#and we lift our faces damp and hopeful‚ new-washed by morning

[aeide-thea]

i only ever experience dawn from the wrong side but even so there's always something at least a little heart-lifting abt the imperceptible yet inexorable paling of the world (ey says, having managed to describe it in a way that instead makes it sound like a fascist social manifesto) and the first determined little bird calling out like a newspaper guy <3

[hrina]

Be Sweet, Pt. I

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M (minors dni!) WORD COUNT: 6k

hey everyone! here's part one of my new enemies-to-lovers series :) this fic will be five parts in total, but i'm only posting the first part on tumblr. you'll be able to read the rest of it on patreon if you wanna sign up!

as always, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated. i love hearing your thoughts! enjoy.

~*~

August 27th, 2021

“Who’s opening tomorrow?”

Ella scrubs a wet rag across the table closest to the door. You cast a furtive glance up at her, flipping absentmindedly through the jumble of papers on the counter in front of you. Nick’s messy scrawl catches your eye, and you pause, reading the haphazard comment written at the bottom of the page.

Customer requested a very specific shade of pink trim. See back for details.

You flip the order, scoffing at the Pantone strip taped to the other side. The square labelled Quartz Pink has been singled out, encircled in bright red. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Alice and Olly, I think,” you say, shoving the form to the bottom of the pile.

“That’s good,” Ella grunts, returning the napkin holder and the sugar dispenser back to their spots on the table. “And you’ll swing by sometime during the afternoon?”

“Yeah,” you say, drumming your fingers over the papers. “I’m gonna help Olly in the back. You know how much he hates dealing with fondant.”

“How could I forget?” Ella rolls her eyes, smiling to herself. You grimace when she tosses the damp cloth in your direction. It lands on the counter with a loud splat! You nudge it away with your elbow, shaking your head.

“Gross.”

“You’re gross,” Ella says.

“I’m lovely,” you reply. She grins.

“Where’s Alex taking you tonight?” you ask, changing the subject. Her eyes light up instantly, and she clasps her hands together against her chest.

“It’s a surprise,” she says, giggling girlishly.

You groan. “I hate surprises.”

“It’s a good thing he’s not your boyfriend, then, isn’t it?” she retorts. You snicker, and she continues: “He told me we should stop off at home to change, though, so I’m guessing that wherever it is, there’s a dress code.”

“Ooh, fancy.”

“Right?” She twists her wrist, peeking at her watch. “He should have been here by now. It’s already a quarter past seven.”

“The hospital is just down the street,” you remind her, organising the mountain of orders into a neat stack. “Give him another five minutes.”

She nods. You spin on your heel and push through the door leading to the backroom of the bakery. The large space is split into two sections: on your right, there’s a wall of ovens, and a cluster of metal racks filled with pale, unprocessed dough. On your left, tables and counters lined with all sorts of decorating necessities—piping bags, spatulas, scrapers, turntables. You make your way toward the small cabinet perched against the nearest wall and pull out the top drawer, sliding the orders inside. Olly should have no trouble locating them tomorrow morning.

When you return to the front of the shop, Ella is locked in a passionate embrace with a gangly, dark-haired man. You recognise him immediately.

“Doctor Dao,” you call out, resting your elbows on the counter. “Did you at least wash your hands before putting them all over my best friend?”

Alex and Ella break apart swiftly, but he keeps one arm wrapped around her waist. “Hey, cookie,” he says, flashing you an apologetic grin. “Didn’t see you there.”

You arch one brow, lips curling into an amused smirk. “I’ll say.”

Only then do you catch sight of the other man lingering by the door, and your smile quickly morphs into an irritated frown. Harry is watching you with twinkling eyes, like he knows the effect his presence has on you. How could he not? You don’t try to hide your disdain, especially when it comes to him.

“Harry,” you say curtly, lifting your chin in stubborn acknowledgement.

He brings two fingers to his temple—a mock-salute. “Sweetheart.”

You clench your jaw. God, he makes your blood boil. Rather than responding, you turn back to Alex, who is now smoothing his palms over Ella’s silky brown hair. “You’re late,” you tell him. “You were supposed to be here when we closed.”

“Sorry, cookie,” Alex says, and he sounds like he means it. “My last surgery of the day had a few…complications.”

You purse your lips as the annoyance melts away. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods, blowing out a heavy breath. He looks tired. “We figured it out.”

“That’s good.”

Alex directs his attention back to Ella, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Just let me grab my bag.”

“Cool,” he says. “You don’t mind if we drop Harry off at his place, right? His car is fucked, apparently.”

Ella’s grey eyes widen. She peers over her boyfriend’s shoulder at Harry. “What happened?”

Harry waves away her concerns, chuckling quietly. He tugs on the collar of his blue scrubs, and you can’t stop your gaze from trailing across the plethora of tattoos inked into his arm. Your nose wrinkles at the sight. He looks ridiculous. What kind of doctor would agree to don such outrageous body art?

“He’s being dramatic,” Harry says, shooting Alex a pointed glare. “My car’s at the shop right now, but I’ll have it back by tomorrow evening at the latest.”

“Oh.” Ella relaxes. “Okay, that’s great. Babe—” She turns to Alex. “—when are our reservations?”

“Eight-thirty,” Alex says. “Plenty of time.”

“Awesome,” she chirps. She scurries around the counter and playfully bumps her hip against yours. “My purse is in the back. Give me one second.”

And then she’s gone.

You stare at Alex, fighting a clever smile. “Tonight’s the night, huh?” you murmur, quiet enough so that there’s no chance of Ella overhearing.

He beams, shouldering his knapsack and dragging his sweaty palms down the front of his shirt. His scrubs are a light purple, you note. The shade compliments his dark skin.

“Yeah,” he replies, gnawing anxiously on his bottom lip. “She’ll say yes, right?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. “Of course she will.”

Just then, Ella bursts through the door, her leather purse swinging wildly against her waist. “Alright!” She claps once, striding over to you and planting a wet, sloppy kiss onto your cheek. “I’m off.”

“Bye,” you say, wiping her saliva from your face with the back of your hand. “Have fun.”

Alex waves at you as she tugs him out of the bakery. “See you later, cookie.”

You wink. “See you.”

Harry is the last one to leave. He glances at you momentarily, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smug smile. The look makes you bristle. He’s absolutely infuriating.

“Got any leftover almond croissants?” he asks. Silent laughter taints every word.

You point to the exit. “Get out.”

He bows his chin in farewell, approaching the door. “Sweetheart.”

“Asshole,” you reply flatly. Now that your friends are out of earshot, you’re under no obligation to tolerate him. Sometimes, you find yourself actually craving his company, just so you can drop the pretence and really give him a piece of your mind. You’re a mature adult, and you won’t ruin a social gathering because of one presumptuous dickhead, but everyone has their limits. You don’t owe him shit.

Harry chuckles to himself, and you clench your fists at your sides. He shoots you one last maddening smirk before disappearing out the door. You rush forward, latching it swiftly and ensuring that the sign against the glass reads ‘CLOSED’. Once you’ve successfully locked up, you march into the back of the shop, plucking your own purse off one of the metal counters and tugging it over your shoulder. You shut the light and return to the front, scanning the clean tables, the empty display cases, the shades drawn over the windows. Shards of the sunset stream through the cracks in the blinds, casting orange stripes along the floor.

All clear, a voice in your head whispers, and you sigh.

Finally—you can go home.

August 28th, 2021

Quick, frantic knocking rouses you from your sleep. Blearily, you sit up on the mattress, knuckling at your puffy eyes. The hardwood floor is cold against the soles of your feet when you climb out of bed. You shiver.

The insistent clamour continues as you pad down the hallway. You tug at the hem of your worn, baggy t-shirt, concealing your midriff. Ella wastes no time after you open the front door, surging past the threshold and vaulting herself into your arms.

“He proposed!” she squeals as the two of you stagger backward. You freeze, remembering Alex’s plans from the day before. His apprehension, too—the way he wiped his clammy palms against his scrubs and anxiously dug his teeth into his bottom lip. Shock ebbs and flows through your veins for a fraction of a second, but then you’re sweeping Ella into a tight hug, rocking your bodies from side to side.

“Oh my God,” you say. Excitement festers beneath the murky exhaustion clouding your mind. “He did it.”

Ella steps back, brows knitting together in bewilderment. “You knew?” When you nod, she scoffs, aiming a half-hearted swat at your bicep. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?” you retort, rolling your eyes at the demand. “Come on. Let’s see it.”

A bright grin stretches across her lips, and she holds up her left hand, wiggling her fingers keenly. You spy the ring resting on the fourth digit: a simple platinum band topped with a large, clear diamond. Grey morning light bounces off the gemstone, and it winks at you as if it knows something that you don’t.

“Gorgeous,” you breathe, gripping Ella’s wrist to bring her hand closer. You scrutinize the ring carefully, smiling to yourself. “He’s got good taste.”

“Doesn’t he?” she gushes, beaming like an idiot. You beckon her into the kitchen, and she collapses onto one of the tall stools positioned in front of the marble island. A quick glance at the digital clock on the stove reveals that it’s only eight in the morning. You groan, rubbing gentle circles against your temples.

“I was hoping I’d get to sleep in today,” you say, lips curling into a wry smirk.

Ella shoots you a sheepish, apologetic smile, sliding her purse off her shoulder and placing it on the counter. “I’m sorry, cookie. I couldn’t wait.”

“I’m just kidding,” you tell her, floating around the room to prepare a pot of coffee. “So…how did he do it?”

She launches into a frenzied retelling of the night before. Alex brought her to the same restaurant they’d visited four years ago on their first date. They ordered their food and made conversation. Things proceeded as usual until the end of the meal, at which point Alex set his napkin down on the table and excused himself to the restroom. Two minutes later, the waiter arrived with the bill. Ella accepted it graciously, scanning the thin paper and pausing at the question scrawled at the very bottom of the slip. When she snapped her head up, searching for her boyfriend in the crowded dining area, she found him kneeling a few feet away from her chair, a small velvet box nestled securely in his steady hands.

“I started crying immediately,” she tells you, groaning at the memory. “I couldn’t keep it together. It was so embarrassing.”

You toss your head back and laugh. Despite the crimson blush staining her cheeks, she joins in. The coffeemaker beeps, signalling that the pot is ready. You fetch two mugs from the cupboard and fill them with dark liquid. Ella accepts her drink eagerly, blowing cool air across its surface. You grimace as she takes a tentative sip—you’ve never understood her penchant for unsweetened black coffee. Sugar and cream are a must.

“I’m so happy for you, El,” you tell her, stirring a small spoon around your mug. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.”

Her eyes grow damp. You snicker quietly, reaching across the island and swiping your thumb beneath her bottom lashes. She catches your hand and kisses your knuckles softly, clearing her throat.

“Will you—?” She releases a shuddering breath. “Will you be my maid of honour?”

You stiffen at her request. Her gaze rakes over your face, like she’s searching for any clue as to how you might respond. At last, your shoulders sag in relief, and an ecstatic smile splits across your cheeks.

“Of course,” you say, voice thick. Tears gather in your own eyes, but you blink them back furiously. “I would love nothing more.”

She sets her coffee down and skirts around the counter, yanking you into another bone-crushing hug. You grin as she presses a handful of sloppy kisses to the side of your head. Her elbow knocks against your abandoned mug, and a few drops of coffee spill down the side of the cup. You laugh at her enthusiasm, pulling back and sweeping your hands over her silky hair.

“It’s probably way too soon, but have you guys started discussing anything?” you ask, arching one eyebrow.

Ella flushes pink, averting her gaze. “Um…when we got home, there wasn’t really much of a discussion going on.”

You cackle, poking at her ribs. “Oh, he gave it to you good, didn’t he? It’s a miracle that you’re not limping right now.”

“Be quiet,” she yelps, stamping her eyes shut.

You lift your hands and shoot her a teasing smirk. “I’m not judging, okay? If anything, I’m living vicariously through your various sexual conquests. It’s been months since I last got any action.”

“Maybe that should change,” Ella says, folding her arms over her chest. “You and Harry could probably fuck out your frustrations. His dick is huge, apparently.”

You balk. “Ella!”

She shrugs, grey eyes widening comically. “What? Alex told me!”

You snort, but say nothing. She watches you cautiously, examining your features for any signs of acquiescence. Any indication that you might actually be considering her lewd suggestion. You almost gag.

“Why do you hate him so much, anyway?” Ella asks, flicking an invisible speck of lint off her shoulder. “You’re not still hung up on that fiasco with the almond croissant, are you?”

“I’m not doing this with you again,” you say, and she sighs.

“Okay, I’m sorry. But can you at least try to be civil while we plan the wedding? For my sake.”

After mulling over her words, you slouch in defeat. “Fine. But only for you,” you say, throwing a stern finger in her face.

She beams. “Thank you.” Something dirty flashes behind her pale eyes. “And if you do end up sleeping with him, I want all the details.”

You shove her gently and scoff. She laughs.

“Honestly,” you start, shaking your head, “it doesn’t matter how huge his dick is. I’d rather walk across hot coals than let somebody like him climb into my bed.”

“What makes you think it wouldn’t be the other way around?” Ella snickers. You glare at her, but she just steps back, raising her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, fine. Have it your way. But I’m expecting you to find someone in time for the big day. Don’t let your plus-one go to waste.”

You roll your eyes, thoroughly unconvinced. “Noted.”

September 2nd, 2021

“Olly!” you call, sticking your head into the backroom. “Ella and I are going on our lunch break, but Leyla will be here in, like, twenty minutes. You going to be okay by yourself until then?”

Olly doesn’t even bother looking over his shoulder, too busy piping little flowers along the sides of the rectangular cake laid out in front of him. He lifts one hand, waving away your concerns before running his palm over his short blue hair. He buzzed and dyed it just last week after claiming that he couldn’t stand how the long brown curls stuck to the nape of his neck. It took a few days to get used to the change, but now that the initial shock has faded, you have to admit that he looks great.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Olly says, putting the finishing touches on the cake. He sets his piping bag down and turns toward you, wiping his palms against his red apron. His left ear bears a swirl of shiny silver piercings. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Thanks,” you say, flashing him a small smile. He returns it, and then you’re spinning on your heel and letting the door swing shut behind you.

You find Ella waiting outside the bakery. She urges you along, and you squawk at her impatience.

“What’s the rush?” you ask, falling into step with her as you both amble down the sidewalk. “We have forty-five minutes.”

“I don’t want Alex’s sandwich to get cold,” she explains, holding up the small paper bag clutched in her right hand. You snort.

The two of you make it to Ridgefield Hospital in record time, mostly because Ella grips your arm and gives it a forceful tug whenever you start lagging behind. You walk through the automatic doors, ignoring the row of ambulances parked outside. The secretaries sitting at the front desk shoot you a few distracted smiles—they’ve all grown accustomed to your frequent visits by now.

Ella babbles endlessly as you enter the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor and waiting as the metal doors slide shut.

“I want to ask Alice and Leyla to be part of the bridal party, but I’m scared the guys will feel bad if Alex doesn’t choose them as his groomsmen. Like, I think they’d understand, considering I work with the girls and we’re all pretty close, but I don’t know.” She nudges you with her elbow. “What do you think?”

“I think you should do whatever the fuck you want,” you tell her, shrugging. “It’s your wedding. And I don’t think Olly, Marcus, or Nick will mind if they’re not part of the bridal party. Olly doesn’t care about that stuff, and Marcus and Nick already have their hands full with their jobs at the bakery. Plus, they know Alex has his own friends—not just the ones he’s met through you.”

Ella nibbles on her bottom lip, her head bobbing in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You lay a placid hand on her shoulder. “You’re already overthinking this. You’ve only been engaged for a week. Enjoy it.”

She shoots you a grateful smile just as the elevator dings and the doors glide open, and the two of you step out onto the hospital’s paediatric floor. It’s a stark contrast to the other sections of the building. Instead of barren white walls, these ones are painted with all sorts of pretty, colourful decorations—flowers, rainbows, sunsets, animals. A massive sign in front of you denotes the different divisions on the floor and where to find them: the ICU, the operating rooms, the palliative unit, the psychiatry wing, and the oncology department. You and Ella turn right, making the familiar trek to Alex’s office.

“He should be on his lunch break, too,” she says. “Unless they paged him for another emergency surgery.”

You hum in response.

Sure enough, you find Alex at his desk, twirling a blue pen between his fingers as he pores over the stack of papers in front of him. Ella knocks gently against the open door, and his face lights up when he spies her standing in the threshold. He moves quickly, crossing the room in five long strides, and plants a searing kiss onto her lips. You look away, rocking awkwardly on the balls of your feet.

“Hey,” Alex murmurs after he and Ella break apart. That’s when he notices you behind her. “Hey, cookie.”

“Hey,” you reply. You toss your thumb over your shoulder. “I’m just going to—you know, the usual.”

He nods.

The last thing you see before you turn around is Ella holding up the brown paper bag, and Alex’s face splitting into a bright, easy smile.

You meander through the halls, trailing your fingers over the rich artwork covering the walls. The end of the corridor cleaves in two; you turn left and enter a large atrium. The ceiling is high and peppered with skylights. A small cafeteria sits off to the side, clusters of families chatting and laughing together as they eat. Children sprint around the space, their arms outstretched. Some of them are dressed in normal clothes—others don pale hospital gowns, their skinny legs bared for all to see. You wrench your attention away from them, fixing it instead on the far wall.

Slowly, you cross the room, surveying the vibrant handprints stamped against the plaster. There has to be hundreds of them, you think. They vary in size—some are so tiny you could cry. Colour becomes scarcer the higher you go—the youngest children are too short to reach those levels, obviously—but still. The sight takes your breath away. You visit this mural every time you find yourself at the hospital, and every time, you unearth a new detail that you hadn’t noticed before.

You walk along the length of the wall, dragging your fingertips across the dry, smooth paint. Purples and pinks and oranges and blues. Reds, greens, yellows, browns. Each handprint is a person—a pair of little feet that scuffled over this very floor, a blank story that had yet to unfold. Briefly, you wonder how many survived whatever illnesses plagued them, and how many succumbed to their conditions. The thought makes your throat grow tight with emotion, so you quickly shove it aside.

Ten minutes pass before you’re leaving the mural behind and heading back the way you came. You’ve just rounded the corner when a strong, solid body barrels into you. You grunt at the impact, smacking one palm against the wall to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you start, lifting your head to meet the stranger’s gaze. “I wasn’t paying—oh.”

Harry smirks, his green eyes glittering with mirth once he recognises you. You purse your lips, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“Harry,” you say, nodding stiffly.

He folds his arms over his chest. “Sweetheart.”

His brown hair is tousled, and his biceps strain against the white button-up adorning his torso. Black slacks cover his legs, and he’s wearing a pair of pristine leather shoes, ones that look like they might’ve cost a month’s worth of rent. Your teeth grate together noisily. The sound echoes in your ears.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, as though the two of you are old friends. You want to scoff—you’d rather stick your hand in an oven than make idle conversation with him.

“Visiting Alex,” you say tightly, stepping back. “Ella brought him lunch.”

At that, Harry straightens. “Ella’s here?”

“Yes.”

“I wish I’d run into her,” he murmurs, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

You throw him a scowl. “Asshole.”

Harry cocks one eyebrow, tilting his chin haughtily. “Forgive me if I prefer her company to yours. At least she doesn’t treat me like I’m some insufferable bastard.”

“Maybe if you stopped being such an insufferable bastard, I wouldn’t treat you like one,” you shoot back, planting your hands on your hips. You tense as Harry’s gaze rakes down your body—head to toe, like he’s sizing up an opponent. His nose wrinkles in disdain, and you fight the urge to deliver a sharp, backhanded slap across that pretty, perfect face.

Harry opens his mouth, and you brace yourself for whatever retort he has prepared. What comes out is nothing overtly nasty, but it is enough to make you want to shrink away and curl into yourself until you wink out of existence.

“You smell like yeast,” he says, and tosses in a derisive sniff just for the added effect.

You recoil as the words slam into you, blinking in shock.

Asshole. Rude, arrogant, condescending asshole.

“I own a bakery,” you grit out. Harry shrugs, but says nothing else. Your lips flap wordlessly as he pushes past you, his shoulder bumping against yours. You watch him go, massaging the tender spot on your arm with shaky fingers. Your eyes fall to his ass for only a moment before skittering away, and a hollow laugh catches in your throat.

What a fucking prick.

September 17th, 2021

“Attention, everyone!” Ella stands at the head of the table, clinking her fork delicately against her glass. “I wanted to make a little toast.”

The conversation around you tapers off into silence. You sit back in your chair, focussing on your best friend. She looks splendid in her pretty blue dress, her dark hair twisted into an elaborate knot at the nape of her neck. She peers around the room, chewing nervously on the inside of her cheek. When her gaze locks with yours, you grant her a tiny, encouraging nod.

She beams, her next words imbued with renewed enthusiasm. “I wanted to thank all of you for coming here tonight to celebrate our engagement with us.” She holds out her hand, and Alex presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “We’re so grateful to be sharing this milestone with such a wonderful group of people.”

You inspect the other guests gathered around the table. To your right sit Alice and Leyla, the first employees you hired when you were trying to get your business up off the ground. It’s odd seeing them like this—poised and elegant, looking nothing at all like they do during the long, arduous shifts at the bakery. Alice’s blond hair has been fashioned into an intricate braid, and Leyla’s brown eyes are lined with dark kohl and smoky eyeshadow. They clean up nice, you must admit.

Next to Leyla: Ella’s older sister, Hillary. They have the same piercing grey eyes, though Hillary’s hair is a shade lighter. You didn’t miss the sour expression that trundled across her face when you waltzed into Alex and Ella’s condo. She’s jealous, you think. Jealous that Ella chose you as her maid of honour instead of her. You’ve been ignoring her resentful glares for the better half of the night, letting her bitterness pass over you like a cloud. Whatever her problem is, it’s clear that the issue lies between her and her sister. You’re not getting in the middle of that.

It doesn’t help that she’s been fawning over Harry all evening. Upon witnessing her coquettish behaviour, you glanced at Ella, brows raised, but your best friend just rolled her eyes and yielded a helpless shrug of her shoulders. At least the attraction didn’t appear to be one-sided—that would have been humiliating, you think—because Harry gave as good as he got, chuckling sincerely and flirting right back. You had to suppress the urge to retch, and sent out a quiet prayer of gratitude when Ella and Alex sat them as far away from each other as possible at the beginning of the meal.

On the opposite side of the table: Alex’s groomsmen—Milo, Sasha, and Connor. You’ve been in their company a few times, mainly on birthdays and other special occasions. According to Alex, they all met when Milo accidentally vomited during their very first anatomy lesson at medical school. Milo insists that the putrid smell of the cadavers was simply too awful to bear, but everyone else claims that he just couldn’t stand the idea of being so close to a dead body. No matter the truth, the story always makes you giggle. The four of them have been good friends ever since.

The five of them, you remind yourself as your gaze settles on Harry, who is lounging in the chair directly across from you.

Harry—Alex’s best friend. Harry—Alex’s best man.

You wanted to rip your hair from your scalp when Ella broke the news. Several images flashed through your head all at once. You and Harry inching rigidly down the aisle, arms linked. You and Harry donning the same colours, your gown complimenting the spry flower pinned to the lapel of his suit. You and Harry flanking Ella and Alex while they recite their vows, glaring daggers at each other behind your friends’ backs. Even now, the mere thought of it has you biting down on an exasperated groan.

You don’t realise that you’ve zoned out until the faint quirk of Harry’s mouth catches your eye. You blink once to yank yourself from your daze, and clench your jaw when you find him staring at you with an amused look on his face. He places his elbows against the arms of the chair and clasps his hands together. Unmistakable smugness emanates from him, as if he somehow managed to crawl inside your mind and saw exactly what you were envisioning. Your nostrils flare, and you fix your attention back on Ella, who has reached the end of her speech.

“Cheers,” she says, holding up her glass. The champagne inside sloshes and fizzles temptingly. Would she allow you to chug the entire bottle, if you asked?

Everyone around the table mirrors her movements, raising their own drinks and touching them together lightly. Quiet, delicate clanking fills the room, and the friendly chatter resumes. You nudge Ella with your elbow, shooting her a proud smile. “That was great, El.”

She beams. “Thanks, cookie.” She then picks up her fork and motions to the plate in front of her, piled high with seasoned chicken and steaming, roasted vegetables. “Let’s eat.”

~*~

“Are you sure you’ve got him?” Alex asks Sasha, gesturing to the very inebriated Connor wobbling at his side.

Sasha wraps one arm around their friend, letting Connor rest his full weight against him. He bares two rows of perfect ivory teeth, flashing a wicked grin. “Yeah. Besides, I’ve been meaning to pay him back for the shit he pulled at the barbecue last month. There’s a Sharpie in my car.”

“You’re going to draw a dick on his face, aren’t you?” Alex muses.

“Obviously.”

With that, Alex bids them both farewell, shutting the door and heaving a dramatic sigh. Ella approaches him after a moment, hooking her chin over his shoulder and murmuring something indiscernible into his ear. He chuckles softly.

“Didn’t peg you as the voyeur type, sweetheart,” a low voice says from behind you.

You jump, whirling around and coming face-to-face with Harry. He’s got a green washcloth slung over his left shoulder—the shade brings out his eyes, a traitorous voice in your head whispers—and his arms are folded neatly across his chest. Your gaze falls to the collar of his black button-up, where he’s undone the first two discs, leaving his sternum exposed. Tendrils of ink peek out from beneath the dark material.

You frown and take a step back, putting distance between your bodies. “You’re such an asshole.”

“So I’ve heard.” His lips twitch, and he rolls up his sleeves. “Now, if you’re done ogling them like a lovestruck puppy, I could use some help in the kitchen.”

You grit your teeth, but follow him into the other room. Harry grabs the rag hanging over his shoulder and holds it out for you. You snatch it from his fingers without a word, and the two of you take up residence in front of the sink. Harry plunges his hands into the soapy water, rinsing the dishes thoroughly before passing them to you. You stand as far away from him as possible while you dry each plate, your movements stiff and choppy. This is not how you wanted to finish off the night, but Alex and Ella spent the entire day preparing the food, and it was delicious. The least you can do is spare them the hassle of tidying up.

The tense silence eats at you, until you feel like you might explode. Unable to bear it any longer, you hastily blurt, “Saw you getting pretty cozy with Hillary before dinner.”

Immediately, you want to kick yourself. Where the fuck did that come from?

Harry snorts, shrugging coolly. “We’ve hooked up a few times, but it’s nothing serious.” He shoots you a mischievous grin. “You jealous?”

“Of Hillary?” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Please. The woman’s standards are practically underground. Why else would she be interested in someone like you?”

Harry scowls, and hot satisfaction surges through your veins. Yes, the taunt was mean, but no, you don’t care. “You’re a real bitch sometimes, you know that?” he says.

You flash him a petty, insincere smile. “Only to you.”

He squeezes the yellow sponge nestled in his right hand, scrubbing it forcefully across a dirty plate. “Maybe you should find someone to hook up with. It might help get that stick out of your ass.”

“I have better things to do,” you sneer, narrowing your eyes.

“Better than sex?” He chokes on a derisive laugh.

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Like…things!” you snap, fingers curling into tight fists. “I run my own business, for God’s sake. And I’m going to make Ella’s wedding cake.” You announce the last part proudly, hauling your chin into the air.

Harry, however, looks unimpressed. He shakes his head, blowing out a heavy sigh. “Uh-oh.”

You pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs again, but you detect a hint of malice behind the action. “It’s just…I’ve seen the way you decorate cakes. Ella might be better off going elsewhere—you know, to an actual professional.”

Son of a—

“That’s rich, coming from you,” you say, motioning to the mismatched tattoos littered across his arm. “What would you know about professionalism? It looks like you let a preschooler doodle all over you.”

Harry bares his teeth in a feral grin. “Deflection. I’m not surprised.”

You bristle at his words. “Asshole.”

“You’ll need to get a bit more creative with the insults, sweetheart. I’m growing bored.”

“Is that so?” you say. “I think ‘asshole’ suits you just fine. Maybe you should have become a proctologist instead of a paediatrician.”

“At least I pursued something I was good at. I’m not sure if you can say the same.”

“You fucking—”

“Everything okay in here?” Ella asks, floating into the kitchen. You spin around to conceal your anger, placing your hands against the counter and inhaling deeply. You roll your shoulders back and slap an artificial smile onto your face before turning once more.

“Everything’s fine,” you say, and fake a yawn, covering your mouth with your palm. “I think I’m going to call it a night. I’m exhausted.”

Ella’s bottom lip juts out into a pout. Her red lipstick has faded, leaving only a stain of scarlet in its wake. On cue, Alex walks into the kitchen behind her, setting a steady hand on her hip and cocking his head to the side. “Hey. Everything okay in here?”

You nearly snort. Fucking soulmates.

“All good,” you tell him, nodding brusquely. “I’m just going to finish up with the dishes and head home.”

“Okay.” Alex presses a soft kiss to Ella’s temple, murmuring something about needing to get out of his stuffy clothes. You whirl, drying the last of the plates with frantic, shaky fingers. In your peripheral vision, you spy Harry watching you, but the stupid bastard must possess some scrap of self-preservation, because he keeps his mouth shut. You say nothing else as you whack the rag down onto the counter and stride out of the room.

You don’t miss Alex and Ella’s hushed whispers at the other end of the hall, but a little voice in your head tells you not to interrupt them. You halt at the front door, snatching your purse off one of the metal hooks mounted on the wall. You’re in the middle of putting on your shoes when you hear it:

“I was hoping we could arrange a truce, you know.”

You twist around, palm flying to your chest. Harry is standing a few feet away, his hands still wet with the water from the sink. He clasps them together and ducks his head, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think he was ashamed.

Something vile bubbles in the pit of your stomach. You gnaw on the flesh of your cheek, trying to reel your emotions back in. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of witnessing another outburst.

“Keep your fucking truce,” you spit, and wrench open the door. You shoot him one last withering look before stepping out of the condo and slamming it shut.

[marvelfansince08love]

Hey Neighbour! - Part 7

Word Count: 3K 

Pairing: Ally Mayfair-Richards x Reader 

Warning: Smut at the beginning! 18+ NSFW (you’ve been warned), a little angsty towards the end x

A/N: Well it’s been a hot minute! I hope you enjoy my loves! ♥

Tags: @waitingfortheendtocome @natasha-danvers @creepingwolfberry @coconutlipss @saucy-sapphic @minavenable @pearplate @r0an0ke @mssallymckenna​ @grilledcheeseandguavajelly​ @venablemayfairgoode​ @veteranwerewolf95 @chewbacca0805​ @pluied-ete​ @supremeinlilac​ @nyx-aira​ @witchxaf​ @black--widxw @fireflyglass​ @cordeliafoxxe​ @d14n4ol​ @bluevelvetbitxh @amethyst-bitch​ @lezzzbehonesthere​ @msvenablezcane​ @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog @mooreashes​ @violentwavesofem0tion​ @cordeliass

Not my gif credit to the lovely owner! (Ew Ivy)

Hey Neighbour! - Part 7

Soft hands skimmed over warm skin, gentle whimpers echoed through the dimly lit room as your lips made contact with her neck sucking lightly at the delicate skin beneath feeling her hands grasp tightly at your shoulders. Gently trailing your lips down from her neck towards her chest as your hands find the end of her nightgown pushing the material up towards her hips exposing her bare smooth legs feeling her lift at the hips to help you remove her clothing revealing her red lacy panties and toned stomach, sitting up onto your heels you help her remove the gown completely your eyes trailing over her exposed breasts as she lies back gracefully against the soft pillows the soft light from the night sky basking over her giving her a beautiful glow. 

