wrap around his girth. Can’t even get your fingers to touch and your cunt spasms, telling you it’s good and ready for him. Licking your lips to try and prevent the drool from dripping too bad, you stick just the head in your mouth, tongue eagerly swirling. The salty drop of precum you taste just fuels the fire and your eyes lazily flit up to meets his. The look he gives you nearly makes you whine; you don’t know what bears call alphas, but he sure is one. Jongho's eyebrow crooks up, waiting boredly, and you swallow a few times, then ease him further in. It’s a bit hard to keep your teeth behind your lips with how big his cock is, but he fits. The slight pressure from the sides of your long canines just adds to the pleasure of your hot and wet mouth, drool already spilling from your lips. His eyes watch your tail wave back and forth, chest starting to rumble again as you take more of his cock. The head hits your throat, he’s only about halfway in and you swallow again, tongue eagerly slicking the underside of his dick. Your eyes meet again, and he barely seems phased, so you suck hard, your other hand joining the first to cover more of him. Bobbing your head, you hollow your cheeks, whimpering at the taste of him. His large hand lands on your head, thump stroking the soft skin on the inside of your ear and you shift your posture. Sitting back on your knees more, you widen your legs to lower you some, and let go with your hands.

"You sure, sunshine?" Jongho's smirk has come back and a full growl rumbles through the room when you nod. Sucking air in harshly through your nose, swallowing to try and prevent your gags, he takes charge, easing his cock in himself. When the fat head hits the back, he continues in, groaning as your eyes flutter back. Your breathing is loud and fast, trying to take in enough air so when he finally fills your throat, you can hold your breath for a bit. The spasms of your throat with your gags makes him chuckle and he starts to pump his hips, fucking his cock into your mouth. The slick sounds of your spit and lolling tongue are almost drowned out by the storm, but he can clearly hear your whines. He can feel them vibrating over his dick as well and he paid attention to your breathing and paced his thrusts.

"You thirsty, sunshine?" The bear laughs when your next whine is louder and he grunts, waiting for your breath. Once you’ve inhaled hard, he plunges in, so your nose is pressed to his groin, hot thick spurts of cum going straight down your throat. Your cunt spasms, slick dripping nearly through your pants, clit throbbing as you ride your high against the thick seam. Your vision starts to blur, brain fogging, still swallowing over and over to get all he gives down, and he finally withdraws so you can suck in air. Your throat is raw, sore, but you’d let him do it all over again and thank him for it too. Now that his high had faded, though his dick is still rock hard, he can smell the thick aroma of your arousal. You smell like spring grass and fresh water, laced with the sweet scent of marigolds.

"Lay back, sunshine." He prompts and you flop back onto your back, body shivering, though it isn’t clear from what. There’s a dark stain on the crotch of your pants; he notices as he takes his off. You’re hauled to sit up as he tugs at your shirt, tearing a few runs into it as he pulls it off of you and you squeak as he wrestles your leather leggings off. They flop onto the floor behind him and your scent has grown stronger, making his pupils narrow, brow furrowing. You eagerly wrap your arms around his broad shoulders when he crawls over you, nose running up your throat. Jongho nearly roars as he growls, grasping your thighs, pulling back so he can manhandle you. Your knee ends up at your ear, the other looped over his elbow and your eyes can only focus on his fat cock head pressing against your folds.

"Fuck!" You throw back your head, back arching when he presses in, not rough but not slow either. With all your strength, you lift your head to watch your cunt flutter to accommodate the stretch, core burning. He realizes then maybe he should have prepped you a bit, your pussy is so tight, that if you weren’t so wet, he wouldn’t be able to fill you so easily. You both, at the same moment, notice that there’s already a bulge forming from your stomach, his thick cock not even in all the way. You should have known the minute he kissed you before that you were ruined, but now it’s for sure. You know you’ll be sore in the morning too, but you’ll prefer being sore the rest of your life as his bed partner than to never fuck him again. His deep chuckle morphs into a grunt as he bottoms out, slick spilling from your stretched hole and onto the bed below. If he’d known that you were only about a mile from his home, your cute little face and cute little pussy, he’d have gone and found you himself.

"Jongho~" You nearly howl, hands reaching for him, out of his reach from sitting up straight. Adjusting your legs, while letting your core adjust to him, he presses down close so your hands can find purchase on his back. Your ankles are at his ears, hot breath panting against his lips.

"You like my cock, precious?" The new pet-name is even worse than the others, and he can tell by how your gummy walls pulse harder around him. His plush lips brushes over yours, then he feels you gasp into his mouth with the kiss, his groin pressing against your swollen clit. He watches your eyes glaze over, body falling limp as he pulls his hips back, giving a shallow and weak thrusts, gaging if your body is ready.

"Too much?" The bear coos when you shake your head no.

"More?" He prompts and that time, you shake your head yes. You should have guessed how powerful he could be, but you still aren’t expecting the bed frame to crack against the wall with the first thrust. Your body screams, but no sound leaves you as Jongho moves to press your knees to your ears, each deep, hard thrust forcing a tiny orgasm out of you. Your cunt burns from the stretch and stimulation, and your brain is fried. Good thing you’re out in the woods with a storm raging, because you’re squeaking and squealing, grunts and groans leaving him as well. Jongho rolls forward a bit more, hips barreling his cock down into your folded body, his thick claws leaving deep gouges into the wood as he grips the headboard.

"Want my cum, precious? Huh, want my fat cock to fuck you stupid? Hm?" His tone is incredibly patronizing, and it goes straight to your cunt. You’re leaving a puddle on the bedding beneath your hips and a mix of your drool and tears have left one on his pillow too. The cold from the snowstorm seems to have been completely negated by the heat you feel, from him and because of him.

"Fill me, please! Jongho~" He isn’t sure why that time is different, the way you moan his name, but it goes to his head and his cock, orgasm hitting. Hot waves of cum fill you, the head of his dick pressed right against your cervix, so much slick and release squirting out from where you’re connects. His hips continues to rolls a bit, and you wonder how he’s still so hard after pumping so much cum into you, and your poor pussy is stinging from the countless numbed of times he made you cum. You barely know your name or where you are, let alone what you let slip before.

"Like my big cock, precious?" The bear smirks when your droopy eyes fly open, ears flicking, tail starting to thumb against the bed.

"You did good for me, sunshine." He’s getting into it then, loving your reaction, face reddening further, cunt clenching around him more. It’s like you’re a dog, tail wagging for being a good girl. You yipe when he pulls out from you, the rapid loss takes the air out of your lungs. He rolls you over and you can’t hold yourself up at all, so only his hands on your hips keeps them raised. You cry out when the head of his messy cock meets your equally messy folds once more and he don’t ease in that time. He somehow gets even deeper, hips slapping against your ass so hard that you’re sure the skin will be red and stinging soon. Your own claws gouged into the wood of the headboard, not able to do anything but take what he gives you, sweat coating both your bodies.

"Don't worry precious, I won’t break you." The bear laughs, grinding his cock deep, as you come once more, the sting is fading into pain, and you fear he can go much longer.

"Just. A. Bit. More." He grunts, chest rumbling and falls over the edge again, the heat inside you reignites as more hot white paints your core.

"Going to stay here with me? Be my cute little vixen?" His sudden question barely registers in your head, exhaustion taking over.

"Okay~"

Master-List

Taglist: @thunderous-wolf

[eroselless]

PATO - FOUR

series masterlist | part 2 | part 3

[charles leclerc x reader, carlos sainz x reader]

warnings: pregnancy, insecurities, mentions of sex

note: part 4! We’re jumping back this time! Some more backstory is developed here. I thought I was going to be able to put in some sexy time for you guys but it kept getting longer and longer and I didn’t want it to drag on for too long. Hopefully soon though! Happy reading <3

SPAIN, MAY 2023

2nd trimester/month 6/week 24

You stare at your phone, a sour look on your face. It feels like he is doing it on purpose. Or at least, it seems like the universe has it out for you. You hold your breath as you look through the photos, gnawing at your lip as you do so. Their blissed-out faces are so obvious, creating a sinking feeling in your stomach. Charles and Alexandra are on his boat in Italy, captured by the paparazzi. In the first picture, Alexandra lies on her back, her head turned to the side, while Charles hovers over her, placing a kiss on her lips as he grips the side of her face. You see that he is wearing the shorts you gifted him for a trip you took long before everything began to fall apart. Like turning on a movie, you see the memory playing behind your closing eyelids. You trace your fingers over the bow of your lips as if to further summon the scene from the back of your mind.

You see yourself tangled in the hotel sheets one bright morning, gasping as Charles loses himself between your thighs. His striped bathing suit is in your line of view as you writhe under his touch. It's strung up just beyond the open bathroom door, still wet. You still feel the ghost of his touch embedded in your skin as if the healed marks left behind by his lips are still fresh. Purple and red, his tongue tracing over his work, soothing your aching flesh. Your eyes snap open, halting the memory from continuing.

Your eyes float back down to your screen, looking at the next picture. The next image shows Alexandra standing, lips pursed and pressed tightly against Charles, her hands gripping the robe he wears. She is clad in a sleek swimsuit that further accentuates her slim frame, dipping low in the back to reveal smooth, flawless skin, and cutting high at the hips to emphasize her long, toned legs. You turn to the mirror that stands a few feet away from your bed, your phone suddenly forgotten on the sheets.

Letting out a shaky breath, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and pull yourself to your feet. You tug lightly at the t-shirt you wear, your tummy protruding out a little more. Your hands smooth over it, caressing it tenderly. Rubbing at the fabric, another memory illuminates your mind.

“Have you seen my –” Charles freezes in his tracks as he moves into your shared kitchen, clad in only a pair of shorts. His eyes travel over your frame as you turn from your spot at the fridge, hands full of ingredients for breakfast. Your hair is tousled and pulled into a loose bun. “Your what, mon coeur?” you ask, cracking some eggs into a metal bowl.

He shakes his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “Never mind,” he chuckles, circling the kitchen island that separates you to plant a heated kiss on your lips. You lean into him, pressing yourself to his chest as he pulls the air from your lungs. Hands moving over his shoulders, you fiddle with the hair at the base of his neck. Tugging teasingly at the hem of the shirt, he pulls away, a smirk still evident on his face.

“It looks better on you anyway.”

You pull it off in frustration, tossing it to the other side of the room. Leaving you standing in small shorts and a sports bra, you examine yourself in the mirror.

You had noticed the changes before, but the increasing volume of photos of Charles and the very beautiful Alexandra couldn’t help but make your skin crawl and feel uncomfortable. It was a feeling you couldn’t quite place, bubbling deep within you. Those stretch marks used to be smaller; you could fit into those jeans a week ago; why can’t I fucking tie my shoes?

The door creaks open before the tears threaten to spill over, Ines peeking in. “Mamita, pensé que todavía estabas tomando tu siesta,” she says, her expression puzzled. I thought you were still taking your nap. You shakily inhale while pulling a discarded sweater over your head.

“I just have a lot on my mind,” you reply, dismissing the worry in her voice. She wraps her arms around you, rocking slightly as she does. She pulls away, giving you a dopey smile. “Come, let's have a little bocadito before lunch," she suggests softly, not prying but offering comfort through her presence. Snack. You nod, wiping at your waterline as she guides you out of your bedroom and into the kitchen.

You settle at the table, mind trying to swat away the thoughts still buzzing in your head.

“You know, querida,” she begins, glancing over at you as she lifts mugs of coffee from the counter and brings them to the table. “You haven’t been out in a few days. Didn’t you mention running into an old friend the other day?”

You glance up, meeting her eyes, and a gentle smile plays on her lips. “Oh, you mean Carlos? Yeah, while getting your groceries.”

She nods, smile widening. “You should give him a call and see what he’s up to.” She shrugs, a glint in her eye you don’t yet recognize. “It’d be nice to catch up and have some fun while you’re at it.”

You hesitate for a moment, suddenly not sure if you should take him up on his offer and ask to see him. You chew at the side of your cheek before sighing and giving in. Nodding, you reach for your phone. “Alright, I’ll call him.”

Your finger hovers over his contact number as nerves seem to ripple through your body. When you press it, it rings a few times before he picks up, answering. His voice is gruff like he had only just woken up from a nap, just like the one you’d been trying to take. It sounds cheerful nonetheless, warm and inviting.

“Hey! How are you?” He greets. You can’t help the soft smile that blooms on your face.

“Hola, tú. Are you busy today? Maybe you could show me around? I’ve been in this town for a while, but I still don’t know much about where to go to have fun here.” You’re picking at your nails as you wait for him to speak, anticipation building in you. Hey, you.

It’s like you can hear his smile from his voice as it sounds through your phone. Carlos chuckles. “Claro que sí. How about I come to pick you up, and we can spend the afternoon together? I know just the place.” Of course.

He gives you an hour to get ready before he arrives at your aunt’s house. He comes to the door, greeting her with a kiss on each cheek and a bear hug. When you go to leave, she raises one eyebrow at you, that twinkle in her eye returning. You smile, as you close the door behind you and make your way to Carlos’s awaiting car.

He opens the door for you, waits for you to buckle in, and the two of you make your way down the road with the promise of a quick walk and a picnic.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The sun hangs lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the path you trudge on. You feel yourself growing warm as you walk next to Carlos.

“You said this would be an easy walk,” you tease, sweat beginning to bead on your forehead. “I think your definition of easy and mine are very different.”

He lets out a chuckle, nudging you playfully. “Ya vamos a llegar, no te preocupes.” We’re almost there, don’t worry.

You crinkle your face at him, letting out a huff, and he sticks out his tongue teasingly. He’s right though, as not fifteen steps later, he pulls off the path into a wide glade. The view is breathtaking as you wander further into the green grass. There are clusters of flowers spread out through the glade and tall trees that provide shade from the sun. “Look at this place, though. Totally worth it, right?”

Carlos throws a blanket over a spot under a tree before placing the basket on the ground. He hesitates as he goes to sit down, spotting you struggling to sit on your own.

“Espera, espera,” he says, clambering over to you. Wait, wait. He links his fingers with yours, gesturing for you to start sinking down to the ground. You do as he says and settle comfortably on your spot on the blanket. “There we go,” you mumble quietly, a little breathless.

Sitting down, Carlos begins pulling out an assortment of sandwiches, fruits, and a bottle of water. He extends his arm toward you, a sandwich sitting in his hand. You accept it with a smile, biting into it.

“So,” he begins, following your lead and taking a bite of his sandwich, “how have you been adjusting to life here?”

You take a moment to chew and swallow before replying, almost timidly. “It’s been…interesting,” you say, leaning back on your free hand. “It's so different from what I’m used to but in a good way. Sometimes I find myself missing the constant movement of Monaco, the noise, the rush. But it’s nice to hear the silence. There are things I miss more than others, some I don’t so much.”

“¿Como qué?” he asks, the question slipping out before he can really think it through. Like what? He regrets it as soon as he lets it slip from his lips as if he already knows exactly what you’re going to say. His eyes soften at you before speaking again. “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. I’m just curious, that’s all."

You hesitate for a moment, your gaze shifting to the blanket beneath you. There's a sudden feeling of nervousness that settles over you. You’re unsure about opening up to Carlos. He wasn’t a stranger but he wasn’t someone you were used to confiding in regularly either. You remembered the times you’d seen him at the garage, your casual conversations, the friendly banter. He had always been kind, approachable. But this was different.

“No, it’s okay,” you reassure him. “I guess it’s a little complicated,” you say slowly. “Sure, there were many times when I was by myself, but being in Monaco felt like Charles was anchored to me, that he would eventually miss me and come home. I miss that.” You can feel a lump in your throat as you explain. “When the times were good, we could do anything and be content with simply each other’s presence. I thought we were happy.”

Carlos watches as you swallow thickly, his big brown eyes offering an understanding gaze. He’d always seen you as a strong woman, standing by Charles’s side as a pillar; someone calm and quiet. But here he could see a different side, tender and chipped, broken in some spots. He reaches for your arm, squeezing gently. “It sounds like you miss that connection then, the innocent intimacy.”

You nod, eyes glazed over slightly. “Yeah, I guess I do. It’s hard to let go of something that was such a big part of my life. Especially when I see... when I see Charles moving on so easily. It makes me question a lot of things." Your hand goes to your belly, fingers rubbing at it tenderly. There’s that feeling again, from earlier when you stood face-to-face with yourself.

Carlos’s hand still sits on your arm, his touch reassuring. “And that’s completely normal, you went through so much together. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to move on and find your own happiness.”

You bring your eyes up to his, locking with his warm brown eyes. There’s a sparkle in them that makes you feel seen and understood. Something that seemed to fade between you and Charles as you neared the end of your relationship. “Thanks, Carlito,” you say, teasing him with a nickname you’d come to hear from his father once or twice in the garage.

You smile at him, suddenly noticing how good he looks under the light of the setting sun. Just like how he's seeing a new side of you, you can see a different side to him. He looks relaxed as he sits under the tree with you. He's not as stoic as he looked all those times you saw him before every race, and his smile is more genuine than the one he uses with most of the general public. His hair is messy, falling over his forehead and curling upwards behind his ears. He’s wearing a loose white T-shirt that only pulls tight over his wide shoulders. You meet his eyes, cheeks feeling hot as he catches you shamelessly looking him over. You clear your throat, tearing your eyes away from him.

“Enough about me, what about you? Your love life is probably more interesting than mine.” Carlos shifts lightly, his tone turning contemplative. “Well, there is this one girl,” he begins. “She's great, really. Attractive, smart, we get along really well…” his voice trails off slightly. “But I don't know. It feels like there's something missing, we don't quite have that deep connection, that spark.”

You nod, understanding. “It can be hard to find that connection. Sometimes it's there and sometimes it's not.”

Carlos nods, his gaze thoughtful, and you recognize the way his eyes look forward, not looking at anything in particular, just lost. “I want something more, something real. Someone who really understands me, that I can truly connect with.”

You feel a slight flutter in your chest, a feeling you haven’t felt in a long time. You push it aside, a tingle of guilt shooting down your spine. Too complicated, too soon, you think. Instead, you find yourself absent-mindedly nodding, understanding what he means instantly. "Sometimes it just takes time to figure out if someone is right for you," you offer. "Or maybe you just haven't met the right person yet."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The hour passes quickly, with chatter and laughter being tossed between the two of you. There’s bittersweet reminiscing of old times and sharing stories of before your timelines came together in the Ferrari garage. As the hour passes, Carlos can’t help but steal glances at you, noticing how your eyes sparkle when telling different stories or how the wind pushes your scent his way whenever it dances through your hair. 

He lets himself unabashedly drink in every curve of your silhouette, every crinkle in your laughing face, and all the little gestures you make with your hands as you speak. He lets himself revel in your presence, something he couldn’t do when you were with Charles. It was a longing he had been suppressing out of respect for his teammate.

Eventually, you sigh, rubbing your lower back. "Carlos, I think I need to lie down," you say, your voice suddenly exhausted. “This little one is slowly starting to make things a little difficult.”  

Carlos nods immediately, starting to pack up your picnic. "Of course. Let’s get you home." You walk slowly to the car, the sun beginning to dip under the horizon as you climb into the passenger seat.  

The drive home is quiet, the atmosphere charged with unspoken words. The air feels heavier, the silence more meaningful. Carlos occasionally glances at you, his eyes searching for something, but the silence remains.

When you reach Ines’s house, Carlos gets out and walks over to your side. You smile sleepily as he reaches for your hand, helping you out. You ignore your quickening heartbeat as your hand links with his.

"Thanks for today, Carlos," you say softly, looking up at him.

He smiles warmly. “Anytime, I enjoyed it.”

At the front step, you hesitate, nerves suddenly overwhelming you. Carlos turns to you, the setting sun casting a warm glow over your features. He can’t help but admire how beautiful you look, your eyes reflecting a depth of emotion he hasn’t seen before.

You rise on your toes and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, your hand resting on his bicep for support. Carlos's breath hitches at the touch of your lips, his heart pounding. As you step back, your eyes lock for a moment, saying so much yet so little. You turn and open the door, warmth escaping into the chilled night. With your hand on the doorknob, you pause and look back at him one last time. “Buenas noches, Carlos.”

“Buenas noches,” he echoes.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The days slip by seamlessly, and it seems Carlos is becoming a fixture on your doorstep. Often, he arrives with arms laden with fresh ingredients. He often loses himself in the kitchen’s warmth, occasionally offering you a spoonful of whatever he’s been cooking up, a playful dance of tastes and laughter filling the air.

One evening, as Carlos savours a spoonful of sauce, his approval spills forth. “Te quedó esta salsa bien rica,” he praises, stirring the pot with a satisfied grin. Your sauce here is very delicious.

You chuckle, shooting him a sidelong glance. “Me enseñaron bien,” you nudge him playfully, shoulders brushing. I was taught well.

