#anyway the encounter happened at night at some party. i was sitting in a tree (there were a fuckton of trees)

[ech0light]

being able to continue dreams once youre somewhat half awake is all fun and games until you manage to scare yourself fully awake and have to calm yourself down afterwards

[recaptchaai]

LAST TIME ON OURANTUS! Lots and lots of big emotions!

So after filling Bela in on what happened with her last night, what with her wolfing out and all that. After Bela agrees, we head out to the nearest town to find a cleric to cure her (as well as the radiation damage stuff that was sapping us from that weird creature in the fight). Thankfully, we arrive that evening before the moon rises and we book an appointment with some old dude at a Hermes temple. He cures us of that radiation life drain shit, as well as Robyn's paranoia, but the old geezer makes the mistake of using a spell to better get a look at Bela. His eyeballs burn and he starts apologizing, saying that he didn't mean to look up on divinity like that. All of us are confused as shit because while, yes, we are champions of some gods, none of us are gods or demigods ourselves. Right? Well, the old man sends us off to come back in the morning when he will cure Bela of her lycanthropy because he's gotta prepare himself for this.

So we find some hunters on the outskirts of town with cages big enough to keep WereBela at bay. We also cast a sleeping spell on her for good measure. The main hunter guy is really creepy and watches us the whole night but otherwise, we get through the night safe and sound without any breeches. (Robyn ends up returning later to purchase a jackalope because I thought he was so cute)

Back to the old guy we go. This time, he has Bela sit in a chair with thicc bindings and once she's all strapped in, he starts casting. Now Bela, she does not look like she's having a good time, like it looks painful as hell. When the spell has ended, she goes limp before beginning to transform. Did the spell fail? No. Turns out, there was a second curse placed on Bela to repress her memories and certain parts of her as it is revealed that Bela is a full blooded vampire, a demigod of Zura the Vampire Queen herself. In order for her transformation to be complete, she needs to feed, so Max offers his arm for her to drink from.

And Bela's back! As a vampire now! So, obviously, she has to go get a coffin and whatnot and the party decides to travel at night and rest during the day to accommodate Bela. Unfortunately, the morning after we leave the town, some hunters come up to us, claiming they're here to kill the werewolf. That creepy bitch ratted us out! Robyn tries to negotiate with these guys, but they're hella powerful hunters. Their sniper can almost oneshot a person from an extreme distance away with a heavy crossbow. This battle is rough. Honestly, it was almost a TPK and Robyn was the only one uninjured (Krane's player wasn't there that session so technically he was uninjured as well but he wasn't in the fight either) and Max, unfortunately, died. I'm not even sure how we were able to convince them to stop fighting us.

We keep traveling until we get to a heavily fortified city called Ugar where we're summoned by one of Bela's older siblings. He tells us there's someone we need to meet in the big city we're heading to, and that he wants us to kill one of his and Bela's siblings. The party agrees, only after Robyn is given sufficient reason (neutral good go brrrrr). She asks for some information on the world tree in addition to what we're already getting paid, hinting that she already knows well more than the average person. He agrees, on the condition that we bring his sibling's head on a silver platter.

Vyle and Robyn head to some temples, Vyle to Ragathiel's and Robyn to Pulura's. Vyle almost dies provoking them, seeing as she rejected her past life's god in favor of her own, and Robyn gets some closure and learns how to devote herself to her new faith. Vyle talks to Bela about the encounter and when they go to hug, SHE FUCKING KISSES BELA ON THE NECK!!!

Anyway!

We head off to the city that we've been trying to get to for a while now (I forget the name lol) and it's huge! This is the main city where the Aurudains have the most influence, with a statue of the house's founder in the city center. We head off to what is essentially a castle, which is where the Aurudains live and will be holding the meeting. On the way, we meet Dave, a war priest of Urgathoa and just overall a hilarious NPC, and Anvor, a kangaroo-satyr custom race who has a kid named Minkor and a hired green pseudodragon named Snip. Anvor, like the rest of the party, is a champion and has a previous life, so we all have that connection that makes us do the spiderman meme.