“God you're beautiful,” you whisper in the air, eyes lifting to lock with brown. Her lips curl into a mischievous grin as she crooked a finger at you beckoning you closer like a siren calling you closer. Brushing your lips against her plump ones you feel her warm breath against your skin. 

“We’ll have to keep quiet,” she reminds you, her voice laced with teasing arousal, almost challenging you to try. Your eyes search vigorously around the room squint in the low light before grinning at your find, lay loosely across her dressing table chair is one of the many ties that Ally has been using for her election talks. Glancing briefly at her you watch as her eyes take in the same thing, both eyes glinting with want. 

“I think that can be arranged,” you promise breathlessly, watching with arousal as she shivers in anticipation biting her top lip to stop herself from giggling as sweet moans fill the dark room and into the morning light. 

***

The feeling of arousal and warmth pools low within your stomach as you begin to fidget, moaning at the welcoming feeling as you start to wake. Your hands instantly reach down to touch the soft brown hair that lays spread in between your legs, a soft tried grin appearing on your face. 

“Well Good Morning to you too,” you groan out, whimpering as Ally’s tongue flicks over your sweet spot before taking the nub into her mouth drawing out a low moan from you in the process. Her eyes flicker up to meet yours as you watch her tongue swirl around your clit enjoying the sweet moans from you as you begin to thrust meeting her upwards stroke, a deep chuckle from her vibrates against your wet spot. 

“Morning, Honey.” she whispers, making her way up your body leaving a wet trail of kisses along your naked body. With her front pressed against your own, you quickly wrap your arms around her waist keeping her close as she lays her hands flat against your chest propping her chin on top of them as she leaves sweet kisses along your jaw before you capture her skilful mouth with your own. 

“Thank you for last night,” Ally murmurs, stroking her index finger across your cheekbone. You frown as your lip twitches tilting your head to the side slightly. 

“Your welcome I guess?” Ally rolls her eyes playfully at your teasing demeanour hitting your shoulder lightly. 

“Idiot, I meant for comforting me at the fair and well being here for me,” she explains, you sombre at her words watching how difficult it is for her to open up about her vulnerability. Leaning forward you kiss the tip of her nose sweetly before rolling her over onto her side making her squeal with laughter at the sudden change of position. Lying on your side facing each other you lace your fingers with hers in comfort. 

“Of course, I really care about you Ally. It’s the least you deserve after everything you’ve been through,” her eyes cast down at your words, making you reach forward to pinch her chin lightly forcing her to lock eyes. 

“I mean it  Ally,” you murmur, a smile graces upon her lips at your adoring expression. Your moment of bliss is rudely interrupted by the sound of feet stomping on the floorboards just outside of Ally’s room making you spring apart reaching blindly for the scattered pieces of clothing on the floor. 

“Mom! Mommy!” The sound of both children’s voices makes you scramble even quick to cover up your decency. 

“Just a minute, sweetie!” Ally shouts, giving you both enough time to dress as quickly as possible .

Trying to hide your giggles you take in Ally’s messy hair, her baggy sweatpants and long T-shirt. The sound of you giggle makes her look over at you, glaring at your giggling state. 

“I’m sorry it’s just you look so cute and I’ve never seen you wear sweatpants before it’s just… endearing,” you tease her, before squealing at the attack by her pillow. 

“For that you can explain to the kids why the door is locked and cook them breakfast while I shower,” she punishes, smiling sweetly at you. Still smirking you head over towards her and kiss her lips briefly. 

“Sure thing, Sweetie.” you mock, winking at her before scurrying for the door as another pillow makes it’s way over towards you, missing you by an inch. 

Quickly leaving the room, you frown when you notice the empty hallway expecting to be jumped the instant you made yourself known to the two. 

“Guys!” you shout, quickly checking both Oz’s room and the guest room finding them empty. Giggling echoes through from downstairs making you smile before heading towards the sound. 

Hiding yourself round the corner you watch the two amusingly as Oz helps Amelia pour the sugary cereal into a bowl both standing on their foot stools. Ally had bought one for Amelia the last time she stayed over for the day to help Ally bake some cookies for her Senator meeting. The thought brings a soft smile to your face, loving the close bond the two have created after only a short period. 

“Ozzy if my mommy loves your mommy does that mean we can be brother and sister?” Amelia asks him, watching as he carefully pours the milk into the bowls, spilling the contents slightly onto the countertop making Amelia reach across for the paper towels wiping the mess. Her question makes you falter slightly from your content state, sure you and Ally were growing closer with each passing day and you were falling hard for the brunette but the doubt of the pace of your relationship gives you pause. Amelia has been growing closer and closer to the Mayfair-Richards family to the point where it could be damaging for her if you and Ally weren’t to work out, especially after your ex had left the both of you alone and without warning. Deciding to make your presence known you enter into the kitchen forcing a big smile. 

“Good morning to the mischievous duo! Oh I didn’t realise you guys were making breakfast!” you exclaim with unusual enthusiasm. 

“Not for you guys silly! We made our own because you were being lazy heads!” Amelia exclaims, as Oz giggles next to her. Raising a joking brow to her you slowly make your way round the counter and capture her in your arms tickling her side as she squeals. 

“No Mommy- stuu- stop!!” she begs through her innocent giggles, deciding she’s suffered enough you let her go, placing her on one of the many breakfast stools to eat her cereal before brushing your hands through Oz’s blonde locks in greeting. 

Pouring yourself a fresh brew, you lean against the countertop watching the pair quietly as they talk about school. Your thoughts still swirling around your head; the doubt, the insecurity. It all overwhelms you and makes you fidgety as you glance towards the hallway at the sound of Ally’s light footsteps as she comes into view dressed in a pair of high waisted jeans and wooly jumper, her brown hair still damp from her shower. The brunette moves instantly towards the young pair as they continue to eat their breakfast kissing both their heads on her way past like it’s the most natural thing to do, not favouring one over the other treating Amelia as if she was her own. The sight only makes your stomach flip as anxiety creeps up into your chest. Ally finally looks over towards you with a smile that falters when she takes in your far away expression, rubbing soothing circles on your back as she sides up next to you. 

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks, worry evident in her voice. You nod a couple of times before clearing your throat. 

“Yeah sorry, I just got caught up with some stuff that I gotta get done today for the gallery,” you reassure her, but her eyes tell you that she doesn’t quite believe you but drops it for now. 

“Okay well I’m free from my Senator duties today if you need any help at the gallery?” she offers, taking hold of your mug and taking a sip. The simple domestic action causes your heart to tighten, conflicted with your current feelings. 

“It’s okay, it’s pretty mundane mainly admin stuff plus my dad is coming to take Amelia out for their usual Grandfather Granddaughter day,” 

“Yes!! I can’t wait, we’re going for some ice cream and he’s teaching how to use my new bike!” Amelia pipes up, excited about her day ahead with her grandfather. 

Ally tries to hide her disappointment with a small smile as she turns her attention onto Amelia who fills Ally in on her typical days out with her grandfather leaving you to awkwardly wash your now finished brew. Turning back to sit at the table the awkward conversation seems to have been brushed aside and forgotten about as Ally asks you about the Gallery and it’s new section full of newly acclaimed artists from around the city. However Ally’s gaze unsettles you as if she can read your thoughts and doubts about your relationship. Deciding you needed to leave to gather your thoughts and process them without her adoring doe-eyes staring at you, you help Amelia change for the day in the guest room and bid your goodbyes. As you step outside onto the porch Amelia gasps forgetting her trusted beanie and racing back inside to grab it from the room leaving you alone with Ally as Oz runs after her. The brunette reaches subtly for your hand, her eyes shifting back and forth as she observes you quietly. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” her words hurt you more than you can describe, filling your chest with guilt hating that this is how you react when you feel cornered and overwhelmed. Pulling her in close you press a short but meaningful kiss to her lips holding her dearly. 

“I’m more than okay… I just- I’m stressed with the gallery is all,” your lie already eating away at you as you watch her relax, that familiar smile from this morning appearing on her lips. 

“Okay good because I thought- actually it doesn’t matter. We’re okay.” she reassures herself, stepping back as small footsteps make their way over towards you both. 

“I found it Mom!” Amelia announces to the group with Oz trailing behind her. Smile down at her as you watch with a heavy heart as Amelia reaches her arms out for Ally almost instantly to say goodbye as Oz does the same with you. Crouching you take the blonde boy into your arms and squeeze him tightly making him giggle. 

“Be good for your mom, yeah?” Oz nods at your request before stepping back leaning against his mother’s side as Amelia does the same with you. Ally blows you a kiss before winking at you playfully making you smile almost painfully before quickly making your way down the steps and towards your own home. 

Once Amelia had been picked up by your dad, you finally let out the tensed breath you had been holding leaning heavily against the front door and for the first time since you moved out here you cried at the potential lost love caused by your own vulnerability.

[quokkacore]

son of wolves III [park chanyeol and byun baekhyun]

summary: your entire life, you've fought bravely to defend the walls of your home from the evil forest spirits of the spearwood trying to destroy it, alongside your family, friends, and your betrothed, baekhyun. until you're infected by the evil that resides in one of these spirits, and you run away from home, before it can spread to those around you. it's in your exile, wandering through the spearwood that you meet the wolf prince, a tall man of hardened eyes, few words, and a fiery temperament, raised by these spirits you've so grown to resent. it's here that you begin to question everything you've ever known, and wonder whether the evil was out here, in the forest, or inside the walls of a place you once called home.

pairings: hunter!baekhyun x reader, wolfprince!chanyeol x reader

genre: reverse princessmononoke!au, ANGST, fluff, slow burn, enemies to lovers, fantasy epic, war au, wolf!au

warnings for this chapter: love bombing, emotional manipulation, non-sexual nudity, themes of infidelity?, mentioned child abandonment, gaslighting, guilt tripping, language, chanyeol is not in this chapter :(, baekhyun is an asshole and has huge mommy issues, reader makes No Good Decisions, mentions of gun violence, baekhyun is a bit forceful with reader at one point, threat of physical abuse(?), emotional abuse, blackmail, reader is drugged, possible non-con? (reader is drugged and baekhyun gives her a kiss on the lips)

song recs: fool of me - say lou lou & chet faker // blinding - florence + the machine // all my pride - black honey // king and queen - exo-cbx // power is power - sza, the weeknd & travis scott

word count: 5.8k

a/n: i’m sorry. i just had to!!! this isn’t the final chapter, i had a last minute idea of giving you guys ONE LAST CLIFFHANGER kjdkfjdk please don’t hate me!! thx to my irl best friend for all of the feedback (if ur reading this hi queen ily) and to @riajae​ for all of the help <3

disclaimer: i do not condone baekhyun’s actions in this chapter and i don’t believe that the real baekhyun would act like this in real life.

story masterlist // main masterlist

chapter three: the return

When you awoke, it felt as if you had never known peace in your life. Because your thoughts were jumbled when they should have been slow and sluggish as you were roused from your sleep. Despite the warmth of the quilts, you felt numb, as if you were still stuck in the cold. 

Your eyelashes fluttered, body stretching across the bed. You’d never felt more out of place in this bed. 

What you should have done was sighed in satisfaction at the bunches of quilts keeping your toes warm. You should have sunk further into the mattress, and buried your nose into Baekhyun’s pillow and taken in his scent after being deprived of it for so long. But as you recalled what had happened, you felt yourself sinking, but not because you were finally in your bed after so long.

Immediately, you understood where you were, what had happened and what had led you here. To a degree, you had an odd sense of coherency you weren't sure a person who had almost died of hypothermia could have. 

You could hear the murmuring behind the door. The sound of Baekhyun's voice mingling with Yixing's coasted through your ears, but you were only able to catch bits and pieces. Your thoughts were too jumbled to latch onto the conversation. 

"When you… was she...?"

"Delirious… didn't understand… anything she said."

"I need to… anything else?"

"No, I think… let you know."

You sat up slowly, when you heard the front door close. Your eyes squeezed shut, and you let out a quiet whine as you stretched your arms.

Your eyes fluttered open, head immediately craning to the pristine, white gauze wrapped around your arm. The bandages made their way around your fingertips, and all the way to your shoulder now. Aside from that, someone had changed your clothes, and now you were wearing clean clothes, at last.

You swallowed harshly, clenching your jaw. As you sat up, the sound of the front door closing made its way to your ears. Then, came the sounds of feet padding across the floor. You tried to move your legs, to stand. They wouldn’t budge, slightly weak. 

The bedroom door opened quietly, as if whoever was trying to open it didn’t want to disturb you. However, once the familiar pair of brown eyes settled on your sitting form, it swung open.

“Y/N,” Baekhyun sighed in relief, striding towards you. You tried to stand, needing to feel his embrace. “Baekhyun—”

Your knees buckled, but he caught you just in time. His hands grasped your waist, and you gasped, bracing to hit the floor facefirst. But you didn’t, instead coming face to face with the man you had so longed for for so long. His face was inches away from yours, his breath slightly ragged. Baekhyun’s eyes seemed to be painted in disbelief, and your heart twisted at the thought—that he seemed to be shocked that you were here, in your home.

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, bruising, desperate. He hummed softly against your lips, out of relief, out of exhilaration, out of heartbreak. Your shoulders slumped, and you almost sagged against him before wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. He lowered you back onto the bed gently, lips not leaving yours. Carefully, his body hovered over yours, cautious to not pin you down or press his weight down on you. 

His hands came up to cradle your face, before gently pulling away. “You idiot,” He huffed lovingly, pressing kisses all over your face, “Do you have any idea how worried I was—”

“Baek—”

He cut you off with another soft kiss before pressing more kisses to your face, “Thought I would never see you again, love…”

“How did you find me?” You murmured, finally gripping his chin and pulling his lips away from your forehead. You met his eyes, which were full of mirth. He caught his breath before finally speaking. 

“Ivan marched right up to the gate a few days ago. We did our best to track his prints in the snow, and branched out when the snow covered them completely. You walked right into our search party the next morning.”

“Wait, how long was I out?” You asked, pushing a stray strand of hair out of his face. His lips turned downwards, eyes turning serious. 

“Y/N, you were out for about two days. We only got back here late last night. You were asleep that entire time. We were all scared we wouldn’t be able to keep you alive long enough before we could come back here, but we managed it, somehow.”

Eyes not straying away from his, you let out a shaky breath. “Baek, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“That doesn’t matter now,” He shushed, quickly rolling off of you. He gathered you in his arms, lifting you like a man would his new wife. “What matters now is that you’re home, and you’re safe, and we’re back together again.”

You nodded, stomach heavy with guilt. Your small smile didn’t seem very convincing, even though you hoped it was. 

Baekhyun led you to the washroom, setting you on the wooden chair, before telling you he’d be right back. He was gone for about fifteen minutes.  

During that time, you crossed your hands in your lap, twiddling your fingers as you sat in silence. Quietly mulling over everything you’d been through for the past few weeks, you leaned back in the chair as emotional exhaustion overtook you.

The curse. The isolation you’d subjected yourself to willingly, at your naivete, the pride that you could negotiate with a god. The cold, the hunger, the loneliness… Chanyeol. Everything he’d said to you, the sensation of his skin on yours... his revelations from that night. Your natural distrust of his words. The uneasiness at the idea that they might be true.

Even if you’d been asleep for just about two days—the sensation of being tired seemed to have seeped into your bones, permeating the air worse than any hate curse ever could. It seemed to wrap itself around your neck, choking you until tears began to fall down your cheeks.

Baekhyun returned some fifteen minutes later, carefully carrying two buckets: one of boiling hot water, the other of cold water. He filled the small basin with both, testing the water with his hand to make sure it wasn’t too hot or cold. 

When he finally turned, he seemed to realize that you were crying. “Oh, my darling,” He said, kneeling in front of your chair, “Come here.”

As if it was second nature, your face buried itself in Baekhyun’s chest, his damp hand coming up to rub up and down your back, the other petting your hair. “I’m sorry,” You sobbed brokenly, hands gripping the white linen of his shirt, “Baek, I’m so sorry. I was wrong, s-so wrong…” 

Baekhyun pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “Maybe you shouldn’t have,” He murmured against your hair, causing a pang of guilt to rack through your chest. “But you’re alive, okay? As long as you’re alive, everything else doesn’t matter. Come on, love, we need to get you cleaned up.”

He pulled away from you, wiping away the tears streaking down your cheeks. His eyes were glassy, and that made it even worse. Your body shook with every cry, vision blurring and lips trembling. 

His voice was gentle. “Don’t cry, Y/N… you’ll make me cry, and then you’ll cry even harder, and then I’ll cry even harder…”

A soft laugh made its way past your lips between your blubbering, and Baekhyun mirrored your laugh. “There’s my girl,” He said lovingly, “Come here. Can I take your clothes off?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice. Wordlessly, he began to undress you. You lifted your arms when he pulled off your shirt, and wiggled your hips when he pulled down your pants. His actions were gentle, tender, intimate, and the familiar hands tending to your body, lifting you up again and placing you into the bath, calmed you substantially. Automatically, you brought your knees up to your chest when he stood up, getting ready to wash you. 

“Can you get in with me?” You asked quietly, voice scratchy and weak. You pouted up at him, eyes still teary, and he put his hands on his hips. He nodded, smiling sympathetically.

“With that look in your eyes, you make it hard to say no."

Quickly, he shed his clothes, setting them onto the chair next to yours, before motioning you to scoot forward. He sat down behind you, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder. You craned your head back to lock eyes with him.

“You keep kissing me,” You murmured.

“Well, I wasn’t able to kiss you for three weeks,” He replied, pressing another kiss to your shoulder, eyes not leaving yours, “I need to make up for lost time.”

“Yeah, well I haven’t been able to bathe in three weeks. If there’s anyone who needs to make up for lost time, it’s me.”

He chuckled at your quip, cupping water with his hands to let it run down your skin. Picking up the soap, he got to work helping you wash. Running the bar down your arms, on your back and around your chest, touch never too heavy.

A few seconds after he started, you opted to speak. With a heavy sigh, you told him just about everything. The first week alone, Chanyeol attacking you, your meeting with the gods. 

“So he is still out there,” Baekhyun muttered when you described Emyr, “Who would have thought.”

You left out certain things, nervously swallowing the urge to question your loyalties. The story about removing the bullet from Sehun was left out.

So was what happened at the hot springs. You remained silent as he washed your hair, which was greasy and matted from weeks of not being cared for properly. You sighed in quiet satisfaction, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of his hands massaging your scalp. When he was finished, he spoke again. 

"So they just made you follow them around all night?" His voice was quiet, tone unreadable. “Love, I don’t think they ever intended on healing you. It sounds like they were stringing you along.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say. In another life, you would have believed him. 

“Baek?”

“Hmm?” His hand grabbed yours gently, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. 

"Would it be so crazy if I thought they weren't?"

He hummed pensively, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly. He remained silent for a long time, and you tried to keep your breath steady. "I wouldn't say… crazy. Maybe a bit too optimistic. It's not… we've been enemies for how long now? Not crazy. Maybe a bit naive. Which I wouldn’t really expect from you, but...”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You murmured quietly, turning your head. Your teary eyes met his unreadable ones. He pursed his lips, shaking his head. “I’m not trying to be mean, love. It just… You have to understand that I told you not to go, and you went anyway. I lost my mind when I woke up that morning. And I’m still… I don’t know. Never mind.” He shook his head, frowning. 

“Baekhyun…” You sounded defeated, turning your torso further back to get a better look at him. 

“Y/N, I just want what’s best for you,” He answered earnestly, straightening the chain of your necklace, “I was worried. I’m sorry if I’m taking that out on you now.”

Looking down, focusing on a mole on his bare chest to avoid his downtrodden gaze, you shook your head. “It’s alright,” You whispered, “You have every right to be angry at me.”

He didn’t rebuke you, shame bubbling in your chest when he pressed a kiss to your forehead instead. “Let’s get you into some new clothes. The Council wanted to see me after this, I’ll bring you along too.”

Wordlessly, you obeyed. He dried and dressed you, hands tracing over your body as if you were gentle porcelain as he draped clean, warm fabric across your skin. When he finished getting himself dressed he walked back over to you and kissed you again. While a few weeks ago you would have killed just to have one of these kisses, now it has simply left you hollow.

You weren’t sure if it was because of the guilt gnawing at your insides or because every time his lips met yours, all you could think of was Chanyeol’s; his skin on yours, the piercing blue of the water, everything that could have been but ultimately wasn’t—because you were both too cowardly to face the truth.

“You ready to go?” His hands made his way to your cheeks, gazing at you tentatively, warmly. Like he was scared that at any moment, you’d break away and run off even if he begged you not to. 

And you nodded, too exhausted to argue, even though all you wanted was to curl up in bed and ask him to hold you while you cry. Maybe if he held you for long enough, these feelings would go away and you would forget about everything that happened to you in that forest. But you didn’t, and he didn’t ask you if you wanted to stay. 

So you took his hand, and he helped you out the door. 

To say the Council was furious was an understatement. You thought you’d be given a reprieve when your father rushed to you and crushed you in a hug. He didn’t say anything, but when he pulled away, his eyes were glassy. 

But that seemed to be the extent of their mercy. You were berated for a good fifteen minutes, going on about how your escape was an insult to the military prowess, about how you had disobeyed a direct order, that if it were anyone else, they would have been tried for treason and abandonment. 

You let them go on, not finding the energy within you to protest. You were already feeling as low as you thought possible, and doubted they could make you feel even worse.

Oh, how wrong you were. 

“You say you met the old gods?”

You sighed, nodding. “I was forced to work for Selyne’s sons when I did find them.”

“What of the wolf rider?” One of the men asked, “Does he speak? What did you find out about him.”

Clenching your jaw, you decided to test the waters. “He told me his name and the names of his brothers. His name is Chanyeol.”

“He can communicate with the wolves?” An elderly woman asked, and you nodded tentatively. You needed to be very careful with your next words. If you revealed you could communicate with them also, you were done for. You would be tried for treason for sure. Maybe even witchcraft. 

But you couldn’t shake the idea that you were wrong. Not because of everything you’d been through, but because of what you’d told Baekhyun. That you were wrong to go out there. With every word spoken, you felt a growing sense of unease, an urge to protect the wolves, the Spearwood, and everything it stood for.

“From what I saw and heard, yes. But it’s… strange. He spoke out loud to them, and I couldn’t hear their responses. I asked him how. He said it was because he’s connected to the she-wolf, and as a result, to the other creatures of the forest as well.”  

They asked if he was from here or from somewhere else. You knew it didn’t matter. At the end of the day, they saw him as human, so it didn’t matter. He would be considered a traitor regardless. 

“He told me he was born in the forest. That’s all I know.”

There was a pause in the conversation, only perking up when Jongdae spoke up. “He said he’s connected to Selyne,” He pointed out, “What would happen if she were to die?”

Suddenly, the air in the room changed, and your stomach dropped. 

“He would have to lose his connection to the forest.” Minseok seemed to catch on to what Jongdae was saying. “On top of that, we get rid of one of their leaders. It would be a huge dent in their morale and strategy. That could give us the upper hand.”

Your father nodded. “Y/N, you know the forest better than any of us now. If you worked with the wolves, you must have seen their den.”

“I was with the pr—her sons. She lived in another den… I didn’t see it.” 

“Still, you’re our upper hand,” Baekhyun said, looking slightly hopeful. It made your stomach churn. “If you were able to survive for so long on your own, we could plan a military campaign and invade. We’re stronger in numbers.” 

  The chatter started up again, discussing possible strategies, and it became too much. You felt a ripple in your arm, but you managed to hold it back. 

“No.” 

The chatter died down as quickly as it had started, and everyone turned to look at you. Your heart began to pound in your chest, your palms turning clammy. “They… they said once they’d be willing to negotiate a truce. They’re just as scared as we are, as tired of the war as we are, and they just want peace—”

"We have an opportunity to get rid of them once and for all, so we can finally expand our home and reap the benefits of having the forest for ourselves," A man told you, "You wish for us to let it slip through our fingers?"

Swallowing, you shook your head. This wasn’t what you wanted to happen. "I don't think it's wise for us to simply invade, when both sides want the same thing—"

“Hold on, so they want peace but then they decided to ambush us one day?” Baekhyun said, sounding a bit louder. You didn’t like the accusatory tone in his voice.

“They wouldn’t have ambushed us if you hadn’t shot Sehun!”

Baekhyun’s head shot back, eyes widening. He was silent for a moment, eyes darting back and forth before he could speak again. But your father beat you to it.

“Y/N, who is Sehun?”

“The wolf that bit me that day,” You admitted. “He got shot. The wound got infected, and that’s what he spread to me. I pulled out the bullet myself—they forced me to.” 

Your head turned to Baekhyun, who had interlocked his fingers and whose eyes were dark and unreadable. “Chanyeol said that you were the target that day, because you were the one that shot him.”

“So you’re just going to take that—that creature’s word over mine?” Baekhyun’s voice was low, bordering on angry, “Really, Y/N?”

“I’m not saying that I believe him, I’m just saying that if one of us hadn’t—”

“It sure sounds like you do,” Jongdae snapped.

“—Provoked them, we wouldn’t be—”

“Enough!”

Your father’s voice rang through the room, and suddenly, you could hear a pin drop. The look on everyone’s faces gave it away. You had just made a fatal mistake.

“We’ll take a recess,” Your father said, glaring at you, “Baekhyun, take Y/N back to the house. Keep her there and when you return we’ll resume discussing strategies. Clearly, three weeks of wandering through the cold have made her unwell.”

“What?” You cried, incredulous. Baekhyun stood, walking towards you, cautiously gripping your arm. "Come on, love, let's go."

"No!" You tugged your arm out of his grip, "You can't do this, it's not safe and it's not smart—"

“Clearly, she’s gone mad from the cold and the isolation! How can we believe anything she says?” The old woman from before you was scowling at you, “Get her out of this room. Immediately.”

 “How dare you,” You fired back, “After everything I’ve done for this Council you would just—”

But Baekhyun was pulling you away anyway, and within a matter of minutes, you were back inside the walls of what was once your home. Baekhyun didn’t let go as he tugged you over the threshold, leading you towards the bedroom. 

“Baekhyun, let me go,” You demanded, still trying to pull away, “Byun Baekhyun, let me go! You’re not listening to me—”

“Why should I listen to you?” He snapped as he shoved you into the bedroom, pushing you to sit on the bed. 

“Because I know what happened to me in there! I’m not crazy! I’m—”

“We will discuss this when I come back from the meeting. My word is final.”

He looked furious, which completely caught you off guard. He seemed to be sneering at you when he slammed the door, shaking his head.

Then, you heard a soft click, and your blood ran cold. You shot up, darting towards the door, jiggling the knob.

He had locked you inside. You banged on the door. “Baek! Baekhyun, let me out! Let me out, please, Baek.” 

You heard the front door slam, and the next thing you knew, you had collapsed to the floor, sobbing, clutching the knob like a lifeline. 

  How long you stayed like that was a mystery. Eventually, your tears dried up, and your wailing quieted. What you were left with were a hollow interior, a growling stomach and a pounding head. You craned your neck to look at the bedroom, which was slowly getting darker as the afternoon stretched into the evening. 

Your eyes landed on a chair you hadn’t previously noticed in the morning. Draped over it were the clothes you had worn for the past few weeks, undoubtedly dirty. Making your way over to the chair, you picked up the shirt. When you lifted it you crinkled your nose, the smell of dried sweat and blood making its way to your nostrils. Had you really smelled like this the entire time?

Shoving the thought to the back of your mind, you looked in the pockets of the shirt until you found it: a small opal dangling from a chain of gold. 

You weren’t sure what to tell Baekhyun. Hell, you weren’t sure if you should tell him at all. He’d always been quite sensitive when it came to his mother. 

And to tell him now, with the way he was acting… 

You stared at the small stone, silently cursing Baekhyun and Chanyeol’s father. If you hadn’t been such a dick, I wouldn’t be in this situation.

Thinking over everything that was said in the Council meeting was painful. It didn’t help the pounding in your head. How you’d been called mad, and you’d been effectively silenced by the people who would easily listen to you in the past. 

You considered what they might be discussing right now. Because you knew they wanted the forest for themselves, to strip it barren and use it to build an empire. Your hands tightened around the necklace when you realized it.

This war wasn’t being fueled by fear. Not on this side, at least. It was greed, pure human greed, and it wouldn’t stop unless a major change happened. 

You didn’t hear the front door open, but you heard the padding of feet headed towards the bedroom door. You shot up, shoving the necklace into your pocket as the lock clicked, and then the door swung open.

Baekhyun’s eyes fell on you, standing right across from you. There was an odd mix of contempt and satisfaction in his eyes. You’re not an idiot. You knew which one of those emotions was reserved for you.

“I brought you some food,” He murmured, “I figured you might be hungry.”

Nodding, you sheepishly put your hands in your pockets, and trudged over to him. Baekhyun led you to the small dinner table, where he’d set down two bowls of soup, which he must have bought from Mrs Yang’s tavern. He was silent the entire time, watching you as you scarfed down the soup. The taste was as rich as ever, but this time there was a new kick to it. You also ate the bread roll you’d picked up from the basket in the middle of the table. The meal was warm and hearty and while it filled your stomach, the void in your chest was still there.

“We’re leaving early tomorrow, before dawn,” Baekhyun said finally, “We plan to go as far in as we can.” 

Your heart just about stopped, the stones on your chest and in your pocket weighing you down, stopping you from shooting straight up. “Why?” You croaked, eyes filling with tears.

Baekhyun sighed and scowled at you, pushing away his half empty bowl. “You were wrong.”

“What?”

“Today,” He clarified, “You said that the old gods were just as scared and tired as we are. You’re wrong. We’re not afraid of them. We haven’t been for years.”

Your hand grabbed his. “Baekhyun, you can’t,” You pleaded, “Please. Listen to me. There’s no need for all of this, this violence. It can end tomorrow if you’re just willing to negotiate with them.”

“We don’t want to negotiate.” He spat out the last word as if it was offensive. His hand pulled away from yours. “That forest is ours for the taking and we’re not about to let it slip through our hands.” 

He stood, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “We’re expanding our home. This is for the greater good, Y/N. Can’t you see? A future for us—”

“I’m going to die soon.” Your voice was trembling now. You couldn’t blame yourself. “There is no greater good for me, no greater good for us. For how long would it last, anyway? If the forest is gone, how do we hunt? It’s provided for us for generations, and all we do is take and take and take and we never give it anything in return—”

“Why the hell would I want to give anything to that forest?” He yelled, slamming his hands down on the table with a loud bang, causing you to flinch. “Over the years, they’ve killed hundreds of us—”

“And we’ve killed thousands of them!” You had stood now, chest heaving. “I know it’s hard for you to think there’s good in there, but there is, Baek. It’s calm and quiet and peaceful and that’s all—they—want. To keep it that way.”

He shook his head. “There’s never been good in that forest. Not since we left. It’s evil, and it corrupts anyone who stays there for too long. I-it corrupted that rider—Chanyeol or whatever his name is—and now, I’m starting to think it’s corrupted you too.”

“That rider will die if you don’t convince the council to stand down.” Your hands were trembling, but somehow, you mustered up the strength—the courage really—to throw the necklace down onto the table, just as Baekhyun was asking why he should care so much about Chanyeol.

At first, he didn’t understand. He probably thought it was his necklace, the one he’d given to you. His eyebrows furrowed, his lips turned downward, and then he looked up to see your face. Only when he meant to look back down at Chanyeol’s necklace and began to lower his gaze, did he realize that there was more than one opal necklace.

His expression turned uncertain, blinking a few times in disbelief. “Where… where did you get this?” He asked, breathless. Your voice wavered, uncertain of what would come next.

“Chanyeol gave it to me,” You said, staring at the necklace, “He said… He said it belonged to the woman who gave birth to him. His… his mother.”

Baekhyun looked back up at you, mouth gaping. “That can’t be possible,” He murmured, shaking his head. You shrugged. “I didn’t believe him either, Baek. Not at first. But… I don’t know.”