In subtle ways, Carlos begins to make himself indispensable around the house. He tackles Aunt Ines’s unreachable sink leak, banishes the wobble from a chair deemed off-limits, and even lends a hand in her garden. Aunt Ines finds herself gazing at him with admiration, not just for his handy skills but also for the way he lifts you from your melancholy and paints a smile on your face.

You walk together one evening, a gentle breeze caressing your skin. Carlos swiftly sheds his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. Despite your attempts to suppress the fluttering butterflies that erupt in your tummy, your cheeks betray your feelings with a rosy hue as you look up at him.

"You didn't have to do that," you murmur, fingers fidgeting with the zipper.

"I wanted to," Carlos replies simply, his gaze lingering on yours a moment longer than necessary. Pausing in the middle of the street, you stand still, your breath catching as his fingers brush away a stray hair from the jacket's neckline. Your eyes fall away, a quiet anticipation hanging between you.

“Helado?” you exclaim, breaking the spell he has you under and dart towards an ice cream parlour nearby. "I'll have two scoops of chocolate, please," you request from the server, fingers drumming on the counter.

"Make that three," Carlos chimes in, flashing a grin at you. He pays for the ice cream and follows behind you as you gleefully find your spot at a table. 

As you lounge at the small table, you bask in the warm sun. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes, like fireflies in the dimming light of dusk. Swiftly he dips his finger into the creamy confection, tracing a delicate line across the tip of your nose.

You gasp at the cold substance, a symphony of laughter escaping your lips. “Carlos!” you exclaim. He can’t help but laugh as you scramble to wipe it off, holding the napkins just out of your grasp. You narrow your eyes at him, angling your cone towards his face. Yet like the fast cars he drives, he moves, leaving a delicate smear of cream on his cheek. 

He freezes, jaw hanging open. You go to smear more over his other cheek as he pushes the ice cream away, shaking his head in playful amusement. You relent, letting out a chuckle as you plop back into your seat. 

"Nice try," he quips, his voice a soft melody in the evening air, as he reaches for a napkin to wipe away the cream.

The moment seems to slow, the world around you seemingly holding its breath as Carlos’s eyes flicker up to meet yours. With a gentle movement, he reaches out towards you, thumb tracing a soft arc over the tip of your nose. With a tender reverence, he brings his finger to his lips, tongue poking out and dragging over the pad of his digit, eyes never leaving yours. It sends a rush down your body, igniting something in your gut that is almost unrecognizable. 

You get pulled from your stupor as laughter rings through your ears. Your eyes land on a group of women, arms linked as they approach you. One of them speaks up as they pass by. "You two make such a lovely couple," she says, her voice soft but full of warmth.

You feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, feeling like a deer in the headlights being caught doing something she shouldn’t be. Carlos grins at the woman, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Thank you," he replies graciously, arms swinging over to rest on the back of your chair. His gaze lingers on your warm cheeks before winking at the woman, sending her away with his signature smile.

a/n: Thank you to everyone for tuning in, any feedback, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated, I love seeing your reactions and notes! Love you guys lots!

tags: @kravitzwhore @janeh22 @apollosfavkiddo @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @tremendousstarlighttragedy @sltwins @bwormie @marshmummy@honethatty12 @staplerrrr @smithieandy @loloekie @musicheaux @jeondeluxe111 @dessxoxsworld @xoscar03 @emryb @yl90

[silentstyx]

Helloo could you do a mortal reader x percy jackson. Where percy gets tartarus nightmares and reader comforts him and he begins to open up and tell her the truth about him . And reader just continues to support him and comforts him

Orrr instead of rachel leading the labyrinth. Percy asks his mortal girlfriend and she meets annabeth and I want to see that interaction since the reader is pretty affectionate with percy and vice versa

PROTECTIVE ANNIE OR PERCYYY

No pressure ofc!!

Have a lovely day/night/evening!!

uh im gonna do these both but in like two different ways idk how to explain. lemme cook, idk just read this please:

Divine Confessions

sum! "mortal reader x percy jackson. percy gets tartarus nightmares and reader comforts him and he begins to open up and tell her the truth about him. reader continues to support him and comforts him"

tw! erm idk nightmares, none rly

percy woke up with his chest heaving, his breaths unsteady as he tries to calm himself down. he tried to sit up, yet it was like he was pinned to the bed in the dark room. his loud, wheezy breaths woke up the girl sleeping peacefully next to him. she groaned and flipped to look at him, with a grumpy look because it's the middle of the night and she was awoken from her slumber.

she then saw the pure panic and fear on his face, making her features soften. her brows knitted as she moved a hair out of his face.

"percy its okay, im here, ive got you and no one can hurt you. i promise." you reassure him.

he couldnt even move his head to look at you. he hated this. he felt so weak and vulnerable. he tried to respond but he couldnt think of something.

"ok cmon breath with me, perce." you whisper to him, softly as not to scare him anymore. you press soft pecks to his temple before taking breaths to show him.

he copies your breathing, slightly calming down from the affection. his brain started to realize there is no real threat besides his own imagination. gods. his own imagination has betrayed him yet again.

he was finally able to look at you, the worry strung on your face.

" 'm okay love" he reaffirms. he looks up at you and sighs, "just a nightmare, promise."

You cup his face, thumbs rubbing comfortingly on his cheeks, "percy what was the dream about that was so bad that you had a panic attack about it?"

He sighs, how is he supposed to tell his girlfriend that has two normal human parents that his dad is a greek god. let alone poseidon himself. "okay pretty, i gotta tell you something. you're not gonna believe me but i need you to listen."

the seriousness in his tone catches you off guard, you face him more. your brows furrow more, "what is it? are you okay?"

"im a demigod, my dad is poseidon, my nightmare was about one of the quests i went on to tartarus where i thought my best friend, y'know the girl annabeth i talked about? yeah her moms athena, she almost died while we were in tartarus." he explains, too quickly to make sense in your brain. it was practically a word jumble.

you just looked at him with a dumbfound look on your face until you breathed in and nodded, "okay."

now it was his turn to be dumbfounded. what? okay? you're just accepting it?

"only okay? is that all you have to say?" he asks incredulously.

"right now im super tired and im only really hearing like a fourth of everything your saying, we can talk about this more in the morning, okay?" you explain, rubbing your left eye. once you finish talking you yawned.

he nods and lays all the way down, resting his head back on the pillow with a light sigh. he was facing the opposite way so you come up behind him closer, laying your left leg over his and gently rubbing his spine. up and down with your strokes. this repeated gentle motion eventually lulled you and him to sleep.

the other part: Bound by Fate

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for Derpsheep; a fake cryptid and a real romantic. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Oh! Are you not the kind of bird who makes the nest? Because I can totally make a nest, I can definitely do that!” its new Robin blurts eagerly, straightening up in the air and brightening in excitement. 

Dick cackles, and Tim makes a strangled noise and vanishes completely inside Robin’s wings. 

“Um . . . is that not . . .?” Its new Robin trails off, looking embarrassed. The Batman is . . . puzzled. It really never has had a Robin that nested before. They’re all different, obviously, but–

Oh, it realizes, and tilts its head. Perhaps this actually isn’t a new Robin. Perhaps this is something . . . else. 

Something–new, in a sense. 

There was Batgirl and the Spoiler, but this is more . . . Starfire, maybe. More like her. Something different, that isn’t from Gotham. Isn’t of it. Something new and shiny like a just-made, just-cut diamond with no history to it. 

The Batman prefers history. Prefers old and lovely things; the long, long line of preservation and protection. The cherished, and the stories that are cherished most of all. The history of a bloodline, of a name, and the loving fear of the dark, and the flip of a decades-old coin against the shine of a centuries-old jewel, and above all, the concept of justice.

But the Batman is also a thing of change, a thing that wants to keep moving, and a thing that wasn’t there, once, but will be from now on. A thing that wants to help bring something better. 

It wants better for Gotham. 

And Superman is something bright and constant in the world, and wants better for it. So then . . . Superboy is . . . not a Robin, but . . . 

Something new and shiny and just-made, and made of a dreaming for that “better”, when the Batman looks at him the right way. 

Something that came looking for its Robin with a diamond made just for him, and caught Nightwing without a moment’s hesitation when he asked, and wants to build its Robin a nest. 

Hm. 

Selina brings it diamonds, sometimes, wrapped around Cat-claws and a slick smile. But she never stays to nest. 

But not-its-new-Robin still tastes just a bit like Cat. 

. . . hm. 

kitten, the Batman decides after a long moment, and then pats the kitten’s curly fur with the trailing edge of its cape. It leaves the rest of it strung in a net, though, because Cats shouldn't be able to fly at all. 

Not that it's telling the kitten that, because then he might realize he can't and fall. 

“Uh–what?” The kitten blinks at him, though he leans into the petting just the slightest bit, feeling like a neglected alleycat that's just feral enough not to know what to do about being touched. Dick falls over laughing–though he doesn’t actually fall; not any farther than the ledge–and Nightwing’s discordant cackle echoes across the rooftops. 

“Oh my god,” Tim mutters under his breath, and sounds very “teenage” even in Robin’s voice. 

The Batman has learned about teenagers. 

kitten, it repeats with one last patient scratch behind the kitten’s ears, then draws its cape back. Strays don’t get used to being petted so quickly. 

The kitten . . . blinks, once or twice, his eyes very large and pupils dilated far past normal human proportions behind the flat opaque surface of his glasses. 

It does look very Cat-like, in the dark. 

The Batman hums its approval and pats Tim’s shoulder where Robin’s feathers drape and cover, and then turns to leave. 

[pars-ley]

Title: I still want you (part one)

Pairing: Jimin x female reader

Summary: Legend has it that there's a being of nightmares residing in a dark castle deep within the woods. But...what if the man who roams those halls is not the monster he's made out to be?

Genre: fantasy au / cursed jimin / strangers to lovers / fated lovers / angst / fluff

Rating: 18+ (sfw) (part two will have smut)

Warnings: mentions and descriptions of demons / description of murdered character (not main character) / talk of curses and spells / really insecure Jimin / 

Word count: 7.3k

Banner: @caelesjjk is the G.O.A.T for this perfect banner 

Moodboard: Me

Beta: @anyamaris @colormepurplex2 @heathfritillary thank you so much for all of your help, suggestions and endless cheers for this!!!

Authors notes: for @ksmutsociety ’s ‘the velvet vault’ event with the prompt dark academia. Inspired by “the truth untold” song, mixed with Beauty and the Beast meets Tim Burton. The poem at the end was written by the wonderful @colormepurplex2 thank you so much.

My playlist:

The truth untold - BTS

Who - Jimin

Not by the moon - Got 7

Dopamine - Jackson Wang

Like crazy - Jimin

Scene one

Hearing tales about this infamous garden is one thing, but seeing it before you, that is something else entirely. 

Your eyes must be deceiving you, for such beauty couldn't exist in just one place; especially within this dark, cruel town. 

People here have long given up on happiness, love, even decency. With more magical creatures being discovered and invading the town, some wreaking havoc and others spreading fear like wildfire, a lot of people feel trapped here. 

You, being one of them. 

Living a life constantly looking over your shoulder is not ideal but it is something you have come to accept. Especially after the death of your mother, which has shaped you into a much more vigilant adult.

One evening, she didn't make it home before the darkness blanketed the sky, your mind raced throughout the night, until first light peeked through the trees and illuminated your answers.

Her lifeless body strung up in the centre of town, by those demonic, soulless beings, hung for everyone to view and gawk at. The image still haunts you almost four summers on and so does the comprehension behind her death.

Your mother had been a powerful enchantress, having regular visions that, more often than not, came true. She could charm objects with magic to bring a variety of privileges; protection, love, knowledge, luck, anything to help ease the wickedness of the world. She made potions from the plants that grew on our windowsill, all medicinal and all made with heartfelt care. 

All of this made her more capable of protecting herself than anyone in this town and yet, she still ended up dead. 

Her dagger, laced with a protection spell, had still been tied tightly to her thigh, not even an attempt to be taken out of the harness. Had she even had the chance to try? 

You had removed it from her lifeless body and kept it close to you ever since. 

You did not know what she had been doing in the woods, or what kept her out so late on that fateful day, but you knew that whatever it was, surely involved magic. If she pushed herself too hard with spells, she lost too much energy and wasn't able to use more if needed. 

The questions around her death have plagued you ever since. 

Here in the garden, however, you feel an odd sense of peace, something you haven't felt in a long time. However reckless it may be for you to enter, you slowly open the unlocked gate. The loud creaking of the hinges makes you pause, frozen in panic while you scan your surroundings. Your hand moves to your mother's dagger that now resides hidden under your skirt, tied to your outer thigh with a makeshift holster.

When nothing moves or makes a sound in return, you slide yourself in through the small gap and step onto the stone pathway.

The smell hits you like an ocean breeze; intoxicating fragrances swirl around you, trapping you in a cage of flowers. One that you would gladly lock yourself into.

Your feet seem to move of their own accord as you stroll through the abundance of colourful flowers, softly skating your fingers along velvet petals with a ghostly touch.

As you walk, a little basket full of berries in hand, you realise how much lighter you felt, as if you were lifted on a floating cloud, carrying you along in the wind. Your aching heart felt calmed; soothed just by being in here. 

The variation of flowers is unlike anything you'd seen, every colour you could think of in so many shapes and sizes it is hard to fathom them all. But it’s the white rose bush in the centre of the garden that catches your eye and draws you in further. As you had given in and succumbed to the temptation, trespassing onto the grounds of the large, ornate castle your town spoke about frequently. The fear and the guilt, however, had left you as soon as you entered. 

In closing the distance between you and the rose bush, you also edge much closer to the tall, round tower that stands alongside it. Surrounded by a wildflower floral blanket and yet, the dark, unwelcome castle looks out of place in all this beauty, and a shiver cascades through you. 

Unsure if your mind is playing tricks, you glance up at the windows, searching for any sign of the eyes you can suddenly feel upon you. Every part of the castle seems thick with shadows, empty and un-lived in. But you have heard many rumours of the man within. A twisted man who stays hidden away inside, so grotesque and sinister he hides from the world. Many stories shrouded in mystery, kept the village alight with curiosity, but all of them had the same message. 

Stay away from the castle.

Maybe you are a fool for coming here, although searching for the reality from the tales was not your initial intention, but admittedly, you are surprised by your surroundings. It’s as if two different worlds coexist within the outer walls.

A garden so beautiful it wouldn't be unbelievable to see cherubs and angels holding hands and dancing around the shrubs, but with the backdrop of a dark, secret dwelling housing an angry beast.

Seeing no movement or signs of life in the many windows, you continue on your venture.

Your footsteps make no sound as you tiptoe carefully across the grass to the roses.

Such a simple flower but your unmatched favourite.

White roses remind you of your mother, a delicate, breathtaking woman who stood out everywhere she went, but with a natural, understated beauty. 

Leaning down to deeply inhale the familiar scent, the promise of satin petals on your fingertips grew too much as you reached out to touch one. Your fingers glide like silk along the curled edges, tiny dew drops still inside from the morning's breath.

What you wouldn't give to just have one of these roses in your pitiful garden, but it would be too out of place and unbelonging. Much like yourself in this garden.

Placing your basket on the ground beside you and kneeling down to the bush, you want nothing more than to crawl inside its stemmed cage and stay there. 

The sounds of birds chirping echo around you, as the orange afternoon sun breaks through the clouds, glowing and warming your skin slightly. Angling your face up to it and enjoying the feeling on your skin, you sit humming peacefully to yourself.

The sudden sound of a gasp from above silences you. Your eyes fly open and your head snaps up sharply to an open window on the first floor of the tower.

You manage to catch a glimpse of someone before they retreat out of sight and back into the shadow. You bolt upright to stand, frozen in place. Your eyes remain fixed in the same spot, looking for any sign of movement. The ability to call out is swallowed by fear in your throat, and so you stay silent and unmoving for what feels like an eternity before half a face peers out at you from behind the window frame. 

There were many tales of the grotesque character that resides within these walls, but no mention of a man so breathtaking he could be a fairytale prince. 

Perfect skin that glows in the peachy sunlight and smooth, plump lips that could make the beautiful roses in front of you envious beyond measure. The one visible dark eye, a hidden jewel in a cave of wonders, widens briefly as he meets your gaze before quickly retreating back into concealment.

"Hello?" you call out softly, finding your voice but not wanting to startle him further. "I'm sorry for intruding, but your garden is so beautiful I had to see it for myself.”

Silence.

Worrying you've made a grave mistake, you're about to turn away and leave for fear that your presence is not welcome, when a shy and yet alluring voice sounds; echoing around you.

"Please, stay and enjoy it."

Turning back up to the window, your eyes find his half-form, noticing his ivory knuckles as he clings to the window frame as if forcing himself in place.

“Thank you.” You nod and sit on the grass once again, your skirt billowing out around you. Your eyes remain stuck on his statuesque stance.

“I had no idea anyone actually lived here,” you say into the thick silence, your voice echoing across the empty grounds.

The one eye of his that you can see darts around at the woodland area beyond the walls before returning to you. Not even a whisper of a response, and so, you continue to try to find out more.

"Are you alone?" you ask, eyes roving around the castle windows once again, waiting for the beast you've heard so much about to appear.

He nods. “I've been here for many years.” He finally speaks up, but with wavering hesitance you can hear as his voice trembles.

Your brow furrows as you try to piece together this puzzle in your mind. 

What could this man have done to warrant such hostile tales being told about him, or is it simply because he hides himself away that the townsfolk fear him?

He doesn't look much older than you, if he had ventured into your town you would remember him. You can't help your curiosity. “Why have I never seen you?” you question innocently.

You're not certain, but it seems as if he grimaces, shrugging into the shadows for a brief moment. “I don't really venture out much.”

How lonely he must be. Alone, in such a vast castle, hiding himself away, what a sad existence.

You are in no position to talk about anyone else's existence, as you're not exactly jumping for joy about yours, either.

Shrugging those thoughts away, you realise how impolite you're being, especially after breaking into someone else's garden and you introduce yourself.

His cheek reddens as he stammers out, “I-I’m Jimin, P-park Jimin.” 

Unable to help the smile that stretches across your mouth from this endearing, timid man, you reply, “It's nice to meet you, Jimin.”

A furious blush spreads to his hairline and down his neck, a sight that not only intrigues you but warms your chest, too. Your gaze stays locked on the sight until you see his eye drift out, looking over at the expanse beyond the castle.

“The sun sets, you should not be out in the woods during darkness.”

His warning is apt and true, you know that better than anyone. Since the world of magic had taken over, nighttime is when the most demonic creatures come out to do their bidding.

Glancing back towards the gate, you know you should leave, your head screams at you to go, but something else pulls you to stay.

Almost as if he senses your hesitancy, he asks, "Will you come back again?”

A strange tightness pulls across your chest, a feeling you've never experienced before. "Would you like me to?"

"Yes," he responds, nodding eagerly, and with that one-word answer, your mind is made up.

“I can return tomorrow?” you suggest bravely, hoping you're not overstepping his boundaries, but pleasantly discover the opposite, with a half smile so breathtaking you're almost blinded.

“Tomorrow it is, then,” he says simply, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. 

A distant cackle snatches your attention away, a stark contrast to the sound of his melodic voice. You collect your basket and whisk yourself away, out of the garden and into the dusky woods, leaving just as quietly as you entered and running home as fast as you could before nightfall envelopes you. 

Before all the monsters come out to play with the mere mortals, unable to resist their sadistic and seductive ways.

That night, you lie in bed, listening to the havoc created outside around you but unable to stop thinking of Jimin.

Seeming so meek and sweet you wonder what he's doing there all alone. Why do the village tales only ever speak of a monster who hides within the castle and not angels who could be guarding it?

He seems so desperate for company and yet, so afraid at the same time. Questions race in your mind, unable to silence them as you wonder about his story.

Who is he? Why is he in that castle all alone and hiding from the world?

You’re consumed with him until sleep takes over, and instead of the usual terror that frequently haunts your dreams, you are visited by the beautiful man in the dark tower.

Scene two

The following day, before the noon sun reaches its highest peak in the sky, you begin the journey to the castle in the woods. 

Your feet seem to move of their own accord, faster than usual, with nothing but the image of the mysterious man from the tower in your mind.

The gate creaks open as you push through it, and your eyes go straight to the tower window. 

You're met with only darkness. 

Stepping quietly into the garden, you make your way to the rose bush, bringing you directly in sight of the window. That's when you notice them. 

A bunch of five white roses, tied together with a pale pink ribbon, lay on the grass in front of the bush, the stems perfectly trimmed and now beautifully symmetrical. Gently, you skate your fingers lightly over the petals. 

“Do you like them?” a soft voice sounds from above.