“What exactly did he tell you?” He murmured, gritting his teeth. “I need to know.”

So you did. You told Baekhyun the same story Chanyeol had told you, the same story Selyne had told him as a child. Of a young woman who died of frostbite after running away from her husband, who gave birth to a baby boy with wide brown eyes and big ears, who begged a wolf goddess to raise the baby as one of her own. 

The entire time, your gaze remained trained on him. His eyes turned glassy but his tears didn’t fall, and you felt your chest ache when you finished, and he took a shaky breath. 

“So that’s where she went,” He whispered, “I had always thought…”

You shook your head. “I’m sorry, Baekhyun. I wish I could have told you under better circumstances.”

Hands trembling, he picked up the necklace, and traced over the stone with a delicate finger. You saw a tear fall, but just as you were about to comfort him, something in him shifted. His breathing became heavier, his top lip twitched, before twisting into an angry sneer. His fist closed around the necklace, right before he threw it across the room. You heard it hit the wall, but you didn’t see where it went.

“No.” His teary eyes met yours, and you knew that something had taken over inside of him; some deep rooted pain he had locked away for years upon years. “I’m not helping him. Not after what he took from me.”

“Baekhyun—”

“Why do you seem to care so much about him, Y/N? Huh?” He leaned forward, voice dangerously quiet. “Did something… happen while you were out there? Is that what this is?”

“Nothing happened,” You growled, tight lipped.

He scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

Baekhyun walked towards you, once again gripping your wrist, this time even tighter. He tugged you towards the bedroom, you protesting every step of the way. Where you found the energy, you didn’t know. Because you were so tired.

“You’re hurting me,” You told him, but he didn’t let go. “Baekhyun, please! If you could j-just hear me out, o-or let me out so I can talk to the people in town—”

 “What, you think they’ll believe you?” He snarled, slamming the bedroom door shut and finally letting you go. He stepped forward, but you refused to concede. “Doll, you just spent three weeks wandering around in the wilderness because you didn’t want to die. At first, everyone felt bad, you know? Poor little Y/N, all alone in the woods because she wants to live a full life.” 

He stepped forward again, this time grabbing your face. This time, his grip wasn’t painful, wasn’t even tight. You didn’t pull away as his eyes filled with mock sadness, lips twisting into an exaggerated pout. “But then they watched as I, your poor, poor fiance, walked in and out of that forest for three weeks trying to save you. Because I thought I could,” He let out an empty, humorless laugh, “I thought I could still bring you back and take care of you until you died. Maybe have a less elaborate wedding, but a wedding nonetheless. They watched me do that and then they realized that maybe, just maybe, you were being a selfish little brat and only thinking about yourself. So tell me, my love, who are they going to be more inclined to believe, huh?”

Yanking yourself out of his grip, you stared at him in disbelief, but he didn’t stop. He seemed to be caught in his own little reverie, monologuing as if he were the one who had supposedly gone mad. “We were supposed to get married and lead these people to greatness. It was our destiny. But now you’ve gone and ruined everything.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t shot the damn wolf,” You hissed. His eyes flashed, and he shook his head. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “No. I suppose it wouldn’t… but I guess it’s better this way.”

He put his hands on your shoulders, and you jumped. “How?” Your voice was barely audible. 

“If you hadn’t gotten bitten, we wouldn’t be here. But that means I never would have found out that you were so… susceptible to the forest. We shouldn’t have such a weak leader running around. Wouldn’t want that, would we? But we are here, and now I know. So here’s what’s going to happen.”

His hands pushed down on your shoulders, forcing you onto the bed. You glared up at him as he put his hands on his hips. “I’m going to leave with the other soldiers in a few hours, and I’m gonna kill myself a she-wolf and her little bastards. You’re going to stay right here.” His condescending tone wasn’t missed, even as he got more sentimental.

“I’m going to come back, and we’ll get married, and we’re gonna be happy until you die. And when you do, since I, as your widower, will have married into your family line, I’m going to lead my people to destroy that forest once and for all. How’s that for a plan?”

 You couldn’t answer. You didn’t want to play the hero and say that he would never win. Because the truth was, he very much could. The gods and their followers didn’t understand the guns or how to treat bullet wounds. Even worse, Baekhyun had a sort of magnetism that drew people to him, that made them hang on to every single word he said.

You had no more cards to play. Every single one you had tried had backfired, horribly. 

Pursing your lips, you sighed. “...Fine. I’ll stay.” 

You refused to concede. It wouldn’t end this way. But right now, you were too tired to fight back, and your muscles seemed to be getting heavier and heavier by the second. 

“That’s my girl,” Baekhyun murmured, gaze beginning to warm. “Get to bed, love. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

You nodded, holding back a yawn. You tried to kick off your shoes, but quickly realized your movements were sluggish. All at once, despite the slowness of your body, your mind snapped to the conclusion. 

The soup tasted differently. You were tired. Your movements were slowing down. Baekhyun had spiked the soup.

“Baek,” You slurred, “What did you do?”

“What was necessary, love.” It sounded so twisted, the way his voice was so warm. “I needed to make sure you wouldn’t fight back.”

But maybe this was how Baekhyun had loved you all along, and you had never realized; in his own sick, twisted way. Maybe he had never loved you at all, maybe he just wanted to own you. The realization came as he removed your shoes for you, before guiding you under the covers. Your fists weakly came up to hit at his chest as he did, but they did no damage.

“You’re vile,” You whispered. You heard Baekhyun chuckle. “Maybe I am.”

He tucked you in with a kiss on your forehead, one you barely felt. You were already beginning to slip away. “Yixing will be here in the morning to check on you. You’re still recovering, you know.”

You couldn’t respond, too groggy to do so. But you were aware enough to hear his final words, whispered into your ear before he pressed one final kiss to your lips.

“If you try anything, I’ll fucking kill him,” He said, voice saccharine sweet, “Family or not. He stole something from me once.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, but not before you heard him open the door. 

“I’m not going to let him do it again."

taglist: @delightpcy​ @chanyeolscoon​ @xxbluestrifexx​ @imsoba​ @chogiwhy127​ @always-wishing-for-rain​

[managedmischiefs]

BAD DAY//MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

word count: 3k

warnings: body image issues

before we get into the writing i just wanted to say that i’m not, in any way, criticizing mgg’s body in this fic. it is never my intention to make others feel bad about their bodies. i have plenty of experience w that and it feels awful. if anyone has a problem w this fic then please let me know. thank u.

i collapse onto the couch after a long day of cleaning the house, blasting music and dancing around while i have time alone. the house has been in need of a serious cleaning and when i woke up this morning with the energy to be productive, i didn't let it go to waste. the dishes were washed, all the laundry washed and folded and put away, rugs vacuumed, trash put on the curb, bathrooms scrubbed down, and mirrors cleaned of scuffs. and by dinner time, i've finished and feeling accomplished.

matthew has been away at work all day and was only able to spare me one text around lunchtime to tell me that he might be later than usual. i responded with a text that was far sweeter than it needed to be, professing my love multiple times and adding a slew of cute emojis. days that run long typically mean bad days, and bad days mean a very upset boyfriend. that never ends well.

when matthew doesn't arrive home by six, i send him a text to let him know that i'm going to order chinese food for the both of us, and that he can eat when he returns home. i get nothing in return.

i watch tv while i wait for the food to arrive and only half pay attention to whatever is on the tv. my only thoughts are of my boyfriend and how horribly his day must be going. the food arrives and i put it away for later so that neither of us have to eat alone. i take my place on the couch again and wait anxiously for the door to open.

surely enough, the front door swings open and matthew comes stomping in. i hear his backpack hit the floor and then his keys following, and then the door slams closed. he doesn't come into the living room where he know i always am when he gets home, and instead goes rushing up the stairs and presumably to the bedroom. surely enough, the door slams shut a second later.

a heavy sigh falls from my mouth. i shut the tv off and go to pick up the things he had thrown onto the ground. i give matthew a moment alone to collect his thoughts and once i've tucked away his keys and hung up his backpack, i make my way up the stairs and to our bedroom.

i knock on the door softly before entering, my heart breaking at the sight before me. matthew is sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, arms trembling and shoulders shaking. i can hear him sniffling softly, fighting back tears. he looks so helpless and so broken and in the five years that we've been together, i don't think i've ever seen him like this after a day at work.

i close the door gently behind me, and when the door clicks, i see matthew flinch slightly. "hi, sweetheart," i whisper, walking a few steps closer. "can i do something for you? can i help?" matthew hesitates with his answer, sniffling before nodding a tiny bit. "yeah? okay, what can i do?" i move to sit next to him now, a few inches away. i know he won't give me an answer when he's in this state, but sometimes, just asking helps. so i just sit and wait with him as he fights off his tears.

"you can cry, you know?" i whisper. "you can cry if you need to. don't hold it in." matthew shoulders start to shake even more, his hands sliding up and into his hair. he tugs on the strands, letting out a strangled sob for the first time. my heart absolutely breaks, and i reach forward to place a hand on his back, stroking up and down the fabric of his tee shirt. "baby, i'm here right. it's okay. you're okay."

he reaches his hand back and clutches my hand, tugging on it, but not lifting his head. i scoot closer, but as soon as our legs are touching, matthew's other hand starts pulling at my thigh, trying to get me even closer. so i move to stand in between his legs, pulling his hands out of his hair so he won't give himself a headache.

and once his hands are away from his hair, he grabs my waist and pulls me right into his lap, tucking his face into my neck. this is the time that he finally lets himself go, sobbing into my shoulder and holding my waist as tight as he possibly can.

"oh, my love," i coo, brushing my fingers through his hair and running my fingers up and down his spine, "i've got you. i've got you. just let it out. i love you so much."

he hiccups and trembles as he cries, and cries, and cries. i rock him back and forth just slightly, hoping the movement will bring him some sort of comfort and tranquility. and i'm not sure how long we just sit like that, holding each other as i whisper sweet nothings into matthew's ear. but eventually, his cries slow down and he's just shaking in my arms, clutching my sweater.

"can you look at me, baby? it's okay, i've got you," he lifts his head slowly, staring at me with bloodshot eyes and wet cheeks, pretty lips pouting and nose scrunching up as he sniffles. but i give him a smile, raising my hands to wipe the tears off his cheeks and brush his hair off his forehead. "hi, my love."

matthew's lips quirk up in the slightest but they don't stay that way. "hi," he whispers, voice cracking.

"so do you wanna talk about it or go do something else?" i keep touching his face, wiping the new tears away and letting his nuzzle his cheek into my hand.

"something else, please." he says.

"okay, that's fine. are you hungry? do you want dinner? it's in the fridge, i can go heat it up."

"no, no, i'm not hungry." he shakes his head, turning his head to place a kiss on the palm of my hand. "i think i wanna go take a bath, if that's okay?"

"of course that's okay. you do whatever you want. do you want me to come or do you wanna be alone?" matthew just shrugs in response. "okay, well, why don't you go alone and i'll come by in a little while?"

"yeah, okay," matthew nods and slowly ushers me off his lap, dragging himself into the connected bathroom. he closes the door behind him and i hear the water running a few seconds later.

i can honestly say that i've never seen him so upset, at least not in recent times. he's had his fair share of breakdowns over the years but this feels different. he's been upset over a bad day at work or not getting a role, but i can't recall a time when he cried that much.

i go downstairs and, regardless of what matthew said, heat up the food i ordered. i know that he doesn't have time to eat on busy days and usually tears through the fridge and pantry when he gets home. he didn't do that today so i can only imagine how hungry he is.

i leave the food in the microwave so it will stay hot and then head back upstairs. i knock gently on the bathroom door, waiting for a response that i never get. "matthew?" i crack the door open just the tiniest bit but don't poke my head in. "is it okay if i come in for a few minutes?"

i hear the water sloshing around before he hums. "mhm."

i enter the hot bathroom and close the door behind me. matthew's legs are pulled up to his chest, forehead resting on his knees and arms wrapped protectively around himself. i sit down beside the tub and reach over to run my fingers through his damp hair.

"sweet boy," i coo softly, "i know you said you don't wanna talk about what's making you upset, but i think it'll help. i don't wanna force you, but i wanna help you feel better." he leans into my touch when i trail my fingers down his cheek, almost purring like a cat.

"m'dizzy," matthew murmurs so quietly i barely even hear him.

i furrow my eyebrows at him, cocking my head to the side. "you're dizzy? from the heat in here?" i jump up and open the bathroom door so some of the heat can travel out. "did you drink enough water? have you eaten enough today?"

matthew shakes his head no, sniffling yet again. "no."

"no," i repeat, defeated. "well, i heated up the chinese i ordered and i left it downstairs. so maybe you can jump out of the bath and come eat and you'll feel better? sound good?"

i stand and hold matthew's towel out for him as he slowly climbs out of the bathtub. i watch him carefully, making sure his dizziness doesn't overcome him. not that i could do anything like catch him if he fainted. he’s too tall and i’m too short. i pull the plug on the drain and usher matthew back into the bedroom.

i watch in careful silence as he pulls on pajama pants and an oversized sweatshirt, scrunching up his nose in the most adorable way. and once he's dressed, he turns to me with his shoulders hunched forward, almost like he's waiting for me to tell him what to do and where to go. i've been doing it since he walked in the door so i suppose he's too far gone that he needs me to continue.

i give him a small smile and grab onto his hand, leading him down to the kitchen. i point to a barstool in a silence instruction to take a seat, and retrieve our food from the microwave.

"so," i state as i sit down and dig into my fried rice, "i finished the next chapter of my book today! it's not the best writing i've done so i'm gonna do extensive editing on it, but at least it's done. i've been stuck on this chapter for weeks and i'm just relieved that i can move on."

"i'm sure what you've already written is amazing," he half heartedly, stabbing a piece of chicken before pushing it off his fork again.

i keep talking about my writing process, and observe him as he plays with his food and doesn't eat anything at all. i've finished my food in ten minutes and matthew hasn't eaten anything. he responds every now and then with short sentences or one word answers, and doesn't lift his head much.

i throw out my containers and fill up a glass with water and ice, placing it beside matthew's hand. i sit on the barstool beside him, facing him instead of forward. "you haven't eaten anything, sweet boy. you need to eat. did you eat anything today?" matthew ducks his head even further down and shakes his head no. i resist my urge to sigh. "okay, can you tell me why? i made breakfast for both of us and i thought you ate."

"no," he shakes his head again. "i don't- i just don't wanna eat."

he's never acted like this before and it's truly heartbreaking. he doesn't seem like the man i feel in love with and he's even a completely different man from the different man he is when he's upset. this is a new version of my boyfriend that i hope makes a one time appearance.

matthew takes a long breath and pushes around his rice before starting to speak. "last week, on set, i had a fitting for outfits for the episode we filmed today. and the kevlar vest that i've been using for years didn't fit. it was too small. so i," he hesitates, and then tilts his head a little towards me. i instantly bring my hair up to his wet hair and start scratching his scalp, "i just, well, this past week i just decided to eat less and hope that i could fit into the vest today. but it didn't work. it was still too small and it looked absolutely horrible. i looked horrible. ugly."

and yet again, my heart breaks for him. i've never really heard of matthew having issues with his body, except for the off comment that he didn't look good in an outfit or that it didn't flatter him. nothing to this extent. but i've had my fair share of body image issues over the years and matthew has always been quick to remind me that i'm stunning, regardless of whether i'm wearing an extra small or a large.

"i'm sorry you feel this way, love," i drag my hand back to the nape of his neck and play with the short hair there. "and i know exactly how it feels to not fit into clothes that you used to fit into. but you've helped me realize that we don't keep the same body every year. our bodies change as we get older. remember that red dress you really liked on me? it doesn't fit me anymore because i'm not as skinny as i was when we met. but i got a new one that suits me better. it's okay for your body to change and there's nothing wrong with it. you're beautiful no matter what, or handsome, if you'd prefer that."

matthew nods, wiping his cheeks when he finally lifts his head. "i just looked so bad today."

"i'm sure you didn't. i always tell you that i look horrible in outfits you think i look good in. everyone is always really hard on themselves and that's natural."

he drops his head again and let's go of his fork, letting out a heavy sigh and resting his hands in his lap. but i stand, moving his hand away and sitting down on his lap, placing my hands right on his ribs. "when you filmed season twelve, you started to work out more. remember?"

matthew nods. "yeah, of course. what does that have to do with anything?"

"you thought that you would put on weight in muscle, and that's exactly what happened. your shoulders got broader, your thighs got thicker. and you know what?" i lean forward until our noses are touching. i manage to get a tiny smile out of him when i give him an eskimo kiss, our noses rubbing together. "i absolutely loved your body before and after you started working out. you know how much i love your thighs. they're sexy, baby. i know that me telling you things like this doesn't really help but i love your body, no matter what it looks like. what your body looks like doesn't define you."

"really?" he gives me the most adorable puppy eyes. "you like my, you know, my body?"

"i love your body, matthew," i move my hands down from his ribs to his stomach, slipping them under his sweatshirt and placing them on his bare skin. "i love everything about you." matthew lets his head fall forward and presses his forehead into my shoulder as i let my hand continue to roam his skin. "i'm not gonna force you to eat if you really don't want to, but i don't want you to starve yourself either. so i'm gonna go, okay? i'm gonna go sit in bed and you can either eat or not and not feel pressured by me staring at you, and you can join me when you're ready."

i place a kiss on matthew's nose before retracting my hands and heading back to our bedroom. part of me wants to hold him down and force him to eat all of his food and another part of me knows that letting him make his own decisions is the right choice. forcing him to eat when he feels badly about his body is the worst thing i could do. it could make him spin even further out of control and that is obviously the last thing i want.

so i curl up under the duvet on my side of the bed and flip the television on, skimming through the channels until i find some random romcom that i watched with matthew years ago. i leave that on and start scrolling through my social media.

just a few minutes later, matthew comes wandering into the room and closes the door behind him. when he walks towards the bed, i notice he's holding his pint of fried rice in his hand, and while i would normally not support eating in bed out of fear of getting the sheets dirty, i make an exception for this.

he gives me a weak smile as he climbs in beside me, instantly tangling his legs with me. i roll over and rest my head on his chest, bringing my arm around his stomach, resting my hand in his sweatshirt pocket. i try my hardest to ignore it as matthew scoops rice into his mouth slowly. i can tell it's a little bit of a chore for him to be eating, but nonetheless, i'm proud of him for doing it, even if he only eats a few pieces of rice.

"we watched this movie a long time ago. one of our first dates, right?" matthew mumbles.

"mhm," i nod against his chest, "we watched this in your house in the living room and ate pizza and complained about the acting."

"i love you," matthew randomly confesses, leaning down to press his lips to my forehead. "thank you. i don't know what i'd do without you."

"well, you'll never have to find out because you're stuck with me," i quip, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "and i love you too. a whole lot. and i love your tummy too. i think i might love your tum more than i love you. no offense."

[thewickedkings]

Drowning With You

Masterlist || Link to Another Angsty Prompt || Ao3

Description: For the prompt “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.” Very angsty in case you couldn’t tell, but it gets better

Warnings: Mentions of death, fainting, and slight mentions of drowning and poison.

It begins as a prickle in Jude’s neck, a faint annoyance she dismisses as she washes her face in the morning. Then it moves to her back and down her arms, an ache in her muscles she assumes is from her strenuous training session with the Ghost the day before. But later in the day, when her limbs begin to stiffen to the point she can barely move and her vision slows into a disoriented languidness, she knows.

Something is very, very wrong.

Fear shoots through her as she begins to lose control of her body. She stumbles out of the library she’s holed herself in for the day and into the hall.

Cardan. She needs to get to Cardan.

Her vision blurs as she pushes against her uncooperative muscles to the throne room. She grits her teeth, squinting to make out the person who has appeared in front of her.

“Your Highness? What’s wrong?” rings Fand’s voice, sounding far away.

“Cardan,” she gasps. “Get… Cardan.” She falls against the wall, needing support before her legs give out. Someone, maybe a guard, grasps onto her arm.

In what feels like seconds, she senses him enter the hall, and she uses the last of her strength to push herself towards him. Cardan catches her in his arms, and finally, she lets her eyes fall shut.

Safe.

Distantly, as though she’s listening from under water, she hears Cardan bark orders at the guards. Then, “Jude, what’s wrong?” Hands move to her face, pushing back her hair, which has at some point become damp with sweat. “Jude, wake up.”

When she doesn’t respond, Cardan begins to shake her. “Jude, wake up.” The desperation in his voice cuts straight to her heart. The urge to comfort him wells up, and yet her reassurances get caught in her throat, her lips unwilling to move.

A familiar voice, the Bomb’s maybe, cuts in, words too fast for her to decipher. Movement, she’s being jostled against someone, and then she’s laid down.

“Her heart’s slowing! Where is the healer?!”

Another pair of hands is on her, opening her mouth and forcing a drink down. “Jude, you have to swallow.”

She forces the muscles in her throat to take the drink.

But her energy is seeping out of her grasp, the tempting pull of death calling her like a siren in the seas. It would be so easy to…

A hand squeezes hers tightly, tethering her to this world. “Jude, Jude, please. You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.” A guttural sob rips out. “Please wake up.”

“Breathe, Jude, breathe!” The Bomb’s voice orders. “Breathe in Jude!”

Cardan’s voice is scratchy with desperation, and Jude clings onto it, the familiar cadence of his voice her only anchor. “Jude, please, I will do anything. Just breathe for me.”

She forces an inhale once, and her awareness instantly sharpens. The bed is soft against her back, and she feels wetness against the hand Cardan’s gripping.

Cardan hands tighten around hers. “Again, Jude. Breathe.”

Still, the second breath is harder, her body fighting back, and a wave of exhaustion pulls her under. She fights it with everything she has, but for once, her everything isn’t enough. She feels herself falling back, away from this world.

A sound of pure agony, somewhere between a sob and a whine, rips out of Cardan, and then everything begins to fade.

“The land!” The Bomb gasps. “It healed her last time. We have to try. You, get some dirt, or grass, or anything. Go!”

A moment later, brittle powder is dumped on her chest.

A palm presses onto her, and someone begs, “Please, please, please.”

For a second, everything is still.

Then, a slow, quiet warmth fills her chest, starting with her heart and winding through her body.  Strength returns to her limbs, and her fingers twitch against Cardan’s as she inhales, glorious air filling her starved lungs.

Cardan lets out a sob of relief, and his head falls onto her chest, resting against the beat of her heart as she falls into a peaceful slumber.

 ~~~

Jude floats on the calm seas, her body drifting endlessly. The wind whistles through the salty air, a haunting, aching symphony of grief.

There is no peace here, just waiting. The sky is draped with clouds on the precipice of pouring out their contents. They shift drowsily, parting against the somber sky. Within them Jude sees her mother as she had seen her in the Lake of Masks, watching her from another time, amused by her fragile mortality. Her vision shifts, and then it is Cardan standing in front of her, leering at her.

His voice echoes with venom, spitting out words she has long forgotten. “Do you know what mortal means? It means born to die. It means deserving of death. That’s what you are, what defines you- dying.”

The vision ripples, and the Cardan of the past shifts into present Cardan. She sees him sitting on chair, shoulders slumped, hands grasping onto her sleeping body’s hands. His thumb brushes gently back and forth over her wrist. Shadows linger beneath his eyes, and he looks utterly defeated. Distantly, she feels his hands release hers, a brush of lips against her forehead, and then he pushes out of his seat, fists clenched, and leaves the room.

The waves begin to churn with a cold, brutal anger, the anger of an unrestrained, destructive sea. They careen her body back and forth, water splashing over her face and into her nose. Jude does not panic, simply shutting her eyes and letting herself fall into the inevitable.

~~~

Jude gasps, jerking upright. Her muscles ache with disuse, and she takes in her surroundings. She is in a foreign bed, blankets tucked caringly over her body. The room is sparsely decorated, bare except for the furniture. Besides the bed she’s in, there is a side table, a chair at the side of her bed, and another smaller bed squeezed in the corner, as though brought in after the room was furnished.

In the silence of the room, she senses a taut tension. She’s left the churning sea behind, yet a palpable rage remains in the land.

She swings her feet over her bed and is surprised to see grass growing in little patches of dirt around her bed. Her memory comes rushing back: fainting in Cardan’s arms, him pleading for her to breathe, the dirt on her body restoring her somehow, and then nothing.

She stumbles out of the room, her legs still sore, and bumps into a guard. His eyes widen in surprise. “My queen. You’re awake.”

“Where is the King?” she responds, her voice rough with disuse.

His eyes dart from hers, almost… fearful? “He has left the palace.”

“What?” Jude croaks, a sharp sting of hurt going through her. He left. Cardan left her.

A rush of footsteps comes from the end of the hall, and Jude looks up. Suddenly she’s enveloped in the Bomb’s arms. “You’re awake,” she breathes, voice full of relief.

Jude pulls away, questions flurrying through her. “What happened? Where’s Cardan?”

“Sit down. We need to make sure you’re okay first.”

Once the Bomb pulls her back into her room and forces her to sit and drink water, the Bomb sighs. “You were poisoned. It got through our defenses because it only affects mortals, so everyone else was fine. The Ghost sent news that he had an idea who did it, so Cardan left to find him.” She pauses, hesitant. “I tried to convince him to stay but he’s not listening to anyone.” The Bomb pauses, hesitant. “He’s been… different without you. He’s been impulsive and angry and… broken.”

Jude swallows, remembering his heart wrenching sobs, pleading with her to stay with him. The uncontrollable rage simmering through the land when she had woken up. “I need to see him.”

The Bomb nods in understanding. “I’ll send word immediately. The only reason he left was because he didn’t think you were going to wake up.”

“Why? How long was I out?”

The Bomb looks at her with concern. “Jude, you’ve been out for three weeks.”

 ~~~

For the rest of the day, after stuffing herself with food and taking a warm bath, the Bomb forces Jude to rest. Her body is still recovering from the toll the poison took on her, and already she feels the urge to sleep, despite having gotten three weeks’ worth of rest.

Jude flops onto bed. “I hate this. I need to do something. I can’t just sit here.”

The Bomb groans. “Jude, I don’t know if you realized this, but you almost died. So please, just do what I say. Cardan will kill me if anything happens to you again.”

She laughs. “Cardan could never. He hates blood.” Still, Jude wonders at the truth in the Bomb’s statement, wonders what lengths he would go to for her despite his aversion to violence.

“But he loves…” The Bomb’s words trail off as her glance catches on something over Jude’s shoulder. “I have to go,” she mutters, and quickly shuffles out of the room. Jude cranes her head to see what had caused her to depart so quickly.

Cardan stands frozen in the doorway, face pale, his gaze locked on Jude. His crown is noticeably absent, his hair windswept from riding. His cloak hangs from his shoulders, and her gaze catches on a splatter of blood marring the velvety cloth. A knife hangs in its sheath against his thigh, peeking out from behind the cloak, and Jude has a feeling he had used it.

“Cardan,” she breathes and stands from the bed, emotion welling in her chest.

He is throat bobs as he walks towards her, as if in a trance, and slowly traces his fingers over her jawline, gently across her neck and down her arm. When he reaches her wrist, his hand stops and his thumb presses to her pulse, its steady beat a reassurance.

“Jude,” he whispers finally, and his hands begin to tremble uncontrollably as they lift up to cradle her face. “Tell me this is real. Tell me this is not a cruel dream.”

Guilt consumes her at the simultaneous hope and fear in his voice. She cannot imagine what it had been like for him these past few weeks.

Tears brim her eyes as she whispers, “I’m here Cardan. This is real.”

His breath hitches, and then his arms retract around her, crushing her into his chest, squeezing her until she can barely breath. His voice is hoarse against her neck. “Do not ever do that to me again. I cannot survive it. I cannot.”

Jude tries not to think too much about the fact that he cannot lie and rubs her arms comfortingly up and down his back, burying her face in the warmth of his neck. They stay like that, wrapped around each other, until Jude remembers the exhaustion in Cardan’s eyes and crawls back up onto the bed, pulling Cardan with her.

When the Bomb finds them the next day, tangled in each other’s arms, she smiles softly and shuts the door behind her.

~~~

A/N: This prompt was supposed to be super short, and then... it turned into this. Be proud of me. Instead of making this super angsty I let Jude live! *cue applause*

Pls comment 🥺🥺 I need some extra serotonin bec school is kicking my butt

Tagging: (let me know if you want to tagged or untagged or if I accidentally tagged you wrong! I don’t mind at all)

@goddess-of-writing @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @amoosewithflannelforfur @aneurwin​  @mercrutiodidntdieforthis @hizqueen4life​ @mi-mavencalories @simonelovesff @b00kworm @nope-has-lied @andromeddea @aesthetics-11 @queen-of-glass @runnybabbit9  @afexiss @the-keen-queen @yesimtheslytherinwitch @fizziefaerie @abigneignenn @storiesandschemes @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @words-of-the-wise @thedazzlingheights @magicalbookwyvern @kittkatandbooboo @queen-of-no1 @iminsanenotobsessed @dorkzrul @snusbandxknifewife  @aknymph @clouds-and-peonies @thefolkofthefic @snorting-up-pizza @fandomfanatic987 @fandom-will-be-the-death-of-me @cardanslittletail @curlyredqueen06 @losssssstttttt​  @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ @omfglucayababies​ @judiecardan​ @woodsbeyond1​ @yourroyalbooknerd​  @ireallyshouldsleeprn​ @st00pid231​ @alittledribbledrabble​ @nomotivation-lads @herladyshipxx​  @emmabookworm08​ @ducksmurf135​ @jurdanhell​ @booksandothersecrets​ @fangirlprincess09​  @ysitsohardtofindaname​

[prettywordsyouleft]

Stuck On You

Pairing: Park Sungjin x female reader

Genre: domestic au / fluff

Warnings: it gets a little spicy but nothing detailed

Word count: 1671

You woke up in the middle of the night, throwing the blankets aside so you could hook one of your legs out from under them.

God, it was so hot.

Your singlet was damp with sweat, and the blankets underneath you also felt clammy. The problem wasn’t just the summer heat, though that didn’t make it any easier either. Glancing at the sleeping man beside you, you sighed. It wasn’t Sungjin’s fault there was no room in this bed too.

It was the bed.

You’d had this bed for ten years now. Although it had seen you through your young adult years well, it was now outdated. You had travelled with it from your childhood bedroom to your first rental that you shared with some friends during university, and then from there to the apartment you moved into after graduation. You had every intention of upgrading at some point, but when you were single, it was spacious enough for one.

You hadn’t expected to fall in love with Sungjin as fast as you had. Nor had you imagined being married to him – or anyone – after only a year of dating. Whilst you were certain you would love him for the rest of your life, the early nuptials meant your savings went to a dress and a venue, not a new bed.

So here you were, sharing your double-sized bed with your husband.

Over winter, it had its perks. You definitely weren’t cold back then. But you still were limited on how much space you each had. And that was what played into your restless sleep now. You couldn’t get away from the heat of Sungjin’s body no matter how close to the edge of the bed you slept.

Calculating your combined income, you wondered if you could splurge on a new bed any time soon. You were both at the lower end of the ladder in your careers. Sungjin’s band hadn’t quite hit the big time yet, though he made a steady enough income to make ends meet. You were waiting for a promotion to increase your hourly pay.

Then you would be able to afford the bed.

Groaning, you sat up and yanked the singlet over your head. You knew it wouldn’t help with much, but one less obstruction in getting some sleep was worth it. You wrestled with your pillow until it felt as if you were in a good position and closed your eyes, wishing for sleep to come and knock you out completely.

You were awake an hour later. And this time, so was Sungjin. Your husband looked over at you miserably. “If it wouldn’t cost so much to run the air conditioning right now, I’d turn it on.”

“It doesn’t even reach our bedroom,” you lamented, and Sungjin shrugged.

“Still, maybe it would flow in here since the door is open.”

“We need a bigger bed.”

“And a new refrigerator.”

“The dryer stopped working yesterday. I’m hoping it was just because of the heat,” you added on, and both of you sighed heavily.

“Life’s hard, isn’t it?”

“It can be.”

Sungjin turned onto his side and stared at you lovingly. “It would be worse without you, Mrs Park.”

“Absolutely unbearable, Mr Park,” you agreed, leaning in to nuzzle his nose with yours.

And somehow, despite the heat and the stickiness of your bodies, you managed to fall asleep in each other’s arms, sharing your combined misery and happiness as one.

However, you weren’t entirely well-rested the following morning, and your best friend Sarah picked up on it. “What kept you awake last night? Wait. Is the honeymoon period not over yet?”

“Har-har,” you replied dryly, gulping down more of your iced coffee. “It’s so hot.”

“This heatwave is something else,” Sarah mentioned and took a bite of her muffin. She then slumped in her chair. “How did you do it by the way?”

“Do what?”

“When you and Sungjin moved in together, did you struggle at all? I have too much stuff to fit in the flat Wonpil and I have rented.”

You grinned at her. “Ah, young love.”

“Don’t young love me, we’re all around the same age. Just because you and Sungjin are acting like an old married couple.”

“We’re a struggling married couple,” you admitted with a wistful smile. “Marriage is great, but I totally get why some people save up for their lives together first. We can’t even afford a new bed any time soon, and we need it. Ours is way too small for the two of us.”

“I think I can help you guys out,” Sarah announced and you dismissed it instantly. “I know your mind instantly went to financially and that’s not what I meant. Wonpil and I are moving in together.”

“I know that much, you’ve been proclaiming about this step in your relationship for over a month now.”

“Y/N, we both have two queen-sized beds. We’re only going to need one.”

You perked up immediately, leaning over the table towards Sarah. “You know how much I adore you, right?!”

“If you and Sungjin can help us move this weekend, I’ll give you the bed, and anything else you want that I can’t fit in at the flat.”

Sliding your blouse’s sleeves up your forearms for emphasis, you beamed at your friend. “Name a time, and we’ll be there with our muscles at the ready!”

You were exhausted again, but this time was from helping Wonpil and Sarah move house. Once they were both settled in at their new flat, you used the band’s van to transport the second bed and Wonpil’s dryer back to your own home. Dinner was ordered in, and you spent most of the evening relaxing on the couch with Sungjin until you decided it was finally time for bed.

Despite the lack of energy you had, you skipped down to the bedroom, eyeing the new addition to the room. You had discarded your old bed into your spare room for now and all that was left was to make the bed.

Sungjin slipped his arms around your waist and rested his head upon your shoulder. “You’re too happy.”

“Of course! We’re going to have so much space. And this bed is almost new too. Sarah only got it at the start of the year.”

“I love seeing you this happy.”

“And you’re not? I bet you’ll be glad to wake up tomorrow and not have to lift my legs off of yours.”

“You do that to be close to me, not because the bed naturally rolls us together,” Sungjin teased, going around his side of the bed and laying on the bare mattress. He glanced over at you and patted the empty side for you to join him. “I’m too tired to even make this bed. Can’t we do that tomorrow?”

Once sprawled out on the mattress, you giggled. “It’s like a new beginning now. We finally have a bed big enough for newlyweds.”

“Then you know what happens with a new beginning,” he suggested, his gaze warming you up. “I think we’ll have to christen this.”

“Do you even have any energy left? You just mentioned how tired you were.”

Sungjin grinned wickedly, scooping you up in his strong embrace. “I always have energy when it comes to loving you.”

You groaned, feeling how sweaty you were again. Opening your eyes, you glanced around the darkened bedroom, washing your eyes over Sungjin. You couldn’t see all of his face due to how it was buried into your shoulder. His legs were entangled with yours, and an arm was over your waist.

You couldn’t help but grin at the irony.

Even with all the space in the world, your husband was basically on top of you once again. You’d been sharing this queen-sized bed for a month now, and in the beginning, you rejoiced by having so much extra room. However, your bodies always migrated to one another in the middle of the night, and you’d wake up in the morning snuggled into his side.

You silently apologised to your last faithful bed for all the times you had cursed it out.

You managed to get a little more sleep until you felt Sungjin stir beside you, trying to unwind himself away from you. However, you blindly moved along the bed with him.

“And you complained about how little space we had,” he whispered, thinking you were still asleep.

“I guess old habits are hard to break,” you responded and opened your eyes, Sungjin instantly smiling when your gaze connected with his. You moved your hand up to cup his jaw fondly. “I woke up earlier sweating. I think we need to splurge on a fan or something. Then we might be able to keep cool.”

“Or we could get a body pillow and stick it between us as a line not to cross.”

You giggled. “You and I both know we’d discard that. Let’s face it. We can’t bear to be apart from one another.”

“Stuck on you,” Sungjin mused, nodding softly. “I should write a song about it.”

“Lyrics about the realities of married life? Will you write about us fighting over who was meant to empty the dishwasher last night too?”

“Domestic life isn’t one that we’ve sung about enough in the band. Maybe the guys will humour me over it,” Sungjin suggested with a chuckle, and you snuggled into his chest, enjoying the remaining vibration of his humour.

“Wonpil and Jae both live with their girlfriends now, I’m sure they’d be down for it.”

“You know, even if we got the biggest bed size possible, I don’t think I could ever sleep on a side away from you.”

“You can’t get enough of me, huh?” you teased, and Sungjin captured your lips in a lazy kiss.

“Babe, like you said before old habits are hard to break. And maybe I don’t want to try and break them either.”

“You’re worth losing sleep over,” you agreed, pecking his lips again.

_________________

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

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[berrynarrybanana]

better than coffee - h.s

A/N: This...this piece used to be one of my favorite writings that I have ever done. I just....dirty talk with Harry in the morning is the hottest thing I can think of honestly. Soft!dom Harry making you say exactly what you want before giving it to you. Please kill me now, thx. I hope you all enjoy this rewrite, I did my best lol.

P.s this has not been fully edited yet 😬

Warnings: Smutttyyyyy, dirty talk, soft!dom Harry, fluff, unprotected sex and other things hehe

Word count: 3.8k

You were overly warm.

It’s the first thing you notice when you’re pulled from your peaceful slumber. Soft skin heated by the sun filtering through the open window in your tiny apartment bedroom. It confuses you for a second as you wiggled your shoulders, stretching your fingers out. You normally freeze in your apartment during this time of year, especially if the window has been propped open to let fresh air flow in. But as you start to slowly wake up, you feel as though you’re sunbathing on a cloud right next to the sun, blissful and cozy under a mound of blankets. 

A series of soft whimpers and mewls leave your throat as you stretch your arms up, your body trying to twist and stretch just like a kitten after a heavy slumber. But to your surprise, your movement is limited by the arms wrapped around your body. Softly, you smile and turn your face into his soft, cotton t-shirt with a deep inhale. He doesn’t smell as fresh as normal, but the inviting scent of his cologne is still lingering on the fabric, mixed in with the smell of your freshly washed linens. 

Harry was tucked away safely in your bed and he was all yours.  

You remember his late night call, his voice hoarse and tired after a day of long meetings. He yawned through most of his sentences, claiming that he really didn’t mind coming over to your apartment. He assured you that the tiny flat wasn’t an issue and he wanted to be wherever you were after the day he had. You insisted that you could get up and come over to his much larger flat instead and that it wouldn’t be a hassle to get an uber to travel the two blocks, but he very sternly told you to stay in bed after a few moments of back and forth. 

After the day you had, you weren’t really in any place to argue. 

When he walked into the front door (he told you that he was happy to finally use the spare key you’d given him months ago), it took everything in you not to jump out of bed and rush to greet him. As much as you loved being defiant, the soft clouds of white you were curled under were much more inviting than the lumpy couch you would end up snoozing on if you met him at the door. He crawled into bed with a series of grunts and groans, his hands sliding over your body until you were tucked into his arms and pulled from your warm indent on your side of the bed.

It didn’t take long for either of you to fall asleep. 

A few soft kisses were shared before you both drifted off into dreamland with heavy limbs and tired eyes. It was admittedly the first time you and Harry slept together in the same bed without a single sexual interaction shared. It was a tiny milestone in your relationship, but a milestone nonetheless. And if falling asleep with Harry after a long day felt like coming home, waking up to his green eyes and sleepy smile felt like being a child on Christmas morning.

An excited smile turned up the corners of your mouth as your arms found their place around his body in the early morning light. Harry let out a soft chuckle at your actions, kissing whatever part of your face his lips could find first (it was your forehead). 

“G'morning my love.” With a scratchy and tired voice you spoke, ducking your head into his chest to hide your yawn before you lifted your head back up. 

“Mornin’ beautiful.” He leaned forward to press his lips to yours, but you pressed your palms to his chest and pulled your head back with a scrunched up nose. Harry’s face scrunched up in offense as he looked down at you with furrowed brows. “What’s wrong?”

“Morning breath.” Harry just chuckled at your words, leaning forward anyways with his lips puckered out. “Harry!”

“Let me kiss my beautiful girlfriend, please?” He pouted dramatically, looping his leg around your thighs to keep you close. “Want your lips.”

“After we brush our teeth, Harry.” You said firmly, giving him a stern glare.

“My darling girl.” He ducked his head down to nuzzle into your chest this time. “I had plans for this morning.”

“What might those plans be then, Mr. Styles?” You press a soft kiss to the crown of his head as his breath seeps through your thin sleep shirt. 

He didn’t give you much of a verbal answer to your question, but as he kissed up your neck and rolled his hips so that you could feel him against your core, you understood what he meant by ‘plans’. A soft gasp escaped your lips as he wrapped his own around your nipple through your shirt, his hips rolling again so that you could feel him growing hard through the thin material of your panties and his boxers. In a matter of seconds, your back was pressed into the mattress with the weight of his body pressing against you. You let out a wheezy groan at his weight, trying your best to wiggle your hips underneath his with a soft whine. 

Harry’s response was a cheeky smirk, his curls tickling the skin of your cheek as he lifted his head up to look you in the eyes. 

“Want to make you feel good, love. Is tha’ alright?” He smirked, leaning so close that his lips were brushing yours. “Or should I still go brush my teeth?”

“No.” You shook your head, your nose brushing against his. “I want you.”

“That’s my girl.” He pecked your lips softly a few times as you lifted your arms up to loop around his neck, keeping him in place. “Know my girl so well, don’t I?” 

“You do.” A soft smile graced your lips before Harry pressed a deep kiss to your mouth. 

There wasn’t much talking as he pushed your t-shirt up, dipping down lower so that your arms fell from his neck. He ducked his head down so that his lips could kiss over your ribcage and your sternum. You normally hated when people touched your torso, but with Harry it never felt mocking. He was loving on your body and all of the features that he adored. His lips made their way up to your breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth quickly with a soft moan of his own. 

Nothing pleased them more than pleasing someone else, you learned. He let his tongue lap over the stiff peak before pulling off with a pop. He moved to the other breast slowly, sponging wet kisses over your skin until he could repeat his actions with the other nipple. As he was suckling softly, causing you to moan out into the morning air, you felt his fingers tracing over the band of your panties. You already knew you’d be wet between your legs after the treatment you were receiving, but he knew it would take more to get you dripping like he wanted. He pulled off your breast, smirking up at you like the cat that ate the canary. 

He wasn’t predictable often, but you knew exactly what he was going to say next.

“Would you like me to taste you pretty girl?” He hummed, slipping his hand further down to cup you in his palm. “Want me to eat your pretty pussy until you’re shaking fo’ me?”

“Oh.” The word was breathy and desperate as it fell from your lips. “Please, Harry.”

“Please what?” He prompted, that smug, crooked grin on his lips stretching as his brows lifted towards his hairline. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

Dirty talk was never your forte, but you’d do anything for Harry. 

“I want your mouth on me.” You whispered, your cheeks growing warm. “I want to see your head between my legs while you eat my pussy.”

“That’s my girl.” He hastily kicked at the covers as he started to inch his body towards the foot of the bed, his stomach pressed into the mattress between your parted legs. “Gonna take good care of you, baby. I’m gonna make you drip down my chin.”

“Yes, please. ” You whispered, your voice timid and soft. 

Harry wouldn’t allow for that. 

“Tell me how, you want it.” You whined at his words, lifting your hips up eagerly. “Tell me how, beautiful.”

This was all so new to you, speaking your fantasies and sexual desires out loud for someone else to hear. Harry wasn’t your first, but he was only the second guy you’d ever been with. It wasn’t in your nature to be so bold and adventurous in the bedroom yet, but he was doing his best to help guide you into a world that he knew you would love. 

“Kiss me-” You cleared your voice after your words cracked, tilting your head up to look between your legs. “Kiss me over my panties first.”

“Like this?” He pressed a teasing kiss to the band of your panties, causing you to whine out in frustration. You could feel him smirking against your thigh as you shook your head. “Here?”

“No.” You said with a soft shake of your head. “Lower.”

“Here?” He pressed a kiss right above your clit next.

“Harry.” Your hand found its way into his hair. “Don’t be a tease.”

“You have to tell me where, darling.” His eyes fluttered shut as you scratched your nails gently against his scalp. 

“Kiss me over my clit.”

“Good girl.” He rewarded you with a soft peck before his tongue swiped over the spot, making your panties damp. “S’that better.” 

“Yes.” You let out a satisfied sigh, dropping your head back. “Keep going.”

Harry did as he was asked, tonguing and kissing over your clit until the throbbing in your core was almost too much for you to handle.Your lip was clamped between your teeth, holding in the whimpers and whines that were threatening to escape as you gripped Harry’s hair. 

“S’enough, baby.” You gasped out. “I need them off.”

“Ask me nicely.” His voice was muffled against your core. “Be a good girl for me, darling.”

“Please take my panties off.” You lifted your hips up, rubbing against his chin greedily. “I want them off.”

“How about I push them to the side, since you’re being so greedy this morning.” He hooked his finger in the fabric, exposing your soaking lips and your clit. “Love your cunt, darling. It’s so soft and pretty for me.” 

You closed your eyes, inhaling sharply as his breath washed over your lips in a teasing manner. 

“Tell me I can have a taste of you.” He asked. “Tell me I can lick you clean.”

“Taste me, Harry.” You lifted your head to look down at him, his eyes fixed on your center as he waited patiently for your work. The underlying submissive tones of his personality were shining through and it was killing you. “Clean me up with your mouth, please.”

Harry dove in like he was on death row and you were his last meal. 

“Taste so sweet.” He mumbled against your core before his tongue started to lick over your lips like he was dehydrated and you were a cool stream. “Love your pussy.”

Harry’s technique was very unique to him. 

He never lapped at you or licked singular strokes from your entrance to your clit. 

He would spend a few moments licking your folds in alternate strokes before suckling your lips into his mouth. Your clit was like a little treat that he indulged in sparingly before diving back down. His tongue slipped into your entrance on occasion, a moan pulling from his chest as he pushed your thighs further apart with his large palms. The experience was euphoric and you were a babbling and writhing mess above him as he treated you like you needed. 

“Harry please keep going.” You knew he’d pull away soon, but that didn’t stop you from begging him as you held his head between your legs. “Keep eating me, darling. Keep eating my pussy Harry, just like that.”

That earned you a swift slap to your thigh and his lips pulling off of you with a wet gasp. 

“Whose pussy is this?” He growled out, licking over his lips as he demanded your attention with an authoritative tone. “Tell me who this belongs to?

“It’s yours.” You lifted your hips, desperate for his mouth. “It’s yours Harry, please.”

“That’s right, pretty girl.” He ducked down, letting his tongue swipe over your clit. “My pretty pussy. I’m the only one who gets to taste you this way, who gets to put my mouth on you, yeah?”

“Yes, it’s all yours.” You gasped, reaching up to cup your own breasts, squeezing them. “Just yours, Harry.”

You looked right into his eyes then as he settled his mouth around your clit as he slowly eased one finger into your aching walls. He moved it around a few times, pumping it in and out before he added a second finger. You let out a relieved sigh, that sounded more like a whine, as your walls stretched around his thick fingers. He hummed softly as he sucked on your clit,  his lips pulling off with a pop on occasion as his fingers moved skillfully inside of you. You were lost in heaven. Harry was everything and you couldn’t hold off any longer with the sight of  the man you loved between your thighs, treating you like a proper treat that he’d kill for. 

“I’m so close.” You warned, pulling his hair in attempts to take his mouth from your clit. You could feel it creeping up on you, but you knew that you couldn’t cum without permission. “Can I cum?”

“No.” His lips pulled from your clit, but his fingers continued to pump in and out of you, massaging your walls and your g-spot as he hauled himself over you. “I want to feel you cumming on my cock.”

“I want to feel it, too.” You nodded, tilting your chin up. “Kiss me please?

His lips were soft on yours, still wet with your own arousal after his time spent between your legs. He swiped his tongue over your bottom lip and you automatically opened your mouth for him, letting his tongue glide gently over yours. He was truly a sex god, though you never had any doubt about that. From the first kiss to the one you were lost in now, every touch from Harry was filled with pleasure and passion. He knew what he was doing with every move he made, that was for damn sure. He pulled his lips away from yours, his body resting on yours again in a way that let you feel the weight of him. He looked down at you with a fond smile, his nose brushing against yours softly as his gentle side started to show. 

“You’re absolutely gorgeous in the morning.” He whispered. “I really like waking up next to you, love, I just want you to know that.”

“I like waking up next to you, too.” You smiled. “You’re absolutely amazing, Harry.”

His cheeks grew pink and he pressed his lips together to try to keep from smiling at that little comment. You wiggled around as you felt his fingers retreat from your walls, knowing that he was pulling himself out of his boxers.The tip of his cock brushing up between your lips and over your clit a few times as he stroked himself. He shuddered, whining softly as he teased you both for a moment before he gently pushed his tip into you. He pulled his hands away, reaching up to cup your cheeks as he kissed your lips. A plea silenced on your lips as he oh so slowly pushed into. You gasped into the kiss, the feeling of him stretching you oh so delicious. His breath fanned across your lips in feathery puffs as his eyes fluttered shut, a primal moan pulling from him as he sunk into a realm of pleasure only could offer him. 

“Look at me please.” You whispered, sliding your arms around his torso. “Look at me while you fuck me, Harry.”

“Not going to fuck you, darling.” He gasped out, pulling his hips back slowly. “Gonna make love to you.”

You gasped as he pushed back in again, snug inside your walls. You couldn’t handle how overwhelmingly amazing it all was to feel each little roll of his hips as he moved, barely pulling out at all before he rolled pushed further in. It was so deep and so intimate that your eyes were watering as you looked into his own. The green that melted in with the specks of gold had you mesmerized. Making love was something you did with someone you…..well someone you loved and you’d never loved anyone before. Maybe he was saying it without words through every soft kiss and moan, maybe he was just giving you a preview of what loving him could be like. 

Whatever it was, you knew how you felt about hi,. You knew you never wanted this to end, that you wanted him here for the rest of your days. And maybe that was just the pleasure talking, but you didn’t think twice as you muttered out four little words. Your heart was on your sleeve and you were baring your soul to him without so much as a single doubt clouding your judgement.

“Love you so much.” You were breathless, your whole body thrumming with a beautiful feeling that reminded you of sunshine and summer. This was love. At least it was to you. “I love you, Harry.”

“Fuck.” He dropped his forehead to yours, whimpering as he heard those words. “Fuck, I love you too. Love you so much, my beautiful girl.”

“Harry.” You clawed at his bare back, desperate to have him closer. “Please, I need you to-“

“I’m right there, love,” He pressed his lips to yours, his hand slipping from your cheeks down between your bodies. “Are you close?”

“I don’t mind.” You shook your head as he started to circle your clit. “Want you to cum, it’s okay.”

“Not without you.” He gasped at the same time you did, your walls clenching around him. “You can do it pretty girl, you can do it for me. You feel so good around me, please let me make you cum.”

“Harry,” You whined his name out, your nails digging further into his skin as his hips started to stutter. “Keep going, I’m nearly there.”

After that, your senses were filled with the sounds of you and Harry breathing together and the sheets rustling as he moved between your legs. You’d never had someone so deep, so connected with you before and it nearly knocked the air out of your chest.

You’d never wanted this with anyone else before. 

This was more than just sex. 

This was so much more from the moment you woke up with Harry’s arms around your waist and his face against your shoulder. And now you were ready for him, you wanted him to know that he had all of you. His lips pressing over your cheeks and your jaw combined with his soft pleas were what sent you over the edge. You were lost again on that cloud in the sky, sunbathing in the rays of Harry’s love as he pushed into you completely, filling you. You’d never had someone finish inside of you before, but you wanted it. Your eyes fluttered shut as he groaned so deeply, your mouth hanging open and all of the air gone from your lungs as your ograsm hit. Your name fell from his lips a few times as his hips stuttered, his cum coating your walls. It took your bodies a while to come down, sagging into the bed with the deadweight of his body on top of you. He pulled back to look down at you with a soft smile and a giggle after a few moments.

“I really do love you.” He whispered, brushing back some of your tangled up hair as his lips pressed to yours. “I realized last night when you passed out in my arms and… your body just fit so perfectly with mine and you were so relaxed and peaceful. It made me feel so happy to see you that way.”

“I feel safe in your arms.” You smiled. “Safe and loved, like nothing can ever touch me. I think that’s because I really do love you too.”

“You’ll always be safe with me.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “That was a lovely way to wake up as well, much better than coffee if you ask me.”

“Coffee has nothing on your skills Mr. Styles.” You giggled, your arms tightening around his torso to hug him close. “I’d rather wake up like this every day, fuck coffee.”

“Fuck coffee,” He giggled with you. “We should probably have a shower, clean up after all those dirty words that flew out of your mouth.”

“Hey, you like it when I talk like that! You encourage it!” You cried out, looking at him with a playfully offended smirk. “I only do it because I know how much it turns you on.”

“Turns you on too.” He accused, his eyebrows shooting up. “Don’t think I don’t notice how you get lost when I talk to you that way.”

“You could read me the dictionary and I would be turned on.” You confessed, tossing your head back with a laugh. “It’s you Harry, everything you do turns me on.”

“Oh, hush.” He ducked his head down to your neck, giggling himself. “You’re pretty sexy yourself you know.”

“I know.” You hummed out. “You make me feel that way you know?”

“I do?” He lifted his head up, smirking. “You don’t need me to make you sexy, you do that well enough on your own, I promise.”

“I love you.” You whispered the words once more, your heart expanding in your chest as you looked into his sparkling eyes. “And thank you.”

“No need to thank me for stating the truth.” He smirked. “Now, I’m serious about that shower. And you were right about morning breath.”

“Hey!” You gasped as he pulled out of you slowly, rolling off of you and off the bed, his bare ass on display for you to gawk at.

“Stop staring at my bum and get up.” He called out as he walked towards your small bathroom like he belonged there. “Someone needs to brush their teeth.”

You fell back against your pillow, laughing softly as you looked up to the ceiling.

Yeah, this was love.

[tricksters-captain]

Charles Blackwood (WHALITC) imagines - Falling Star

AN: Sorry it took a while to get to you! I had to sit down and watch ‘We have always lived in the castle’ as I hadn’t seen it yet!

Requested by @cherryblossomskye​ - Charles Blackwood and ‘Falling Star’ by The Vogues 

(Want to request your own character and song inspired imagine? Send me an ask!)

Summary: Charles Blackwood is new to town and you don’t get very many fresh faces...

Pairing(s): Charles Blackwood x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,587

Warnings: Young/Inexperienced reader, Some light smut... nothing too naughty, this character is kind of an asshole so

The Blackwood mansion sat on its hill and watched over the town with its never blinking eyes. The town called it ‘The Castle’ as had the family that once lived there. 

The horror story of the Blackwood house still whistled across the state even long after they closed the case. But then again, a massacre doesn’t wash away so easy. 

Now only the two young Blackwood girls and their poor paralysed uncle lived in the castle and they very rarely left it. 

Every Tuesday was the time of the week that the youngest made her trip into town for groceries and other such needs. You worked in the café which was owned by Stella and the youngest Blackwood would always visit on her Tuesday trips. 

You had heard all the rumours and gossip the town could come up with to do with those girls but all you saw was two girls who struggled to socialise after the terrible murder of their family. 

The town had despised their father when he was alive and so you assumed the girls had despised him also. He must've been some brute for his eldest to poison him. Or that was the speculation at least. 

“Morning Mary Katherine.” You smiled politely as the tall awkward girl sat herself down in front of you. 

“Black Coffee.” She ordered her usual to which you poured her a cup. 

You had often thought the girl looked like a deer caught in headlights. Her eyes wide, her mouth straight, frowning just a little in the corners. She always had her hair in pigtails even now at the age of 18. 

She could’ve been a beauty like her older sister if she didn’t dress like she was still that 12 year old girl that lost her family. 

You tried to be kind when you could, quietly scold the townsfolk that chided her when she was drinking her coffee (you knew she didn’t appreciate you making a big thing out of those who bullied her). 

Stella was the same as you. She felt for the girls but she didn’t actively defend them like you did.

But on one Tuesday, the youngest Blackwood didn’t come for her usual cup of coffee. You hadn’t even seen her pass the window like she usually would on her way to the grocers. 

Instead there was a swanky red car that pulled up outside. 

You had heard whispers from a couple of teen girls about some handsome stranger in a red car Thursday last week but you hadn't seen anything yourself. 

You watched a well dressed man step out of his car and walk past the window, down to the grocers and then back up to the door a little while later. 

He opened the door to the café and happened to sit where Mary Katherine usually sat. 

You couldn’t deny the somersault your stomach had done when the man walked in. He was the most handsome man you had ever seen step into your little town before. 

“(Y/n)!” Stella called out your name and rushed towards you with a rag. 

The coffee you had been pouring for an old Joe had spilled over the counter at the sight of the stranger. 

“Oh! I’m sorry!” You felt your cheeks flush red as you wiped up the spilt coffee. 

The mystery man seemed to smirk to himself as you flushed over the counter. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I'll be right with you.” You apologised as you dumped the damp cloth in the sink.

“No rush, a pretty thing like you should be able to take her time.” The man smiled at you and you felt your mouth go dry at the compliment.

You smiled back before taking out your notepad and pencil. 

“What can I get for ya?” You asked, trying not to look at the man in fear you may forget how to speak if you did. 

“Some coffee and eggs will do nicely.” The man folded his hands together on top of the counter and your eyes couldn't help but watch them.

“Coffee and eggs for Mr..?” You tried your luck in finding out his name. 

“Call me Charles.” He introduced himself with another charming smile.

“Charles.” His name glided on your tongue, “I’m (Y/n), holla if you need me.”

You walked off to the kitchen and winced at your choice of words. 

‘Holla if you need me?’ You thought, cringing internally. 

You returned to the handsome stranger with a fresh coffee pot. 

“I must ask what is a lovely girl like yourself doing in a town like this one?” Charles asked you as he sipped on his coffee.

“I don’t come from much. This is home for me and I can’t really go anywhere else without an automobile or money.” You explained, adjusting your apron subconsciously. 

“I believe someone as beautiful as you should be able to go wherever you want.” Charles proclaimed. 

You blushed at his flattery. 

“Can I take you out sometime?” Charles asked, leaning forward on the. countertop. 

“My break is coming up. I could show you around town?” You offered, glancing over at the clock. 

“Sounds perfect to me.” Charles beamed you another toothy grin which made your heart flutter. 

Time went by in a flash and soon you were walking through town with the man. 

“So what brings you to our small corner of the world?” You asked, curious to why the man was visiting. 

“That house up there on the hill.” Charles nodded towards the Blackwood mansion. 

“You’re a Blackwood?” You felt a shiver roll down your spine at the sight of the looming building. 

“Indeed I am. I’m here to visit the girls and my uncle.” Charles informed you. 

“I wasn’t aware there were other Blackwoods left.” The words came out before you could stop them. “I-I apologise I didn’t mean to be so bold.” 

“It’s alright.” Charles stopped in his step and turned towards you. “You were only being honest.”

You looked up at the man. There was something in his eye. Something dark. Something malicious. But it only drew you in closer. 

“The girls are very lucky to have you visit. I fear they are rotting up there in their castle.” You did feel bad for the girls. 

“Well, I admit I like helping people.” Charles took your hand which made you look around and realise that you had walked Charles into a pretty secluded part of the town. 

There was nothing around but the back of the town hall and a field that lead into the forest linked to the Blackwood land. 

Charles took a step towards you. 

You let him step again and again, stepping backwards yourself until your back hit the cold brick of the town hall. 

“I could help you.” Charles voice was low as he spoke. 

His eyes were darker then before as they bored into your own. His tongue wetted his bottom lip as his breath drew close enough to tickle your cheeks. 

“Charles...” You could only manage to whisper his name. 

“I could take you anywhere you wanted. I could take you away from this town once I get what I came for from my cousins.” Charles’ body heat was radiating onto you and it made it hard to focus on what he was saying. 

“I made a wish the other night that I would escape this town.” You found yourself confessing the events of only a couple nights ago. 

“Then I think you should let me help you.” Charles lifted his hand and brushed his finger across your cheek and behind your ear. His touch was like fire. 

You let your eyes fall to his lips then back up to his eyes before you finally nodded. 

Charles didn’t waste a second. 

His lips found yours with a hunger. 

You gasped as he kissed you. You hadn’t kiss a boy before and his lips sent electricity all across your body.

Your hands found the back of his neck as you kissed him back. 

Charles' hand cupped your breast, squeezing hard as he kissed you. You had never been touched this way; it made you ache with need. 

Charles reached down and lifted your skirt up, his hand grabbing your thigh. Your skin was hot to touch which only made his member throb in his pants. 

Charles’ hand made its way up your leg but the minute he cupped your core, you gasped in shock, breaking the kiss.

“We can’t! Not here!” Your fingers shot up to your swollen lips whilst your other hand pushed your skirt down. “We could be seen!” 

“No one is going to see.” Charles bit down on your neck. You panted, squeezing your eyes shut but your hands found his chest and pushed him back. 

“Charles!” You exclaimed. 

Charles gave in and backed off. 

With his tongue in his cheek, he reached down to his trousers and sorted out his erection. 

You felt your cheeks flush violently red at his bold movement. 

“How long are you in town for?” You asked, trying to break the heavy silence. 

“As long as it takes.” He said flatly as he pushed his hair back.

“Well...” You flattened your skirt down completely. “...You can always see me tonight?” 

Charles looked back at you and then finally smiled again. 

“I’d like that.” He responded before planting a kiss on your temple. 

He walked you back to the cafe before hopping into his shiny red automobile and you watched him drive off towards the castle...

AN: Hope this was okay!!

[dreamypeaches]

the lucky ones | pope heyward x reader

summary: after finally confessing his feelings to you, his childhood best friend, you and pope get a surprise. 

warnings: pregnancy, cursing, tiny bit of angst, mostly pure fluff

word count: 1.7k

a/n: here’s some good old childhood friends to lovers, unexpected pregnancy, and dad!pope goodness. this is literally just my dream, so pope heyward, if you’re out there, hmu. 

“So…”

“Yeah.”

“This is real?”

“No, it’s cake.”

“Fuck you.”  

Pope looks down at the two pink lines before staring back up at you. From your place across the couch, you’re chewing on the inside of your thumb, eyes filled with anxiety, unable to read the expression on your best friend’s face. Except, he wasn’t just your best friend anymore. Though you hadn’t labeled it, whatever new level your relationship was on was far from platonic. Not after the way he kissed you and held you that night. Not after you moaned his name in the most sinful of ways. And especially not now, with the weight of reality falling onto your backs.

“What do you want to do?” Pope questions, staring back down to focus on the positive sign, still not fully comprehending the impact such a simple picture could have on his life.