Your mouth pulls into a smile upon hearing his gentle tone echo around you, comforting you in an unfamiliar embrace. Although, he'd conquered your waking and sleeping thoughts since your meeting yesterday, you had not done his angelic voice justice in your mind.

You turn to greet him. “I do. Are they for me?”

Half peering out at you like before, he nods, his left cheek glowing pinkly in the sunshine.

“Thank you. I will cherish having a part of your beautiful garden in my home.”

He beams at your words and hides even more of his face further behind the wall. “They will protect you from evil.” 

Glancing down at the flowers in your hand, you notice nothing out of the ordinary and wonder what he could possibly mean. “How so?”

“M-magic,” he whispers, although even that seems to echo into the silence around you.

A bird flies out of a tree nearby, squeaking loudly, and you both look over to it. The atmosphere seems to change by the mere mention of the word. Magic. Most folks tend to stay well away from anything involving that. It wasn't easily accessible or cheap to purchase, which leads you to wonder how this could be possible. 

“Are you a sorcerer?” you ask, pondering the idea.

He laughs, “Unfortunately not. I was given some seeds bewitched with a spell from an enchantress. No evil can enter this garden or my home while these flowers grow here.”

Mulling that over, you stroke the petals of the flowers in your hand, feeling an odd sense of nostalgia. His words are like a blast into your past, making you miss your mother’s magic, something that, unfortunately, does not come as naturally to you. 

So, as long as you have these, you will be safe from the evil that roams in the dark blanket of night. Relief fills you, alongside a hope you thought was lost long ago. 

“Thank you, this is a very kind gift.” Smiling up at him, you set the flowers back down on the ground. “Speaking of gifts, I also have one for you.” Squatting down to your basket, you lift the handkerchief off to reveal the fresh loaf of bread, the mouth-watering smell hits you, but you ignore it. “I baked this loaf for you this morning; it's still warm.”

He stares down at you, still half hiding but trying to get a better view into the basket. “F-for me?”

You nod. “Would you like me to bring it to the door?”

The silence stretches on, as his eyes bounce around the garden, looking everywhere but at you. Instantly, you panic that you've made him uncomfortable, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth and quickly, you interject, “I could just leave it in the doorway, and you can collect it when you like.”

Waiting for what feels like an eternity for a response, your feet welded awkwardly to the ground, until you hear him let out a heavy sigh. “N-no, wait by the door, I'll just be a moment,” he replies quietly, as he whisks himself away back into the shadows of the tower.

Heading in the direction of the large main doors into the castle, walking slowly along the pathway through the garden, your heart beats hard within your chest, the sound echoing in your ears, and possibly loud enough to be heard on these grounds.

Slowly, you ascend the steps and wait in the large arched doorway. The wooden doors are old and carved with grotesque faces. Leaning closer, they look to have been carved crudely and without care, seemingly having been placed out of anger or fear instead.

The sound of the wood creaking makes you jump, as the door opens just enough for you to place your basket through it. An elegant hand comes out to greet you and as you place the basket handle in it, your fingertips graze his. A vision hits.

A scene playing out before your eyes.

Images flash quickly in your mind. All of you and him. A hooded Jimin. 

At first, they start off with smiles and light touches before evolving into passionate nights and warm embraces. A heat cascades through your body that you've never experienced, your face feeling aflame under his hesitant, one-eyed gaze.

“Is everything ok?” he asks, concern etched in his furrowed brow. 

Swallowing hard, you nod. “I'm fine.”

You do not wish to tell this stranger about your own powers of clairvoyance. If the wrong person knew, you would be punished and left outside at night for the demons. Besides, you need to determine the meaning behind this vision first, unlike any other you've had before, they are very rarely about you.

“Thank you,” he whispers, snapping you out of your thoughts as he begins to withdraw.

“Wait,” you say urgently, “won't you come and walk with me? It's a beautiful day, and I would love a tour of the garden.”

Your eyes search the dark gap in the opening, but are unable to find anything.

“I can't.” His voice is barely audible.

“I would like it very much, if you would join me,” you ask again gently, but not wanting to push or make him uncomfortable.

“No, you wouldn't, not when you see me.” The sadness in his voice makes your chest tight.

“Jimin, I don't care what you look like,” you stress, “I do, however, want to enjoy your garden, it would be a shame if I can't have the person who created such a paradise show it to me.”

You're met with only silence until you hear a long, sad sigh from inside. “I'm sorry, I can't. Please enjoy it, I need to return to my tower.”

Before you have a chance to respond, the door is closed, and you're left longing to get to know the man who could be your future.

Scene three

Several sunsets pass, each day involving a visit to Jimin’s garden where you spend your time sitting in the floral atmosphere, letting the calmness wash over you and enjoying the sun on your face. 

He stays up in his tower, watching, while the two of you speak endlessly. Exchanging tales of your childhoods, memories you’d long forgotten coming to the forefront of your mind and escaping past your lips. 

You explain your love of drawing, anything you see beauty in, which nowadays isn’t much, so you drew your memories and your mother. 

He expresses his love of poetry, often reading by the fire every night before bed, sometimes writing his own. Whenever there’s silence it is never uncomfortable, just more time to sit and enjoy each other's company.

You discover he’s an author, having written many stories of his own. He gifted you three of his books to read after you had begged to know his writing; embarrassing him and turning his cheeks pink until he agreed.

His way with words is like nothing you have known before. Every sentence enters through you and embeds itself in your soul. Every word is a caress to your heart, feeling his poetic prose touch places inside you never knew existed. 

It inspires you. 

Before you can process the thought, you reach for your last bit of charcoal and let all your emotions illustrate the page, continuing on until the morning.

As soon as the sun appears over the hill beyond the view from your window, you get ready and leave, bringing your picture rolled up and tied with the same pale pink ribbon that bound your magic, undying roses.

You can’t wait to gift him a piece of your art, and if you were honest, a piece of your heart. No feeling could describe the way your entire body felt fit to burst, with the way this man made you feel. Your heart previously only beating out of necessity rather than desire. Skipping through the gate to your usual spot, you call out, “Jimin!” 

Your heart pounds wildly inside you in a rhythm that is a personalised symphony just for him. You wait only a moment before he appears, smiling out at you.

“Someone is up bright and early today,” he remarks joyfully.

Seeing him, you’re always taken aback by how your memories have not done him justice at all, especially in the bright first light of morning, his flawless skin illuminated gold from the rising sun.

“I have not yet been to bed.” You laugh.

Worry creases his brow. “Whyever not? Is everything alright?”

Holding your hands up to calm his concerns, you add, “Everything’s fine, better than fine, actually.” Your feet begin to pace in circles around the white rose bush. “When I finished your books I-”

“You finished all of them? Already?” he interrupts, bewildered.

Nodding, you continue on, “How could I not? Jimin, they’re beautiful.” 

His entire face reddens before he shields it with his hood, the sight makes you flustered in a way that surprises you. Making your own skin feel hot, even on this chilly morning.

Clearing your throat and swallowing to try and ease the tightness you feel, you pull your scroll out of your basket and hold it up to him. “Now, it is my turn to give something that lasts longer than a loaf of bread.”

He peeks out from his hood, eyes widening with curiosity.

“Can I?” you ask, pointing to the main wooden doors.

He hesitates briefly. “Give me a moment.”

Rushing to the entrance, almost tripping up the steps in your impatience, you wait, fiddling with your skirt nervously. When the heavy door creaks open, your heart deafens your ears, the erratic beating the only sound you can hear momentarily. You place the scroll through the gap in the doorway and watch as his slender hand comes out to take it gently from yours, his half-face appearing from the shadows.

He pulls the bowed ribbon and you watch as it falls silently to the ground. When he unrolls your parchment your eyes remain fixed to him, observing his reaction. Watching as his apprehension turns to astonishment has your heart singing with relief. His fingers reach out, kissing the paper briefly. He stutters, then stops, words disappearing into the thin air, the breeze carrying them away. 

His cheeks turn scarlet again and you watch as his eyes take in the close proximity of the two of you sketched out on the paper. Inspired by the many emotions that have been building a slow crescendo inside you for the past few weeks of being in his company. You let a story of your own play out on the page, one full of hope.

The two of you; surrounded by fragrant blooms with his tower far in the distance. Your hands entwined, with your eyes on him as he looks out of the page, hood up covering half his face in shadow.

“I-it’s beautiful,” he whispers, eyes not wavering from the picture clasped tightly in his grip. “You are very talented.”

It seems to be your turn to blush now, as you glance away shyly, mumbling a thank you. 

“I will frame this and hang it in my bedroom, so I can look at it every day.”

This makes your heart soar. 

“Jimin?” you speak up hesitantly, not wanting to spoil his mood or ruin the moment but unable to restrain from asking again. 

He meets your eyes then, “Yes?”

“Will you please accompany me in the garden today?”

His brow furrows, expression pained as he looks back down at the picture and returns his gaze to your face. Just when hope starts to fade, he sighs and nods. “Just a moment.”

Your heart jumps gleefully, rattling your chest like a caged animal desperate to escape and be reunited with its owner.

The door closes for a few minutes and, just when you think he's changed his mind, disappointment seeping in, it opens again.

Hesitantly, he steps out. His hood is pulled up over his head, as he’s focused solely on the ground, casting his whole face in darkness. You are desperate to see him, his pillowy lips and crescent moon eyes.

Slowly, you reach out and entwine your hand with his, slotting perfectly together. He stills briefly before squeezing yours in return. That confirmation is all you need. Closing the small amount of space between you and cupping half of his face, you whisper, “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, he does so. You’re surprised to see his visible eye watery with tears, almost brimming over the edge, and your heart breaks. Unable to stop yourself, you wrap him in your arms and hold him tightly, cradling him close to your body. His scent swirls around you, taking over your senses and replacing the floral scent of the garden; fresh, clean and woody. Alluring in the most intense way. 

His arms wind around your waist hesitantly, and when you feel him relax in your embrace, you, too, feel the swell of emotion inside. While he had not yet spoken of what had happened to him in the past, you were hoping that one day he would trust you enough to tell you his story. Who knows, today might be the day of many firsts for you both.

Scene four

Walking hand in hand, followed with sounds of the chirping birds surrounding you through Jimin’s garden, is something you didn’t realise how much you craved, until you were doing it. 

Having his hand in yours feels like a dream, after so long of waiting for this bridge between you to be crossed; unable to keep the smile off your face as you tread carefully through the grounds.

It wasn’t until this day you realised you had seen only a part of this estate. Jimin leads you through a walkway enclosed with tall rose bushes, surrounding you in a floral cage. 

“Did you make this yourself?” you ask, admiring the wicker trellis.

He nods shyly, glancing slightly across at you. 

You are in your element here. The days spent with him are your brightest and most enjoyed, but when the walkway ends the sight that greets you has your mouth hanging open in shock. 

“Jimin,” you gasp, “this is beautiful.”

Your eyes scour your surroundings. A beautiful pond covered with lily pads and pink water lilies, is encircled by large rocks and such a variety of vibrant flowers a rainbow would be envious of the colours.

“Shall we dip our feet?” you ask, childlike excitement evident on the wide-eyed look you give him. He smiles, unable to stop, but you can sense his slight hesitation. Pulling his arm, you lead him to the edge of the water where you slip off your shoes. Sitting on the stone ledge, you gently pull him down to you. Obeying your request, he timidly joins. The water is cold as you dip your toes and as you look down into it, you’re surprised by how clean it looks; able to see right down to the bottom and the fish residing there.

“You must be in this garden all the time?” you ask, stroking his hand with your thumb.

“I used to, before…” He stops himself, and you can feel him tense beside you, turning his head away slightly.

“Hey, it’s ok. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

A frustrated breath leaves him, his head hanging in defeat. “I do want to. I want to tell you everything,” he admits, “but I must confess, I’m not used to being around other people.”

That much you had gathered, but hearing it breaks your heart just the same.

“And,” he continues, “I have never been as close to anyone as I am with you.” He glances at you then, attempting to gauge your reaction.

Smiling, your cheeks warm from such an admission, you toy with the words you should use to respond. “I’m glad to hear that, Jimin. I can assure you, the way you feel is very much reciprocated.”

He scoffs, and the sound confuses you as you attempt to find his eyes within the darkness of the hood, but to no avail. His head hangs low. “I think you underestimate my words.”

Frowning, you grasp at what he could mean by this, and panic sets in, thinking you may have the wrong idea about the direction your relationship is heading.

“I don’t expect you to mirror my feelings and believe me, you are under no obligation to keep coming here, I do not want your pity.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Jimin, I do not pity you. I’m here because I want to be.”

He finally meets your eyes, desperately searching yours. “Really?”

Taking his hand and placing it on your chest and over your pounding heart, you say, “I have never known anyone like you. Someone so…” You search for the right wording, wishing you were capable of his prose, “fascinating. You are truly an enigma to me that I'm more than happy to keep trying to figure out.”

He looks out at the water, the sunlight highlighting the pink glow of his cheeks. 

“I come here because I want to spend time with you. I wake up and look forward to seeing you everyday and I will continue to come here until you are bored of my company and turn me away,” you add teasingly, but a real fear lies underneath somewhere. You silence it by looking at your hand still wrapped with his.

He laughs, “You will never have to worry about that, I could never tire of your company, you mean far too much to me.”

Your chest tightens with an emotion you cannot hide as you lean your head on his shoulder. He moves taut under your action, but quicker than you could imagine, he softens under your touch and leans his head atop of yours. You sit there for what feels like hours, talking and basking in the warmth of the late afternoon sun until the skin of your feet turns pruned and your stomach grumbles, breaking another comfortable silence. It is only when a demonic screech echoes from the woods outside of the walls, do you realise the time. 

Jumping up, water splashing as you do, you look at the setting sun and gasp. “Oh, no.”

The darkness has begun and you will not have enough time to make it home. Images of your mother’s lifeless form haunt your mind briefly before you force them away.

Jimin is up and at your side in a flash, arm cradling your shoulders. “It's ok. You're safe here,” he says gently, rubbing one of your arms with his thumb. The action soothes you and brings you comfort. “Come, you can stay with me tonight, I have many rooms.”

You relax slightly in his embrace and find yourself sinking into the crook under his arm, relishing in the close contact you've been craving. He pulls you closer, a firm grip around you and pins you to his side. 

Your arm ventures under his cloak and winds around his waist, holding yourself against him.

Glancing up, he's already smiling down at you and you can't stop the blush that heats your entire face.

You both head back towards the castle, you nestled against him as the darkness slowly envelopes you. When you head up the stone steps to the castle, nerves turn in your stomach, the realisation of spending the night in his home dawning on you. 

Watching the doors close, shutting out the night and the chaotic noise from outside, you sigh to yourself, feeling surprisingly at home with his warmth and presence by your side.

Scene five

The tour of the castle is long but riveting. So many rooms to explore, and he shows you every single one. Pointing out various art pieces handed down from his parents, endless novels in the library, and even an old dungeon below, unused and dusty.

He discloses that his father had died when he was little, too young to remember him, but that he has a portrait of him in his mother's bedroom he often looks at. His mother had passed away when he was fifteen, after becoming ill during a harsh winter and grew too weak to recover. He has been alone ever since. Your heart aches for him. To have been alone since then must have been truly isolating, but you could relate to him in more ways than you care to admit.

You share your story of your beautiful mother, enchanting to everyone who knew her, who had been killed by the demons just after your 18th birthday. A father who you have never known and, as far as you had been told, had never been in the picture. All you knew about him was that he was a sailor and from what your mother expressed, was more in love with the sea than her. 

You learnt not to ask questions about him as it only made her sad and distant.

Your shared experience with loss and loneliness cements your bond further as he shows you the room you could sleep in, adjacent to his.

“You will be safe here. I will be right across the hall if you need me at all.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand as your fingers stay entwined the entire route through the castle.

“Jimin?” you interject.

He looks over at you, hood still pulled over, casting half his face in shadow.

“Will you take this off?” you ask, fingering the soft velvet of his cloak.

He stares at you but his eyes soon turn distant as a frown furrows deep in his brow, a scene playing out in his mind that you are not privy to. “I cannot let you see,” he whispers.

You turn him to face you, cupping his visible cheek in your hand. “I promise you, Jimin, it will not change how I feel about you.”

He laughs sadly, “It will.”

“Park Jimin, are you calling me shallow?” raising an eyebrow, you challenge him.

He simply shakes his head. “I'm a monster. You shouldn't even be wasting your time here with me.”

“You could never be a monster, your soul is far too pure and good.” 

Slowly leaning up on your tiptoes, you place a chaste kiss against his cheek. “Please, don't hide from me anymore,” you beg.

His eye widens from the touch of your lips and he can't help but turn towards you, focused on your mouth. When his hand comes up to stroke your hair, you lean into his touch and before you know it, your lips are connected. Heat races through you, making your limbs move without thought, hands sliding inside his hood and around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you.

His arm winds around your waist as he moans into the kiss, desire and love vibrating through you. His soft, pillowy lips mould to yours, moving with fierce determination as your back suddenly meets the doorframe of your bedroom. His hands slide up your spine, pinning you against him. You luxuriate at the feeling of the strong muscles of his body pressed against you.

Wrapped up in his scent, with the feeling of his mouth on yours and his hands embracing you so tightly, your bosom grows with the love your heart has housed for him, still expanding tightly inside you.

You pull away slightly only to gasp for air, and that's when you notice his fallen hood. His body stills when your eyes connect and you see the panic in them, but before he can move, you grab his hands and entwine your fingers with his.

“I hope you are planning on kissing me again, because I don't plan on moving just yet?”

He doesn't respond, but his gaze drifts to your lips and you can see the conflict in his eyes, between running away and giving into temptation.

Detangling your fingers from his, you cup his face with both hands, your thumb strokes the puckered skin on one side of his face. The scars appear like burns, covering one side of him, marring one eye so bad he could barely see out of it. Your fingers go to his thin hair on that side, patches of it missing beneath your fingertips, he looks down and away from you but you steer him back.

“This doesn't change anything, Jimin. You're still the most beautiful man I've encountered.” 

His eyes flit from each of yours, tears brimming the edges, searching for truth within them.

“I would like you to kiss me again,” you say, your voice thick with want, “please.”

Leaning in slowly, he surrenders to your request, pressing his mouth against you once more.

Scene six

When your desire subsides somewhat and your head clears, the two of you manage to part from each other, your growling stomach interrupting the shy silence.

“Shall we eat?” he asks, before taking your hand and leading you down to the kitchen. 

Sitting at the table, you watch in awe as he prepares fresh tomato soup to go with the second loaf you had given him yesterday on your visit. All vegetables grown in his garden and picked by him.

You eat together in silence, exchanging flirtatious and sometimes shy smiles. When your stomachs are full, with night truly closed in, he lights a fire in the drawing room, closes the curtains, and beckons you to join him on the fur rug. 

Watching him in the orange light of the fire, you feel overwhelmed with need. The need to be close to him, the need to take care of him and protect him, even the need to claim him, something you have never felt before. 

“Will you read to me?” you ask, as you join him.

“If that is what you wish of me, then of course.” He grins, and you get lost in it for a moment. The way his two front teeth slightly overlap, his eyes narrowing and his cheeks rounding, everything about him draws you further into the opening blossom of love. 

“May I lay on you?” you ask, pointing to his lap.

He stares at you hesitantly for a moment, before nodding and moving his hands out of your way.

Positioning yourself comfortably on the rug, you lay your head on his legs, feeling the way he tenses slightly from the action but soon relaxes under you.

His hand lingers by your hair indecisively before he pushes any apprehension away and plays with the strands loosely between his fingers. “What would you like me to read?” his voice whispers pleasantly above the crackling firewood. 

“Something you've written.”

“Would you like to hear the poem I wrote for you?”

Your heart soars, hammering wildly in your chest. “You wrote something for me?”

“Hmm-mm.”

You nod frantically, nerves suddenly drying your mouth and rendering you speechless.

He clears his throat quietly and starts,

“In the quiet din of morning's light,

You creep silent and curious into my domain,

An alluring spectre; a breathtaking sight,

Welcomed like that first sweet kiss of spring rain.

The roses bend to catch your gaze,

And the dainty lilies stretch in quiet grace,

As if the garden, in silent praise,

Seeks to beholden the awe of your face.

Your fingers brush the leaves so light,

A touch that makes the greenery hum,

Like a velvety kiss of soft delight,

Or warmth from the day to come.

You pause to take in your fill,

Ivy curling in lazy spirals at your feet,

And for a moment, time stands still,

Even the songbirds pause their larking for a beat.

I watch you, quiet like a shade,

As you explore the blooms beyond my window,

Careless and free, with no mind paid,

Like a beacon of light against unrelenting shadow.

With every glance, you draw me near,

But still I keep my secret held tight,

Afraid you’ll flee if you could hear,

The pain that shapes my heart at night.