“Well, obviously we can’t keep it,” you comment, not even questioning your words until Pope’s eyes widen, eyebrows coming together as he stands up.

“What do you mean we can’t keep it?” He asks. It’s you’re turn to be shocked, shooting his a confused look as he crouches in front of you, gaze falling onto your torso that was currently growing a little piece of you and him.

“Pope, how could we take care of a baby? You’re about to start medical school and that’s going to be insane! You don’t want to deal with being a father on top of that. And what am I going to do?”

He’s quiet for a moment, fingers reaching out hesitantly, landing on your stomach.

“Yeah, it is going to be insane. But…I love you. I’m completely in love with you and have been forever. There is no one else I’d rather have a life with, have a family with. So why don’t we start now?”

The look on his face is so hopeful you almost want to lie to him. It breaks your heart to have to speak the truth with tears in your eyes.

“You can’t say that, Pope. Sure, we’ve been friends forever, but that’s nothing like being in a relationship, like being parents! What if we don’t work well like that? What if we hate each other? Pope, I never want to hate you.” You start to sob, falling forward into his open arms. He clutches you tightly, wishing just his touch could make everything better.

He’d never expected to be able to touch you like this. You were his best friend since diapers, and he’d been in love with you since he discovered what love was. When he came home for the summer after graduating college, he’d made a decision. He wasn’t the same anxiety-ridden, awkward teenage boy you had grown up with. He was a man and he was accomplished and he had missed you like crazy, only seeing you on holidays and over the summer for the last four years. He’d planned it all out, bringing you to your favorite place when you were kids, a little nook in your backyard you called you’re happy place.

Talking an laughing like old times, Pope held you close before thinking screw it and asking if he could kiss you. Of course you said yes and one kiss turned into a full on make out which led to your bedroom which led to where you were now, sobbing into Pope’s arms as you tried to come to terms with the fact that nothing would be the same.

“We’ll figure it out, love. We don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to. It’s your choice and I will support you no matter what. Just tell me what you need.” Pope whispers against your neck, holding you like his life depended on it. You take a deep breath, your sobs subsiding as you allow Pope’s words to cover you in a comforting blanket.

“I just want to lay down.”

Pope nodded, standing with you in your arms and carrying you to the bedroom. You curled up in his side, whispering to him to turn the tv on. He did as you asked, putting on your favorite show and allowing you to escape for a while. You spent the rest of the day like that, intertwined with each other, not speaking despite the thousands of thoughts running through your heads. Exhaustion overtook you eventually, the emotional weight of the day washing over you and forcing you into unconsciousness, but not before you made a decision.  

When you woke, it was early the next day. Pope, of course, was already up, always an early riser. He still had an arm wrapped around you scrolling through his phone before dropping it to the side as you stirred beside him.

“Good morning, love,” He says, shooting you a smile. You smile back up, your thoughts before falling asleep coming back to you, making your smile light up.

“Let’s do this, Pope,” You say. His brow furrow for a moment, not understanding the context of your statement. “Let’s have a baby. I love you, I want this with you. We can do it.”

Pope’s look of confusion bursts into one of pure happiness, his arms gripping you in a bear hug and pulling you onto his chest as he peppered your face with kisses. The joy was contagious, giggles falling from your lips as Pope started to list off all the ways you could make it work, and you couldn’t help but believe him. You looked into the future and you knew it would be okay.

1 year and 9 months later

Your phone buzzed for the millionth time that morning as you prepared breakfast. The smile that had yet to leave your face only grew as you read the message from Kie.

Tell Sylus happy birthday from his favorite auntie! Can’t wait to see you tomorrow!

You turn to now one year old, happily eating cheerios and blueberries in his high chair.

“Sy, Auntie Kie says happy birthday!” You say.

“Kie! Kie!” Sylus exclaims, grin showing off his two new bottom teeth.

“What about Kie?” Pope asks, walking into the kitchen in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, hair still damp from the shower.

“She just texted, wishing Sy a happy birthday. I’ve been blowing up all morning, not that any of the messages are for me. I swear, everyone we know loves our child more than us.”

Pope chuckles, arm encasing your waist as he pecks you on the cheek.

“Who can blame them, he is the cutest child in the universe. Aren’t you, Sy? Aren’t you the cutest little chunky money?” Pope’s baby voice comes out and he moves over to his son, fingers tickling his chubby belly as the now one year old giggled.

“Anyways, not everyone is focused on Sy. JJ texted me this morning congratulating me on getting laid a year and nine months ago,” Pope says. You scoff.

“Of course he did.” You turn the stove off and scoop the eggs onto a plate, adding some toast, fruit, and bacon and laying it in front of Pope. Filling your own plate, you sit on the other side of Sylus, picking up his milk that had fallen to the ground.

“So, what’s the plan for today, love?” Pope asked. The both of you had been lucky enough to get the whole weekend off. Today was Sylus’ actual birthday, tomorrow you’d be making the short trip to the Outer Banks for the grand party both your and Pope’s parents were putting together. It was times like these that made Pope getting into med school at Chapel Hill all the better.

“I was thinking we spend some time at home, maybe open up that new present we got him and let him try it out while we finish packing. Then we can stop at the aquarium on our way to the Outer Banks, you know how much he loves it there. Then we get to your parents house and spend at least an hour watching your mom and my mom gush over out little angel and shower him with an unnecessary amount of gifts. Sy is asleep by 8:30 and we’re in bed by 10.”

Pope nods along, eyes moving from his son to you as you spoke.

“Sounds like a plan.”

The day had gone just according to that plan. You were getting ready for bed, brushing your teeth and washing your face as Pope put Sy down. That clearly wasn’t happening when Pope walked into the bathroom, a pajama clad Sylus in his arms.

“Is he giving you trouble?” You ask with a smile.

“No, actually, there is one last gift for the day. Can you give it to mommy, Sy Sy?” Pope coos at the child, who is playing with a small box in his hands. After asking him once more, Sylus sticks his pudgy arm out, stretching across the space to hand you the box.

“I know it’s Sy’s birthday, but I thought it was the perfect time to give you this.”

You smile, giving Pope a confused look before lifting the lid. Your smile falls, eyes filling with tears as you lift the simple ring from the box.

“Pope…” Is all you’re able to say as your eyes are trained on the shiny object.

“I love you, Y/N. I know we didn’t really do things in the right order, but that’s okay. I love the life we’ve created and I love our son and I love you and I’m ready for this next step. So, will you marry me?”

“Mama cry? Mama cry?” Sylus says, reaching towards you as tears fall from your eyes, racing down and over your smiling lips. You take Sylus into your arms, kissing him on the forehead before looking back at Pope.

“Of course I’ll marry you.” Pope crashes his lips to yours, reducing his passion slightly so you wouldn’t drop Sylus. He takes the ring from you and slips it on to your finger, kissing the skin around it before grinning up at you. Sylus points to the rings and babbles, clearly interested in the bright item. You and Pope just laugh, walking together to Pope’s childhood bedroom. Laying Sylus down in his crib, Pope pulls you against him on the bed as you admire the jewelry on your finger.

“I can’t believe I get to have this. I’m marrying Y/N Y/L/N. I must be the luckiest man in the world.” You giggle, pressing a sweet kiss to his smiling lips. Looking back at the sleeping boy beside the bed, you sigh in content.

“I think we’re both the lucky ones, my love.”

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[justasparkwritings]

Merry & Bright: Your Midnights*

Previous: Till the Morning Light

*SMUT

undefined

           Jimin cracks his back, followed by his neck and finally his fingers before he pulls back the duvet and crawls into bed. Resting his back against the headboard, he looks at you. Your hair is falling haphazardly around your face, and he’s quick to move a strand out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. You smile at the gesture, eyes still staring at your phone, where you’re in the middle of reading a New York Times article on the future of American politics, something no doubt, your mother sent to you. Scanning the byline, you’re unsure if it’s going to stress you out or piss you off, so you opt for closing the app and turning ot your husband, who hasn’t stopped watching you since he got into bed.

           “Hi,” You whisper, voice stuck in your throat.

           “Hi,” Jimin whispers, the warmth in his voice making your heart swell.

           “Happy New Year,” You say through your smile.

           “It’s not even midnight,” He says, laughing too loudly.

           “Shh!” You scold, ears peeling to catch any tiny feet or little cries.

           “They’re dead asleep, it’s okay,” Jimin tells you, voice returning to it’s natural timber.

           “If they wake up,” You say, eyes finishing your sentence.

           “How can I make it up to you?” Jimin asks, slowly leaning his head towards yours, tongue gently licking his lips.

           “Do you really want me to tell you?” You meet Jimin halfway, lips excitedly meeting his in a hurried kiss. His lips teasingly move against yours, tongue swiping before retreating, teeth grazing without biting, his hands taunting you as they approach the curve of your ass before retreating, moving up and down your thighs without landing anywhere that you want him, need him. He continues his ministrations, taunting you relentlessly until he can feel your hips starting to buck into his hands.

           “My baby’s eager,” He says against your lips before moving further down to your neck.

           “Jimin,” You moan softly, the change in his focus bringing some of the relief you’re desperately seeking.

           “Do you want more?” He whispers, hands slowly pushing your clean pajama top over your head, freeing your chest to the cool air of your bedroom.

           “Yes,” You tell him as he takes in your sight.

           “You’re gorgeous,” He says as his eyes take in your body.

           “Yeah?” You whisper, insecure as his hands find your skin again. He grinds into you, the pressure of his hardened cock eliciting a moan from both of your lips. “You sure that’s not just the prospect of sex?”

           “No, it’s all you, it’s always you,” He tells you, eyes earnest.

           “Even after babies?” You ask.

           “Especially after babies,” Jimin’s smiling at you, the love he feels for you seems to double or triple every day. From the way you smile at him, to the way you care for your children, or the way your ass looks in your favorite leggings, the ones without the holes or toddler cracker dust on them, or how you toss your hair into a ponytail during playtime, or how you always manage to make time for Jimin, no matter how tired, no matter how exhausted or burned out. Every part of him loves every inch of you, more than the day you met, more than the day he realized he loved you, more than your wedding day or when he realized you’re the love of his life, more than when you welcomed your first child.

          Every day starts with you, and he’s the luckiest man in the universe that it ends with you too.

          Overwhelmed with his adoration of you, Jimin doesn’t waste any more time sliding your underwear off and burrowing himself between your legs, where he does make a show of edging you gently and repeatedly until you swear if you don’t cum you are going to cry, and cry you do as Jimin moves from between your legs to behind you, where he pulls your back flush to his chest. He lifts your leg over his hip, opening you to him, and sinks himself into your cunt, bottoming out as his free hand moves instantly to your clit, the oversensitive numb begging for release. As he begins to thrust, pace aggressive, you’re both so glad you got a new IUD placed as soon after giving birth as you were allowed, a method that hadn’t failed you after your first child and wouldn’t fail after your second.

          It doesn’t take long for you to come undone, the edging Jimin had inflicted upon you and your clit would you tighter than you’d realized, making it almost impossible to not yell as you came undone around him. Feeling your walls tense around him, Jimin snapped his hips faster, his moistened fingers moving to pinch and twirl your nipples, his teeth digging into your shoulder.

          Your voice could be heard in hushed whispers, encouraging Jimin to fuck you deeper, to go harder, to use this as practice in case you ever wanted another kid (you didn’t). It was all the encouragement he needed to hit his release, his teeth disappearing as his lips sucked your skin, moan echoing into your bones.

          It takes a few minutes for you both to regain any sense of composure, and you diligently hobble to the bathroom to pee and grab a damp washcloth, which you use to clean up Jimin.

          “Aein, you don’t need to clean me up,” He says, hand on your wrist as you try to move it against his upper thigh. “Please, let me.”

          You nod, your mothering instinct hard to suppress. “Okay.”

          Jimin smiles at you, pressing a kiss on your cheek before he cleans himself up and rises. Glancing at his watch, he notes that it isn’t quite the new year yet. After tossing you a new pair of underwear, and slipping his own on, he disappears from the bedroom. You rise, staring at your sheets, trying to decide if you wanted to toss them in the wash today or just wait until tomorrow. Too exhausted to care, and noting that no cum means it’s clean enough to sleep on.

          Crawling back onto your side of the bed, you pull the blankets around you and glance at the mess of your master. Clothes lingering, both adult and child sizes, a few baby books and a burp rag or two draped over your armchair from late night feeds with your seven month old, a rarity now as they were outgrowing them. You note the sippy cup and two bottles sitting on the bookshelf and side table next to the chair. In childless times, you’d exited your en suite to find Jimin sitting in said green velvet, tying the laces to his dress shoes or adjusting his cuff links. Other times, you’d made out in that chair, on a particular winter evening you’d blown him, how circle of life for it to be your second favorite place to cuddle your child in the light of the moon.

          Jimin returns, a tray in his hands. He’s gathered a few Christmas cookies, two flutes of what looks like ginger ale, and refilled your favorite water bottle which you’d left downstairs. He sets it gently on the bed before crawling up next to you.

          “It’s almost 00:00,” He says, gentle kiss placed to your temple.

          “And you’re gonna be happy,” You sing softly, shoulder nudging him as you grab a flute, engraved with your wedding date. A gift from Taehyung that you adored.

          “I’m always happy,” Jimin can’t stop smiling as he clinks his glass against yours.

          “Oh really? Even though we’ll be cleaning up bottles together on New Years Day?” You ask, sipping the sparkling liquid which is in fact ginger ale.

           “Baby bottles, and sippy cups,” Jimin clarifies.

           “How lame, it’s almost a new year and we’re sipping ginger ale, eating Christmas cookies, hoping our children don’t wake up,” You snort nibling on a cookie.

           “We did finish that bottle of wine,” Jimin corrects.

           “That we opened on Christmas,” You say.

           “Fair point,” Jimin nods taking another sip of his ale. “We did just have great sex, and an amazing dinner.”

           “Also true,” You nod, eyes taking in his post sex look. His hair is blonde again, your favorite, and in its post sex state, it’s both pushed back and messy. His lips, always pink, are swollen from yours, and his eyes are both blown and tired. Five years of parenthood has permanently clouded them, and there’s something extra there that only comes from making love to you.

           “I’m happy cleaning up bottles,” Jimin starts, setting his cookie down, “and sippy cups, and burb rags and dirty diapers, so long as I get to spend the new year cleaning up with you. I’m happy to do anything as long as it’s with you.”

           “It’s 00:00,” You tell him. “Happy New Year.”

           You lean in softly to place a kiss on Jimin’s lips, this time it’s soft and loving, kind and adoring.

           “I’m happy to do anything with you, too,”

Next: Jackpot Question

[cpd5021]

How to Save a Life (2)

The first chapter was ridiculously long, so I tried to keep this one shorter. I ended up splitting it into chapters two and three because I couldn’t find an ending I liked without just abruptly ending it. This one is also full of angst, as most of this fic will be. Thanks for all the wonderful feedback I’ve received from this fic already, it means a lot!!! 

Chapter Two - Paralyzed

Where are my feelings,

I no longer feel things

     Three days. Three days since Voight had pulled us into his office, informing us that Gael had been released. Three days since I drove Vanessa to the warehouse neither of us should have been at. Three days since I heard the gunshot and watched the life drain from her eyes, holding her limp and bloody body in my arms, only relinquishing my grip when Jay pulled me away. I had let him loosen my hands, clutching desperately to her bloodstained clothing, had allowed him to pull me into a standing position and walk me away from her body, and had even let him drive me home. Not because I wanted to do any of those things, but because as I watched the light fade from her face everything inside me faded away as well. I had no will to fight, no desire to argue or push him away. A small part of me recognized that I needed him to do those things for me because I never would have accomplished them myself. But as he had led me up to my front door, looking more than ready to settle in at my house with no thought of leaving ever again, something inside me flickered just enough to send him away. He pushed at first, telling me he wasn’t leaving me alone, not like this, but I hadn’t budged. He left with the door slammed in his face and if I had had anything left in me, the sight of his face just before it shut would have broken me. But it was too late for that. I was already broken. 

    I had shuffled aimlessly into my entryway, briefly debating where I wanted to go next, before dragging myself up the stairs. Deciding to skip a much needed shower, necessary to wash the dried blood off that caked my exposed skin, I had simply stripped out of my clothes and climbed into bed. And that is where I have been ever since. But now it was Friday, the day of her funeral. A part of me considered not going. After all, her death was my fault. I had set in motion the events that led up to her getting shot and I didn’t think I was worthy of being there for her send off. I glanced over at my alarm clock, groaning when the red numbers only flashed 5am. I rolled back over, pulling a pillow over my head and hoping that I would never wake up. A pounding on my door downstairs was the next thing I heard and when I lifted the pillow back off my head I realized it was much lighter in my room now. The clock displayed 8am. The pounding sounded again and I laid there trying to ignore it, hoping whoever it was would go away. There was a lapse in the loud banging and right when I was starting to feel some relief, my phone buzzed on the table beside me. A message from Voight. 

You have about two seconds to open this door or I’m kicking it down.

I read the message twice before jumping out of bed with a groan, knowing he wasn’t kidding. I threw on some sweats that had been tossed aside a few days prior and made my way downstairs. I could see his frame looming through the tiny window on the door before I pulled it open, squinting in the bright daylight. His face was stern but his eyes were soft as he took me in. I could only imagine what I looked like. 

“I figured you might want a ride to the funeral.”

He stepped inside the door frame, causing me to take a step back. The silent message that he wasn’t leaving without me loud and clear. 

“I’m not going.”

I said weakly, hoping he wouldn’t fight me. He did, of course. His eyes bore into mine, assessing my mental state with precision skill. 

“You are.”

He informed me, once again relaying that I wasn’t going to win this. I couldn’t look at him any longer and instead let my head hang. I certainly didn’t trust my voice to speak so I let the silence linger between us. 

“Go take a shower and get in your blues. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Having nothing left in me to fight him with, I turned and padded my way back up the stairs. Entering the bathroom I took in the mess scattered before me, remnants of my roommates hungover rush to get ready for work. The sight bringing a lump to my throat. I quickly stripped out of the sweats and turned the water on as hot as it would go. Stepping under the stream, I let myself melt into the heat for just a moment before I started washing up, moving on autopilot with no real desire behind any of it. Once I was as clean as I was going to get, I stepped back out, tugging a towel on and shuffling towards my bedroom. The dress blues were tucked into the very back of my closet and under any other circumstance I would have pulled them out to freshen up. It was too late for that now as I worked to put it on and pin everything to the right place. Once dressed, I headed back to the bathroom to assess my hair. Deciding drying it and actually making it look nice was not something I could manage at this moment, I put a quick braid through the damp hair and called it good. I returned downstairs to find Voight right where I had left him and nodded towards the door to let him know I was ready to go. We silently climbed into his vehicle and he pulled out of my driveway, letting the silence hang between us. About halfway there he spoke and his sudden voice broke through the haze I had settled in too. 

“Coffee?”

I simply shook my head no, my eyes never shifting from the front window. 

“When’s the last time you ate?”

I could tell he was looking at me but I refused to look at him. 

“This morning.”

I lied, giving a shrug for added measure. I wasn’t sure if he believed me or not but he didn’t press the issue. Finally, or should I say, all too soon, we were pulling into the lot. I instantly spotted Jay standing next to Kevin and the constant lump in my throat burned even more. We climbed out and I followed after Voight with my head hung low. I came to stand beside Jay, risking just a small glance up at him before I registered the look of worry in his eyes and darted mine away. I couldn’t handle him looking at me like that and if I stared too long I knew I would fall apart. 

     Somehow I made it through the service, although to be honest, I don’t remember much of it. I had allowed the haze to settle back over me, blocking out the words and funeral music blaring from the speakers. It was over. She was gone. And I wanted nothing more than to crawl back into my bed and never get out. Except, as I recalled the morning’s events, I realized I didn’t have a ride. Voight was now tied up with the formalities that come with being a sergeant who’s lost a member of his unit. I surveyed the crowd, hoping to spot a patrol officer that could give me a quick ride, but instead I locked eyes with Jay. He hesitated for a moment before he made his way over to me, closing the gap quickly but leaving plenty of space between us. 

“I can drive you home.”

He offered, aware of my situation. Not seeing any other real option I gave him a quick nod and followed him to the truck. The ride back to my place was silent, something I was becoming all too familiar with. None of the usual banter that Jay and I usually exchanged. He pulled into my driveway and shut his truck off right as I was about to jump out. I sent him a look, telling him he could go but he climbed out behind me. I got to my door, unlocking it and stepping inside just as he rounded the top step. 

“Can I come in?”

He asked, his eyes pleading with me to not shut him out. Normally I would have been grateful for his presence, happily welcoming him in to do “our thing”. But everything was different now. We couldn’t do our thing because that required two things, him and me. And the ‘me’ part wasn’t here anymore. Her death, being the one to blame, this wasn’t something I would recover from and it wasn’t something I had any drive to even try to heal from. I was done. Empty. Nothing. 

“No.”

I all but whispered, moving to shut the door. But he was faster and his boot blocked me from closing it. 

“Hailey...don’t do this.”

He pleaded, making no motion to push the door open, only keep the gap to talk to me.

“You can go Jay. This isn’t something for you to fix.”

My words were harsher this time and I knew if he kept pushing I would hurt him. I wanted him to go, I didn’t want to be the broken person he felt the need to fix. 

“Hailey…”

My name left his lips so softly I almost felt a twinge of pain, but the numbness that had settled over me blocked it out. I wasn’t sure I was capable of feeling anything anymore. My core was shattered. 

“I’m not leaving you like this. I know what you’re thinking and this isn’t your fault.”

His words sparked something in me and I whipped the door back open to face him. 

“Isn’t my fault? Are you stupid? This is all my fault! I’m the one who planted the drugs, I’m the reason he got out, I’m the reason she was there, the reason she’s dead!”

By the time I finished I was screaming at him, my face burning red as I felt tears threaten to gather in my eyes. This line of thinking wasn’t new, it hadn’t left my mind since the moment she died, but it was the first time I had voiced it out loud. 

“She would have gone either way, you know that.”

He tried to reason, only fueling the fire.

“Jay, she never would have been a target if I hadn’t done what I did. This is all on me. I’m sorry you try to find the good in everyone but you can’t do that this time. I’m the reason she’s dead!” 

The tears were falling now, only making me more angry. I hated the way he was looking at me. 

“You’re my partner Hailey, I’m not leaving.”

I gripped the door between my hands, ready to force it shut as soon as I had the chance. 

“I’m not your partner Jay, not anymore. I’m done. Go away.”

My voice shook as I spoke and whatever tiny little bit I had left in me broke as I watched the hurt cross over his face. He removed his foot and the second the block was no longer there I slammed the door shut. I turned around, letting my body slump against the cool surface and collapsed onto the floor. Tears flowed down my face and sobs rose into my chest. I hadn’t cried yet, not really. But losing Jay, pushing him away, was the final straw and I fell apart.

[aerynwrites]

The Hidden (5)

Chapter 5: Not Alone

The Mandalorian x Reader

Author’s Note: Y’all this one is a DOOZY. I think is the longest thing I have ever posted on this blog. so yay me! Also, I should 100% be studying for my finals but this freaking man, and this story has been on my mind all day and I could not focus. So, let’s hope I don’t fail these finals and if I do then I can totally blame the Mandalorian right? Right? Anyway, let me know what y’all think, feedback is encouraged and highly appreciated! thank you all for all the support this far! <3

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: brief mentions of nudity, violence, and death.

Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five (Here), Six, Seven, Eight

//

You woke with a start, the images that plagued your sleep dissipating as you awoke, leaving you with nothing but a thin sheet of sweat covering your body and an ache between your thighs.

You tried to steady your erratic breathing and calm your flushed face. The images from the dream still danced across your mind in flashes of tanned skin, warm hands and whispery breaths. You let out a shaky sigh as you swung your legs over the side of the hammock and sat up, hyper aware of the thin tank top sticking to your still damp skin.

“Sleep well?”

You startled at the modulated voice and whip your head to face the sound. You are met with none other than the very man that plagued your sleep as he fiddled with the armor on his arms, head tilted in a curious manner. You felt a blush creep up your neck and fill your cheeks. Had he heard you? You silently prayed to the maker that you weren’t obvious in your unconscious state.

You inhaled deeply, running a hand through your sweat damp hair, “I-uhm, yeah I slept good. You?”

There was a slight pause before he spoke, “Surprisingly yes,” you sighed in silent relief. He hadn’t heard you.

“Until your restlessness woke me up.” He stated, a teasing hint in his voice.

Well shit.

If your face wasn’t on fire before it certainly was now. You stood quickly and stumbled slightly as you grabbed your cloak from the floor along with a small towel. “I’m sorry- I uhm,” you stuttered as you walked towards the exit desperate to distance yourself from the awkward situation, “I’m going to go get some air really quick.” You mutter, pushing past the curtain and out the door.

Dyn watched you leave, a smirk sliding onto his face under the helmet at your embarrassed state. He had heard. Of course, he had, you were only five feet apart from one another and his bounty hunter days made him a light sleeper. And surprisingly, he wasn’t upset by what had happened, or embarrassed. As confusing as it was to him, he felt himself growing attached to you, and the fact that you had obviously dreamed about him (if your nickname for him being called several times didn’t give it away), had him yearning for more.

More what? He asked himself.

Besides the obvious physical aspect, he didn’t know yet. He had only known you for a week at most, and still he felt this indescribable pull towards you, a force, if you will. He felt the need to be near you, talk to you, protect you, even though he knew you didn’t need his protection, he was baffled by these new developments. He let out a low sigh and looked around the small hut, quickly spotting the child waddling from the back room gurgling lightly. As he moved towards the kid and picked him up, he felt the bandages around his torso shift slightly and hissed. He lifted up the bottom of his shirt and saw a small amount of blood peaking through the white gauze. He dropped his shirt and held the kid up in front of his face gently.

“I think some washing up is in order, what do you think?” he asked rhetorically.

The kid just giggled and reached out tiny hands to grasp for the Mandalorian.

“That’s what I thought you’d say.��

He tucked the child in the crook of his arm and left the building to inquire about a bathing area.

//

You lightly smacked yourself in the forehead as you approached a small river nearby the village.

“stupid, stupid, stupid,” you chastised, “He probably hates me and never wants to talk to me again,” you say to yourself as you drop your items on a nearby patch of grass.

You sit down and start to take off your shoes followed by the rest of your clothing and set them neatly in a pile a few feet from the bank. You grabbed the soap you managed to snatch before you sped out of your house and waded into the river, sighing as the cool water encased you. After the skirmish with the beasts and the consequent cleanup, you felt absolutely disgusting, so you felt a refresh was in order. You gently started to scrub the dirt and grime from your body as your mind wandered back to this morning and last nights events.

It was now clearly obvious the feelings you harbored for your armored guest, but you were still unsure of exactly why you felt these things. At first you wanted to brush them off as simple and natural feelings stemming from not being with anyone in that way for a long time. But you knew it was deeper than that. You dunked your head under the water to get your hair wet before emerging and scrubbing at your hair angrily with the soap. You were frustrated. Frustrated that you were feeling these things. Frustrated that you couldn’t control them. And frustrated at that stupid helmet and that stupid bounty hunter never seemed to leave your thoughts. Yet the connection you felt for him was stronger than any frustration you felt. You could feel a yearning tugging at your heart when you saw him interact with the child, a warmth when he spoke to you and an ineffable feeling to want to see him – to know him, the real him. Not the mask you are so used to. Who was he beneath the helmet?

You let out a sigh at the still unanswered question that tormented your mind. You dunked your head underwater to rinse out the suds, the sound of rushing water covering up the sound of an approaching intruder.

Dyn had not intended on following you or sneaking up on you for that matter. He just followed the directions that one of the villagers gave him to the local bathing spot and was not prepared to for what he saw. The neat pile of familiar clothing should have keyed him into the situation but, before he realized who’s clothing it was, he was already at the rivers clearing and frozen by the sight before him. You had risen from the water, thankfully (or not so thankfully), facing the other direction as you wrung out your soaked hair. Dyn couldn’t help himself as he studied your form, eyes trailing over every dip and curve, admiring in silence your beautiful yet powerful build. he could practically feel the suppleness of your skin under his fingertips despite never having touched you before. As his eyes continued to roam your body, he took note of the large jagged scar that traveled from your left hip up to your right shoulder blade and felt a small tug of rage at whomever had caused it. However, his thoughts were cut short as you turned around slowly, leaving nothing to his imagination anymore, to exit the river and your eyes landed on his figure at the edge of the clearing.

On instinct you dropped into the water, covering whatever dignity you had left, and gasped loudly.

“Mando! What the kriff are you doing?” you screech.

“I-uhm-“ he quickly whipped around to face the other direction and reluctantly removed his gaze from you, “I was just following directions from another villager, I didn’t know-“ he stopped to steady his breathing slightly, “I had no idea you were here.”

You could hear the earnestness in his voice, but still your face flushed for what felt like the millionth time this morning.

“Well stay turned around, I would like to keep some of my dignity and I really don’t need the kid seeing all I have to offer either.” You tease.

You climb out of the water and shove down the thought of ‘if he didn’t have the kid, I would have invited him in’ as you approach your clothing. You quickly and haphazardly dry off and throw your clothes on before brushing past the Mandalorian tossing the soap bar in his direction.

“You might need this,” he fumbles to catch the slippery bar with one hand but manages to do so and watches your figure retreat back to the village.

“Stop staring Mando!” you call out over your shoulder.

He quickly averts his eyes and turns to face the river and repeat the process you just finished. He sets the kid down on the ground and finds small round nut on the ground and hands it to the child before ushering him behind a near by tree. The kid is instantly entranced by the small object and begins playing with it as Mando walks down to the river and begins removing his armor. The vision of your unclothed form and question of the origin of the scar plaguing his mind.

//

When you return to the village all you want to do is crawl into a hole and die, mortified at the seemingly endless chain of humiliating events this morning. By the time you reach your home, change into clean clothes and tidy up, it’s around early afternoon.

“Hey (Y/N)!” your friend Ariah excitedly greets you as you exit the building.

“Hey! What’s got you so excited?” you ask amusedly, not used to seeing the woman so hyped up.

She grasps your shoulders and bounces on the balls of her feet, “We’re having a party! To celebrate our victory the other night. We haven’t had a party in ages.”

You raise your eyebrows at the news, “A party? I can’t even remember the last time we had one of those that wasn’t for the local solstice.”

Every year your village and the other tribes around the area held a large celebration to celebrate the summer solstice. It came with bonfires, eating, drinking, and a lot of dancing. Something that while rare, you looked forward too.

Ariah nods excitedly, “Right? It’s going to be so fun, and we can actually just relax now that we don’t have to worry about those beasts.” You see her glance over your shoulder, “All thanks to you and him.”

You follow her gaze to see Mando had returned and was watching from a distance as the children played with the child, rolling a small ball to and fro. He seemed to sense your gaze and looked over to you, well you assumed he was looking at you. You quickly looked away as he started to walk towards you, leaving the kid with the other children.

Ariah gives you a knowing look before squeezing your hands gently, “I’ll see you tonight (Y/N)! you too Mando!” she calls over her shoulder as she retreats.

“What was that?” you hear his modulated voice ask.

You shrug and turn to walk back into your house, the Mandalorian following you, “We’re having a celebration tonight,” you walk over and sit on your hammock, swinging slightly, “To celebrate the defeat of the Chroigs. And you.”

“Me?” you could hear the disbelief in his voice.

You smiled and chuckled, “Yes, you. Without you and your idea those animals would still be out there.”

“You all did most of the work,” he defended.

You rolled your eyes, “Just take the compliment Mando, and enjoy the party tonight.”

He didn’t respond to you and a comfortable silence filled the air as you rocked in your hammock and Mando gazed out the nearby window at the playing children.

“How did you get that scar?”

The question startled you, and for a moment you were confused. Until you  saw him looking directly at you and realized that he was referring to the scar he no doubt saw this morning. You didn’t answer right away, not sure if you wanted to dredge up the past you so desperately tried to keep hidden. But you sighed and stood, moving to the very window he was looking out of, and watched the children play gently with the small green child.

“I was about their age,” you started gently, “My parents and I were out at the market on my home plant, shopping for my birthday actually,” You had barely started and yet you felt a lump forming in the back of your throat, “When out of nowhere the streets were flooded with storm troopers and empire soldiers.”

You heard the Mandalorian come to join you at the window, his cool beskar armor brushing your arm slightly, a small comfort to you in that moment. You continued.

“Blasters start firing and my parents are screaming, my mother picked me up and ran through the chaos to try and get me to safety. I saw my dad running after us but then the next thing I know a red bolt of light hit him in the back and he was gone,” I feel a tear slip from my eyes and wipe it away quickly, “I didn’t know it in that moment, but they were there for me. A man in all black with, what I now know to be a light saber, followed my mother and I. She turned to fight, to save me, but she couldn’t win, not against him. So, I ran. But I couldn’t outrun him either.” At this I pulled up my shirt slightly revealing my scar once more, “He slashed me across the back, and I fell, he must have assumed I was dead because next thing I know I’m waking up in the destroyed market. Alone.”

I finish my story and wipe at my eyes once more, trying to wipe the wet signs emotion from my face.

“Sorry it’s not some heroic battle story,” I let out a dry chuckle, trying to lighten the mood and also forget once more.

But Mando wasn’t done.

“Why did the empire want you? You were just a child.” His voice was full of malice, and what sounded like a sense of understanding.

“I can do things,” you say, still not sure if you want to reveal this secret, a secret only you have known for the majority of your life.

Mando turns to face you, “What kinds of things? What could possibly make the empire hunt you down?”

“I can use the force,” you finally spit out, the secret finally out in the open.

You’re ready for judgement, or fear, the same fear that was in your parent’s eyes when they saw you lift a ball without touching it. The fear of the unknown.

But you’re only met with a head tilt of confusion from the bounty hunter, clearly not understanding what you were on about. You can understand, you didn’t know what it was either until you came across story books in your travels, one’s of people known as the Jedi able to move things with their minds and even control others. Over the years you had learned to hone your abilities but every time you used them the memory of that horrible day filled your mind, and the fear of being found once more scared you into hiding. So, you stopped. You quit using your powers, kept them secret from anyone but yourself. So, to be telling this to the man in front of you, a bounty hunter no less, was terrifying. You explained, as simply as you could, what the force was to the Mandalorian and paused once you were done, looking up at him worriedly.

“You see why I don’t tell anyone? I sound crazy, and stupid, and- “you are cut short as he strides out of your home, cape fluttering behind him.

Your heart drops into your stomach, a sense of dread weighing heavy on your limbs. He was going to tell someone. He was going to tell the whole village and you were going to be forced to leave. Or he was going to leave and tell someone about your whereabouts. All of these thoughts were flying through your mind that you had spaced out and gasped when the Mandalorian burst into your home once more this time holding the child. He set the child down on the counter carefully before picking up a stray bowl and held it out to you.

“Can you do it to this? In front of the kid?” he asked hurriedly.

You looked at him quizzically, “Of course I can do it with a bowl. Mando what is this about?” His actions were very out of character.

“Will you do it? Please?” he almost begged.

You hesitated, not having used your powers in front if anyone since you were a child but reached your hand out slightly. You felt the force latch onto the bowl and Mando withdrew his hand leaving the bowl suspended in midair, the only thing keeping it in place was you. You watched as the child’s wide eyes looked from you to the bowl in front of him, seemingly mesmerized by the action. You looked over to Mando, about to speak up, confused about the point of this all when you felt it. A connection. You looked back to the child and saw his little hand extended towards the bowl, eyes squinted in concentration. Realization dawned on you; this little child was like you. You released the bowl from your force grip and brought your hands to your mouth, a shocked sound slipping past your lips as it stayed suspended. However, the bowl soon fell to the ground and shattered as the kid slumped back in exhaustion. With your hands still over your mouth, you look from the small child then over to Mando who was stood stock still.

You dropped your hands from your mouth and let out an excited gasp, “Oh my stars!” you turned to Mando, who still hadn’t moved and instinctively threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“I thought I was alone!” you admitted, “This whole time. But he’s here! And –“ you realized you were still clinging to the bounty hunter and stepped away slightly, another realization dawning on you, “That’s why you’re here. Someone is after him.” You look back to the brown bundle who seemed to be sleeping peacefully on the countertop, exhausted.

All Mando could do was nod, he couldn’t make his mouth form words. All of this information was too much for him. The kid, you, the fact that you both could do these things, posessed these powers. Then his mind went back to your story and he felt his heart constrict. You didn’t deserve this.

“I’m sorry.” He eventually whispered.

You furrowed your brows in confusion, what was he sorry about?

“What you went through,” he clarified, “and asking. I had no right.”

You shook your head and stepped forward eyes not meeting his and placed a gentle hand on his arm, “I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t want to. Plus- “you looked up to him, “It felt…nice to finally open up. Tell someone about everything,” you admitted.

“My parents were killed too,” be confessed, catching you by surprise, “I was a child, like you, when droids attacked my village. My parents hid me in a hatch in the ground, but they didn’t make it,” you can hear his voice shake slightly and your eyes soften, you squeeze his arm comfortingly and he continues, “The Mandalorians found me, raised me, and that’s how I ended up doing what I did, how I ended up here.”

You smile sadly and bring the tall man into a hug; he hesitates shortly before wrapping his arms around your waist tightly. You sigh contentedly as you rest your cheek against his chest plate, the cool metal a comfort to your warm skin.

You weren’t alone after all.

[hes-a-rainbow]

Locked Away

A/N: Never believe me when I say I’m writing a ‘blurb’ because apparently I’m incapable of it. Anyway, please enjoy this short little one shot that’s basically just harry being cute af 👜

Based on prompt from here!

“Am I your lockscreen?” “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: None!

P.S. thank you @harrywavycurly​ for this “anon”  🥰

Please reblog if you enjoy!

You push open the large front door, “Harry?” Your voice echoes throughout the expanse of his vast entry way. You close the door behind you, kicking your shoes off to the side before walking towards the stairway to the second floor.

“Harry?” You repeat a little louder this time. He knew you were supposed to meet here at noon for brunch but when you texted him that you were here, he didn’t respond. You could only hope that he didn’t fall back asleep because you were sure when you factored in traffic, you were going to be at least fifteen minutes late for your reservation.

The door leading to the master bedroom is cracked open but you still knock out of courtesy in case he is getting dressed, “H?” The squeak of the hinges make your cringe as you slowly sneak them open. It wasn’t your first time in there but you had only been there a handful of times and still weren’t quite comfortable just charging in.

The bed is still unmade but you’re just happy he’s still not sleeping in it. There’s some of his clothes tossed on the floor carelessly along with his black leather gucci crossbody sitting on his dresser. You can see the light underneath the bathroom door and can hear him banging around as he gets ready for the day. The fan in the bathroom is on, evaporating the steam from the shower indicating why he hadn’t heard you in the first place.

You walk over and knock a little too loud just in case he was still in the shower.

“H?” You repeat again, starting to feel like you’re playing hide and go seek with your younger cousins. The door swings open and you are greeted by a smiley Harry, “Hi love!” He wraps you up into his arms and you can smell his shampoo as his still damp hair tickles at your nose. 

“Hey,” You squeak out as you return his hug, “I thought maybe you were still sleeping.” He pulls away but keeps his hands on your hips, thumbs grazing them slightly. “Well I won’t lie to you, it took everything in me to actually get out of bed this morning. I didn’t know it was possible to hit the snooze button so many times.” 

You roll your eyes, knowing how dramatic he could be sometimes, “Long night?”

“Not really,” He removes his hands from you as you both walk out from the bathroom, hearing the click and silence of the light switch and fan being turned off behind you. “Was home by eleven but the two bottles of wine definitely didn’t help.” You stood in the middle of the room as your eyes watched Harry enter his huge walk in closet. “How was work anyway? Did you get everything finished?” 

“Yeah, you know how it goes, same old shit, different day.” You plop yourself down on the end of his bed, examining the cuticles on your fingers. You hear the clanking of metal before Harry walks out pulling a black belt through the loops of his corduroy pants. “Mitch and Sarah keep asking about you.” A blush washes over your face at the mention of his best friends taking any interest in you. You had only been on a few dates with Harry and had yet to meet any of his friends. Last night you were supposed to go with him for dinner at Mitch and Sarah’s when you got caught up at work helping with a deadline that technically wasn’t even for your department.

“I’m starting to think they think I made you up or summat.” He gives you a smirk as he walks over to the dresser and places his signature rings on their designated fingers.

“Ah, I know. I don’t want them to think I blew them off or anything.” You play with the hem of his comforter, feeling guilty for canceling on him last minute even if it was for work. He had been trying to get you to meet Mitch and Sarah for a few weeks now, ready to take the next step with you which made you more than a bit anxious and a bit confused on where you two stood since you technically weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend yet.

“Nah, they understood.” He lifts the leather crossbody over his head, dropping it so it lands just above his hip. “We can plan something for another time. Maybe dinner here?” He checks his bag to make sure he has his keys, phone, and wallet before looking to where you sit on the edge of his bed. He sighs a little before taking the few steps until he’s in front of you. He takes your face in his hands, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Your eyebrows raise in bewilderment. 

“You’ve been here for longer than five minutes and I haven’t even told you how beautiful you look today.” It was little things like this that made you fall for Harry in the first place. He could always manage to make you swoon with just a look and make your heart jump with just a sentence.

You blush and look to the floor, still not used to being doted over, “Ah, thank you.” He raises your face to look at him before you see his eyes look down to your lips and back to your eyes. He leans in closer, “Hi.” he whispers onto your lips with a smirk. Your lips grow into a smile as you throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a proper kiss. It starts off innocent, just a few pecks here and there, but when he tilts his head and pulls you closer, you can’t help but follow along.

Suddenly with his mouth on yours, the last thing you’re thinking of is making your brunch reservations. Your fingers tangle into the hairs on the nape of his neck and he hums in agreement before slipping his tongue in your mouth. You would never grow tired of kissing Harry and in some ways, every kiss made you fall for him even more. A loud ping breaks you two out of your reverie and you both jump at the sudden sound, hearts somehow managing to beat even faster than before.

“Sorry,” You mumble against his lips as you pull your phone out of your bag. “S’okay,” he responds while taking a step further back to let you stand. “It’s the restaurant.” You announce. You can see Harry adjusting his pants in your peripheral vision. “They want to know if we’re still on for our reservation.” You look up to Harry who has a cheeky look on his face and you know he’s thinking about canceling brunch all together for some other activities. 

“It’s up to you.” He responds looking a bit flushed in the face. As much as you really want to stay here with Harry, you have also been waiting weeks for this reservation, having told Harry he wasn’t allowed to use his name to get a table quicker. It was a beautiful new restaurant right on the beach and you had only heard amazing things about the food.

“I was really looking forward to it…” You turn the ring on your finger around a few times before meeting his eyes. He offers you a genuine smile, “Then let’s go.” He holds out his hand for you to take which you gladly accept. “You’re not mad?” You ask sheepishly as you puzzle your fingers together. 

“What? No!” He grabs your hand in both of his and brings it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the knuckles, “Of course not.” Your breath hitches a bit in your throat at his reply. 

“Okay?” He inquires leaning his head towards your and nudging your noses together. You swat him away but keep your hand tightly in his and nod your head. You both walk out of his room and down the hallway to descend the stairs as Harry begins to tell you a story Mitch had told him last night. “...and then this lady starts shouting at him for no reason! As if it was his fault in the first place. God, I really would pay good money to see the reaction on his face as this lady tore him apart…” You two finally reach the end of the staircase and walk towards the front door. “Oh wait! You have to see this video I found last night, it’s literally you the other week when we went to the beach.” Harry scrambles to get his phone out of his purse (with only one hand as he keeps his other clasped with yours). 

When he finally manages to get a hold of it, he lets out a small sound of victory and you can’t help but giggle at his childish antics. As he holds the phone up to his face to unlock, you notice his lock screen is different from the picture he had of his mom’s cat that had been gracing his screen since you two first met. His phone unlocks too quickly for you to get a proper look at what it is now.

“Wait! What happened to Mitzy?” He looks up at you and then back at his phone before his eyebrows begin to raise in thought. “Oh--um--she’s great. Wh-what do you mean?” He locks his phone and slides it into his back pocket seemingly forgetting the reason he pulled it out in the first place.

 “We should get going if we want to make it in time.” He begins to walk away but you manage to pull him back with your hand that was still in his. “Harry. What is it? A picture of your girlfriend or something?” You let out a weak laugh but when he doesn’t laugh along you start to feel the familiar dread as your heart drops. You drop his hand and cross your arms over your chest, bracing yourself for what he’s going to say next and all the scenarios in your head aren’t helping one bit. 

“No!” You can see panic wash over his features as he grabs his phone back out from his pocket, “it’s not--it’s nothing--” He stumbles over a few more sounds before he finally sighs, running his hand over his face, “It’s sorta embarrassing.” You just stand there and look at him as if he has grown a second head. 

He hands you his phone but doesn’t unlock it. The screen lights up before you and you are greeted with a black and white photo. Your heart beats faster the longer you look. You can remember the day just fine, Harry had taken you out to a small restaurant and you had both sat on the balcony that was draped with edison lights to keep it a light even on the darkest of nights. You saw yourself staring at something off camera, a smile baring your face as you seemed to be in mid laugh. You hadn’t seen this photo before, or even known Harry had taken it. 

The screen shuts off and you are met again by your shocked reflection in the black mirror. “Am I your lockscreen?” Your eyebrows crease as you meet Harry’s eyes and for the first time since you met him he seems unsure of himself. 

“Uh yeah,” He coughs a bit as he toes the hardwood floor beneath him, “I thought it was just a really nice picture and-and…” His green eyes met with yours, “God, it’s weird right? Mitch said it was weird but I told him he was full of it. And you weren’t supposed to see that! And like I know we aren’t like exclusive or anything but I mean I am seeing you exclusively. And I’m--I’m not trying to say you have to be exclusive with me because you don’t, and that’s okay, yeah, that your choice, obviously. It’s--It’s really just a picture that I thought was nice. I have a whole bunch of pictures of random people I don’t even know! Granted they're not my lockscreen but--” 

“Harry!” You finally shout to snap him out of his nervous rambling that you’re pretty sure would have just kept going. He sighs, “Yeah?” He looks worried and it makes your stomach flip. 

“It’s cute.” You bite your lip trying to hold back your smile. “It’s cute?” He repeats back as if he’s not sure he actually heard you right. “Yeah,” You hand his phone back over to him and it takes him a split second before he’s reaching out for it. “It is a good picture.” He nods slowly as he slips his phone into his back pocket. 

He gnaws on his lip and you can tell he’s trying to figure out how to word something. “It’s not,” He clears his throat, “It’s not like weird because we’re not like exclusive, right?” He turns the rings around on his fingers as he waits for your response. 

“I don’t think it’s weird.” He nods along before you add, “And just so you know,” His entire expression perks up as he awaits your next statement, “I’m not like...seeing anyone else either, ya know?” 

He takes a step closer to you, “Yaren’t?” You shake your head no, “I just thought it was pretty obvious…”

“Please,” He grabs your hands in his holding it up to his chest, “if you ever think anything is obvious to me, it isn’t.” You laugh but he continues, “Literally I’m so stupid when it comes to this stuff. Just ask me or tell me because I basically have no idea what’s going on half the time.” 

“Will do.” He lets out a dramatic sigh and you rolled your eyes at him. 

“Just one thing,”You begin and he looks at you with curious eyes, “If somebody sees that and asks who that is, what are you going to say?” You don’t mean to trick him but you genuinely wonder what his answer will be.

A smile grows on his face as he wraps his arms around your waist, “Well, I guess, and only if this is okay with you,” You nod for him to continue you, “I guess I would say it’s... my girlfriend.” 

You give him a quick peck on his cheek, “I could see myself being okay with that.” 

“Oh yeah?” He pulls you in closer and gives you a quick kiss on your lips which lead to another, and another and another before you pull back whispering, “Hey Harry,” He hums in response as he sponges kissed on your jawline, “Fuck brunch.”

Thanks for reading and I hoped you enjoyed! Please reblog if you liked!

Masterlist 🌈

[jessikahathaway]

Crimson Grail Part IV

Holy shit this one too? Oh heck yeah. I did tell one of my lovely readers I would update this story before the end of the month so here’s to them! I hope you all enjoy it!

I DON’T OWN THE PHOTO! 

Pairing: Min Yoongi X Reader

Genre: Pirate!AU, Romance, Adventure

Warnings: Really aren’t any in here. If I missed anything please let me know!

Words: 4,797

he morning brought a dry throat and an ache in your shoulder. In fact it wasn’t even morning anymore. It had to have been around early afternoon.

You gained your bearings and hauled yourself into a seated position. The sharp pain of your wound echoed deep within your body. It hurt, but at least you were alive to tell the tale.

Not many got to say that after being shot.

Moving to stand you braved yourself against the bed frame. Looking to the vanity you saw a fresh set of clothes and a sword with buckles to hang it on.

You grinned and hurried over to the clean items. Taking off your damp shirt you discovered the soapy wash basin and began to bathe. You delicately removed the bandages from your wound and winced. A nasty scar would mar your flesh, no doubt. You’d wear it proudly, however. 

It was the brand of a life saved. 

Pulling on the shirt you smiled as it was light against your skin. The softness immaculate. Weeks at sea made you forget about such things as clean material and soft blankets. Things such as these should be cherished, you’d do that from now on.

Pulling on what you thought were pants you were surprised. A long skirt braced your form, a partial corset sitting on the chair as well. Signs of femininity. Signs of your gender. You didn’t have to hide any longer, you could be true to yourself. 

Bracing the buckles of the corset around your midsection a knock came to the door. You turned to find Greaves standing there, smiling bright.

“You look like a vision, lass.” You smiled and walked to him, smoothing the fabric of your skirt with shaky hands. 

“I certainly hope so, quite an effort to get back into one of these,” you teased. Greaves just shook his head and chuckled.

“Come, the Captain would like a word with ye,” he stated. You nodded and headed towards the door with him.

—

“Step lively men! I want those sails at full mast!” Jin shouted.

The bustle of the deck was overwhelming to watch. You itched to help them fasten the rigging correctly, as you had done for the weeks you’d been sailing with them all. Greaves went over and secured the mainsail before moving towards the bow to check the jib.

“My Lady,” Jin bowed his head while addressing you. You raised an eyebrow before looking towards the helm. Yoongi stood proud, watching his men work tirelessly towards a common goal. A common love of gold and treasures beyond time itself.

“Where are we going that requires such haste?” you asked Jin, moving towards the stairs to the helm. He followed close.

“The meeting of the Council my Lady, Captain Min will explain further once you two are alone. Best not to let the men hear too much,” he said, keeping his head low. “Kolton! Tighten the Stay Line!” 

Jin moved into the crowd of men, barking orders like he did everyday. You sighed and walked up towards Yoongi. His eyes scanned the open waters before him like a challenge not yet faced. He watched all of the men with a keen eye, something you’d never seen up close.

“Do you plan on staring at me all day, you might want to blink before the sea sprays your eyes,” he commented. You jolted and looked away with a flush on your cheeks.

“Thank you for the clothes, they’re very comfortable.” 

Yoongi turned and appraised you. His gaze racked over your body and fell on your corseted waist and ample chest. He bit his lip and chuckled when he met your unimpressed glare. “You look great, Y/N. Like a true Pirate Bride,” he smiled. 

“Jin says we are heading for the Pirate Council, why?” you asked. 

“A meeting of all the Pirate Lords. Dangerous waters such as these, ones where we feel at home are becoming our graves. Sooner than preferable. We need to gather all the Pirate Lords to come to an agreement on what is to be done about the disappearances. The White Fox, The Livered Gull, Stained Mast and Maiden Curr all have fallen in the past months. Ships not lead by daft men or women. Perhaps they were newer to the sea, however sinkings such as these aren’t common place. So why? Why are they sinking?” he asked, turning to you. 

Your mind was racing. 

The stories were true then? The disappearances of Pirates and Military vessels all from the seas. 

“I heard of it as well, back in Albion. Reports would come into the tavern. The Endeavor, Cutlass and Silver Stallion all fell to the waves. The Endeavor was the pride of the Royal Navy, and not a ship to lift your nose at. Have only experienced sailors been the targets?” you wondered.

“Why do you say targets?” Yoongi asked, raising a brow.

“Well, the White Fox and Livered Gull were both manned by seasoned sailors. Not ones to make mistakes in poor conditions or anything of that sort. However the Maiden Curr was a newer ship with a green crew. Hardly made through their first plunder with their lives in tact. But the Captain wasn’t ignorant to his nativity. The Endeavor and Cutlass were both stars of the Royal Navy, no doubt travelling with a group and serving as the flag ships for both. But the Cutlass and Endeavor would never go together in a mission, too much to lose if a loss is to take place. It seems that whatever is happening here, is either random or planned attacks that throw in a random ship to throw people off their trail,” you explained.

Yoongi nodded thoughtfully. 

“How interesting. Your thoughts are not misplaced. All information aligns,” Yoongi smiled.

“I’m a keen observer,” you noted.

“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind,” he nodded. The wind ripped through the canvas aggressively, you noticed the change in weather.

“Where are we? Shouldn’t the weather hold a little longer?” you asked. 

“The thing about the Pirate Council, is that only the Pirate Lords are skilled enough to make their way into the port,” he smiled. You bit your lip as the wind picked up once more. The men down below scurried along, trying to make sure the lines and sails didn’t get away from them. 

“I’m worried for their safety,” you stated, looking at the crew beneath you. 

“Have you no faith in me?” he asked, raising a brow. 

“It’s not that I lack faith in you, I lack faith in the weather being kind to us,” you stated.

“The weather here can change within a moment. It’s why the council decided to converge here... Only the most skilled of pirates can maneuver their way in... Hold fast to something, because we are about to let the sails go,” he announced. 

“Let the sails go? Are you insane? Then you have practically no control!” you yelped. 

“Perhaps no control is the best, hmm?” he asked. You swallowed hard, Yoongi grinned and brought you in by your waist. “Hold to me my dear, I won’t let you fall.”

You blushed, looking off towards the large rocky passing. Your heart thudded in your chest. How were you meant to clear that? The boat was too large and if the crew let go that left just Yoongi to control where they went.

“JIN! GRAB THE JIB EVERYONE ELSE! HANDS OFF THE RIGGING!”

The crew looked up at him astounded. 

“But sir if we let go-”

“I KNOW WHAT HAPPENS! MEN RELEASE THE RIGGING AND JIN, GRAB THE JIB!”

You cringed as everyone followed his orders. You watched as the canvas began swirling in the harsh winds. Jin wrapped the ropes for the Jib around his arms and pulled fast on them.

“MEN GRAB THE BOOTLEG!” Yoongi cried out, “PORT SIDE!”

You watched as the men did as commanded, gathering the rope and fastening it to various sections of the deck. Your eyes widened at the idea Yoongi was going to perform.

Large rocks cane into vision through the fog. Your heart hammered in your chest at the realization. He was going to try it. All sails free save for the jib and in these waters? It was madness.

“We’ll die, please stop. Hard to starboard, it’s the only way we’ll make it out!” You cried. Yoongi gripped your waist firmer.

“Do you see the channel to the right?” He asked, keeping his eyes trained forward.

You looked frantically, when Yoongi places his fingers on your chin to direct your eyes. There, you spotted a narrow channel. One the grail might possibly scrape through if everyone held their breaths and prayed collectively.

“We’ll die.” You breathed.

“Or we’ll live,” Yoongi simplified. “Two options. I plan for the latter.”

“Dear God save us all,” you whispered.

“THROW THE BOOTLEG! NOW!”

You watched as everyone hauled the thick rope over, having it catch on the few rocks that were to your side. The sound of scraping wool caught your attention, and suddenly you were being thrown against Yoongi’s chest. He held onto you, letting the wheel move hard over. But soon he caught the turning helm and pushed, keeping it steady as the ship craned around the rocks. You felt your heart in your throat as everyone clung to various parts of the ship.

A sharp snap filled the air as you were rocketed through the channel. Your throat began to ache as you heard screaming in your ears. It was your own, you realized as Yoongi pulled you into his neck. 

“Don’t look, just listen to my voice,” he encouraged. “You’re safe, I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not now, not ever. This fear will pass.”

Gripping his jacket in your palms you shut your eyes tight. Your heart was rattled in your chest as you heard the sound of the water slapping against the aged wood of the ship. Yoongi’s heart was audible to you as well. Thudding soothingly in your ears as you tried to even your breathing.

Cries of the crew made you jump, but Yoongi pulled you back to show you the sight. Several shipwrecks were piled together in the center of this cavern. Some old, some new. Some still holding their crew who partied aboard.

“Welcome to Pirate’s Cove,” Yoongi declared to you.

“W-We... You did it, you did a bootleg turn,” you stated, not believing your eyes.

“Your amazement is cute and a little insulting, but I’ll take it for now,” he smiled.

“MEN! GET THE RIGGING BACK UP AND TAKE US IN!” Jin yelled.

“What now?” You asked, walking forward and putting your hands on the railing. The lights from several ships made the inky water sparkle. Yoongi marveled as you gazed at it, his mind going slightly blank as he watched you. Shaking his head he focused back ahead of him. He had to be on his toes, or risk your life and his.

—

Yoongi helped you walk down the wooden board connecting the Crimson Grail to the dock. There were several ships docked in a similar fashion to the Grail surrounding an island in the middle of the large cove. 

“Now, keep to yourself until we have time to scope out the threats. I don’t want anyone getting too close to you,” Yoongi said, his grip on your arm tightening just a tad bit. You sighed and patted his hand. 

“No trouble, I won’t do anything but be a simple arm piece,” you grumbled. 

Suddenly, you were pushed up against the nearest wall, Yoongi’s hands on either side of your head. 

“Do not presume that you don’t have worth here. One of the Pirate Lords is a woman. And she is one of the most ruthless pirates here. You are young, and innocent of the sea that is now colored with blood. But if you want a taste, if you want this freedom that I offer, let me protect you in the only way I can for now. I promise you, this isn’t a shackle,” he said, lifting your hand and turning it over in his hands. “It is the most powerful weapon I can give to you right now.”

“Then I’ll wield it as well as any cutlass,” you smiled. 

“Just keep your eyes peeled and don’t let anyone but me too close, they are all trained killers, and they would want nothing more than to see my bride wind up dead. Even though they personally might not have anything to do with it, I can’t speak for their crew remaining unbiased in the situation,” Yoongi explained.

“Very well, I won’t cause any trouble, cross my heart,” you said, crossing your fingers in an X over your breast. 

“Now, let me tell you who all of these people are,” Yoongi began. “There’s Scarlett River, a truly bloodthirsty woman who would like to be Queen of all Pirates. However, the council cannot agree on a candidate but that is besides the point. She’s deadly with a pistol and will drink any man under the table. But she’s a great sailor and can prove to be an amazing ally if the need arises. She has several men and women under her mast and they are all loyal to her. She is someone you might be able to trust. But like I said, all of these people would like nothing more than my wife dead, so please, do keep her at arms length.”

You nodded and he continued.

“Next, is Allistar Morningstar. He is the youngest Pirate Lord at 19 and has the following to back him up. He’s immature and ruthless, but has the strategic mind of a man at constant war. Never place your bets against him, because he’ll defy all the odds and make you regret underestimating him. Generally he is pleasant, but keeps to himself. He wants to find himself a bride as soon as possible, seeing you will no doubt upset him. Just keep your head low around that crazy kid and I’ll see to it nothing goes awry.”

“Allistar Morningstar? He actually exists?! I heard that he-”

“Please don’t fawn over him like all the others do, its unwise,” he commented, before continuing. “ Next is Apollo.”

“You meant the ‘One-Eyed Sharpshooter!?’” You squealed. “I heard that he took down an entire battleship with ten people and a half loaded pistol!”

“He’s not one to trifle with that’s for certain. He is known to never show up to these meetings, but he’s here now. That means whatever we’re dealing with is serious, I want you to know that not a lot is known about this guy. He keeps to himself. He had a bride once, and she died. She never made it to their first council meeting before she caught an illness and died back in Lunavox. She was heir to a fortune that she turned down to be with him, it was love and he was devastated when she died, seeing you here won’t be easy for him either. Steer clear of that one,” Yoongi informed.

“Aye aye,” you said. 

“Next is Park Jimin. He’s a sleazy bastard, but a great friend of mine. But don’t trust him as far as you can throw him, he’s always in it for himself. But, when the time comes, I know he’d do the right thing. He has several people behind him as well. Loyal and diehard to his cause of debauchery. Just, don’t drink anything he gives you and don’t let his wandering hands find your body or he might lose them,” he growled. 

“I’ll be sure to cut off his hands before he can think about touching me,” you smirked.

“Atta girl. But finally there’s Swallowtail. Keep clear of him if you can. He’s no good and is rarely associated with good people. However, he has intel on everyone and everything. No doubt knows you’re here already. But, we might surprise him tonight if we’re lucky. He doesn’t mix well with women and has it out for them in a certain way. Mommy issues, but we don’t need to get into all of that here. But those are all the Pirate Lords, every conniving one of them.”

“You missed one,” you whispered, looking into his eyes as he stared back at you.

“Ah, it seems I did... No matter, you’ll find out my secrets one day. Perhaps,” he smiled. 

“Captain Min I-Oh! Sorry! I didn’t know you two were, uh. Excuse me,” Jin said, stumbling over his words.

Looking at your situation you gently pushed Yoongi away from you, crossing your arms over your chest before looking at Jin with a neutral expression. 

“No need, we were just discussing business. What did you need?”

Jin cleared his throat before looking to you then Yoongi. “The meeting will be proceeding in the next fifteen minutes. We must head inside soon.”

“Very well, lead the way Jin,” Yoongi said, taking your hand in his. 

—

The inside of the Pirate Council meeting room was decorated with several swords and cutlasses and other types of weaponry. It was almost uncomfortable with how much was crammed in there. But Yoongi kept a close hold on you as you walked through the halls. It was a bunch of different shipwrecks, crashed together and molded around one another to create a type of structure. The wood underneath was rotting and you held tight to Yoongi for fear of falling straight through the floor. 

Jin was silent ahead of you as a few other women came out from the woodworks it seems as they began leading you to the Council room as well. They were beautiful in their own right. Shapely bodies and gorgeous locks that made you slightly envious. 

As you rounded a corner you began to hear yelling and smashing of objects.

“COME HERE YOU SON OF A BITCH!” A woman screamed as you heard boisterous laughter and cheers. 

“Sounds like Jimin must of pissed off Scarlett again,” Yoongi stated smirking. “He always tries to get under her skin in some way shape or form during these meetings.”

“Why?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Because, he likes her but won’t admit it and two pirate lords being together could cause a hell of a lot of trouble for the Council and one of them would have to give up their title for love and both of them love treasure and power more than one another so, they just fight it out,” Yoongi says. 

“That’s kind of sad,” you commented.

“It’s not so bad, they made their weird relationship work in it’s own right,” he said, rubbing your good shoulder. 

But before you could speak a bottle was flying straight for your head. 

Yoongi, quickly, grabbed you and let the bottle shatter against his back. Grunting with the effort of the blow. 

“Yoongi!” You gasped, grabbing his arms and checking him over frantically.

“I’m alright dear, I’m okay,” Yoongi said, taking your hands in his. 