Yet in your eyes, I see a spark,

A light that calls to me, calm and clear,

A love that could find me in the dark,

And chase away my most crippling fear.

I wear this pain, my broken mask,

Staying hidden within my castle walls,

But it's in your warmth and light that I wish to bask,

A blue flower in your garden; no longer a ghost of these hallowed halls.”

A wet trail down your cheek spills onto his trousers, a swell of emotion that you could no longer contain. His angelic voice quoting such beautiful prose from memory creates a whirlwind of feelings inside you. Seeing yourself through his eyes and hearing his feelings, so raw and open, moves you in ways you could never have imagined. 

You feel beautiful and emboldened. 

Sitting up, your eyes meet. He smiles sweetly when he sees your tears and gently wipes them away with his thumb. Pressing your lips to his, the inability to stand the distance between you any longer overwhelms you. 

As he holds you in his arms and you lose yourself in the kiss. A vision snaps behind your eyes, removing you from the moment entirely. Unlike the first one, full of love and happiness, this one freezes the blood in your veins and stops it cold as you take in every detail of the horror behind your eyes.

Fire wilts the flowers in the garden, petals curling and turning to ash. Orange light blinding and thick smoke choking, tightening your heaving chest. Demons running rampant through the grounds as you wander unsteadily to find him. And when you do, everything else around you ceases to exist, as your heart splits inside you.

Jimin's lifeless body, upturned and suspended from the tower.

[moonchildstyles]

oleander

oleander part one: nothing could draw y/n in the way harry could

wordcount: 11.7k+

cw: this leans into some darker themes including a description of a dead body, mentions of a parent who has passed away, some panic attack descriptions, and just in general some doom and gloom vibes! but I promise this is a love story im just doing something diferent!

—————

(Y/N)'s eyes followed the immaculately dressed figure floating through the shop. Barred from getting closer with the counter in front of her, she could only watch as he made his way through the small apothecary. He never glanced in her direction, though she doubted he was unaware of her eyes on him. 

Dried herbs hung around his head like a dreary halo, the muted tones falling in line with the rich brown of his hair. He was tall enough that he just barely grazed the line of lavender sprigs strung up and dehydrating above his head. His coat was of a deep green velvet, tailored to show off the broad of his shoulders and strength of his arms. The matching cravat around his neck stood out starkly against the white shirt under his grey waistcoat, his skin appearing almost as pale as the starchy collar standing stiff against his throat. She wished that he would turn around for just a second; she wanted to see his eyes. Were they really as dark as she remembered, or had the town's gossip altered her memory? 

As if hearing her thoughts, he quickly picked his head up and made to turn and match her gaze. She urgently dropped her eyes to her hands, pretending as if she had been preoccupied the whole time by the bundles of sage she was meant to be tying. Now her wishes turned to that of hoping he didn't catch her staring. She was sure he got enough of that as is when he bothered to venture down to their small village; he didn't need any more when he was simply trying to shop. 

Forcing herself to keep her eyes down, (Y/N) tried to forget the Count's presence (was he even a Count? She wasn't sure, but that was what she had heard the women at church calling him, and no one seemed to object). She hoped he couldn't hear the sound of her heart as easily as she could, the beats pounding through her ears just from the fact she knew he was traipsing around her father's shop. Casting her gaze out the small window situated by the collection counter, she tried to see past the thick fog that had gathered that morning and done little to dissipate through the hours. If not for the fact she had lived here all her life, she would have had problems navigating through the mist. She wondered how someone like the Count fared under these conditions. He barely left that castle of his, how did he or his footmen know where they were going this time of year?

Granting herself a single peek in his direction, she saw he had gone back to shopping. He moved so silently, she wondered how he was able to cross the apothecary so vastly without a single footstep being heard. She watched as he brought bundles of herbs to his nose, taking in the heady scent. He always did this, she noticed. He always looked around until he found the strongest smelling bundles. 

Truthfully, to (Y/N), all the bundles smelled the same. She couldn't notice if one sprig of lavender smelled richer than another, but maybe he knew something she didn't. It wouldn't surprise her if he spent his young years studying herbs and reading books about all of the healing plants, or whatever it was that young gentlemen did in their formative years.

Though it was a hard task to pull her eyes away from him, (Y/N) made the effort to do so. Her father really would be upset if she didn't tie up all these bundles before sundown; he barely liked her working at the apothecary as is, he didn't need any other reason to boot her from the counter.

With her eyes trained on her fingers and the clumsy bows she was tying out of twine, (Y/N) practically jumped out of her skin when she caught movement from the corner of her eye. Pale hands dropped bundles of herbs on the counter, just barely in her line of sight. Her breathing stuck in her throat when she whipped her head up, finding the Count looking at her with his dark eyes. 

She hadn't misremembered, it appeared. His eyes really were almost black, just barely tinted a forest green on the edges—if the forest in question was being spotted in the pitch of night, only a sliver of the moon and stars above allowing any distinction.

Her heart jumped in her throat, running faster than it had any reason to when their eyes met. She forced herself to swallow it down.

"I'm sorry, sir," she muttered, unable to pull her gaze away from his even if she instinctively wanted to look anywhere else. "Did you find all you were looking for?" 

"I did, yes." His voice was a lulling rumble, rounded and heady as if the goal was to lure her nearer. If not for the table separating them, she would have fallen for it.

Offering a quiet smile, she gave him a polite nod. 

No other words were exchange, as per usual for his visits. The Count wasn't much for conversation and idle chatter like the rest of the village. Instead, she could feel him watching her as she counted up his herbs and the price of each bundle. 

He was buying the same ones he always did: winter savory (he switched to chamomile when out of season), tobacco, and lavender. 

The buds together created a confusing scent, adding to the mishmash of what the apothecary already was. She couldn't imagine how he would put these three together in any space of that castle, the mixture too aggressive. 

Though she tried her best to concentrate on only the herbs, (Y/N) was too aware of the static of his presence. She wondered what he thought when he came down to the village, what he thought when he interacted with people like her. He was always so stoic. He never gave anything away, though that didn't stop the village gossip from running wild about him.

Swallowing around her dry throat, heartbeat bubbling against her ribs, she matched his gaze. The pricing for his bounty came out on buzzing lips, "Sixteen shillings please, sir." 

He didn't bat an eyelash at the price despite it being the biggest single purchase her father's apothecary would see until the next time he ventured down. Instead, he looked at her with his dark eyes and a tic in his jaw. He was unbearably handsome, made of cut edges and smooth planes, but he always looked at her as if he were angry and working to bury it down. She could never figure out why or what exactly made his nostrils flare or his jaw tight when he spoke to her, but she hoped she wasn't the only one he reacted to like this. 

His hands moved quickly, pulling out a small pouch of tinkling coins before he plucked out the exact amount for her. For a moment, she could see bank notes tucked inside the pouch as well. While she wasn't surprised that someone like him would have that kind of wealth, she had never seen it before with her own eyes. 

Passing off the change to her, his pale fingers grazed her open palm. Goosebumps immediately raised across her skin, his touch feeling as if he had been standing in the dawn's dew for hours, allowing the chill to cling to his skin and leach away all hope for warmth. The graze was quick, barely a heartbeat long, but she swore she could feel the lingering touch for moments after. Maybe he really did have a hard time navigating the village when the fog was this thick, having traveled in winding routes and wrong turns for so long he still hadn't been able to heat up even after spending time in the shop. 

Flicking her gaze up to his on instinct, she saw he was looking at the swatches of skin exposed from her dress, eyeing the goosebumps he had plucked up on accident. 

(Y/N) cleared her throat, nothing more than a reminder to herself to keep professional and not to gawk at the man. She placed the change in the small cup underneath the collection counter before reaching for his herbs of choice. A length of twine was used to tie up his product, ensuring he didn't lose anything on his way back home. 

"Thank you," he muttered once she passed them back, their skin no longer grazing this time. 

"Have a pleasant journey back home," she chirped, her voice decidedly pleasant against the bubbling she was feeling inside, "Stay warm." 

The Count didn't give any kind of reaction to her before he was leaving the shop in a flourish. Taking advantage of the window at her disposal, she watched as he ventured out into the fog. The mist mingled around him, making him appear as if he were a ghost—one with the Earth-bound clouds. She was only vaguely aware of the way her body heat ticked up some now that he had left. 

Though she could hear the sound of footsteps descending the stairs that led up to their home a floor above, (Y/N)'s head was outside the shop and away from her father. She didn't turn even when she could tell he had made it to the landing. He was used to it by now, she knew. Her head was always miles away as far as he was concerned—thinking too big for the village with daydreams that were only going to hurt her in the long run. 

The air around her shifted, telling her that her father was just behind her, likely watching to see what had caught her attention this time. 

"Is that Harry?" he grumbled, spitting out the name while dismissing the faux-title since they were alone. 

Her father didn't much like the Count—Harry, as he bitterly spat out. (Y/N) was never sure what precisely had set off her father's distaste for the man, just knowing that he thought Harry to be something of a boogeyman against the village. He didn't even go to church, her father regularly complained. What kind of man was he if he couldn't even bother to trudge down from his palace to spend some time with God, even if it was in the presence of commoners? 

(Y/N) never really minded. Though she'd never tell her father, church was boring. She couldn't blame Harry—the Count, whatever she was supposed to call him—for skipping out. Especially with the peeks at the castle she could garner if she trekked through the woods far enough. She wouldn't want to leave that place for anything. 

Nonetheless, (Y/N) answered with a soft, "Yes." Her eyes were still locked on the form of him she could barely make out through the mist. 

A grunt of disapproval left her father's lips. She didn't have to look at him to know that he had his arms crossed over his chest. "Are you okay?" 

It was when he settled a hand on her shoulder that she snapped out of her staring. 

"Yes, I'm well," she answered as placidly as possible when she turned to face him. She didn't want to show just how affected she was by the Count. Her father would do more than just grunt and disapprove if he knew just how drawn to the man as she was. 

He peered through the window, his eyes surely finding the one dark figure filtering through the fog. His brows slanted into harsh slashes over his eyes. "From now on, I want you to find me when he comes in, and I will take over. I do not want him talking with you." 

Her fingertips buzzed at the new instructions, matching the kickstart to her heartbeats. As much as she heard her father's concerns, and had listened in to all the of the stories and webs spun about this man, those did little to deter her interest in Harry or quell the bubbling in her chest every time she saw him step inside the apothecary. 

"I can handle him, father," she countered, trying to sound as uninterested as possible while attempting to hold her ground, "We barely talk when he comes in, anyway." 

The creases between his brows only deepened when he matched her gaze. "I do not want you becoming one of his victims, (Y/N)."

Her lips thinned at his words. "All of those stories are rubbish, father, you know that," she pressed, her words lighthearted despite the argument she was wagering by not immediately giving in, "Since when have we started listening to what Mary and Ethel have to say?" 

He didn't break any, even when she knew she was making a valid point to him. Gossip was prohibited according to the Bible, and yet he was citing stories she had heard the worst of gossipers weave?

There was no real reason for anyone to believe that Harry had anything to do with what had been going on just outside of the village, he was just easy to pin it on seeing as no one really knew him. She doubted any of them—including Ethel and Mary—could actually believe that he was the one behind the bodies that had been found in the woods, and the disappearances that had been added to the murder count. 

From what she'd heard, all signs pointed to animal attacks—wolves, or bears, or anything viscous. Though her stomach curdled at the thought, she couldn't see the Count being the one to rip out commoner's throats, to leave them crumpled in the brush with blood sinking into the earth. All of it was gossip and evil rumors that had not even a shred of truth inside.

"Still," her father stated, countering her argument, "There's something wrong with him, (Y/N)." 

Wrong was very far from threatening as far as she was concerned, especially when it came to Harry. Though, this most likely wasn't the time to share that opinion. She would keep her thoughts about him to herself, her own small secret against the rest of the village.

Harry didn't scare her like he did the rest of them, but they didn't need to know that. 

"Okay," she relented with a quiet nod, turning back to the collection cup so she could pass off the earnings to her father. "I will come grab you next time." 

(Y/N) wasn't sure if it was the additional shillings added to the cup or her pleasant agreement that had her father's features relaxing with a small smile on his lips, but she wasn't going to object.

Besides, she wasn't going to actually follow through on her promise. Harry was her favorite customer, even if she wouldn't admit it out loud. Her father would have to try harder to steer her clear of Harry.

—————

(Y/N) struggled with the strap of her shopping baskets, one hanging from her shoulder over her back with another dangling from her hand. They were stocked full and heavy, filled with everything her father requested that morning before she was sent off. She hadn't even realized how late she was running with her errands, how many items she had picked up and how heavy her bags were becoming until the sun had already gone down and her shoulder ached with the amount she had packed in. 

With the season's change, the sky was almost pitch by the time she made it to the edge of the village, the air chilled and crisp. Her father was going to have her head for making it back so late, but what could he have expected, really? He was the one that wrote the list, knowing half of the items were only available in the neighboring village. 

She hummed as she followed the path, giving herself some company and filling the silence. She hated being out this late—the dark scared her more than it probably should at her age. 

Her steps slowed as the bag hanging from her shoulder once again began to shift. No matter how hard she tried, it wouldn't stay put. She attempted to adjust the strap once more as she cautiously stepped over the path. 

With her attention placed elsewhere, she didn't notice the man in her way until she bumped directly into him. 

Her heart started in her chest, rattling against her ribs. She jumped back, whipping her head up with wide eyes. Before her stood the familiar dark-haired figure she had seen just a week prior, pursuing through the apothecary. 

Harry's cut features were pinched with a furrowed brow, his dark eyes trained on her. He was pale like a ghost compared to his dark clothing that blended in with the rest of the night. He reached out to steady her, baskets and all, when she tottered on the low heel of her boot. 

His touch singed her like snowflakes as he grasped at her bare arms. 

"H-Harry," she gasped, his name falling from her lips before she had a chance to collect her bearings. Her skin warmed when her brain caught up with herself; she'd never called him by his name before—or called to him at all now that she thought about it. "I am so s-sorry." 

What exactly she was apologizing for—using his name so brashly or running right into him—she wasn't sure, but she could cover for both, she figured. 

"It is alright," he murmured to her, his hands lingering on her biceps, "I didn't mean to frighten you. Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine, thank you," she asserted, "I wasn't looking where I was going. It has been a long day." 

Tipping his head, as if her word wasn't enough, Harry looked her over before dropping his hands from her arms and taking a calculated step back.  

"I'm sure it was," he said to her, his voice still a low whisper, "Is what why you are out so late?" 

(Y/N) eased into the conversation, despite knowing it was more than a little inappropriate to be alone with a man this late into the evening. She was flattered the Count wanted to speak to her at all, honestly. He always seemed so eager to flee from the apothecary and the rest of the village during his visits. In her dreamland, she liked to think that he actually enjoyed seeing her, this run-in being his opportunity to speak to her without all of the prying eyes trained on him. 

"Yes," she sighed, shifting the small basket on her aching wrist to the other, "I had to do the shopping today, and my father always requests things he knows I have to search all over for, so I've been busy since I woke up." 

Harry hummed at her words, his dark eyes seemingly lighting up with amusement at her trivial complaint. He eyed the heavy bags she was carrying before he met her eyes once more. "Would it be alright if I accompany you back home? It's too dark for a lady like yourself to be walking alone."

Biting back a smile, (Y/N) felt her blood warm under her skin. Someone of his status would know a lady when he looked at one, and (Y/N) definitely wasn't. He had to be teasing her. 

"I'm no lady," she explained, though she didn't sound that convincing under her smile, "But, I think I would really enjoy some company. Thank you." 

(Y/N) was well aware of what it would look like to be walked home by Harry at this time of night, alone on the path and unchaperoned. It would have been bad enough with any man, but seeing as this was the Count, she could only imagine the kinds of rumors Mary and Ethel would spin. The fluttering in her heart urged her to ignore those worries, though; Harry most likely knew better about societal standards than she, given their stations, and he had enough rumors swirling about him that he wouldn't want to add to if he could help it. If he wasn't worried, then she wouldn't either. 

"Lead the way," he said, smiling at her with dazzlingly perfect teeth. 

"Its not too far," she started, peering down the path to see the late night tavern still boiling with people and the small homes that decorated the mouth to the village. "It's just down that way," she told him, nodding her head in the direction they were to take. 

Before she went too far, she adjusted her grocery-laden baskets once more, barely holding back a wince at the weight on her shoulder. 

Harry still seemingly noticed even if she had tried to be discreet. He didn't immediately follow her steps back home. "Let me carry those for you. They can't be too comfortable after such a long day." 

While she was sure it was good form to decline his offer, feign strength she didn't have and continue on without complaint, she wasn't going to pass up on the offer to relieve the stress on her shoulder. 

"I would really appreciate that, actually," she sighed, shifting the basket off her shoulder in a haste, "Thank you." 

"No need to thank me," he answered simply, a pleasant lightness to his features as he took the strap from her hands. He slung it over his own shoulder with an ease (Y/N) could only dream to have. He didn't stop there, taking the smaller one from her wrist as well. 

She was free to roll her joints and feel circulation return to all limbs, more than gracious for her impromptu partner for the night. 

"You said it was this way, yes?" he prompted, starting down the path towards the edge of town where both the apothecary was as well as the flat above it where she and her father resided. 

"That way," (Y/N) affirmed with a smile, falling into step beside him as they started off through town. 

A careful silence fell between them, full of opportunities that twinkled like stars. This was her chance to know him, bask in his presence, learn who she had only gazed at from afar. Though every time she looked at him from the corner of her eye, she felt her throat dry. He was even more gorgeous under moonlight. 

"You know," he started first, unbraiding the silence, "I don't think I've ever seen you come out from behind that counter. I was starting to think you never left; like you were some kind of spirit attached with manning an apothecary at all hours." 

A bubbling peal of laughter felt from (Y/N)'s lips, her hands a fumbling bundle at her waist. "It feels that way, sometimes," she smiled, "But I promise I do have more hobbies than only drying herbs and counting coin." 

"And what might those be?" the Count pressed, looking down at her. In the low light, (Y/N) expected his eyes to look impossibly dark, more like coal than even in the daylight, but she found that ring of green to show more prominently now under the moon. 

"Um," she floundered, tearing her eyes away from his when she felt goosebumps raise over her skin and her heart bounce against her lungs, "I-I like to tend to our garden—for the shop." 

"I didn't know grow everything yourself. That must keep you rather busy." 

(Y/N) shrugged, "It can, depending on the season. But, I've figured it out through the years, and made it easier on me."

"You grow everything for your shop, then?" Coming up to a fork in the path, Harry paused, waiting for (Y/N) to take the first step in the right direction before he followed. 

"Most of it," she mused, an immediate list of their inventory coming to mind, "There's still a few things that I have to scavenge for, but I've become rather good at that as well."

"I don't doubt that," Harry smiled, the curl audible in his voice, "Was it your idea then to start the shop? Fill it with all the things you could grow?" 

"Oh, no," she declined, a furrow appearing in her brow, "My father and mother started the apothecary when my sister and I were still babies." 

"I don't think I've met your sister or mother," Harry shared, casting his gaze towards her once more, refractions of green shimmering in his irises.

While (Y/N) dreaded the subject, she couldn't exactly complain since she had been the one to bring them both up. Truthfully, it wasn't hard to talk about any more, it was harder to field the reactions of those around her when she shared the story. It was never easy to quell retroactive grief. 

"My sister married and moved to the country almost two years ago," she started easy, keeping her gaze forward, "My mother passed away when I was a child." 

When the Count didn't immediately answer, (Y/N) peeked up to find him looking at her differently than before. She didn't find pity swimming through his eyes, only sympathy. He looked at her like he knew her pain. 

"It is a hard thing, losing family," he murmured, shifting his gaze towards the sky, "But, it can only grow easier as time goes on." 

Tracing her eyes over his profile, through the immaculate stone-like chisel of his features and unblemished skin, she swore she could spot the same fine lines by his eyes and slight crease between his brows that she and her sister had sustained since their mother passed. 

She swallowed, hoping her next line of questioning didn't breach too far. "Have you lost family before?" 

"I have," he smiled, though it didn't completely reach those fine lines by his eyes, "It was a long time ago. It's funny how after a while, you can forget what it was like before." 

Though (Y/N) loved her mother dearly and cherished those memories she had with her, she had been without her for longer than she had been with her. She knew what Harry was talking about, exactly. Missing her mother was just a part of her now, and it wasn't anything she tired to push away or get over. She grew around the grief and held onto her mother in that space. 

"Exactly," she agreed, relieved to not be trying to quell someone else's grief and pity for her, "I've remembered her for longer than I actually knew her, but it does not upset me any more." 

"Good," Harry cemented, "She wouldn't want you to be bothered by her memory." 

Looking ahead, the town square was approaching with the town's tavern still full despite the late hour. That was the one place that could be bustling at any time of night, any day of the week. (Y/N) hoped no one would peer through the windows and catch her late night stroll. 

"I apologize for speaking so morbidly," (Y/N) laughed, though she didn't exactly feel guilty to be learning that much more about Harry, "Since you know more about me, I would like to know more about you." 

"I'm sure we could arrange that," he smiled that dazzling smile, "What would you like to know?" 

"I don't think I've ever seen you out in the village before, except for when you do your shopping," (Y/N) mused, hoping to learn a little bit more about what he did up in that castle of his. 

She watched as he shrugged, still completely unbothered by the weight of her shopping. "I come out every once in a while," he prattled, "But I suppose we never have run into each other until now. What a shame." 

Her blood warmed at his final comment. He really must be teasing her, trying to pull those shy reactions from her. 

Before she had a chance to say much in response, the rowdy tavern only a few meters ahead burst open with sloppy patrons spilling onto the street. The men were undoubtedly drunk as was apparent in the slurring of their shouts and the stumbling of their feet. Everything was too loud for the quiet of the night, including the calls coming from inside the bar, urging the few that had escaped to come back inside. The night couldn't already be over, it was still early, those beckoning voices said. 

Maybe it was the dark of the night, the fact she had never been around anyone drunk enough to slur their words, or the stark sound of it all, but (Y/N) startled at the disturbance. She almost jumped out of her skin, her feet stumbling with her heels digging into the crumbling sidewalk. She could hear a gasp falling from her throat though she couldn't remember making the noise herself. 

Before she had time to recover, Harry had swiftly tugged her to his other side. She was now covered by his body with her other side sandwiched with the walls of the other buildings lining the street. From where the drunken men stood, she doubted they would be able to accurately spot her given her new cover.

"Thank you," she murmured, her thrumming heart beginning to slow finally. 

When he didn't respond, she looked up to find him shooting daggers towards the men that were being pulled back into the tavern. His sharp jaw was clenched shut with his eyes narrowed in their direction. 

"Harry?" she sounded, breaking him from whatever he had running through his head. 

He whipped his head to face her once more, blinking with a flutter of curling lashes. 

"Yes, sorry," he finally responded, "My apologies, I would have pulled you away sooner had I seen them coming." 

"It's alright," she tried to soothe, giving him a small smile, "The shop is just up there, I think I can survive a little while longer." 

He cast his gaze over her form for just a beat longer, his shoulder relaxing some by the time he met her eyes again. "I'll make sure of it," Harry teased, cracking a smile at her. 

They shared those final paces in silence, (Y/N) feeling rather proud of herself and a bit giddy to have had him at her side for this long, his attention on her. By the time the dark apothecary topped with the small flat came into view, she almost wished they would round the block once more. She still had more she wanted to ask him. 

"It has been a pleasure, Ms. (Y/N)," he bowed to her, carefully pulling her shopping baskets from his shoulder and wrist, "I hope I will see you again soon—maybe we'll run into each other like this more often." 

"Maybe," she smiled, taking the bags from him, "Thank you for escorting me home, and helping with my baskets." 

"It's my pleasure," he repeated once more, the green in his eyes flashing with amusement, "Have a good night." 

Inching towards the door, (Y/N) gave him a nod. "Good night, Harry." 

A soft lipped smile on his marble-perfect face was the last thing (Y/N) saw before she was stepping inside the apothecary. The bell above the door tinkled, alerting her father who would no doubt still be awake upstairs.

"(Y/N)? Is that you?" he called down the stairs, the creak of his favorite rocking chair sounding as he stood. 

"Yes, sorry!" she answered, bracing herself to trek up the steep stairs to the flat with her body weighed down with all of the groceries. "I didn't mean to take so long." 

"I don't like you staying out so late after the sun goes down," her father chided her, pulling the bags from her form and taking them towards the tiny kitchen, "There's no telling what could be waiting in the dark." 

(Y/N) kept her mouth shut as her father went off on his complaints. She didn't mention Harry once.

—————

Dressed in her favorite nightgown with her hair braided back with the same twine she tied her herbs with, (Y/N) peered once more out her window, finding the same black cat that had been out there since she readied for bed still sitting in the garden. 

Her moon-yellow eyes were bright in the dark as she stalked and played with the bugs that threatened the state of (Y/N)'s herb garden. She had never seen the cat before, but she was tempted to convince her father to let her bring the creature inside. She would be a good pet, (Y/N) decided. 

Laying back against her pillows, only dim candle light allowing her to see her ceiling, (Y/N) cast her mind back to the hours earlier. Her day had been terribly uneventful, but had ended in heart-fluttering territory. 

Though she realized, thinking back to the conversation she had indulged in on her walk home, she never caught why Harry was out so late by himself, anyway.

—————

Grey clouds crowded the sky as (Y/N) carefully stepped over the vining brush at her feet. The hem of her dress snagged once or twice on some of the thorny bushes and the rough bark covering unearthed roots. Acres of towering trees formed a canopy above her head, barely letting any of the limited light through. She had her eyes on the ground as she tried to scope out those few herbs she wasn't able to cultivate at the home garden. The basket at her hip was already teeming with a good handful of different bundles, but she still needed to find some winter savory.

More than once, her mind wandered as she trekked through the trees. It had been a week since she had last seen Harry, and yet he was still the one thing that floated through her mind whenever she drifted to her daydreams. She could still see the line of his profile, backlit by the cloudy moonlight. In her dreams, she had the courage to reach out and trace over the line, grazing the bridge of his nose and the dip of his cupid's bow. He grew more and more gorgeous every time she revisited her memories. 

She was already known to have her head in the clouds, dreams too big for the village to contain, but she definitely floated upwards more and more since seeing Harry. 

A small smile worked its way onto her lips the longer she wafted through her reverie. (Y/N) liked to think that if she had acted on that impulse—dragging her fingertip along the planes of his features—that he would have cracked a smile, showing off the thumbed dimples and dazzling teeth. Maybe, he would have even looked at her, wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her to his chest before dipping her in the middle of the street. He could kiss her then, the moment romantic and brazen and—

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks the second she saw the dead body on the forest floor. 

If not for the pallor of her skin, she could have assumed this woman had fallen asleep peacefully among the brush. She looked to be around (Y/N)'s age, unbound hair spilling around her head. Her eyes were closed with her features set in a serene scene and arms crossed over her chest. Her palms were pressed flat over her collarbones, the same way those in coffins were laid to rest six feet under. The pose reminded her of her mother.

Though all of that tranquility went to hell when she saw her throat. 

While the woman had been laid to rest with utmost respect, that didn't take away from the fact her throat was ripped open. (Y/N) swore her own esophagus grew sore and tight while looking at the women. The skin had been slashed out of the way by something sharp and angry, revealing frayed sinew and torn muscle. The raw red hue stood out starkly against the snowy pallor her skin had taken on. Something had attacked her, taking out her throat and leaving her to die right where she lay. 

The most unsettling part, (Y/N) realized the longer she stood there, was that there was no blood. Where she expected to see a crimson crust forming around the wood or a puddle haloing the woman's form, there was nothing. Her wound didn't even look that gruesome, truly. It was clinically clean instead, as if a healer had already cared for her and planned on bandaging the tear before letting her head home. She had been bled completely dry, leaving her with rubbery skin, thin veins, and a clean white dress. 

She had heard about these incidences—people going missing only to turn up later dead—but she never pictured it was like this. To her, everything sounded as if wanderers were attacked in the woods are lost through the elements. Never once through her forages in the area had she ever met the face of someone whose life was taken so decidedly.

(Y/N) wanted to scream, she wanted to cry and panic and run. But, she just stood there. 

Time was stuck as she saw the woman with long red hair, unblemished skin, and a fine gown. 

All at once, the severity of the situation flooded back to her. 

Her sore throat was split open with a loud scream, blood-curdling and eye-watering. She dropped her basket to the floor, returning the herbs to where she had plucked them, before she sprinted towards home. Her dress caught on the thorns of the brush, her feet stumbling over the unearthed roots. None of the obstacles slowed her. She tugged her dress free with every pump of her legs, keeping herself steady with nothing other than the will of adrenaline and fear pushing he along. 

She didn't realize she had been crying until she saw the edge of the village in sight, her cheeks burning with her hands going numb. A man she recognized as one of her father's friends was out in his garden, cultivating the family vegetables when he looked up to see her, concern striking his features. 

"(Y/N)," the man called out, his voice echoing over the space.

Stumbling in her tracks, she fought to keep herself steady. Instinctively, she wanted to keep running until she made it back to her bedroom with her safety intact. She knew she couldn't do that, though. She had to tell someone about the woman, find her family and lay her to rest properly. 

Find who had hurt her. 

"Th-There—She's—Dead," (Y/N) panted, floundering around her jumbled mind. She couldn't find a single coherent thought in her head. 

The man's thick brows only furrowed as he cautiously approached her. "Dead?" he pressed, making himself appear smaller as if she were the creature to be cowering from for survival. 

Hearing someone else say the word had another round of sobs wracking through her body. "Sh—The girl—She's dead. In the woods, there's been another." 

Horror took the man's features. Blood drained from his face, leaving him shades paler than just moments before. 

"Another?" he asked, "Like the others?" 

"I-I think so," she stuttered, moments away from crumbling to the ground. She couldn't be sure if the state this young woman had been in was what the rest of the others had gone through. She hope it wasn't.

A curse was uttered under his breath before he shouted towards his home. He called for his wife, a woman (Y/N) vaguely knew from church. It only took a moment for a woman to stick her head out of the doorway, her features screwing up in worry the second she saw (Y/N)'s blubbering form.

She was only vaguely aware of the man explaining to his wife what (Y/N) had shared, and that he was going to get the others together to recover the body and care for her. His wife needed to take care of her, inform her father of what (Y/N) had seen today. 

Time moved impossibly slow while racing through each second simultaneously. At some point, she checked out, shock setting in as she came to terms with everything she had seen. By the time she returned, she had been deposited on the stoop of the church, a knitted blanket around her shoulders. Shivers wracked down her spine though she could feel herself breaking into a thin sweat. Many of the women of the village had swarmed around her, including Mary and Ethel. Feet away, her father was speaking with the vicar of the church. 

"Drink this, dear," Mary said, shoving a warm mug of something in her hands. 

(Y/N) made no move to follow her given directly, loosely gripping the cup in her palms. Her gaze was barely focused, tears still running down her cheeks, as she absently stared at the cobblestone under her boots. 

Every time she blinked, she saw the bloodless wound on the woman. Her thin, lavender eyelids masking unseeing eyes. Her thin fingers, the pale skin barely covering the bones underneath. The sections of her neck that were frayed and ripped, matching that of the hem of her dress. 

Murmurs arose once more around her. (Y/N) had no doubt there was already speculation about who could have done this—who would have killed someone in such a way that an onlooker end up as traumatized as the dead. A part of her brain pinged, knowing that Mary and Ethel would no doubt be peering accusingly at the castle in the distance, their accusations known without a single word leaving their lips. 

Now more than ever, having seen a body, (Y/N) had no doubt that Harry had nothing to do with these disappearances. 

No human could do what she saw in the woods. 

—————

"Let me grab my coat, and John and I will escort you back home." 

(Y/N) did her best to school her features, regulate her reaction before reaching a gentle hand on Margret's shoulder to keep her from ascending the stairs. 

"Oh, no," (Y/N) declined, canting her head with a soft smile, "You've already been too kind tonight. I can make it on my own—home's barely a block away." 

Margret chewed her lip between her teeth, looking over her shoulder to where her parents were standing by the hearth. So many eyes were on them and their interaction. 

"Really, Marg," (Y/N) tried again, "My father and I appreciate everyone's kindness enough, I would hate to put you out even more and make you go out in a storm like this." 

"But," Margret started, "I don't want to leave you alone. The storm is bad enough without everything that... happened." 

Almost two weeks had passed since (Y/N)'s run-in in the woods, and yet the village's paranoia was at an all-time high. Her father had been at her side near constant since he had finished speaking with the vicar, promising her that he wouldn't let that happen again—finding something so gruesome, as well as a silent promise that she wouldn't become the gruesome sight. He had been shaken by her reaction, telling the vicar that he had never seen her so vulnerable, on the edge of hysterics. 

Any herb they couldn't grow in the garden would now be out of stock until he himself could forage through the woods, but she would never be tasked with going by herself. Otherwise, he was going to be at her side as often as he could be, ensuring she was never alone. If he couldn't be there, then he had pooled together a batch of close family friends who would be willing to stand in for him. She would never be by herself, never vulnerable to another fright. 

(Y/N) was losing her mind. 

Everyone walked on eggshells around her, having seen her breakdown in real time. They heeded her father's request as if law, never allowing her even a second of alone time if not in the safety of her bedroom. Even her time in the garden had been reduced to a field trip for every young woman who was tasked to be at her side, chattering about the most lighthearted of subjects.

While in a few ways, (Y/N) couldn't blame her father, she selfishly didn't really care. She needed her freedom, even if that freedom came in the form of a short walk to her home by herself. 

"I promise I will be alright," (Y/N) tried to soothe her friend, offering her beaming smile to Margret's parents and brother as well. "Thank you all for dinner, please don't let me add to the burden by making you all escort me home in a storm. I would never forgive myself if any of you fell ill." 

It was Margret's mother that seemed to waver from (Y/N)'s reasoning. She most likely didn't want her children out in the rain, either. (Y/N) wasn't the only one in the village that needed to be protected from whatever lived in the woods. 

Peering over her shoulder, Margret searched for her parents blessing that came in the form of a small dip of her father's chin. 

"I will come visit you in the morning, then," Margret cemented, "to make sure you're alright." 

"I look forward to it," (Y/N) chirped, bringing her friend in for a small hug before inching towards the front door. She gave her beaming smile to the rest of the family. "Thank you again," she said, "Dinner was wonderful. I'll have to steal the recipe sometime, Mrs. Wayfield." 

"I'll send it with Margret in the morning, dear," she said, her smile tight, "Get home safe. Don't linger longer than you have to." 

"Absolutely," (Y/N) promised, pulling the hood of her purple cloak over her head. 

Final goodbyes were shared before (Y/N) stepped outside, the raging storm that had been rattling the roof of the home now whipping against her form.

As much as the wind stung her eyes and the rain chilled her skin, she reveled in the experience. She was alone, finally. 

Despite what Mrs. Wayfield said, she definitely lingered longer than she needed to, allowing the rain to soak her cloak and begin to seep through her dress. She had never been one to steep in the rain or bask in storms, but that was going to be changing tonight. 

The direct walk home was decidedly short, taking less than a block's worth of steps to take her there, but she was going to make it as long as possible. She might even take the scenic route, stepping through the center of town for no reason at all other than she wanted to. 

Heavy droplets of rain weighed down her cloak the longer she took outside, the wind whipping the hem around her in waves. Taking her time, she ambled over the cobblestones of the town square, ignoring the drops that slipped over her warm cheeks. 

Suddenly, the storm changed once she reached the center of town. 

Before, it had been nothing but rain and wind, the kind of storm that would put her to sleep in a matter of minutes. Something shifted in a matter of moments, taking the wind and amping it up into swirling chills. A crack of lightning lit up the sky, making shadowy ghosts of all the buildings and turning the trees into bony hands reaching towards the heavens. Thunder rattled the Earth a moment later. The large drops of rain quickly became a heavy downpour, slicking down her form until her clothing was stuck to her body and her eyes were struggling to blink through the droplets. Every time she peeked through slitted eyes, the sheets slammed down thick enough she could barely see through it.

The scenic route no longer seemed fun now that she was out here. She should have just gone home like she promised. 

(Y/N) had to step carefully over the cobblestones, not trusting the grip of her boots over the cracks. She wished she could sprint though the barrage, but she would no doubt lose her footing and smash her face into the rocky ground if she did. 

Instead, she kept her head down and tried to navigate back home through the rain, lacking sight. She kept her pace as steady as possible, giving all her focus to the task of making it home, though she was vaguely aware of a familiar panic growing in her chest. 

As much as she had wanted to be alone, take time by herself and live in the village without her father's word being law, she still saw the gruesome body every time she closed her eyes. (Y/N) had nightmares of that moment she had come across the young woman, though this time she blinked her eyes open when (Y/N) grew close enough before snatching at her foot. A shaky breath expanded (Y/N)'s lungs at the childish fear that something could even be following behind her at the moment. She would have no idea if there was; every sound was drowned out by the pouring rain, her sight impaired by the water running over her eyes and the heavy sheets acting like a fog over the village. 

Unable to resist the urge, (Y/N) whipped her head around, trying to catch the monster in the act of following her. Unsurprisingly, no one was there. 

She was alone, just as she had wished. 

Spinning around, the village was completely vacant. No one knew she was out here. No one would even know if she had been snatched like that young woman. Not until she was found again.

That flare of panic in her chest rose again, clogging her throat and thickening her head. 

She needed to get out of here. Being alone wasn't worth this. She should have just taken up Margret and John on their offer and gone straight to her room. She could have found her alone time on another day. 

Picking the first direction in front of her, (Y/N) stormed through. This had to take her home, right? She had lived in this flat almost all of her life, she wouldn't forget where it was. 

Until, of course, (Y/N) noticed she had taken the complete wrong direction, heading towards the opposite end of the village. A strike of lightning lit up the grey sky, showing off the vague shadow of the towering castle in the distance. 

The Count's home. She had to turn around; she was no where close to the apothecary. 

This time, when (Y/N) spun around, trying to find a direction to head through her woolen throat and mounting panic, she couldn't decide. What if she went the wrong way again? What if she ended up back in the town center? 

What if she died out here? 

The morbid turn of her thoughts took her breath away. 

She was stunned in place, unable to make any move in any direction. 

Suddenly, a hand settled on her shoulder, stilling her shaking form. 

"(Y/N)? What are you doing out here?" 

(Y/N) stumbled, turning around to face to familiar voice speaking right behind her. 

There, backlit by another round of lightning and thunder, was Harry. 

His hair was almost black under the rain, near soaked despite having barely been out in the elements for longer than a few moments. His velvet jacket grew darker with every drop absorbed into the thick fabric. He pale skin was a beacon in the gloom. 

"H-Harry?" 

"You can't stay out here, (Y/N). You're going to fall ill, or worse," he told her, concern dripping from his tone the same way the rain clumped through the length of her lashes. 

When she gave her body permission to do so, she wasn't sure, but in a heartbeat she was clinging to his form. He was her safety in the middle of his storm, keeping her from falling victim to the most morbid of her thoughts. It was beyond improper, but she didn't care as she dug her fingers into his waistcoat. He couldn't leave her here.

"I-I was trying to go home," she whined, her voice fragile under the weight of everything. "I think I'm l-lost." 

She felt pathetic to utter something so silly given she knew this town like the back of her hand, but it was a truth. 

Harry lingered in front of her for a moment, seemingly assessing her before he sprung into action. 

"That's alright," he murmured, speaking as if she were an injured animal, "Let me take you home. I think I remember the way. Is that okay? I have my carriage over there." 

He pointed behind himself, where another slice of lightning revealed a black, boxy carriage led by regal white horses. She could see the vague form of someone sitting in the coach box. 

When she didn't immediately answer, he wrapped a tentative arm around her form. "Let me get you home, (Y/N)." 

She gave an absent nod, willing to let him take her anywhere—anything was better than this, she decided. He bundled her against him as he took her to the side of the carriage, sacrificing an arm holding her middle to open the door. He helped heave her inside, getting her in as quickly as possible.

"Thank you," she peeped when she settled on the bench seat. She kept her eyes on him as he waited a moment, relaying to the driver the new destination.

Her body shook with unstoppable tremors as Harry climbed in after her, her soaked clothing ruining the red velvet under her. She would have to apologize to him later.

It was here, in the dry of his carriage, that (Y/N) realized she was sobbing with rivers of hot tears pouring down her cheeks. It wasn't just the chill of the rain that had her feeling as if she couldn't breathe, she realized. In the safety of the cover, wracking sobs kept her from properly filling her lungs, her inhales way too short to be safe. 

The carriage spun around her despite the way (Y/N) tried to focus on her hands on her lap. This wasn't good, she knew. 

"(Y/N)," she heard, the voice firm and commanding, "Look at me, darling." 

Absently, she pulled her head up to face Harry. 

He was inches away from her. (Y/N) could make out the the shattered shards of green around his black pupils. The strong line of his nose and pillow lips were right there. 

Harry was dazzling. Breathtaking. 

Unfortunately, breathtaking was the last thing she needed right then. 

Before she knew any better, (Y/N)'s lashes fluttered as her eyes fell closed on their own accord, her breathing stunted in her lungs. The last thing she was aware of was Harry's panicked call of her name before she spilled over the velvet seat as she lost consciousness. 