“But-”

“So this is the Pirate Bride we’re heard so much about,” someone said. A man with dark eyes and blonde hair approached. He looked young, he must be Allistar Morningstar.

“Back up Allistar, don’t want you scaring away the new beautiful young woman,” another man, with dark eyes similar to Allistar’s, but much more friendly and black hair secured under his pirate cap. 

“Jimin,” Yoongi smiled, taking his hand in Jimin’s. 

“Yoongi, good to see you, and lovely to meet you my dear,” Jimin said, taking your hand and kissing it softly.

“Alright alright, off my wife,” Yoongi said, pushing Jimin in the shoulder gently.

“Finally! Another woman to add to the group!” A crisp voice rang out above the crowd. A beautiful woman with golden brown eyes and scorching red hair approached you. 

“Scarlett, everyone, this is my bride, Y/N,” Yoongi introduced you.

“Hello,” you waved, suddenly shy.

“Oh don’t be modest my dear! Come, sit by me!” Scarlett said, taking your hand and pulling you into the crowd. Yoongi let you go, not fazed by Scarlett’s over-friendly attitude as he began chatting with Jimin.

A few minutes later the group came to a calm, people were chatting amongst themselves as you sat awkwardly with your hands in your lap. 

Scarlett had downed her second glass of wine since the two of you sat down and you were feeling more and more ostracized by the second.

“So,” she began, catching your attention, “Yoongi huh?”

“Ah. Yeah...” you trailed off, not sure what you could divulge about your situation to her. It was still new to you as well. 

“Don’t yeah me! Tell me the details! How you met! I want the whole love story,” she said, resting her chin in her palms like a small child awaiting a bedtime story.

“W-well... Uh, we met in Albion,” you began. She didn’t interrupt you so you continued. “I was working as a barmaid and well... The head of the bar was selling my bed to the highest bidder,” you cringed, trying not to think of the awful memory.

“No! What a degenerate,” Scarlett growled, taking another swig of wine.

“Um, anyways, Yoongi paid 60 trinity coins to share my bed with me. But when we got up to the room he didn’t touch me. Just told me to rest and that he might want me to repay him some day,” you explained.

“Wow, what a Yoongi thing to do,” she exclaimed.

“What do you mean?” You asked, intrigued.

“Well, Yoongi has never been able to let a damsel in distress go unsaved. It’s kinda his thing, but you must be special if he chose you to be his bride! You’re easy on the eyes that’s for sure, and you must be able to hold your own in a battle too!”

“Well, I’m not sure about that-”

“Alright ye mongrels! Gather round,” a voice yelled.

Looking up you saw a tall man standing towards the back of the room. He was wearing a aged leather hat and his beard touched the middle of his chest. His mousy brown hair also hung low, intermingling with the hair of his beard when he sat down. 

It was Swallowtail, Apollo sat to his right. One blue eye gazing around the room. Scarlett looked towards the back as Yoongi took his seat next to Jimin. You were surprisingly anxious sitting by yourself without Yoongi there. But you had every right to be here, just as they did. So, you started listening.

“We are here in regards to ships goin’ missin’ off the seas. Does anyone have any ideas as to why this might be happening?”

The room was silent. 

“Perhaps the Royal Navy has finally caught up to some of them,” Allistar said, lifting his cup to his lips before drinking his rum in one go. 

“People in the Royal Navy have gone missing you dunce,” Jimin said, smacking the glass out of his hand.

“Does anyone else have an idea?”

The room went silent once more.

You thought long and hard as the silence bore on.

What could be causing these attacks? Why were whole ships going missing without a word or any survivors?

What kind of people don’t take prisoners or at least the bounty of those they have taken down. These whole ships are sinking without their boon being taken at all. It’s all just sinking...

That must mean whatever is doing this isn’t doing it for money. Perhaps they just want the glory? Pirate killers? But they’ve taken down Navy members as well. 

And it can’t be someone inexperienced, it’s a trained murderer. 

Then a story popped into your head. One your father told to you years ago. 

“If a man takes the Heart of the Sea, then a monster will arise far stronger than any man alive. The only way to keep the treasure is to kill the one you truly love, or to give the necklace back to the ocean. This monster is called a Kraken.”

“W-What if it’s the Kraken?”

Scarlett spit out her drink.

Jimin laughed.

And Yoongi looked slightly embarrassed.

“My dear, just let this one go,” Scarlett advised, wiping her mouth.

“But I’m serious,” you said, thinking about it more.

“What if someone took the Heart of the Ocean and released the Kraken?” You said, putting your hands on the table.

“Y/N,” Yoongi said, looking at you sharply.

“So good to know Yoongi took a loon for a wife,” Allistar said from across the room.

“I’m not a loon! I-I heard the stories when I was younger,” you declared.

“That’s all they are, love, stories,” Jimin said, swirling his wine in his glass.

“But what else could it be? The stories say he who holds the Heart of the Sea controls the ocean! It would explain why all these ships are going missing.”

“No one’s ever seen the Heart of the Sea, let alone found a map leading anywhere near it or where to find it! Honestly, Y/N, let’s think of something else,” Scarlett said, placing her glass down.

“These ships are all being attacked at random, no one knows why or how they’re being taken down. Whomever is destroying these ships isn’t doing it for the boon! It’s all sinking! And why take out ships that you could add to your bounty? It doesn’t make any sense, but what would a monster gain from stealing when all it wants is to devour the ocean whole?”

“Y/N, that’s enough,” Yoongi said, sighing and rubbing his forehead.

“Like hell it is! This could be it! And if that’s the case all we have to do is find the Heart of the Sea and give it back to the ocean! Then all these ships will stop going missing and-”

“I said that’s enough!” Yoongi said, slamming his fists down on the table. “We are not here to make mockery of each other. We are here to discuss why these ships might be going missing, not telling one of your wives tales, Y/N!”

The burn of shame was hot across your cheeks as Yoongi settled back into his seat, Jimin placing a warning hand on his shoulder. Scarlett shushed you in the corner.

The room was silent.

Until.

“I believe her,” a soft voice came.

Heads snapped in the direction of the voice.

“Apollo you can’t be serious,” Allistar said.

“I’m very serious,” Apollo said, not wavering.

“What do you mean?” Swallowtail said, inching closer to the one eyed man.

“I heard someone talking recently about finding a map to the Heart of the Sea. I didn’t think anything of it, until now that Y/N puts it all together.”

“She’s delusional!” Allistar shouted.

“Watch your tongue!” Scarlett said, standing up.

“Does anyone here know of Tobias Bridge, the Captain of Satan’s Compass?” 

You could hear Yoongi hiss under his breath.

“We’re well acquainted, yes,” Yoongi growled. 

“It was him whom I heard talking about the Heart of the Sea, and finding an old map off the coast of Port Sarrion. If Tobias has truly found the Heart of the Sea and unleashed the Kraken, then it might already be too late.” Apollo stated, worry interlacing in his tone.

“No, I won’t let that smarmy bastard get away with something like this,” Yoongi said.

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Swallowtail announced.

“Go after him!” You said, as if it were obvious.

“Y/N the last time you went up against Tobias you got shot, I don’t think that going up against a man who controls the sea is the best option here,” Yoongi said, feigning frustration.

“But what else can we do Yoongi? Just wait until the Kraken devours everyone? We need to stop him and return the Heart of the Ocean,” you said.

“I agree with Y/N, if Tobias truly has it, then we need to stop him as soon as possible,” Scarlett said from your side.

“I think you’re all insane,” Allistar stated, drinking more.

“Then let’s take it to a vote,” Swallowtail said. 

“All in favor of hunting Tobias Bridge, say aye!” 

“Aye!”

“Aye!” 

“Aye!”

“And all opposed?”

You saw Yoongi’s hand raise as well as Swallowtail’s and Allistar’s.

So it was a draw.

“Y/N,” Scarlett said.

“What?”

“You still have to vote,” Scarlett said as if it were obvious.

“She’ll just go with what Yoongi says, so let’s discuss another matter,” Allistar whined.

“I say we go after Tobias Bridge and take back the Heart of the Sea,” you declared. 

Yoongi’s eyes shot to yours, before quickly diverting his attention elsewhere.

“Then at dawn we sail for Satan’s Compass to take back the Heart of the Ocean!”

[roman-writing]

you search the mountain (1/4)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmore / Sylvanas Windrunner

Rating: M

Wordcount: 11,570

Summary: The borders of Kul Tiras are closed to all outsiders. Sylvanas, Banshee Queen, hopes to use the impending civil war in Boralus to her advantage, and thereby lure Kul Tiras to the side of the Horde. A Drust AU

Content Advisory: horror, blood, gore, typical Drustvar spooky deer shit

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

“Thorns on my breasts, rain in my mouth, loam on my bare feet, rough bark grazing my back, I moaned for them all. You stood, waist deep, in a stream, pulling me in, so I swam. You were the water, the wind in the branches wringing their hands, the heavy, wet perfume of soil. I am there now, lost in the forest, dwarfed by the giant trees. Find me.”

— Carol Ann Duffy, from Forest; Rapture, 2005

--

To the surprise of no one, it was raining in Boralus. An icy sleet rushed down from the mountains, pelting civilians in an inescapable barrage. It coated the rooftops. It clung to the eaves. It made treacherous the cobblestone streets. And though it was mid-morning, the watery sunlight could not pierce the heavy bank of cloud that washed over the harbour, so that it felt like dusk. Any rational people would have sequestered themselves inside for warmth, but it seemed that Kul Tirans were utterly immune to the cold wet misery of their capital city. Or perhaps they had merely forgotten what it meant to be dry.

A crowd was gathered on the westernmost docks, sheltered by the inlet. Red banners bearing a crest of scales slapped wetly against their pillars. Dockworkers had halted their usual bustle of activity. Casks and crates and other break bulk hung suspended in the air by creaking ropes. A shark had been strung from a hook and gutted on the quay. The fisherman still held a bloodied knife in his hands, but his attention was turned upon the massive ship tethered to the pier.

The ship was a hulking mass of timbers. She was broad and lavishly decorated. Her sails were tightly furled lengths of new white canvas. Her mainmast bore two flags, which snapped in the wind. The longer pennant was red and streaming and far more prominent than its foul-anchored counterpart. She was the pride of the Ashvane merchant fleet, and she was -- to be frank -- quite horrid to behold. Ugly, even.

Not that Sylvanas would ever say that aloud. Certainly not when she was surrounded on all sides by Kul Tiran sailors and stevedores, all of whom were nudging each other and murmuring their appreciation of such a saucy vessel. Whatever that meant.

What shelter there was to be found on the docks was next to useless. The wind slanted the rain at an angle that slashed beneath any eaves, no matter how deep. Sylvanas’ long ears twitched, flicking off a few drops of rain to very little effect. She reached up to tug the hood of her cloak more firmly in place. The Kul Tirans on the dock gave her a wide berth, or otherwise pretended that she did not exist.

Beside her, Nathanos leaned forward to mutter. “With all due respect, my Queen: remind me why we are here?”

Sylvanas did not take her eyes off the ship. Wordlessly, she nodded towards just above the hideously gilded stern windows. Officers stood atop the poop deck, glittering in all their finery. Three figures stood at the very fore of the ship’s congregation, clearly identifiable even from this distance. Lord Stormsong clutched his staff, tall and dark and glowering in his mitre of office. Lady Ashvane held a possessive hand on the ship’s rail, her fingers glittering with a glut of gem-studded rings. And between them both stood the Lord Admiral Katherine Proudmoore. She was straight-backed and grey, as though carved from pale iron. Her militant greatcoat cut a sleek dagger-like figure through the curtain of rain.

"Is this really worth it?" Nathanos asked in a low tone. "We already have the Zandalari Navy."

Sylvanas waved him away. "We are still negotiating that treaty, I'll remind you."

"And if it fails, I shall eat crow."

"Don't say such tempting things, Nathanos. I might sabotage the treaty for fun."

He sniffed, clearly unimpressed by her threats. "You are dodging the question."

Sylvanas watched the quayside. Her eyes glowed a dull dangerous red, seeking any hint of Alliance representatives or spies. She found none. Nathanos and her rangers would have alerted her of any such Alliance presence in Boralus at once. Still, she scowled. "The Alliance is circling over this place like a well-fed vulture. Foiling them is its own reward. And besides," Sylvanas added dryly. "One always needs more friends."

“With friends like these you’re more likely to end up with a knife in your back.”

Sylvanas hummed a thoughtful note. “Situation normal, then.”

Indeed, Lord Stormsong and Lady Ashvane watched their Lord Admiral with openly hawkish expressions. Katherine hid her limp well -- an old war wound from some wayward grapeshot, or so Sylvanas was told -- but there could be no doubt that she appeared wan. Her shoulders were hoisted straight back and proud, but her gloved hands trembled somewhat.

Nathanos did not sound amused when he said, “From what I understand, the previous Lord Admiral had his youngest son tried and hung for treason.”

At that, Sylvanas arched an eyebrow and cast a curious look over her shoulder. “What manner of treason?”

“A certain band of orcs were shipwrecked on the coast of Kul Tiras on their way to Kalimdor. The boy dared to offer them aid, and kept it secret from his father.”

“Not very well, apparently.” She turned back to studying the ship ceremony. There was whiskey being poured into tankards now. “And the Lord Admiral in question?”

“Sailed west after the orcs who killed his eldest son. He was eventually slain by Thrall and Rexxar, and subsequently succeeded by his wife and only remaining Heir.” Nathanos inclined his head towards Katherine Proudmoore aboard the merchant ship.

“Hmm,” said Sylvanas.

Katherine Proudmoore was lifting the tankard of whiskey into the air. She drank deeply from the cup, before passing it first to Lord Stormsong, and then to Lady Ashvane. When the tankard was back in her hands, she poured what remained onto the deck of the ship, while Lord Stormsong chanted some nonsense about the Tides. The sailors and stevedores on the docks began to cheer, voicing their approval of a newly blessed ship.

“Does our esteemed host currently have an Heir?” Sylvanas mused aloud, lifting her voice just enough to be heard over the din.

Nathanos shook his head. “None that has been announced to the Great Houses. They would need to be confirmed by a majority vote before they could succeed the Admiralty.”

Sylvanas had her arms crossed. She tapped the fingers of her clawed gauntlet against her opposite arm. They clicked against links of chainmail. She could not feel the chill through the veil of undeath that hung over her, but weather like this always reminded her of other places; Northrend was too close to the lingering cold. Finally, Sylvanas said, “Find me one. A lesser cousin, perhaps. Anyone with the name ‘Proudmoore’ attached to their lineage, even peripherally.”

For a moment, Nathanos made no reply. When he spoke, it was in a low hiss. “I had hoped to dissuade you from this course, my Queen. This place is on the brink of civil war.”

“Excellent. I always did love a good challenge.” Sylvanas said dryly. The crowd was beginning to break up now that the ceremonial ship launching was for all intents and purposes complete. The three Great House leaders had stepped down to the quarterdeck, out of sight from the quay. Sylvanas herself turned and began to stride back towards the city centre. “Now, please tell me you’ve found someplace for us to stay in this miserable backwater that isn’t thoroughly damp.”

Nathanos did not say anything. He did not need to. The look on his face was answer enough.

Sylvanas twisted her mouth to one side as though she had bitten into a sour lemon, and she growled, “Fantastic. The weather shall drive me away before the god-awful people do.”

“Then I shall pray for a rainy season.”

“Don’t you know?” Sylvanas tsked. “It’s always a rainy season in Kul Tiras.”

--

Three days later, Sylvanas was being escorted by a steward into Proudmoore Keep out of the downpour. The guards flanking the great doors of the Keep were dressed in heavy oilskin jackets beneath their livery. Their kettle hats, which Sylvanas had previously thought were purely for show rather than utility, kept the rain off their faces.

She had arrived at the Keep alone, much to the annoyance of Nathanos and her rangers. She had told them they could circle the Keep if it made them feel better about it. There was no doubt in her mind that they were probably prowling the grounds before she even set foot inside without them. But the invitation from the Lord Admiral had specifically been for the Warchief of the Horde, and not for sundry others. Sylvanas was not about to jeopardise this mission before she could even get a chance to speak with the military leader of Kul Tiras.

The moment the great doors shut behind them, the steward held out his arm. "Your cloak, my Lady?"

Sylvanas considered him coolly before she pushed the hood away from her face and unclasped the cloak from her pauldrons. The fabric dripped into his arms when he took it and handed it over to another servant, who whisked it away into an unseen cloakroom behind a set of doors.

The steward seemed not to mind the wet at all. He did not even deign to wick it from his tailored suit. "If you would follow me, please."

It was a long walk through the vast warren of corridors. Proudmoore Keep was designed to withstand an invasion, should the harbour be overrun. As Sylvanas discreetly studied the various hallways branching off in different directions, she roughly calculated how many souls could be housed here during a siege, and for how long.

Not that that information would be relevant. Not so soon, anyway.

Eventually, the steward led her to a nondescript doorway, which bore an iron anchor in its wood grain. He knocked, and from within came the sharp order, "Come in!"

Before opening the door however, the steward passed a critical eye over Sylvanas' appearance. She had left her bow and quiver behind, but there remained tucked into her boot a wickedly curved silver skinning knife. A gift from another life. His lips thinned at the sight of the hilt peeking out from her calf.

Sylvanas glared at him, and her eyes burned crimson. "Do not even think of it," she said coldly.

Despite their difference in size -- Sylvanas was tall by her people's standards, but Kul Tirans seemed a cut above the usual humans she had encountered in the past -- he silently came to the conclusion that one knife was not worth the effort, for he sniffed in disdain. Still, he turned and opened the door for her, even going so far as to bow at the waist as she passed.

An attempt had been made to soften the omnipresent grey stone by the addition of thick rugs. It did very little to make the room more cosy. A dull fire snapped in a black-scorched fireplace, and a wrought-iron candelabra dripped wax from the ceiling. Sylvanas had been in dungeons as accommodating as Proudmoore Keep. The Kul Tiran sense of interior design was cut from the same cloth as their choice in homeland, it seemed.

The Lord Admiral was seated in a high-backed armchair before the fireplace. Beside her was an identical chair, and between them a low table, which carried a tray with a tea set. A thin tendril of steam wound its way from the teapot's spout. The rain-lashed windows were dark, their corners beset with a light mist. Katherine's greatcoat was gone, revealing her shirtsleeves and waistcoat. A warm woolen blanket had been draped across her knees.

Katherine glanced up from a book she was reading. Her half moon spectacles gleamed in the dancing firelight. "Ah. It's you." She marked her place in the book with a length of ribbon, setting it on the table beside the tea set.

When Sylvanas tucked her hands behind her back and inclined her head respectfully, the Lord Admiral gestured sharply towards the other chair. "None of that bullshit. Sit. Please."

The last sounded tacked on and half-remembered, as though they hadn’t the time for such pleasantries. A woman for whom wasted words were a sin, then.

Crossing the room, Sylvanas sat. For a long tense moment, the two studied one another in a quiet broken only by the crackle of the fire as a log slipped across the embers. Then, Sylvanas said, “I would comment on the delights of your fair city, but I have yet to find them. The weather is atrocious, and the people inhospitable.”

If anything, Katherine seemed amused by this observation. “Quite right. Tea?” she asked. Her hand hovered over the handle of the porcelain teapot. “Or are you even able to consume food and drink in your…” She fished for the right word. “... unique condition?”

Rather than answer, Sylvanas nudged a cup and saucer closer to the teapot. “No milk.”

Katherine poured two cups accordingly. She hid the slight tremor in her forearms as she lifted the heavy teapot, but Sylvanas noticed regardless. Sylvanas said nothing. Instead, she took the opportunity to silently note the heavy lines etched into the Lord Admiral’s face, her narrow shoulders, her general pallor. When Katherine handed over a saucer and cup without milk, Sylvanas took it with a simple murmur of thanks.

“So, tell me,” Katherine began, and though her body appeared frail, her eyes and voice were sharp enough to cut. “Why are you here? Did you hope to convince me of something in person in a way your envoys could not?”

“That was the plan, yes,” Sylvanas said dryly.

Stirring milk into her own cup, Katherine tapped the little silver spoon against the porcelain rim. “I hardly think sailing a warship into my waters will convince me to open the borders to the Horde.”

“A single frigate is hardly a threat to the might of the Kul Tiran fleet.” Sylvanas sipped at her tea. It tasted muddy, like everything else. “Unless, of course, your storied Navy is far less powerful than I have been led to believe.”

Katherine grunted a wordless note into her own cup. It sounded like the midway point between a snort and a laugh. She lowered the cup to its saucer, and held them close to her chest in both hands. “Go on, then, Warchief. What message do you have for me that your emissaries did not have the balls to deliver themselves?”

Sylvanas’ eyebrows rose. There was a gentle clink of porcelain against the wooden table as she slowly set down her tea. “Very well,” she murmured. Then, leaning forward in her seat she met the Lord Admiral’s unflinching gaze. “You are a widow with no remaining children. Your peers already plot against you. Your good health is quickly fading. You are in need of a powerful ally to steady the ship, so to speak, and I am a very patient woman with all the time in the world thanks to my ‘unique condition’.”

Despite her best efforts, Sylvanas could not keep the slight sneer at bay when she said those words. The longer Sylvanas spoke, the more stony Katherine’s face became. Her jaw clenched, and her blue eyes narrowed. When Sylvanas had finished, Katherine tongued the inside of her cheek and then took a long sip of her tea. “When I encouraged you to be blunt, I did not mean that blunt.”

Sylvanas shrugged, an unapologetic lift of one shoulder. “Then you should not have asked.”

Katherine pursed her lips into a thin line. Another sip of tea, as though to calm herself before she spoke again. “I respect your honesty, even if I do not appreciate its implications. The truth is never easy to bear. But you cannot deny that your people and mine, we have a history. Even were I to accept your offer of ‘stability’ and whatever that entails, there would be severe internal resistance to an alliance with the Horde.”  

“Small steps first, Lord Admiral,” said Sylvanas. She leaned her elbow upon the armrest, but eased off slightly when she felt her armour begin to scrape the supple leather. “We can talk open borders now, and formal ties later.”

“My people will not see the difference. Not quickly enough for me to be of any political use ‘later’, as it were. As you’ve already said, my position is -” Katherine held up her teacup as though drinking to good health, “- precarious at best. I cannot risk seeming weak now, of all times.”

Trying to seem blithe, Sylvanas said, “Then you leave me little choice but to seek out alternative arrangements with your peers.”

Sylvanas’ ears tilted back in surprise, when Katherine let out a bark of laughter. She was still laughing when she went to pour herself another cup of tea.

“By all means.” Katherine poured a dollop of milk into her cup before drinking from it. She smiled at Sylvanas over the rim, but her gaze was humourless. “You may think me a stubborn old crone -- and you wouldn’t be half wrong -- but I know Lord Alfred and Lady Priscilla very well. They would be even less inclined to hear your petition than I am. Though if you do end up asking them, be sure to do it before I die. I so rarely get a laugh these days.”

With that, Katherine added another hearty little chuckle. Sylvanas had to school her features and stop her ears from pinning straight back in irritation. Her clawed gauntlets dug into the armrest. This time she did nothing to stop them from piercing the material. “Last I heard, there are four Great Houses of Kul Tiras, not just three.”

“And so there are.” Beneath the blanket, Katherine’s foot began to bob in time with the tapping of her finger against her teacup. Abruptly, both stopped. “You’ll find Lucille Waycrest a paltry ally, I’m afraid. The culmination of the Drust incursion has left her region to the mercy of the other Houses. She does the best she can, poor girl, but she inherited a fractured House.”

Sylvanas bared her teeth in a fierce smile. “In my experience, desperation can lead to surprising ends.”

Katherine brushed aside the implication of that statement with a shake of her head. “I cannot stop you from personally speaking with anyone, but your ships are still not welcome in Kul Tiran waters. There will be no open borders to either the Horde or Alliance while I draw breath.”

“Then I suppose our conversation is finished.” In a clink of armour, Sylvanas rose to her feet.

Katherine did not follow suit. She remained seated, cradling her cup of tea. Peering thoughtfully up at Sylvanas over her half moon spectacles, she cocked her head to one side. “To say it has been a pleasure would be a lie. Nevertheless, I am glad to have met you, Warchief.” Then she waved Sylvanas away. “Now, be a dear, won’t you, and have the steward bring an old woman another blanket.”

When Sylvanas swept from the room without another word, the steward was waiting for her outside. She stormed right past him down the halls back the way they had come. He had to trot to keep up with her, despite his own long-legged stride. Sylvanas did not speak until they had reached the cloakroom, where the steward disappeared inside to retrieve her cloak. She tapped her foot against the stone tiled entryway.

The steward reappeared and she snatched her cloak from his hands. As she was fitting it back into place, she snapped, "Take your Lord Admiral another blanket."

The steward blinked in confusion, but immediately rushed off towards Katherine's study to do as he was bidden. Sylvanas tugged the hood of her cloak over her head and snapped her fingers at one of the guardsmen to open the doors for her. The pair of guards did so, heaving at the heavy iron-bound doors until they groaned open just enough for her to slip through.

Outside, it was only twilight, but it looked to be nearing dense night. It was still pissing down with rain. Sylvanas glowered out at the icy downpour, but did not slow her steps as she descended the sweeping staircase from Proudmoore Keep.

Before she could reach the second set of stairs, Nathanos and two of her dark rangers appeared at her side. The rangers dropped a few paces behind, shadowing their footsteps with watchful eyes, coal-bright.

Nathanos' coat did not have a hood. Somewhere he had procured one of the kettle hats and livery sets worn by the Proudmoore guards. "How did it go?"

Sylvanas glanced sidelong at him. "You look ridiculous."

"I gladly suffer for the sake of your safety," said Nathanos dryly. "Now, how did it go?"

Her brows drew sharply down. "She is a stubborn old crone," Sylvanas growled. Her frustration was exacerbated by the squelch of water in her boots. "I quite like her. It is a shame she will not last the next five years. Otherwise, we might have reached an understanding. And what do you have for me?"

In answer, Nathanos lifted two fingers. "Lord Aldrius Norwington. One of Daelin Proudmoore's second cousins, and by all accounts a rich old toff with little interest in politics. But he and his wife are beloved by the Navy. She was a Captain of Marines and he served as a Rear Admiral for a number of years before retiring."

"I assume there's a catch?" Sylvanas asked.

"He is old. Older than the Lord Admiral. And his son died at sea not long ago. He and his wife, Elena, have been in mourning ever since."

"Hmm." They strode towards Unity Square, swiftly making their way towards the inn that Nathanos had secured for them earlier that week. Sylvanas could see sheets of rain in every pool of light from the flickering poles that lined the streets. "And what is the second option?"

Nathanos glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice before answering. "A daughter."

At that, Sylvanas stopped in her tracks. She stared at him incredulously. "A daughter?" she repeated. "I thought the Lord Admiral had no other children."

"She had three. The youngest was a girl by the name of Jaina. From what I understand, the girl was somewhat magically gifted. Katherine and Daelin had an altercation regarding how she ought to be trained. In the end, Katherine smuggled her off to a Drust Thornspeaker by the name of Ulfar.”

“And her current whereabouts?”

Nathanos shook his head, and his kettle hat sent droplets of rain scattering about. “Unknown and presumed dead. Killed during the Drust incursion a few years back. Though her body was never recovered.”

For a long moment, Sylvanas did not reply. The drum of the rain drowned out other noises, so that the sounds of the harbour could only just be heard from the nearby dock districts. Light spilled from the windows of houses, restaurants, and taverns, along with the sounds of merriment from within. Only a few others wandered the streets in this part of town. Mostly Proudmoore guards, the occasional lieutenant on foot, or even a nobleman's carriage bearing some lesser House's coat of arms.

Finally, Sylvanas turned away from the inn which they had been heading towards, and instead strode off in the direction of the docks. "Nathanos, see that our rooms are cancelled for the evening. Anya, arrange for the first ferry to Drustvar. I want us there by daybreak."

Whereas Anya inclined her head and then seemed to melt into the shadows, Nathanos sighed. He made no movement. "The likelihood of finding her is very slim. And even if we do manage to miraculously stumble across her corpse, it will be too far gone for her people to accept her back into proper society."

"You misunderstand me. I mean to find her alive. And failing that, we will procure someone suitable to serve as a nephew to this Norwington fellow. Now," she swung her gaze towards him, her eyes burning through the late afternoon gloom. "I believe I gave you an order, Blightcaller."

Removing his kettle hat, he swept it to his decrepit heart and bowed. "I live to serve the Dark Lady."

Sylvanas watched him with a scowl. When he straightened and departed to do as she commanded, she called after him. “And get rid of that outfit before we leave!”

--

The only good thing Sylvanas could say about Arom's Stand was that at least it wasn't raining. Instead, it was snowing. The hills were surrounded by steep mountains, which already bore their white winter coats. Sylvanas could just make out their ridges in the distance through the scattering of snowfall.

The town itself wasn't much in and of itself. An open stable and rink, where a few horses huddled together for warmth. A mere handful of ramshackle buildings precariously perched together so that they seem to lean towards one another -- not unlike the horses. It was mid morning, but already the lanterns hung over each doorpost were lit, shedding pools of warm yellowish light through the drifts.

It had taken them the morning to get from the little docks where the ferry had unceremoniously dumped them. At least they hadn't been forced to hike the whole way. Sylvanas was willing to suffer few indignities these days. Walking through miles of snow was not one of them. She had scarcely waited until the ferryman was out of sight before she summoned skeletal horses from the earth. The bones had leapt from the ground with an eagerness that had momentarily shocked her. As though the land of Drustvar were hungry for life beyond the grave.

Now at Arom's Strand, the supposed heart of the noble witch-hunting Order of Embers, she saw only one person walking about. And that was a man who staggered out of what appeared to be a shabby little tavern to piss into the snowbank.

"Charming place," Sylvanas muttered. Her skeletal horse stamped a bony hoof as if in agreement.

“Seems like work is slow,” Nathanos noted.

The haughty timbre Anya’s voice was unmistakable as one of the rangers behind them replied, “They must have run out of witches to burn.”

For all that, Sylvanas spied a few tokens strung over the doorways. Bits of bone carved with scrimshaw and bound in leather strips. Kul Tirans were sailors, through and through. And sailors were a superstitious lot.

The man out the front of the tavern was fumbling with the drawstrings of his breeches once more, tying them firmly in place. He had not seemed to have noticed their presence, for he stumbled back into the tavern without any hesitation. The door slammed shut behind him.

“And apparently they’ve run out of wits as well,” Anya added.

“But not drink,” said Nathanos.

That earned a brief titter of shadowy laughter from both Anya and the other ranger, Velonara.

Slipping her feet from the stirrups, Sylvanas dismounted. The moment she stepped away from the horse, its form collapsed in a rush of dry bone and dust, which marked the pale snow. She ignored the antics of Nathanos and her rangers, as well as their sudden sharp attention upon her when she started wading her way through the snow towards the tavern.

"We should gather any intel before you go in alone, my Queen," Velonara said.

Sylvanas did not stop. Nor did she turn around to glance at them. The snow came up to just below her knees. She grunted as she all but kicked a path for her calves. "If I want to be coddled, I will tell you," she said. "Otherwise, you are to wait for me outside."

Behind her, Nathanos made a disgruntled noise, which was not parroted by the rangers, though Sylvanas did not need to look around to know that their expressions would be blankly unimpressed. They did not question her further, however. And by the time she reached the steps leading to the tavern, they had vanished.

Sylvanas took a moment to knock her armoured ankles against the topmost step to loosen any remaining snow before approaching the door. Unlike the inns and taverns at Boralus, this establishment lacked the sound of lively laughter and conversation, of feet stamping along to the rhythm of a fiddle while patrons drunkenly sang along to the chorus of their favourite sea shanties. Here, the windows were blackened with soot, barely leaking through the firelight from within.