—————

When (Y/N) finally cracked her eyes open, her limbs felt impossibly heavy as if she had rocks tied to each end as she sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Her bleary sight took it's time clearing, allowing heartbeats to pass before the blurry streaks around her came into focus. 

She was in an immaculate bedroom, she realized. Her body was cushioned by luxurious velvet, dyed a deep crimson. The mattress underneath was plush and inviting, urging her to sink deeper and deeper into the dreamy bedding and warmth it offered. A length of fur ran across the end of the bed, tickling her bare ankles as she stretched. 

Sitting up where she had been nestled atop the bed, more and more of her head came to her. The bed was even more opulent that she thought. Four posters shot up from around the frame, holding curtains made of delicate black lace. Her hands ached just looking at it, thinking about how long it would take to make something so beautiful, even with the help of one of those sewing machines. More furs and velvet decorated the large space; everything honing in on the darker spectrum of colors. Here and there, pops of gold thread appeared like minute rays of sunlight. At the bedside was a bouquet of cut flowers, all in rich violet hues and smelling sweet enough to draw her in like a butterfly. And she almost did, sticking her nose into the tall stalk of trumpet shaped flowers until she realized what kind they were and jerked back. 

Foxglove, she recognized them to be. Poisonous. 

Around the stalk were wisteria blooms and plumes of baby's breath. The wisteria was another set of flowers that were gorgeous to look at, but deadly in the end. 

Pulling away with a stiff back, she set her bare feet on the ground. Now that she was free from the flowers, the woody scent of winter savory and spike of tobacco in the background were the prominent aromas taking her attention. Looking around her, her cloak was dry, laid on the end of her borrowed bed alone with her boots set up in a neat row by her feet. 

This place was extravagant. A fairytale daydream, perfect for her head-in-the-clouds mindset. 

This had to be a castle. No random hut could have something this indulgent.

There was only one castle she knew of. 

Memories came back to (Y/N) in pieces. 

The storm. She had left the Wayfields' home, telling them she would head straight home despite knowing she was lying. She had wanted some time alone, away from her father's overprotective gaze. But the storm was too much. She had pathetically lost her way and panicked, remembering the woman she had found in the woods. 

Then, there was the gleaming black carriage. The ghostly pale face of the Count who offered to take her home, get her out of the rain and into safety before he would be on his way. She remembered him helping her into the carriage, telling the coachman that they needed to drop her back at the apothecary. Her emotions had fluctuated to opposite ends of the spectrum: extreme panic under the sheets of rain to the deep relief she felt at seeing a familiar face who could help her. 

The last few things she could remember was the guilt she felt at ruining the luxe seating in the Count's carriage before looking up to see him facing her directly with his breathtaking features. That was all that had been left before she tumbled back and lost consciousness. 

This was no doubt the Count's home. There had been times she had wondered what kind of interior a building as magnificent as this one would have, but she had never thought of something this indulgent. 

Though, despite her admirations, she couldn't stay here. 

She was never supposed to take even the long walk home, let alone travel all the way to the gargantuan home that the most notorious member of the village resided in. (Naming him as a member of their village was a stretch, but the easiest way for (Y/N) to think at the moment). There was no telling how long she had been out, but her father was going to kill her even if it was ten seconds. 

Despite the ache in her bones and the stiff fabric of her ill dried dress, she forced her boots back on, the laces pulled into clumsy bows. Her cloak was grabbed in a haste before she started towards the door. She didn't know what she was going to do, but she needed to get back home as soon as she could.

Swinging open the heavy door, (Y/N) swayed on her feet, stopping in her tracks when she saw who was on the other side. 

Propped against the opposing wall, between more cut flowers and immaculate paintings, was the Count himself. 

He was at attention within a second, but (Y/N) had caught the way he had been slumped against the wall, his shoulders a sullen slope. In an instant, he had crossed the grand hall to meet her at her door, his hands reaching out towards her. His eyes looked darker than ever, only light shatters of deep green apparent in his iris. His usually flawless hair was left in disarray. Somewhere, he had shed his coat and cravat, leaving the billowed sleeves of his shirt and grey waistcoat the only articles on his torso. Even the neckline of his white shirt had been left loose, a stretch of creamy skin on display. 

"Are you okay?" he breathed out, his gaze immediately tripping down her form before she had a chance to answer, "I-I tried to make sure you hadn't injured your head, or-or worse when you fell faint, but I couldn't be positive." 

Her lashes fluttered in a blink as she startled over his concern. She had never seen him so discomposed, his demeanor world's away from calm. 

"I-I'm alright," she breathed, finding her tongue in her dry mouth, "You brought me to your home?" She could vaguely remember him ordering the coachman to take her home, back to the flat above the apothecary. 

He wet his lips, his eyes searching through hers as he collected his words. "When you fell faint," he started, "I was not sure if you would have been alone if I took you home. I was worried; I decided to take you back here, so I could keep an eye on you. That's all, I swear it." 

She was sure he knew just as well as she that being alone like this—unchaperoned, neither of them dressed as they typically should be, no one aware of her whereabouts—was more inappropriate than a single moonlight stroll through town. This could ruin both of them if anyone found out; (Y/N) would be deemed unbecoming for marriage, and the small amount of reputation Harry had would be buried six feet under. 

Throughout all, (Y/N) still found her skin warming, seeing how genuinely he spoke of her and his worry of her well-being. Other than her cloak and boots, she could tell none of her clothing had been tampered with. He had done nothing more than keep an eye on her. 

"Thank you," she swallowed, nodding her head as she allowed a small smile to curl her lips. She felt a bit desperate then, hoping he knew how deep her gratitude went. "Truly, thank you. I-I don't know what happened to me, it was scary." 

"I'm sure it was," he murmured, the tight set to his features loosening the longer she stood in one piece before him. "I am glad I found you when I did." 

"How long has it been?" she asked, noticing not a single window that could give away the time of day. She wasn't even sure if it was still night time.

He deflated some at her words. "A few hours, I think" he shared, dropping his gaze as if realizing just now how long he had been her self-appointed guardian, "The storm finally ended not too long ago. You were exhausted, (Y/N)." 

She had never heard her name wrapped in his voice before. Looking at him now, she was back in that carriage with her lungs stunted and mind only on him. She swore she could see his eyes lightening before her gaze, more and more green coming to the surface like a murky pond under sunlight. The panicked urge she had to race home slowly melted out of her. 

"I'm not surprised," she agreed, finally breaking her gaze from his for no other reason than to allow her breath to come back. She cast her eyes around the opulent space, taking in the priceless art around her, the glossy flooring and detailed decor. "This is your home?" 

"For as long as I can remember," he smiled, pride straightening his shoulders as he followed her line of sight, "It's my sanctuary. If you'd like, I can have the kitchen make something for you and I can give you a tour of the grounds in the meantime." 

Instantly, she wanted to accept. She wanted to see what kind of creations a place like this could make in the kitchen. She wanted to know where he had found such gorgeous, but deadly plantlife. She wanted to know if any of her daydreams had been right about this place. 

Unfortunately, there was that niggling worry that popped back up in the back of her mind. 

"As much as I would love to, I can't," she reluctantly let out, "I have to go home. My father... he's probably rallying the village as we speak, trying to find me before he loses his mind." 

Harry's expression fell, losing that pride over her praise. Nonetheless, he gave her a relenting nod. "I understand," he said, cracking a small smile, "I have had you hidden away for long enough, I suppose. I'll have my staff ready my carriage, and I'll have you home by dawn."

"Thank you," she said earnestly once more, "Really, Harry. I fear where I would be if you hadn't come across me." 

"I do as well," he shared, his voice low as if sharing a secret with her. 

This time, (Y/N) didn't wipe the smile from her lips as she looked up at him. Another shade of green seemingly appeared in his gaze. 

—————

"You're not coming with me?" (Y/N) asked, poking her head out of the door of the coach when Harry didn't immediately follow after her. The first rays of sunlight were beginning to crest the horizon, giving away just how long she had been far from home, though that didn't stop her from stalling. 

"Unfortunately," he said, keeping his feet planted on the ground outside the carriage. He looked up at her from where he stood, holding the door open as he spoke to her. "I have business to attend to very soon; I wouldn't have time to arrange everything if I escorted you this morning. I hope you'll accept my apologies, anyway." 

Though she was disappointed she would lose out on time with him, she couldn't blame him. He must be a busy man if he had this place to call home and a full staff to take care of it. He didn't have time to chauffeur her around the village, even if that was what she wanted. He didn't even have a chance to tell her where he had found the flowers for his bouquets. 

"I suppose I'll forgive you this time," she said, a sly smile on her lips that had Harry's own lips blooming, "But next time, I won't be so lenient." 

"I appreciate your grace, my lady," he played along, offering her that dazzling smile and dimpled cheeks. "I promise to see you soon. I feel like I'll need to visit the apothecary sooner rather than later." 

(Y/N) could take that promise. "I will make sure we stay stocked, then." 

"Until next time," Harry said, inching away from the carriage with reluctant steps deeper into the shadows.

"Until next time." 

With that, Harry closed the door to the coach, relaying the destination to the driver. 

With her hands in her lap and heart bubbling in her chest, (Y/N) allowed her cheeks to split with her smile. Definitely better than any kind of daydream her cloudy head had come up with.

—————

As soon as she approached the church, (Y/N) was grateful for the instructions she had given to the coachmen to drop her at the edge of the village, leaving her to be the only one who had seen the carriage at all. As she had suspected, her father really had rallied every able body in the town. She could only imagine she had caught them right before they started combing the woods and terrorizing the neighboring villages until they found her. 

It was Margret who had seen her first, breaking down into tears with a bursting sob before she was running towards (Y/N).

"Where have you been?!" she screamed, collapsing around (Y/N) in a steely hug, "I—We—Everyone thought you were—" 

Margret didn't have to finish her words for (Y/N) to know what had been on the village's mind. 

Before she had a chance to do anything more than reciprocate the hug and draw a breath, her father was barreling over. "(Y/N)!" he shouted, a mix of relief and anger tinting his tone. She doubted he even knew how to feel in that moment. 

"I'm sorry, Margret," (Y/N) muttered, offering a consoling smile before pulling away from her hug. The Wayfields stepped forward to collect their daughter while (Y/N) went towards her father, already dreading the lecture she would receive. "Father, I—" 

The air was stolen from her lungs the second he scooped her into a tight hug. "My daughter," he murmured into her hair, nestling her against his chest, "I thought the worst." 

"I'm sorry," she whispered, aware of the eyes watching their embrace. 

"What happened?" he asked, pulling away to face her with watery eyes and warm cheeks, "Why didn't you stay with Margret and her family? They said you went through the storm alone, promising to come back home." 

(Y/N) felt immense floods of guilt bubble through her system. This wasn't the welcome home she had thought she'd garner. 

"I hadn't meant to frighten anyone," she started, hoping the rest of the village overheard, "I only wanted a minute alone, but I was planning on coming home right away. But, the storm was so heavy, and I scared myself. I was disoriented and ended up a village over. I stayed in their church for the night, until it was safe to come home." 

The lie slipped off her tongue like water, the story planned from her time in the carriage. Her guilt only worsened knowing she was deceiving her father, but she didn't want anyone to know where she had spent the night. Despite the impropriety of the whole thing situation Harry, she didn't want Mary and Ethel chattering to her father that the Count was trying to steal away his daughter and flay her before dropping her in the forest. 

She didn't want Harry to be dragged into this. 

His features tightened at her words, but she could see as he ultimately accepted them. "Okay," he relented before flexing his arms around her in a pulsing hug, "Never again, (Y/N). Do you hear me?" 

"I hear you," she promised, holding him back just as tightly. 

Over his shoulder, she could see the gleaming of a black carriage ascending the trail towards the large castle in the distance.

—————

oleander, if consumed, can slow the heart and cause death within hours.

ahhhhhh! super super super different for myself ngl! I changed a couple of ideas I had just bc I started scaring myself but thank you so much for reading! im so happy im finally putting out a halloween fic! so sorry for any mistakes and if theres any ideas or thoughts please send them in!

[aziraphales-library]

HI THERE! You do such amazing work, thank you so much!

I was just wondering if there were any chef aus out there? Any tags/rating! Thanks!

Hello, here are some chef fics...

Sometimes it's cosmic, sometimes it's cocktail weiners by myladyclegane (M)

All executive chef Anthony J Crowley wanted was a cider and some time with the girls(of the Golden variety) after his double shift, what he gets is playing savior when his best friend and next door neighbor (and desperate crush) has to unexpectedly host a last minute game night for his awful co-workers.

As Sweet As This by vantablck (G)

One moment, Crowley had a high position at a top Michelin rated restaurant. The next, her career was taking a metaphorical million light-year dive into a lake of boiling sulfur and she was moving back into her small childhood town. Cue Aziraphale, the childhood best friend she’s been pining over since time immemorial. Cue Crowley’s oh so brilliant idea of co-owning a restaurant with her.

Hell's kitchen, heaven's chef by Sani86 (T)

Crowley is a high-strung chef - one of London's best - but his boss Beez is fed up with his tricks. So they hire a mild-mannered blonde chef to keep him in line. Crowley hates the guy. Except that he doesn't, not even a little. --- Human AU, in which they are chefs and idiots.

Trivia Night: A Love Story by MissUnderstoodLyrics (E)

No angst, all fluff and fluffy smut! Crowley just moved to the States and has already been roped into the pub trivia competition for all of the King Street businesses, which they take very seriously. He just wants to work and go home to his cat and his plants, but the promise of free drinks lures him to the first game, where he meets a gorgeous, witty, mischievous angel, and suddenly trivia night doesn't seem quite so bad. A Good Omens Human AU

Recipe For Romance by ranguvar82 (M)

Anthony Crowley would love nothing more than to enjoy a good meal once in a while. Unfortunately, when you're an agoraphobic with severe food allergies, your choices are limited to private chefs. Too bad Crowley's fired every single one. Enter Aziraphale Fell, known for being able to create gourmet meals for even the most discerning palate. Crowley's expecting him to be like every other chef. He's not expecting an angel that will turn his world upside down. Aziraphale has a recipe for everything. Even, maybe, for romance.

Till I Saw You by curiouswriterkr (E)

Crowley is a burned out chef recovering from adrenal fatigue in Tadfield. Aziraphale, a gifted musician with a big, soft heart, happens to be performing one evening at an open mic. Their eyes collide and inevitably, so do their lives, helping each other step into healing, truth and more joy.

Style and Substance by Cabernet_Woebegone (E)

“But y’know, if my boss finds out I’m helping you even a little, they’re gonna throw me out on my ass.” “Yes, I understand it is a bit of a conflict of interest for you… Is there something I can offer you in return? Something you would like?” Aziraphale questioned hopefully. You, Crowley thought loudly as he took a second sip. I want to know if you moan when you kiss the same way you do when you try something delicious. I want to know if your lips taste like Zinfandel. “Yes, actually.” Aziraphale is having difficulty running his restaurant, and it isn't helping that he believes the place across the street is trying to sabotage him. To his surprise, chef Crowley comes to him on friendly terms. Together they come up with an arrangement that could benefit them both. (Explicit rating for chapters 10 , 14 & 17, see tags for description. Please do not record this as a podfic or repost this fic anywhere! Thank you!)

- Mod D

[asumofwords]

The Sublet - Roommate!AU

Warnings: She/her pronouns, slow burn, angst. Tags will be added as the fic goes along. Drug use, drinking.

Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Reader

Summary: Living with Helaena Targaryen was one of the best decisions you had ever made. Meeting at university, the two of you became thick as thieves and quickly best friends, moving into a flat together. But what will happen when Helaena has to leave, and her quiet, brooding, brother moves in?

Notes: Jesus christ, this is a monster chapter, but I also don't want to cut it down and split it up. Hehe, thank you all for your love for the last chapter! Poor Aemond and poor reader! Anyway, Enjoy! <3

Chapter 13: Proposition

The evening came quickly, and Helaena had dressed you in a deep green, silk dress. It came to your mid thigh and had a swooping cow neck at the front. Thin straps went over your shoulders and crossed at the low back of the dress, the material light and flowing, soft against your skin.

Helaena told you that she would never wear it when you had argued with her about putting it on, and had even insisted upon you keeping it afterwards. You paired it with some black heels and gold jewellery, with your hair up and away from your face, keeping the nape of your neck cool in the warm air. 

Helaena wore a long lavender dress that almost matched her eyes, a sheer netting over the top of it with embroidered and beaded stars and constellations. She looked ethereal, and you felt over dressed for a dinner with her family. But she had told you to live a little, and that they would all be dressed to the nines, ensuring that you wouldn’t be joined by her sister and her husband.

When you made your way downstairs, heels clicking against the stone floors, Helaena had steered you away from a smaller, more intimate dining hall, and back outside to the long table you had passed that morning. 

The table was covered with glimmering candle light, smaller fairy lights nestled amongst the table whilst large candelabras stood tall in the middle and further to the edges, casting it aglow in a warm light. Fairy lights were strung in the trees in your periphery, and the whole scene reminded you of what an intimate wedding celebration would feel like.

However this was just a normal night for the Targaryen and Velaryon family. 

The latter, already sitting at the table. 

Lucerys’ head had lifted at your arrival, wide smile spreading across his cheeks as he looked up at you. Jacaerys following his line of sight mirrored his smile and stood, younger brother standing, before both came around the table to engulf you in a tight embrace. 

“I didn’t know you were coming.” Jace smiled, flicking his eyes to his aunt and then back to you again. 

“Last minute plans.” You chuckled, hoping they wouldn’t sense any tension from you, or the fact that your chest still felt sudden aches when the thought of a tall, silver haired man popped into your mind.

“Glad you came,” Luc added, “You’ll be able to meet mum.”

Mum.

Rhaenyra Targaryen, a woman of conviction and power. You would be lying if you said she wasn’t an inspiration to you. Defying all odds and sexism within the industry and profession of law, and surpassing her male counterparts with an ease that could only be graced upon someone from birth or with hard work.

“I would like that.” You smiled back. 

Helaena led you to sit with her in the middle of the table, opposite the two brothers, and the four of you dissolved into comfortable chatter as you waited for the others, the sound of cooking and smell of food wafting from the kitchen just inside. 

When Daeron had arrived, he had chosen to sit beside his sister, nodding at his nephews before asking Jacaerys, with a cheeky glint in his eye, how the Tully boys were. Jacaerys, clearly now aware of his friend and uncles little tryst, asked him back how Kermit was.

“Very good.” The youngest Targaryen sibling smirked.

Lucerys blushed. 

You were mid conversation with Jacaerys before his eyes lit up, looking behind you. You turned to see a vision of blue and silver. Your breath stilled in your chest. 

Baela and Rhaena stood behind you, the twins looking as though they had been plucked from the stars themselves. Rhaena wore a deep blue dress which glimmered as she moved, small flecks of sliver glinting like the night sky. Her locks were long down her back, held together by silver clasps that had small stars and jewels that dripped off of them.

Baela stood beside her twin sister, thigh length silver dress with a high neck and low back, covered in a mesh that dripped off of her like cobwebs. Her silver coils were half up, half down on the top of her head, held by a simple claw clip. 

You had to blink to get yourself to stop staring at them.

No wonder people thought these families were descended from Gods. 

You, in that moment, felt awfully plain. 

You stood and went to embrace the two girls, little squeals pealing from all of your mouths as you hugged each other with joy. It had been a while since you had seen the pair last, and now that they were here, you felt suddenly excited to be at the Keep.

Baela’s eyes roamed over your body, “Damn girl, look at you. If only Cregan could see you now.” 

You instantly blushed, slapping her shoulder lightly, “Flattery won’t get me into your bed, Bae.”

The twin smirked, “Worth a try.”

“You think I haven’t?” Helaena joked, mock rejection on her features. 

You all sat down, Baela beside Jacaerys, and Rhaena beside Luc, chatting excitedly with each other as Daeron popped the cork of some wine, and Helaena, a bottle of champagne, filling up the respecting glasses of everyone who sat at the table. Reaching forth, you took your champagne glass, bubbles fluttering up the glass flute as you clinked yours amongst everyone else’s and sipped. 

It was sweet, and smooth, almost creamy to the taste, and you realised that this was probably the best champagne you had ever had. You took another sip, much larger than the last, deciding to let loose for the evening with your friends, enjoying the warm burn of the alcohol as it passed down your throat. 

You were laughing with Jacaerys, reminiscing how he had gotten too drunk one night and passed out on Cregan’s couch, cuddling a pillow to his chest, when Baela’s perfectly manicured brow lifted, eyes looking behind you. 

Aegon appeared from within, two bottles of alcohol in either hand and a clear ziplock bag hanging from clenched teeth.

Inside, four meticulously rolled joints.

He sat down beside you with a huff, plopping the drinks onto the table noisily with a clunk, one tequila, the other, some sort of amber drink, whiskey or brandy perhaps.

He pulled the zip lock bag from his mouth and threw it unceremoniously into the middle of the table. Baela smirked, and Rhaena snatched the bag up to inspect its contents.

“Fuck yes.” The younger twin, Baela always made a point that she was born first of the two of them, exclaimed.

“The King shall always provide to his loyal subjects.” Aegon joked in mock regality as he looked down at everyone from his nose. 

“Come off it.” Daeron groused, “Is it the good stuff, or the shit stuff you give to people you hate?”

Hand on chest, Aegon gasped, “How dare you insinuate that I would give you bum blunts. An outrage, I say.”

“It’s the good shit.” Helaena confirmed, grimace on her lips, “Egg forgot to tell me that when he offered me one last week. I smoked the whole fucking thing in one hit thinking it was the shit stuff from last time. I had never been so close to greening in my life.”

Jacaerys' eyes widened, “You? Greening? Jesus, must be the good stuff then.”

“Only the best for Daddy.” Aegon smirked, eyes flicking to you. 

Heat rose in your cheeks.

Be a good girl for daddy.

You crossed your legs tightly at the memory of Aemond driving his length into your folds. 

Aegon noticed your reaction but said nothing, the faintest push of his tongue caught in his cheek.

“Right,” He clapped his hands, grabbing the bottle of tequila, cracking open its corked cap, “We are all going to get royally messy this evening because I am tired of seeing my nephews sappy, sullen faces.” 

Jacaerys and Lucerys frowned.

Aegon grabbed your champagne glass from your fingers, a small grunt of disapproval from your lips as you watched him throw the remaining drink down the back of his throat. He then tipped the tequila bottle against your champagne flute and began to pour. 

“Woah!” Your hand lifted the lip of the tequila away from your flute, a drip rolling down your finger.

He had almost filled it half way full. 

Aegon raised his brow at the others as the chefs began to bring out the food and place it on the table, the bag of joints not being moved from plain sight.

You supposed the chefs did not care, and were only paid to cook. 

The smell from the dinner made your mouth water, each dish perfectly made to different tastes and requirements. Baela and Rhaena had fish, Jace and Luc, lamb. Daeron had a vegetarian pasta of sorts, and Hel the same. Aegon was given a large steak with mashed potato and a red sauce that swirled delicately over the plate, baby carrots steamed atop.

And for you, your favourite dish. 

You eyed Helaena in shock and she had shrugged, essentially telling you that she had requested it for you. You smiled at her warmly in thanks, nudging her with your shoulder. 

All around the table, everyone began to drain their wines and champagnes, where Aegon then filled their flutes and glasses with either tequila or the amber alcohol, which you came to learn was a honey smoked whiskey. But in Aegon's case, he took two glasses for himself, and filled them both.

Laughter and smiles were plentiful around the table as you all ate and drank, the warmth from the tequila seeping into your pores. Each sip was smooth, though still hard to swallow. Your face would scrunch each time, and Aegon would almost always snicker at you. You had not been given a chaser nor a mixer.

When dinner had finished, and dessert had been served after, a soft meringue with strawberry puree and passionfruit pulp, Jacaerys had suggested that you all go for a midnight dip. 

You and the girls had raced to Helaena’s room to get changed into your swimmers, drunkenly stumbling and giggling through the Keep, careful to not make too much noise to disturb Rhaenyra and Daemon, and their three younger children, though it would be hard with the enormity of the estate. 

Criston Cole had met you on the stairs when he came to investigate a stream of squeals that Helaena had let loose as she had slipped on a bottom step and landed heavily onto her bum in laughter. 

His deep eyes had narrowed, and Helaena had given him a dismissive wave as she lifted herself, grabbing your arm and Baela’s, who in turn grabbed Rhaena’s, before you all made a mad dash out the kitchen, past the table, alcohol and joints missing from them.

The boys were already inside of the spa, large enough to hold at least twenty people, but intimate enough for you all to be spread apart and for it not to feel weird. Bubbles foamed at the surface as Jacaerys passed his joint to Aegon blowing the smoke from his lips, head tilted back to the sky.

“Took your time.” Aegon teased, joint at his mouth as he inhaled. 

The night sky was clear, bright stars twinkling above you as a quiet settled over the estate. The sound of crickets and cicadas were loud in your ears, and you could have sworn that once or twice, over the sounds of the others and the jets of the spa, that you had heard an owl. It was a warm night, but not too warm to make the steaming, bubbling water uncomfortable.

You climbed in beside Aegon, Helaena beside you, with the twins beside the two brown haired brothers. It was clear that they had a stronger bond to each other rather than their aunt and uncles, having grown up together after their mother had passed, and Daemon had married Rhaenyra. 

“Hel fell down the stairs.” You giggled, taking the champagne flute Daeron held out to you, actual champagne inside this time, not tequila. You thanked him silently and took a steady sip of the drink.

Luc snorted, making grabby hands at Aegon who still held the joint. The eldest uncle narrowed his eyes at the younger boy before reaching across the water to hand it to him, snatching it back teasingly just before the Velaryon's fingers could have grabbed it, before finally letting the youngest of the group have it. 

“Don’t you green out." Aegon teased, "Your mother will kill me.”

Your mother. 

Not sister.

Not Rhaenyra.

Your mother. 

The dynamics of this family was certainly strained, but amongst the sons and daughters, what little tension there had bled away with the steady hum of the bubbling spa, the flowing of drinks, and the high that all got from the joints Aegon had provided.

Jacaerys had offered it to you, and you had taken it with slightly pruny fingers, inhaling a small drag, as per Helaena’s warning, feeling the dry smoke, not at all like cigarettes, move into your lungs. You held in a small cough, and then breathed it out, tingles rippling up your skin. 

Oh shit.

It was the good stuff.

A small littering of giggles exploded from you as you handed it to Aegon, whose smirk only got wider. 

“You should have seen his face!” Jacaerys laughed, watching as Lucerys grumbled beside him, smile working its way on his lips as Jace retold the story of Cerwyn and Dalton Greyjoys propositions to both you and Cregan.

“Did baby Luc get scandalised?” Aegon teased, lips pouting at his nephew. 

Luc’s cheeks flushed as he grumbled, “I wasn’t scandalised. I just wasn’t expecting that.”

“How did you not expect it from Dalton? The man is a walking sex toy.” Baela teased, hand pushing back a stray curl from her face.

The water of the spa was warming you up. That and the alcohol, and maybe also the joint combined. And also maybe because the topic of discussion had suddenly come to your sex life. 

Uh oh.

“So,” Daeron turned to you, “Did you take them up on their offer?” 

All eyes were on you.

You blushed, bringing the champagne to your lips to sip, hoping the cold drink would cool you down.

“No. But I did consider it.” You smirked, feeling a little bolder, “Cerwyn I hadn’t expected, but Dalton had tried his luck before.”

A wet arm wrapped over your shoulders, Aegon pulling you towards him lazily, “And what did the ‘King of The North’ think about this all? Are you two still bumping uglies?”

You turned to look at Aegon, whose face was startlingly close to yours, his lids half shut with ease, violet eyes slightly glassy from the joint. It was clear he was high, and drunk, but there was something else about the way he looked at you. 

You scoffed a laugh, “It’s complicated.” You omitted the part where Aemond was the complicated part, “Cregan actually encouraged me to think about it. And to be honest, I did.”

“No way.” Rhaena smiled widely, “Dude, where do you find these men?”

You laughed, head thrown back, “Rhae, if I knew, I would tell you. They just find me somehow. Annoying sometimes, really.”

“Speaking of annoying,” Baela butted in, “Heard you’ve been sharing close quarters with Aemond.”

Your heart raced in your chest. 

You looked to Helaena as you swallowed thickly. 

Had she told Baela?

“Can't believe Aemond isn’t here. Mummy’s favourite.” Aegon grumped, “Twat.”

“Hey.” Helaena piped in, chastising her brother, “Don’t be a dick. You know he hates it here.”

Aegon clicked his tongue at his sister and lit another joint beside you, fingers lightly tracing over your shoulder, goosebumps erupting on your skin. You felt your nipples stiffen, pressing against the material of your bikini in response, and you sunk lower into the bubbles to hide it.

Everything was heightened, the alcohol, the high, the warmth of his body and the water around you, his touch. And it was hard to not feel some sort of involuntary reaction. 

Baela looked at you expectantly, as did all else. 

“It’s fine. He’s quiet. Keeps to himself mostly.” You explained, suddenly feeling like you were on the witness stand. 

No-one responded, all waiting for you to continue, as though you hadn’t given them the answer they wanted to hear, and so you did, “He can be a dick at times, and we have gone head to head on numerous occasions.”

Jacaerys laughed, and Luc smiled widely. Both knowingly enjoying your answer.

Daeron and Aegon looked at their nephews.

“What?” Aegon asked, curiosity laced in his voice.

“Y/n brought Cregan over after a fight with Aemond, and let’s just say, they weren’t quiet about it.”

Aegon’s laugh exploded across the pool area and everyone else followed, head thrown backwards against the damp tile of the spa as he laughed. His eyes were scrunched closed, and you noticed the faint blush that rose on his cheeks. 

Aegon was handsome, in a soft way. There was nothing sharp about his features, bar perhaps the top of his jaw, and his lips were far less severe than Aemond’s. It was no surprise to you that Aegon got around. A whore Helaena called him. He had this naturally flirty charm around him, and this cocksure personality, but you knew, beneath it all, that there was the same insecurities that Aemond had. Only Aegon was better at hiding it. Or, not really. He was just better at drowning it out between the legs of someone new, alcohol or drugs, or some blissful combination of the three. 

But there was no denying that he was just as beautiful as the others. 

Aegon stopped his laughter and looked at you, your head swimming in the clouds. A smirk pulled at his rosy lips, and his eyes lowered to your mouth momentarily. You snapped your head away, feeling guilty and all too exposed, heat rising within you again. 

The twins raised a brow at you in unison. 

Goddamn twin connection.

“I bet Aemy would have hated that. Or maybe even loved it.” Aegon teased, and Helaena scrunched her face in disgust.

“I’ve heard Y/n and Cregan before. They’re not quiet, let me tell you that much. My noise cancelling headphones are probably my best investment.” She teased, and you felt your face and chest bloom with heat. 

You stood suddenly, water sloughing off your body as everyone looked up at you.

“It’s hot. Is anyone else hot? I’m hot. I’m going to go in the pool. Okay. Yep.” You babbled, flustered.   

One leg after the other you walked speedily to the cool water of the pool, feeling everyones eyes on your back, but most of all, the heated gaze that lingered on the globes of your ass. 

Aegon was not at all being shy with the way he was checking you out. 

You jumped straight into the icy pool feeling the cold water shock you into a more sobered state. You rose to the surface with a squeak, and watched as Baela and Rhaena stood, running towards you directly as they cannon balled, in sync, in front of you. You laughed at the large splash, and soon, in no time at all, everyone joined you in the pool, giggling and joking and splashing around loudly.

The rest of the night was spent in good spirits, but Aegon’s gaze never seemed to leave you. And even in your drunken/high state, you knew that that was a line that you would not cross. 

Could not cross, even if you wanted to.

As the night grew long and you lay looking up at the stars beside Helaena, sharing the last joint, you all decided to pack it in for the night and head to bed, cheeks rosy and eyes glazed. You all but fell into bed with Helaena, not bothering to change into pyjamas, the both of you stripping nude in a tangle of giggles as you slid to each respected sides of the bed facing each other. 

You had the girlish giddiness sneak up on the both of you, and soon enough, your stomachs were cramping with how much you had laughed. Helaena was the first to fall asleep, and you shortly after, pulled down into the warmth of rest alongside her. 

-

When you rose the next morning, your head felt a thousand pounds heavier, and you struggled to sit up right. Helaena was no better, groaning as she rubbed her eyes, hangover sweeping the life out of the the both of you with no mercy.

Although you were both as dusty as dirt, you felt slightly better about the whole reasoning of you being here. You felt less guilty of being with your best friend and her family, and even felt good knowing that you had gotten some space from Aemond in the mean time. 

You didn’t even really mean to think of him, your chest aching at the thought, but you attempted to brush it aside anyway.

Needing a distraction, and possibly a good morning doom scroll, you pulled your phone from the nightstand which you had left and forgotten the whole day before. 

Clicking open the screen, you were met with a barrage of texts.

From Aemond.

You looked at the texts for a moment, heart immediately beginning to race in your chest, which caused the headache that had been steadily blooming to thump in the back of your head.

You gnawed at your lip roughly looking at the texts over and over.

What do you say?

Clearly he was feeling bad, and wanted to talk to you, but what if he wanted to tell you that he was moving back with Alys? What if he wanted to talk about her? You didn’t know if you could face that just yet. 

You both needed time. 

Space. 

And he needed to think about what he had said. 

About what he wanted. 

You fingers hovered over the keyboard. 

Do you text him to tell him you were okay? Even though you were not? 

If you opened up the conversation by responding, he would no doubt suck you back in, and you were not ready for that yet.

“I’m never drinking again.” Helaena groaned from beside you, turning over. Her eyes were red rimmed with shadows underneath, and her hair was an absolute mess of waves and tangles, the chlorine having made the silver strands wispy and dry. 

You locked your phone, not responding to Aemond as you placed it back on the bedside table. That was something you would face later, with a full stomach and a clear mind. Y

es, that’s what you would do, let yourself think of a way to respond. 

And so you left him on read.

You cracked a smile at Helaena and giggled, “You always say that.”

“I mean it this time.” She clutched her head and whined, rolling onto her back, “The day I got you in my bed naked, I never would have imagined it would be like this.”

“You’re such a perv, Hel.”

“You love it.” She snickered, and you laughed.

The next few days in the Keep were spent by the pool with Helaena and her family, your presence acting as some sort of buffer between the Velaryon's and Targaryen’s, who warmed up to each other considerably with each day past. You were thankful for Rhaena and Baela’s presence, who seemed to humble Aegon greatly in a way that Helaena couldn’t. 

Though you had still felt his eyes lingering on you here and there, but it all stopped one day, rather abruptly, no more flirty comments, no more flirty half lidded gazes, no eyes flickering to your lips and back. Not even a mention or liken to being a Gazelle, and instead, Aegon had become the perfect gentleman. You wondered if Helaena had said something, and actually suspected as such when the two would share glances at each other whenever Aemond was mentioned.

However, you didn’t ask because you didn’t want to flog a dead horse. There was no new development to that story. No new change. 

Nothing. 

Except the texts from him.

You had not checked your phone since you saw those messages, and in fact, were too scared to even look at it in case there were now more. You had left Aemond on read, and felt a great deal of guilt about it. But you were hurting too. And really, you didn’t want to burden Helaena with another stupid breakdown when her family was readying themselves for a death.

The death of the patriarch at that.

That morning, Baela and Rhaena had crawled into bed with you and Helaena in the early hours, telling you that Rhaenyra and Alicent had organised for the whole family to have dinner that evening, and that their step mother was looking forward to talking to you.

“They’ve heard great things about your work at the firm from Alicent.” Rhaena explained. 

Alicent had spoken about your work at the firm to them? 

That meant Larys had spoken to Alicent about you, or Helaena did. You wondered how often your name came up in conversation between the Hightower’s and Strong’s. You shivered at the image of the latter.

Disgusting little man.

Where the night of your dinner a few days before had made you a little nervous, the prospect of the dinner tonight set you on edge. You had sat in front of Helaena’s vanity and worried over your makeup, taking it off only to reapply it again almost three times, feeling that not once it had been right. Helaena had told you to take steady breaths, and you had, letting her fix your eye makeup before she gave you a deep, red dress to wear. 

You frowned. 

Helaena never wore red.

“Where did you get this?” You asked her, feeling the soft material glide through your fingers. 

“Saw it and thought of you. It would be perfect for tonight.”

Your mouth hung open, “Hel, no. Return this. I can’t wear this, it’s too much.” You held out the dress to her. 

The material alone would have cost a fortune, and you didn’t even want to think about how much it truly would have cost. 

“Oh, come off it. It was going to be your birthday present, but I hate waiting, and tonight seems a good night to wear it.” She insisted, bright eyes shining at you excitedly.

“Hel…” You said uncertain.

When would she stop with her generosity? It was spinning you in circles.

“At least put it on for me.” She sighed, “Please.”

You rubbed the soft material through your fingers, looking at the way it moved like water across your skin, thinking of other options that you had brought with you.

But what else would you wear?

You had some other dresses you could, but they were more going out for drinks kind of dresses, or day drinking ones in the sun. Not at all something you would wear to dine with Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. 

You swallowed dryly.

Why was this making you so nervous?

Looking back up at Helaena, you saw that she was watching you expectantly, with a hopeful eye that she barely contained. 

There was no saying no to her.

“Okay,” You acquiesed, and watched as a bright smile cracked across her lips, “But I’m only going to try it on, and then you need to take this back to the store. It's too much, Hel. I'm serious.”

The Targaryen shooed you with her hands to change, “Yeah, yeah. Scold me after you put it on.”

You stripped quickly as Helaena fixed her hair in the mirror, the material gliding over your skin, clinging to your curves in a way that made you feel like perhaps it had even been made for you. The material was soft and cool, but warmed quickly against your body, thin straps and a low back, the dress coming down to your ankles. 

It was unlike anything you had ever owned. 

You spun around, looking at yourself in the mirror, hearing Helaena gasp behind you, tucking a wavy curl behind her ear as her bright eyes roamed your body.

“You look so fucking beautiful.”

Your hands smoothed down your sides as you looked at yourself.

You felt beautiful. But it was still too much. 

You moved to the bed, looking at the other dresses that you had laid on the sheets.

“Okay, now that I’ve tried it on, you gotta take it back.”

“I can’t.” Helaena said, matter of fact.

Your head lifted, and you narrowed your eyes, "Sure you can. Take it back to the store.” You picked up a soft amber coloured dress. It had sweet ruffles to the skirt and lace trimming, but only came to mid thigh, “Do you think this would be okay?” You held up the dress to Helaena.

“You’re wearing that dress.”

You sighed annoyed, “No.”

“Yes. I didn’t get a receipt. So I can’t take it back.”

“Surely you can-“

“-Nooope.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You love me.” She grinned, standing, “Anyway, time to go. Can’t change now.”

“Hel.”

The Targaryen woman just smirked at you cheekily, and you saw hints of Aegon’s mischief in her eyes.

“You’ve been plotting.” You narrowed your eyes at her.

“When am I not? Besides, like I said, it's a present.”

You grunted, annoyed that she was so stubborn, but also so grateful for something so beautiful. You really could not have asked for a more kind and caring best friend. 

“Fine, but it’s birthday and Christmas.”

Helaena shrugged, watching as you put on some simple black shoes. 

-

When you got downstairs, the table outside was made and ready, candles lining them again in a similar way that they had a few nights before, only this time, the table setting was more particular. There were three plates stacked atop each other for every person, a large one, medium, and then small, and beside the plates were three different sized forks, knives and spoons. 

Your breath nearly stilled in your chest as you saw her.

Rhaenyra Targaryen.

A living legend.

One of the best of the best in the realm, and beside her, her husband, known for his abrasive, but successful, skills in court. And they were just as beautiful as the rest. 

Rhaenyra had long flowing silver hair, pulled back by braids at the back of her skull. Her nose was sharp and aquiline, and as you looked at her, you saw more Aemond in her than any of the other children of Viserys. They both had plump, yet sharp lips, high cheekbones, and jaws to match. 

Perhaps Aemond wasn’t so much of an outlier as you thought, and perhaps, as Rhaenyra was the first and eldest child of Viserys, the other Hightower/Targaryen children were more Hightower than Targaryen, bar their Valyrian features. 

She was speaking politely to Alicent, and although you could see strain and tension between the two of them, it was clear that it was amicable, and perhaps there was now a standing of mutual respect between the two.

You remembered what Cregan had told you about Alicent trying to sue Rhaenyra for Lucerys’ and Aemond’s accident, but there was something more to the tension than just that. 

Alicent’s gaze lingered far too long at Rhaenyra for it to be a step-mother and daughter interaction. You suspected there was another added layer to the family dynamics that you weren’t aware of. 

Hearing your approach, Alicent broke her eye contact with the woman beside her and looked towards the two of you, a polite, loving smile thrown your way.

Daemon didn’t smile at you, but his gaze was more than polite. You suspected he didn’t do pleasantries as the two women did. 

“You look beautiful girls.” Alicent beamed, standing to welcome you to the table with a show of hands.

It felt more like a business meeting rather than a family dinner. 

Was this why Helaena shied away from these things?