When she opened the door and stepped inside, every patron turned to regard her with a steady gaze. There were not many of them. A mere five, and that included the barkeep. More witch's tokens were strung up along the rafters alongside the cobwebs. Bits of bone and thorn wound together. Even a little wicker effigy had been affixed over the fireplace beneath the sun-bleached skull of a deer. Steps wound up the opposite side of the room, leading to what she assumed were the barkeep's accommodations. The barkeep himself had his feet propped atop a cask of ale behind the counter. His apron bore a series of stains all along the once white linen. He tilted his hat back to get a better look at her.

The other four all wore dark-washed tabards with a flame-like symbol woven into the fabric with copper thread. Three of them nursed chipped tankards of ale. The fourth was a red-haired slip of a girl who held a knife in her hands, its point digging into the wooden benchtop. After a long moment, they all turned away from her. They returned to their own closed circle of conversation, taking up every last seat at the bar. Their voices were hushed murmurs and rumbles.

Sylvanas strode straight up to the end of the bar and leaned her elbow against it. Her voice cut through their soft-spoken phrases like a claw through hide. "I am looking for members of the Order of Embers. That's you, isn't it?"

One of the men, a tall burly human with bushy black sideburns, set down his drink. "We might be."

At that, Sylvanas gave their tabards a pointed glance. His colleague, a great hulking woman with shoulders like a shipwreck and a scar running down her left cheek, rolled her eyes.

"Enough of that, Sterntide." She jerked her head towards Sylvanas. "Joan Cleardawn. Marshal of the Order.” She gestured towards the others in turn. “This is Sterntide. Notley. And Mace. Not many strangers come 'round these parts nowadays. Have you gotten lost?"

"No," said Sylvanas.

Sterntide, for all his gruff demeanor, motioned towards the barkeep for another drink. When the barkeep pulled out an extra tankard for their guest, Sylvanas shook her head curtly. "Nothing for me."

She drummed her clawed gauntlet against the wooden bartop. Beside her, the slight red-haired woman named Mace fiddled restlessly with the knife in her hands. She scraped little carvings into the scarred wood. From this angle, Sylvanas could just make out the beginnings of an animal skull, though which kind was yet to be determined. Certainly, there were some very sharp teeth involved.

Sylvanas looked away from the carvings. "I was told your Order still keeps in regular contact with the Drust," she continued. "I am looking for one of their kind. A Thornspeaker."

The other man, Notley, slight of build but still fiendishly tall -- a trait of all Kul Tirans, it seemed -- leaned over his drink to get a better look at her. Sylvanas did not move in the slightest, despite how close he drew. He smelled of ale and woodsmoke. There were twin falcon's feathers affixed to the edges of his cloak. Finally, realisation crossed his features. He leaned back in his seat.

"Undead," he remarked. "Don't know why your kind bother. No Thornspeaker can help you, you know."

Sylvanas frowned at him. "Nevertheless, I would speak with one."

"Why?" he asked.

None of their expressions seemed overtly hostile upon learning what she was. Wary, to be sure. But not hostile. Not even remotely surprised. As though the dead frequently walked into their frozen hamlet, which barely warranted a mark on a map.

Briefly, Sylvanas considered her chances of getting away with a lie. This crowd did not seem easily deterred, however. "I am looking for someone," she finally admitted. "One of the Thornspeakers everyone thinks died in your Drust incursion some time ago."

Sterntide grunted into his cup. Lowering it, he wiped foam from his moustache with the back of his hand. "You one of those, aren't you?"

Sylvanas' eyes narrowed dangerously, and her ears lowered just a fraction. "I do not follow."

"Had a group of hunters out here last fortnight, wanting to go trawling through the Crimson Forest." Sterntide gestured emphatically with his tankard, sloshing a bit of ale onto the bartop. "I told them, I said, 'Don't do it. That forest is protected. Eat you alive, it will.' They didn't listen." He waved his free hand dismissively, then raised his tankard of ale back to his lips. "Haven't seen them since, poor bastards."

Cleardawn joined in as well. There was a dark furrow in her brow, and the scar on her cheek creased when she spoke. "Some bloody idiots heard there was an ancient Thornspeaker born of the Wild God, Athair, living in these parts. And off they trotted to the mountains, hoping to bring it down with silver arrows. Got themselves ripped to bloody shreds by the Drust ghosts at Gol Osigr." She snorted, shaking her head.

Mace stabbed her knife into the bartop so that it stuck in place, its hilt quivering. "You know, I saw a hunter selling broken arrows down in Corlain last month? Claimed they'd been pulled from that Thornspeaker's bloody hide, and that they could fell any beast, living or dead. Sold them for their weight in gold to some sad sack of shit from Boralus, too."

Sylvanas had not come here for tall tales, but it seemed she would be subjected to them regardless. She almost wished she had taken up their offer on a drink. And that alcohol still had any effect on her whatsoever.

"I am not looking to sell pieces of the Thornspeaker off for gold," Sylvanas said. She stopped rapping her fingers against the bartop, her palm splaying out across the gridwork of carvings all across the wood grain. "I only wish to talk."

The wary expressions returned.

"What for?" Notley pressed. His free hand stroked along the fletching of a quiver at his hip, though his bow was nowhere in sight.

"Yeah, and why not?" Sterntide added.

Sylvanas had to stamp down the urge to roll her eyes. "Do you know, or don't you?"

Silence. And then -

"Gol Inath," Mace whispered. She had taken up the knife once again, and was nervously digging a sprawling array of antlers from the skull carving. "The High Thornspeaker lives at Gol Inath."

The moment the name of that place was spoken, a wind buffeted down the chimney, and the fire flickered and snapped. Sterntide spat over his left shoulder. Notley fidgeted with his arrows. Even the unshakeable mountain of a woman, Cleardawn, cast a nervous glance towards the hearth.

For her part, Sylvanas lifted an eyebrow. "And how do I find Gol Inath?"

"You don't," Cleardawn said darkly. "It finds you."

"How very unhelpful," drawled Sylvanas.

"Watch your tone," the barkeep growled. It was the first thing he had said since her arrival. His doughy face was ghostly pale, his expression hard as wrought iron. "You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know shit."

Straightening somewhat, Sylvanas grudgingly kept her tone neutral when she said, "Can you at least give me a hint? A general vicinity, perhaps?"

She tried to catch the eye of the members of the Order of Embers, but they were all looking towards Cleardawn, as if waiting for her answer, or perhaps for her permission before they spoke out of turn. For that matter, Cleardawn was watching Sylvanas with serious eyes. "I don't like sending strangers off to their death," she explained. "It's not very host-like, see?"

"I think you'll find it's all far too late for that." Sylvanas gestured to herself with a humourless smile.

Even so, Cleardawn shook her head. The smile disappeared, and Sylvanas could feel the ire growing in her chest like a living thing. Before she could open her mouth however, Cleardawn sighed.

“Follow the old silver mines west down the cliffs." She pointed towards the western-most wall, which bore a brace of gutted hares that were tied up by their feet. "From here, you can see the great tree at the centre of the Crimson Forest. That's where you're headed. Mark me, stranger." Cleardawn leaned her bulk against the bartop as she fixed Sylvanas with a hard look. "The way may seem easy. But it isn't. Tides preserve you."

Inclining her head, Sylvanas murmured, "I shall not keep you from your cups any further."

When she turned to walk away, they did not immediately strike up their conversation again. She could feel their eyes upon her, and she distinctly heard Sterntide mutter under his breath, "Poor sod."

Sylvanas stopped in the doorway, her fingers upon the handle. She was craning her neck to study a tangle of briar thorns that had been placed over the entryway, strung with other smaller tokens. “I thought your Order was founded to combat witchcraft,” she mused aloud. She reached up to gently turn one of the tokens between her fingers. It was the yellowish fang of some indeterminate animal. A large cat endemic to the area, perhaps.  

“Aye,” said Cleardawn from the bar. “But the best way to fight witchcraft is with witchcraft. Take one with you, stranger. May it protect you, where your arrows can’t.”

Running her thumb along the blunt edge of the tooth, Sylvanas stood silently for a moment. She did not know what compelled her to do it, but she tugged the token free. The bit of twine that tethered it in place snapped. It was heavy in her palm, like a lodestone. Closing her fingers around the token, Sylvanas pushed open the door and stepped outside.

“Cheerful lot, aren’t they?” murmured Anya’s voice.

Sylvanas glanced over to see three pairs of eyes glinting at her from the shadows of the tavern’s eaves. She worried her thumb against the tooth’s blunted point, thoughtful. “I want to see the map again.”

Those eyes blinked owlishly. Then, Nathanos stepped forward. He pulled a folded scrap of parchment from the breast pocket of his coat, and handed it over. As Sylvanas unfolded it, she gestured for the other two to gather round. Together, they stood out of the way of the first story window of the tavern.

“We will divide Drustvar into scouting regions. Gather information. Find me this lost heir to the Proudmoore line.” Using the tip of the tooth, Sylvanas pointed to eastern coast of Drustvar. “Anya, you will take everything from Carver’s Harbour to Fletcher’s Hollow. Nathanos, you have the mountains all the way to Gol Koval. Velonara, take Waycrest Manor to Corlain. Which leaves…”

The fang hovered over the southwest peninsula of Drustvar. The map there had no markings titling it apart from a small town named Falconhurst at the inlet south of the Crimson Forest. The forest itself was a blank mass of branches. And at its very centre a massive tree. The locals who had penned this map had not dared to put the tree’s name to paper. As the fang circled round the tree, it seemed to push away from the location as if magnetically repelled.

“I for one do not like this plan,” said Nathanos. His statement was met with grave nods from both Anya and Velonara. “It’s too risky. We are stronger together.”

Folding the map back up, Sylvanas carefully traced the creases in the parchment between her pinched fingers. “We are also slower together,” she said. “And we have a great deal of ground to cover.”

She was fixed by three nearly identical glowers of disapproval.

Sylvanas glared right back. "Oh, I'm sorry," she growled. "Did this become a democracy when I wasn't looking?"

Anya huffed. Velonara rolled her eyes. Nathanos, for his part, held out his hand for the map. Sylvanas slapped the piece of paper into his palm.

"You have your orders," she said. "Now, follow them. We will meet back here in a week. Do try to refrain from any notions of rebellion in my absence."

"I for one make no promises," Velonara said.

Meanwhile, Anya added, "I distinctly remember your original platform being founded on the idea of rebellion, in fact."

"Spare me the sass, you two," sighed Sylvanas. "I thought death was supposed to be peaceful."

Jerking his thumb towards the other two, Nathanos said, "And you still kept these jackals around?" He tsked and shook his head in a reprimanding fashion.

Velonara made a rude gesture with her fingers, while Anya jostled Nathanos with her very bony elbow. He bore the injustice with a grunt of discomfort.

"Just as well you three aren't left alone together," Sylvanas muttered, not bothering to keep her voice down. "I'd come back to find the rest of Drustvar in flames."

Anya tried for a look of wide-eyed innocence, but on her impish face it only made her appear more devious. "And let Ashvane and Stormsong have all the fun?"

Sighing, Sylvanas tucked the fang into a leather pouch at her waist. "No inciting a civil war until we're well and truly ready to profit from one. Now," she waved at them as if trying to swat a swarm of flies in the air. "Go."

They went, but not without mocking little bows in her direction, each accompanied by a murmured, "For the Dark Lady."

With a shake of her head, Sylvanas waited until they had set off before making her own way around the outside of the tavern. Behind it was a stone walkway that traced the edge of the sheer cliffs that Cleardawn had spoken of earlier. A falcon was perched atop an outcropping. Its head was tucked beneath its wing, but it rustled its feathers and peered blearily at her when she stopped nearby. It chirped at her. A length of dyed leather was bound to one of its legs, and a scattering of rodent bones lay beneath its perch.

Sylvanas ignored the falcon in favour of looking over the cliffside. The snowfall had lessened. Only a few small white clumps drifted through the air now. Somehow it felt warmer up here than in the miserable rain of Boralus; the blanket of new snow and cloud acted as a layer of insulation. Even if Sylvanas had not been Undead, she would not have needed the luxury of a heavy cloak.

Dug into the slope were the abandoned silvermines, their rail carts barely visible from beneath the cliff's dramatic overhang. The lengths of steel seemed to shunt to nowhere, and with a crane of her neck she could just make out that segments of the rail line had been shorn off and carted away, cannibalised by the locals for alternative use. The snow sank slowly downwards, far below, and from this altitude Sylvanas could see the point at which the air grew too warm and turned it to rain. A mist clung to the tops of trees that seemed caught in a stasis of autumn.

Even from here, the enormous tree could be seen. It loomed through the mist, a sprawling colossus of nature. Its twisted limbs were bare and skeletal through the fog, like a mythological being that had been petrified in place, struck down by some rival god in the very midst of battle. A path cut its way from the silver mines down to the forest's edge, but there it stopped dead in its tracks, overgrown with wild underbrush and tangles of briary roses that had long since lost their blooms.

Something rapped against her wrist. Sylvanas' head swung round sharply, only to find that the falcon had hopped down from its perch and ambled towards her along the stone railing where her hands had clenched themselves into fists. The bird was toying at a tarnished buckle of her vambrace.

"Plucky little thing," Sylvanas muttered. Then she waved it away, and turned aside to begin her descent.

The cliffs were broken only by a single steep slope at the edge of Arom's Stand. It was clearly marked as the road to Corlain by a lonely lantern that shed its dim light onto a signpost beneath it, scrawled in a blackletter script that had faded with age. It took longer than she would have liked to traverse the switchbacks through the silver mines. Her only blessing was that the further down she went, the more the snow receded, until she could stride unencumbered across the path.

The ground here was marked with the grooves of merchant's carts that had traveled for years across these roads, heavy-laden with goods from Corlain. Mud congealed along the tracks, and puddles gathered in the ruts. The melted snows were a fine drizzle that misted the air, obscuring vision so that the mountains faded behind her into haze-riddled shapes.

When Sylvanas reached the treeline, she paused. The road curved well around the Crimson Forest, giving the woods a wide berth. She lingered between the two. Her eyes scanned the canopy, where a raven watched her in turn with a steady gaze. After a moment it took flight, its strident cry sending a flurry of smaller birds scattering in its wake. She squinted, but even her heightened senses could not pierce the veil of shadow that clung to the underbrush. The woods were thickly-woven, their branches a loom that threaded together, offering no clear path forward. A hunting knife would do little in the way of hacking through that dense thicket. The broadest axe would struggle.

The cries of the raven were fading into the distance. When Sylvanas took her first step past the trees, the weight of the fang in her pouch seemed heavier, tugging at her belt with every footfall. She ignored it and ducked beneath a branch, pressing onwards. Overhead, the dense canopy began to weave together as she ventured further into the woods, until what meagre sunlight Kul Tiras had to offer could not be found in any trace.

Steadily, her eyes adjusted. Her ears pricked at any wayward sound, alert and on guard, though she kept her bow strung over her shoulder rather than firmly in her grasp. Sylvanas had spent many years of her former life traversing deep woods, and often she would dwell upon those memories still, memories of better times, some of the best in her life. If asked, she would consider herself an expert, but this was like no forest she had encountered in the past, alive or dead.

A forest was alive. It breathed. It teemed with all manner of creatures. It had a rhythm. This place had none of those qualities. It was absolutely still. Neither breath of wind nor life. Mist clung to her ankles when she walked, disturbed by her movements, only to settle back into inaction in her wake. She was a disturbance. An unwelcome guest at a funerary rite.

Where at the entrance to the forest, the enormous tree at its heart had towered above the others, now Sylvanas could see nothing of it. Any vantage point, any reference had vanished like smoke. She carried no compass; she had dead reckoning and had never found the need for one in the past. Something told her that even if she had thought to bring one however, it would be of little use here. Cocking her head, she continued southwest.

The forest offered very little in the way of landmarks. The landscape here had a repetitious quality. Same colours. Same sounds. Same patterns. Once Sylvanas could have sworn she heard the rustle of something in the distance, but it was beyond her vision.

Eventually she came across a distinct clearing. It was presided over by a black and twisted ash tree -- the victim of an old fire, no doubt. Even its roots still appeared scorched. While the other trees had regrown over time, this little glade remained untouched. As she drew near, Sylvanas paused. In the centre of the clearing a wicker man had been erected. It was a larger copy of the one Sylvanas had seen at the tavern in Arom's Stand. A group of superstitious hunters must have put it here to guard them while they slept.

Sylvanas took note of the surrounding area before pressing onwards. With near silent footfalls, she stalked the woods. The most she came across in terms of living creatures were a few unwary hares with grey coats, and the sporadic raven that croaked balefully at her from the trees. Nothing larger let itself be known however. Normally, she would have expected to stumble across the path of deer, or wild boars, or even predators that had little fear of humans in such untouched areas. But not here.

Hours passed as she walked. The space between the trees were beginning to darken as evening approached. Sylvanas glanced around, then froze.

The old flame-blackened ash tree stood, stark as a pillar, not a stone's throw ahead of her. Slowly, Sylvanas approached it once more. A wary hand strayed to the bow slung across her shoulders, but she did not draw the weapon yet. She stopped at the edge of the clearing, her fingers just grazing the handle of her bow, waiting.

The wicker man was slumped against the stick that held it upright, utterly unchanged from when she had first been here. Instead of hands, it had bear claws bound to its wrists with coils of thick flaxen rope, the kind one might use on a ship's deck. Its head had the length and shape of a wolf's skull, but for the set of antlers coronating it like a crown. The skull was tilted down and to one side, as though its maker had pushed its face away.

Had it looked aside like that before? Sylvanas cast her mind back, but could not be completely sure. Perhaps this was a series of camps, created by hunters or whoever else dared traversed these woods.

Sylvanas lowered her hand from the bow. She drew the silver hunting knife from her boot, and scored the withered bark of the tree. Then, sheathing the knife, she continued on her way.

Night was swiftly upon her. In the darkness, the woods grew vast and deep. No starlight could reach her here. Not even rain. The patter of gentle rainfall had long since vanished during her wandering, but the mist remained. In life, her night vision could never have rivaled those of her cousins across the sea in Kalimdor. In death however, Sylvanas needed very little by way of light to see. Even so, there was nothing to be done about the dense vegetation that obstructed her at every turn. In some areas, the woods grew so thickly together that she had to squeeze her way through narrow gaps between trunks, and the sharp branches would snag upon her clothing, as if attempting to drag her back.

A few more hours. She was sure she was gaining ground on her final destination, when she saw it.

The ash tree. Black as basalt. The mark Sylvanas had left in the bark was bleeding like a wound with a substance too dark to be sap. And in its bare spiny branches, a dark shape lurked with arms outstretched.

In a single fluid motion, Sylvanas drew her bow. The fletching of an arrow was brushing her cheek, ready to be fired, but she paused. She relaxed the bowstring, lowering the weapon just slightly. A wary step forward. Then another.

The shape was unmoving. It dripped onto the ground. Quickly, Sylvanas put away her bow and arrow, and pulled flint from her pocket. A moment later she was lifting a torch towards the tree.

A wolf had been flayed and perched in its branches, as though stored there by a shrike. Its ribs were cracked open, its belly slit, its head was missing, and its entrails spilled onto the forest floor. All but its heart, which had been staked onto the chest of the wicker man in the clearing.

With a soft grunt, Sylvanas studied the wolf a moment longer. She removed the glove from her spare hand with her teeth, and reached out to touch it. The blood of its offal was still warm. A fresh kill.

Scowling, Sylvanas wiped her fingers clean, put her glove back on, and strode into the clearing. The wicker man was looking straight ahead now, a watchful guardian of the empty grove. For a fleeting instant, she considered setting it alight with the tip of her torch, but some whispered misgiving stayed her hand. The urge to at least turn its head aside once more was too great however, and she nudged the skull with the toe of her boot so that it would not watch her while she made camp.

When she had a small fire going, she pulled out a piece of parchment and retraced her steps. A few strokes here and there with a bit of charcoal from the fire, and Sylvanas had a makeshift map of where she had gone through the Crimson Forest so far. Or at least, where she thought she had gone. Everything in her body, every last scrap of experience told her that she had been travelling southwest the entire time. There were very little hills. The hills were flat for the most part, broken only by gentle slopes here and there. From memory she charted the gullies, and came to the conclusion that she must have gotten turned around at one end, so that she continued back down her path towards the ash tree on multiple occasions.

The magic of this place would be muddying her sense of direction. That was evident. Her first course of action from here would be to find a river or stream. If it were fresh, it would be fed from the glaciers to the east. She could follow the water away from its source, and in the direction of Gol Inath.

The fire was burning low, simmering to its bed of coals. For the first time in Kul Tiras, Sylvanas' clothes were at last starting to feel dry. She counted her luck on that front, at least. Unless there was a truly torrential downpour, she would be spared wet clothes for a while yet.

In the dead of night, the noises of the woods were hushed but present. The ravens had faded in the wake of owls and the chirp of nocturnal insects. A few moths danced dangerously close to the flames, and the whine of some bold mosquitos ventured near, only to find her a poor meal indeed.

Slowly, her hands grew heavy. Her wrist slumped, and the bit of charcoal dragged a ragged path against the parchment in her grasp. Sylvanas blinked against it, straightening her posture. But a few moments later, and her shoulders sinking down once more. The fire flickered limply against the weight of the night air, until even the stray sparks were pushed down into the flames.

Sleep should not have been possible -- Sylvanas could fuzzily recall the last time she had experienced it nearly a generation ago -- but she closed her eyes, and it claimed her regardless.

She was standing at the summit of Icecrown Citadel. The wind whipped her long cloak into a frenzy around her ankles. The balls of her feet were balanced at the very edge of the frozen fortification, and when she looked down, nothing but darkness awaited her below. Her foot lifted. She stepped forward and off the ledge. And when she fell -- down, down -- she was not met with the slam of ice and rock, but with the feeling of something catching tight around her neck and yanking, so that she dangled from the Lich King's lair like a trophy for all to see.

Sylvanas wrenched awake with a gasp. Her chest heaved, lungs working for breath that she no longer needed. She started to reach up to touch her neck, but something crumpled in her fists. She looked down. The parchment she had been using for a map was now a mass of black -- smeared from every edge and ragged corner -- and in her other hand the charcoal had been worn down to a nub. She threw the parchment and charcoal aside. The fingers of her gloves were grimy with dark ash.

At her feet, the fire had burned down to a bed of pink and white coals. They shed a feeble scarlet light onto her surroundings. And across from the coals, the wicker man cast a looming shadow against the trees. Its skull was turned directly towards her, and the hollow sockets of its eyes gleamed in the dying light.

Scrambling upright, Sylvanas kicked dirt over the coals until they were smothered. Then, she snatched up the quiver and bow from the ground where she had left them within arm's reach. Fastening them across her shoulders once more, she glowered at the woods. They stood impassively. She aimed a last glare at the wicker man, which seemed to stare back at her.

Sylvanas bared her sharp teeth and hissed softly, “Stay out of my head.” Then she kicked the skull back to the side to stop it from looking at her, and strode from the clearing.

Dawn was not far off. An hour or two of brisk walking, and the trees seemed to lighten in colour somewhat, so that the low-slung mist that pervaded the forest brightened. She stalked through it viciously, her eyes burning as tendrils of fog swirled around her feet.

She headed dead south. A completely new direction today. At least if she went too far and somehow passed by Gol Inath, she would wind up in Falconhurst. From there she could gather more intel from the local farmers and trappers, before heading back into the forest.

The gullies in this direction grew steep. More than once, Sylvanas had to gingerly pick her way down the slopes, or risk making enough noise to alert every predator of her presence from here to Corlain. She knew now that there were wolves in these parts. Even if the only one she had seen so far had been killed by unknown hands.

Nearly the whole day she walked. Never pausing. Never relenting. She sought a water source -- there must be one; there must -- but even the most meagre of streams eluded her. Eventually she abandoned caution. She pressed through the trees with a recklessness that would have gotten her scolded by her mother as a child learning to hunt for the first time.

Whereas the day before the woods had treated her with a cold indifference, today they seemed guarded. As though she were being observed by a massive crowd of people who muttered in disapproval about her presence. Once or twice, Sylvanas could have sworn she saw something moving at the corner of her vision -- an enormous shape slouching between the trees. Her ears would cock forward in search of any noise, and her head would whip around, only to find nothing. But always the unpleasant feeling lingered. Of being watched. Of a hand reaching through the dark to grasp her shoulder and wrench her round.

After hours and hours of trekking, Sylvanas clambered up a steep incline, then went stock still.

That damn ash tree. Again. The wolf was still there. Its entrails were gone. Bloody smears were dragged along the ground from the base of the tree. Something must have come along and eaten the offal. And of course, the fucking wicker man was there, too.

Swearing -- not bothering to keep her voice down -- Sylvanas  scowled up at the tree. It was growing dark again. A whole day. Wasted.

She fumed. She paced the clearing. She pulled the fang from her pouch and rubbed it between the fingers of one hand. Then, she dropped down on her haunches in front of the wicker man to glare at it, close enough that her nose was but a finger-breadth away.

"I am growing rather tired of this game," Syvlanas growled.

The wicker man of course made no reply.

That night she dreamt of Frostmourne. The blade plunged beneath her ribcage while she knelt in a field of golden flowers. And when she slumped to the ground, she was drowning in a sea of petals. They got into her mouth, into her throat. They filled her lungs until she choked on golden blooms.  

She awoke panting for air, and her initial bout of panic seethed into fury. Coils of her banshee form curled from her body like black smoke. The fire she had built a few hours ago spluttered when she rose to her feet, shadows gathering close around her. The wicker man watched in stolid silence.

Sylvanas snarled something wordless, the noise echoing. Her hands were clenched into trembling fists. The fang dug into her palm until it began to pierce the glove of her clawed gauntlet. Without thinking, she hurled the little witch’s token at the wicker man in a fit of anger.

The fang never reached its intended destination. No sooner had it left her hand, than it fell back at her feet, as though it had bounced against an invisible wall, or been buffeted back by an unseen wind.

Sylvanas blinked. Slowly the anger boiled low in her stomach until it was just a metallic taste on the back of her tongue instead of the wild thing that gripped her jaws. She reached down, hesitated a moment, then picked up the fang from the ground. Turning it over thoughtfully between her fingers, she looked between the fang and the wicker man. Then, she tore a thin strip of cloth from her cloak. She used her knife to bore a hole through the thickest section of bone, and looped the fabric through until the fang hung from a knot.

When she held it up to the wicker man, the fang pushed away at the end of the length of cloth like a pendulum.  

“Well, well…” Sylvanas murmured. She pulled her hand back so that the witch’s token hung normally from her grasp. “It seems I have a compass after all.”

If Sylvanas had thought the Crimson Forest an untraversable warren before, her mind was not changed now. In one hand she held the makeshift compass aloft like a lantern. It would swing wildly about with every step, always pushing away from the heart of the woods. The further she ventured, the more the fang strained at the end of its strip of cloth, as if trying to drag her back to safety. And with every step she ignored its warnings, pushing ever inwards.

Her ears pricked at the first sound of trickling water, and not long after she came across a stream. It was small enough for her to step across, but she felt triumphant nonetheless. Any change in scenery was welcome. Especially if it meant she didn’t have to cross paths with that wicker man again.

The next time she did, she would stuff it full of arrows.

As time went on, the sensation of being watched only intensified. The ravens ruffling their feathers upon high branches were eerily quiet. Something rustled through the underbrush, the sounds animal-like at first, only to prove itself a breeze when Sylvanas inspected the source more closely.

And then the fang began to spin in circles, like a needle skipping over a track. Sylvanas glanced down at the slope beneath her feet, looking around to get her bearings. Another little hillock protruded from the ground not far off. And another beyond that. It was then that she realised they were not hills at all, but roots that had been grown over with earth.

Stuffing the fang back into its pouch, she continued to climb. The roots levelled out, and gradually the trees began to thin. She could see patches of sky riddled with a scarlet haze from the light of the setting sun slanting through the atmosphere. The fog slithered along the ground here, flowing past Sylvanas in slow ripples. The sound of rushing water grew louder and steadier. She hastened her step, her hand straying to the bow, drawing it from her shoulders.

In the epicentre of the forest, Gol Inath sprawled. Waterfalls flowed beside it, feeding pools of water that shed the mist that pervaded the woods. The colossal tree’s bulging twisted limbs were bare and grey. So broad was its trunk, a hundred men could not hope to encircle it. And at its very base, a pointed stone arch had been built, fragments of stone staggered along the path leading to it like a series of broken tombstones to a monument.

The air here was heavy. The taste of it lingered on the back of her tongue like the tang of copper. Cautiously, her eyes scanning the clearing for any hint of movement, Sylvanas stepped forward. The path to the enormous tree was clear, but every instinct urged her that this was a lie. With every step closer, she waited for an attack to come, until she stood directly before Gol Inath, peering into its hollow trunk.

The space beneath the archway was a black beyond black. She could just make out stairs leading down into the ground beneath the tree. In the stones above the entryway, runes had been chiselled. They glowed with a spectral blue light that pulsed with a slow steady rhythm, as though they were breathing.

Sylvanas lifted her foot to take that first step inside, when a voice echoed around the clearing, “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

In a blur of motion, Sylvanas whirled about, nocked an arrow and pulled it back, ready to fire. She aimed down the shaft of the arrow, but nobody stood behind her. The clearing was empty. The only other noise was the series of waterfalls, which splashed against rocks and gnarled roots.

“I see you are no different from the other hunters, then,” said the voice again. Its owner sounded weary, feminine, and slightly bored.

Sylvanas shifted her grip upon the bow. Then, warily, she slackened her bowstring. She lowered the weapon, but did not put it away, her fingers holding the arrow steady. “I am looking for someone. I was told you trained her. Assuming you are the High Thornspeaker, of course.”

Silence. When the voice spoke again, it seemed to come from a different angle, and Sylvanas’ head snapped around to follow it. “It’s rare I receive new pupils, though not completely unheard of.”

“Not recently, no. You would have trained her years ago.”

This time, the silence seemed contemplative. Curious, even. A breath of wind stirred behind her, and when Sylvanas turned around once more, a tall figure stood beneath the stone archway of Gol Inath. A sickle-shaped staff was clutched in one clawed hand that appeared to be made of the same wood as the staff. The woman’s face was obscured by an antlered skull with teeth far sharper than a deer ought to have. Her broad shoulders bore a fine mantle of woven feathers and leaves, dark as the forest itself.

“Strange,” said Ulfar, her voice a wine-black murmur beneath the mask. “You are not a member of the Order of Embers, yet you bear one of my tokens."

The fang was a steady weight in Sylvanas’ pouch. “One of the Order gave it to me as a parting gift.” Sylvanas lowered her bow fully, then placed it and the arrow over her shoulder. She studied the glowing runes carved into the skull’s antlers, similar to those carved into the archway. A multitude of tokens and charms wrought from stones and thorns and animal bones were clustered at Ulfar’s belt, or hidden among the folds of her clothing. Sylvanas nodded towards them. "They told me you were the High Thornspeaker, but they failed to inform me you were also a witch."

Ulfar’s hand tightened around her staff, and the skull swung round. The fathomless sockets of its eyes stared at her in a menacing way. "I am not a witch," came the hissed reply.

Raising her hands, palm up, Sylvanas said, “Peace, Ulfar. I meant no disrespect.”

Ulfar cocked her head to one side in a curious tilt. “Your information is outdated, stranger. I am not Ulfar. He is no longer with us. I am his successor.”

Sylvanas frowned. “Then what should I call you?”

“Jaina.”

--

title from:

“In my body you search the mountain for the sun buried in its forest. In your body I search for the boat adrift in the middle of the night.”

— Octavio Paz, from Counterparts (tr. by Eliot Weinberger)