You sat opposite Rhaenyra, and Helaena opposite her mum. Jacaerys and Lucerys were already at the table, as was Baela and Rhaena, Daeron and Aegon yet to arrive. 

You smiled at your friends before settling your gaze on Rhaenyra, who was watching you with kind eyes.

“You must be Y/n.” Her voice as smooth as honey, “The boys have told me much about you.”

Heat rose in your cheeks, shyly peaking a glance as Luc and Jace raised their brows at you.

“All good things I hope.” You smiled back.

It was hard to contain your excitement. Hard to act normal and not like you were freaking out about sitting, and eating, and talking with someone you looked up to in the world of law.

“The good, the bad, and the ugly I’m afraid.” Daemon purred, lip twitching into a teasing smirk.

Oh gods. 

You hoped you didn’t look as flustered as you felt.

Rhaenyra shook her head playfully, reaching to pick up her glass of red wine delicately with just two fingers at the bottom fo the stem.

How the hell did she do that?

Shuffling came from behind you and you turned to watch Daeron and Aegon arrive, Aegon fiddling with the buttons at his wrist.

“Sons.” Alicent greeted them.

“Mother.” Aegon responded, tone flat.

The tension was back.

Aegon sat beside you, giving you a small smile before he turned his line of sight to his half-sister who sat opposite him.

“Sister.”

“Aegon. It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

Aegon grabbed his wine glass and filled it almost to the brim, “Peachy with Viserys on the fritz.”

Your eyes bulged.

Oh shit.

“Aegon.” Alicent hissed, cheeks red with anger.

“What?” He replied back cooly, sipping the wine, “It’s why we are all together again. One big happy family.” 

Aegon, it was clear to you now, had been drinking before he arrived to the table.

Daemon let out an amused giggle, and you had to bite the insides of your cheeks to not laugh awkwardly as a reaction. 

“I suppose you’re right.” Rhaenrya spoke with resignation, her eyes flicking from Aegon, to Daeron, to Helaena, then back to Aegon, “You’ve grown.”

And as quick as a whip, Aegon replied back, “You haven’t.”

A smirk pulled at Rhaenyra’s lips, and you felt the tension begin to fizzle away, reaching for your own wine to sip at, because Gods know that you would need it. 

“I suppose not. Are you well?”

“Well as I can be, all things considered.” The eldest son of Viserys replied.

The eldest child of Viserys nodded solemnly, sipping daintily at her wine, eyes over the rim of the glass as the servers began to place your entree's on the table.

You all ate quietly, Alicent filling the void with mindless chatter and questions or topics that she used to attempt to ease some of whatever tension was lingering. She asked the twins about their travels, and Daeron about his time in Old Town, despite already knowing about it. And it was then that you realised, that despite her ‘chattiness’ to everyone else at the table, she almost refused to acknowledge the two brown haired men who sat with the twins. 

Alicent did not once, lay her eyes on Jacaerys and Lucerys, nor did she include them in conversation, and it was clear to all that she had done it, but what was clearer, was that everyone was aware and did nothing. 

As though it was a regular occurrence. 

The main course came, with salads and side dishes that filled the table, and new wines brought to match each dish, glasses being filled by the servers intermittently as they came in and out. 

“So, Y/n.” Rhaenyra addressed you, “I heard that you are studying and working full-time? Surely that must be a difficult thing to manage?” She cut at the meat on her plate, a small slice, before bringing it to her lips to chew thrice and then swallowing. 

You placed your cutlery down in a way you had watched Alicent do every time she spoke or was addressed.

“I am. I work at Alicent’s firm and go to KLU with Helaena.” You confirmed, feeling nervous to be speaking to her. You hoped you didn’t make a fool of yourself, “It can be a bit crazy when exams and due dates come around, but I like a challenge.” You let yourself huff a little laugh at the end, not wanting to admit that working and studying full-time was tearing at your sanity, and your wallet.

Daemon picked up a wine glass, leaning back comfortably in his chair as he watched you. 

You fought to not squirm in your seat, suddenly feeling like you were being cross examined. This must be what it was like when people took the stand and had Daemon Targaryen drill them with questions.

He took a sip, then gave you a sweet smile. Daemon was a handsome man, low brow bone, strong jaw, and piercing eyes that didn’t once leave your face. 

“What are you studying?” He asked, taking another sip. 

You saw Alicent in your periphery look at you in interest. 

Not once in all your years knowing her had she asked you that. 

Nor did you even know if she knew. 

“I’m a History Major,” You explained, shifting in your seat as you felt everyone looking at you, “But I chose Poetry as a minor for fun.”

“Poetry?” Rhaenyra’s brows lifted in intrigue, “My brother is a fan." How did she know that about Aemond? "And how did a History Major come to work in a law firm?”

“Oh, well.” You suddenly felt as though perhaps you shouldn’t have said anything, “I needed a job, bills to pay and all that, and I saw a secretary position at Red Keep Law. I applied, and to be honest, didn’t think I would get it. But, here I am.”

Alicent smiled at you before she turned to face Daemon and Rhaenyra, “She’s an excellent worker. Learns quickly, and from all accounts from Larys,” Daemon groaned, rolling his eyes at your boss’ name, “She makes a fine edition to the firm.”

Daemon sipped his wine once again, placing it on the table as he leant forward, hands resting atop the wooden surface, “And how is our dear Larys Strong? Following Alicent’s footsteps?”

Your lips pulled downwards as you tried to not laugh, feeling heat in your cheeks as you swiped up your wine to swallow, hoping it would sink the laugh along with it. 

So it was not a secret then. 

All knew about Larys’ foot inclinations, and his other inclination towards Alicent Hightower.

The auburn haired woman clearly didn’t like where this conversation was going, and jumped in, “Larys is a hardworking and loyal man. It hasn’t been easy since the death of Harwin and his father.” Her eyes narrowed cooly towards Rhaenyra, and you felt the whole table hold their breath, “Losing someone you love is never easy.”

Lucerys and Jacaerys exchanged glances, and you felt that there was more than one thing that was being left unsaid.

Rhaenyra however, did not show that she was affected by Alicent’s comment, and returned her attention back towards you with a warm and practised smile, “Do you have plans to study law after you finish your degree?”

You followed Rhaenyra’s lead to avoid the tension, “I definitely am thinking about it, but its a long degree, and it’s a little more time consuming than what I’m already doing. I worry it’ll affect my ability to work. But, perhaps in the future when I’m more settled.” You ended with a smile, and Daemon and Rhaenyra shared a look, both turning to grin at you.

The rest of the evening went quietly, conversation a little bit stunted after Daemon and Alicent’s silent war, their eyes constantly narrowing on each other. Clearly they did not get along, especially with the Hightower throwing some sort of shade towards Rhaenyra. 

Was it shade about Larys? Or his brother, Harwin? Or some other lover or connection between the two women?

It was clear that Jacaerys and Lucerys looked nothing like a ‘traditional' Targaryen, what with their brown hair and even browner eyes, but you knew that Rhaenyra’s grandmother had brown hair. Jace and Luc had told you this once when you asked, much to Cregan’s dismay, why they looked nothing like their aunt. But genetics were tricky like that, unpredictable. You could remember learning about it once, punnet squares you think you recall from your high school biology class, and you were certainly not a biologist to argue or question it. Nor would you, in case there was another reason for it.

Perhaps Rhaenyra’s previous husband had strong brunette genes somewhere along the line.

Regardless, Daemon clearly loved the boys as his own, and Rhaenyra beamed at Baela and Rhaena whenever she could. Their relationships to their partners children from previous marriages was healthy, sweet, and to you, something that you wished Alicent somehow had with her own children. 

Alicent loved her kids, there was no denying this, but her ability to show it to them was, at best, subpar. But everyone was different, and perhaps her father Otto, Helaena’s grandfather, was not the most warmest or affectionate of men.

Alicent and Rhaenyra were the same age, and the both were so very different. Alicent was stern and stiff, where Rhaenyra more warm and flexible. But both were staunchly protective of their own, and loved them in their own special way. 

You saw a lot of Aemond in both Rhaenyra and Alicent. Alicent’s cool disposition, and Rhaenyra’s fiery passion. Not to mention, Aemond and Rhaenyra looked more similar than any of her other siblings.

Towards the end of the evening, the warm buzz of alcohol spreading through all, most of the table quietly chatting amongst themselves, Criston Cole came out to the garden, walking directly to Alicent where he whispered into her ear.

Alicent stiffened, and Rhaenyra, seeing the woman beside hers reaction became concerned, brows cinching together. 

“Thank you, Cole.” Alicent spoke, voice even. She looked amongst the table, at her children, and then finally to Rhaenyra, “Viserys has asked for me.” She told his eldest child, and you watched as the silver haired woman visibly relaxed, nodding her head, though there was still a furrow in her brows. 

It must be hard, watching your father become sicker and sicker, anticipating that each day would be his last. You had been told that Viserys’ bond to Rhaenyra was strong, and he clearly loved her dearly, especially with what you had been told about him calling her his only child in a moment of drug addled confusion.

But what happened next was something that you could not have imagined nor foreseen. For The Hightower woman was scarce to show affection to her own children, and when she did, most, to what you had witnessed, would shy away from it.

Alicent, in a rare moment of comfort, reached out and held Rhaenyra’s hand atop the table. 

It seemed to shock almost everyone there, including Rhaenyra herself, who after a moment of confusion, grasped the woman’s hand back, placing another on top as she soothed the Hightower’s knuckles with a thumb.

“Thank you, Alicent.” Rhaenyra swallowed, her chest rose and fell, and then, “Shall I see to you after?”

Alicent’s large eyes blinked at the woman beside her as she searched Rhaenyra’s face for an answer, the whole table having stilled to watch the interaction, as though something unlikely was happening, like a miracle from the Gods was unfolding right before your very eyes. 

Daemon was the only one who didn’t look hopeful at the interaction, instead, he looked rather bored. 

All waited, and although it would have only been a few seconds of pause, it felt like an eternity.

Until finally, her response came. 

Alicent breathed, “I would like that. Very much.”

Rhaenyra’s smile would be contagious, if only you didn’t feel like you shouldn’t be witnessing something that felt far more intimate than what it was. 

There was history there, that much was sure to you now, between the two women, and something that you felt made more sense when Alicent’s eyes dropped, if only for half a second, to Rhaenyra’s lips. 

Clearing her throat she stood, excusing herself with polite and poised words before she left in a hurry, flanked by Criston Cole who put a gentle hand at the small of her back, something else you had blinked at, leading her through the kitchen. Alicent’s hand lifted to her mouth as she chewed at the skin of her fingers. 

Conversation took a while to come back amongst the table, all seeming to have sensed some sort of stale mate between the two women of the house. Some sort of unlikely treaty forming between them, and a breath, a long lasting one at that, sighed into the night air. 

Jacaerys and Lucerys excused themselves for the night, pressing a sweet kiss to their mothers cheek, and the twins did the same, but to Daemon’s, who smiled lovingly up at his daughters, watching them all disappear into the house together. 

Aegon leant towards you, wine on his tongue as he whispered, “You want to get blind?”

Helaena, hearing her brothers proposition, and certainly wanting a release after what had just happened, peeked around on the other side of your shoulder, “Please.”

You laughed, watching as Daemon lifted a gentle hand and placed it on the small bump of Rhaenyra’s pregnant stomach, something you hadn’t noticed until that moment as she had leant backwards, chair pushed away from the table. She smiled lovingly at him and put her hand over his. 

Daeron stood, excusing himself, having said not much at all that evening, and left for his room, Aegon following after before casting a look back at you and Helaena, who stood and smiled at her half-sister sweetly. 

Rhaenyra you noted, looked almost sad as she gazed at her younger and only sister, but bid her a goodnight, and asked if she would like to spend some time together, to catch up, or perhaps even join her and the boys back on Dragonstone; Rhaenyra and Daemon’s estate, older than the Red Keep.

Helaena had stood quietly for a moment, shifting on her feet, but then the signature warm smile spread on her rosy lips as she nodded, turning to you to flick her head back, indicating that you were leaving. 

As you moved to leave, the deep and smooth voice of Daemon turned you around.

“Are you happy at Red Keep Law?” 

“Happy?” You asked in confusion, furrowing your brows at the two silver haired people who watched you with curiosity.

Daemon’s brows lifted, waiting for you to answer. 

“I like my job at RKL, yes. The hours are good, and it pays the bills.”

“Pays the bills.” Daemon parroted, and you wished you could kick yourself at your choice of words.

“I only mean that-“

“-No need to worry.” Daemon interrupted you, “My brothers firm is not what it used to be now that it’s ran by the Hightower’s.” His lips curled at the mention of Alicent, into what could have been said was a restrained sneer.

And although you felt the need to defend them, you had to agree. It was not what it used to be, but it wasn’t a bad change either. Sure business was slower, and their clientele had certainly changed to people who were more modest, but it was still regarded as one of the best firms.

It was just… different. 

“Daemon.” Rhaenyra came to Alicent’s defence, low warning in her voice. 

And there it was, the strong, ‘Cruel Queen’ of Law. 

You had not once seen this side of Rhaenyra through the night, and had only ever heard of her ability to cut down others in court without even truly trying.

Rhaenyra Targaryen set defence teams on fire without even breaking a sweat, and had crumbled firms to ashes under her Louboutin heel.

The couple looked at each other, soft silver hair glimmering in the candle light, and you looked at Helaena, uncertain as to what was happening. 

But Helaena looked at you in the way that she usually did, as if she already knew what was coming. You had joked with her many times that she was a witch, and she had always just said she had a strong intuition and followed her gut.

And then, three pairs of violet eyes were suddenly on you.

Had Helaena told them about Aemond?

You suddenly felt very guilty and unsure.

“From what we have been told, you’re a hard worker.” Daemon began, “Something we value at ‘Perzys Ānogār Legal’.” 

You stood straighter, and watched as Rhaenyra smiled at you reassuringly, “Your talents are being wasted at RKL.” Her eyes flicked to her husbands, then back to yours, “We want to offer you a job at our firm.”

A job.

At their firm.

At Perzys Ānogār Legal. 

Blood and Fire. 

The best of the best firms in the realm.

Rival of Red Keep Law.

Your mouth opened and then shut, unsure of what to do. You looked at Helaena, who looked at you with excitement, smile growing wider and wider each second, her pearly white teeth shining at you. 

You swallowed dryly, “I- I’m honoured.” Rhaenyra beamed, “But I’m not a lawyer, I don’t even have a law degree. I’m not even studying law.”

Daemon nodded, “You work at RKL and there seems to be no issue. But you’re thinking about it. Are you not?”

You had, in fact, thought about it.

But your time at RKL and studying made it impossible to think of a future where you could juggle law, a far more intensive degree than history, as well as a 9-5.

“I don’t think I could. I have bills to pay, and the study load would be too much-“

“-Not if you work for us.” Daemon interrupted you again, “You would be in the same position, secretary work, keeping our staff organised and tidy. And in the mean time, we would teach you. You would of course, have to begin a law degree to eventually practice and all that,” His large hand waved around as if it wasn’t a big deal, “But as it turns out, we have a position open, and from what our boys have told us, you would be an incredible edition to our team.”

Your mouth gaped as you looked at them both. 

Holy shit. 

This was-

It was-

You couldn’t even think, and Rhaenyra noticed.

“You don’t have to give us an answer straight away, but I will have Jacaerys give you our number. When you accept,” It wasn’t if, it was when you chose them, “You can let us know and we can begin onboarding you.”

“I-“ You stumbled over your words, tongue feeling like led in your mouth, “I don’t know what to say. I- Thank you. Truly. I have a lot to think about.”

“Of course.” Rhaenyra gave you a motherly smile, and Daemon simply observed you with patient, kind eyes, “I’ll let you girls get back to the others. Think about our offer. We will pay you better, train you up, and if you want to study, we can even discuss potential payment for your learnings.”

Payment-

Your head began to spin. 

Daemon laughed, not meanly, but in amusement, “You’ve short circuited her brain, my love.”

Rhaenyra swatted her husband, “Sorry. You can see how competitive we are, I suppose. I shall leave that with you to deliberate. We look forward to hearing your answer soon.”

You felt Helaena’s arm wrap around yours as she pulled you back and away, “Night 'Nyra.” She called to her sister, who said goodnight back. 

Your mind raced a million miles an hour. 

“Holy fuck.” You whispered, Helaena steering you through the kitchen and up the stairs to her room, “Hel, what the fuck? What the fuck!”

Helaena simply giggled at you. 

“What do I do? I- Thats- Rhaenyra Targaryen just offered me a job. I- I couldn’t possibly-“

“-Why not?”

Helaena pushed open her door and watched you race inside, pacing in front of the bed, “I couldn’t do that to your mother. I mean- Hel- Clearly there’s something that they- I mean- Oh my gods, I’m not even making sense. I just- What the hell?”

The silver haired woman flopped backwards onto her bed, staring up at the curtained canopy, “It's a good offer. I would take it if I were you. People would kill for that position.”

You flopped down beside her, “But Hel, it would be like betraying your mum.”

She turned on her side to face you, “No it wouldn’t. Besides, you wouldn’t have to work under Larys anymore.”

Sighing, you closed your eyes, “You’re right. But Gods, Hel. Me? A lawyer? I never would have thought that I would even have that kind of opportunity.”

“See?” Helaena nudged your shoulder, “You have to take it. Better pay, more options, plus, though me and Rhaenyra aren’t close, she’s a good person. When she takes someone under her wing, you best believe she will have your back forever. Even when you don’t deserve it.”

You frowned at the last part, but tilted your head back to stare at the canopy.

Rhaenyra was right.

You had a lot to think about. 

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[bylercertainty]

st5 finale mortality predictions

nancy wheeler

nancy is a SURVIVOR!! she is not being taken out by vecna

mike wheeler

killing off mike would just be so disappointing. although i could see the duffers sacrificing himself for his friends and family, he is truly the heart of the party. in a way, if mike dies, the party dies. therefore i am mostly confident that mike will survive season 5 with a few injuries

steve harrington

bro is cooked this next season. i think he could die to save his children, although this would be so so sad for dustin. i could see steve almost dying and dustin saving him then surviving with injuries. however i think this death would be just heartbreaking and a real driver for the group to push on. i don’t wanna see him go, but the duffers could just go for a devastating finale

jonathon

honestly i know he’s is GONE next season. in season 4, we’ve seen the “older brother acceptance scene” which could be there to set up jonathon death. if both jonathon and steve die, nancy won’t have to choose lol

joyce

no i think she would definitely risk her life to safe either of her sons, but i can’t see her leaving

hopper

if they killed him off i’m gonna be mad bc why fake out his death in season 3, they need to commit to his life

dustin

i’m really unsure about him and i think it could go either way, but i think they will leave the core four alive this season (too many pic sorry dustin)

lucas

i would sue if lucas died, but i don’t think his death is likely

max

no i bet she will go back alive for the movie date with lucas. max will be left with a sever blindness and then lucas will be whispering in her ear what is happening on the screen of the movie. that would just be so cute. also she basically had a fake out death which almost gives her immunity

will byers

honestly i think having will die would be soooo boring. everyone and their mom expects will to die in the fifth season. i understand “it starts with will and ends with will” but wills character is strung along by misery and hatred. i’m rooting for will and i hope that he can have his happy ending with the boy he loves. additionally, he will be the main protagonist in season 5 which makes me think his character will be safe. i could see him having a reallyyy near death experience with vecna but mike saving him

eleven “el”

first of all, i LOVE el. i want to see el live by herself and experience the world on hush money from the government. however, i think she will die in the next season. she opened the gate and she is going to have to close it. el has made family and friends, she needs to protect them by closing it. the death of el would move every single character and just make the finale devastating. when a main character dies, they need to be loved by the audience so making will die would just be soooo boring and useless. mbb has stated that the ending for els character made her go “oh” and walk away slowly. i don’t think fully agreed with her ending which leads me to believe either she is dying or byler gets together or possibly both. also i hope they make byler canon wayyyy before el dies bc i cannottt imagine the hate for the ship after the finale. anyway i love her so this would just crush me

overall!!!

dead: steve, jonathon, el, karen wheeler, murray

alive: max, lucas, will, mike, nancy, hopper, joyce

i think that the death of steve, jonathon, and el will really affect the part allowing for victory, yet being able to look back and see all of the people that were lost

the suffer brothers have a light hand on deaths so i doubt there will be too many main character causalities this season

i hope that will byers will have his happy ending and be able to love freely and not be tied down to what confined him

joyce and hopper need to go to enzo’s before either of them pass because otherwise i will sue. i could see a post apocalyptic scene with them eating canned spaghetti there together and then one of them dying, but i think a hopper death would be boring and a joyce death too cruel

as i stated earlier i need max and lucas to go on a movie date where lucas explains what’s happening on screen