We get to the Aurudain castle thing and are told where we are staying and we all get to enjoy a nice hot tub while Dave talks to Vyle about how she's not inadequate as a champion or cleric. Unfortunately, the fun times over at the hot tub are interrupted by Krane receiving news that he has been chosen to represent the Aurudain household in one of two cities, to which Krane ends up choosing the one to the farthest north because he didn't want to be in the same city as his brother. Out of game, Krane's player is temporarily leaving the game due to scheduling conflicts, so this is Krane's way of exiting the story. The party spends the next five days pouring over the Aurudain library, where we learn more about Mystra (see the murder board for a more in-depth look) as well as information about other gods so we know who we're up against when we encounter more champions. And at the end of the five days, the party says farewell to Krane.

The remaining members of the party spend the next week leveling up and when we reconvene, we prepare for the last leg of our journey to reach the Deadlands. However, while out shopping for some scrolls and vampire slaying kits, Robyn and Amorath notice something all too familiar: a black mist known as the taint hanging over a portion of the city. This is the same mist that was over the town with the alchemist, the one that sickens people and that only those of us with past lives can see. After gathering the rest of the party, we rush off to the area, only to be stopped by guards. After all, this is a city; it's rather odd and dangerous to see armed people running off. We're escorted back to the Aurudains where we explain the situation, using memory crystals to show Soverick the mist. Before long, two more clouds of black mist have formed and we are given the ok to go to the center where we can easily be dispatched to help. The guards find an underground cavern beneath the sewers, undead spilling out. We're sent in only to find Amorath's old professor performing a ritual that we've all seen in a dream before. If this ritual is complete, it will summon a being so powerful, the casualties would be unfathomable. And protecting the ritual is none other than Zyrthus himself.

And that's where we ended the session.

(Sorry, this was really brief, I did most of this by memory because I didn't want to sit through the recordings of 4 or 5 sessions lol)

[foolishquarry]

Max‘Verses List

(current werewolf headcanons can be found HERE)

On The Way Instead of his roommate keeping an eye out for him and phoning the news on his acceptance letter, Max brought in a last round of mail while packing the car and was blindsided by his rejection from college. Right before his and Laura’s long drive to Hackett’s Quarry. He shoved it in a tool bag in the trunk to process later and did his best not to let the disappointment show with chill playlists, jokes, and an open window to keep his persistently wet eyes dry, but the streak of bad luck didn’t ease up there... (RP taking place before reaching Hackett’s Quarry in the prologue.)

∘ Canon: Follows canon events where Max and Laura banter, swerve to avoid something, eerie woods events happen, and Creepy Cop is encountered.

∘ Harbinger Motel: Rattled by almost hitting something, the woods being eerie, and encountering Creepy Cop, Max catches a break when Laura looks into his dewy eyes and decides not to keep pushing for Hackett’s Quarry. They go to the motel. (RP that branches from the point of deciding not to go to camp a day early after all.)

∘ I Think We Hit Something: Max doesn’t look up in time and misses the QTE to swerve around whatever was sitting in the road. Was that a person? To make matters worse, the car’s stuck in some mud beside the road and a cop pulls up to finish off the victim on the road. (Max and Laura accidentally cause Silas’ death in the prologue and still manage to See Too Much.)

The Station Max and Laura have been abducted by Sheriff Hackett and are being kept in what appears to be a decommissioned police station. They don’t know what this man wants from them or how long he intends to keep them locked up. (RP taking place from the point of abduction)

∘ Canon: Max is infected and Travis has to decide what he wants to do based on how these college kids behave in his care.

∘ First One In: Laura was mauled by Chris Hackett in the Lodge cellar and Max was the one frantically dragging her up the stairs when Travis arrived.

Quarry Time Whatever lead to this moment, Max Brinly made it to the scenic Hackett’s Quarry Summer Camp. (Rps taking place from the start of summer camp allllll the way to epilogue.)

∘ Hungry Boy: Locked in the tree house attic, wolfed out Max intends to wait to the night’s end without hurting anyone. Assuming no one opens the latch. The whole “not hurting anyone” part was decided while he was lucid and he’s a little aggro in his current state.

∘ Good Boy: He doesn’t know any of what’s happened since the sun went down but Max has come to with the moon still full and his skin back on. He’s cured! … Now what?

∘ Good Idea: Max and Laura arrived in camp on time! Max spends the summer with his fellow counselors and discovers the dark side of Hackett’s Quarry alongside everyone else. (Optional expansion of this ‘verse HERE)

∘ On The Way: Jacob never sabotaged the van. He does, however, clip something in the road as they head out a little late and fucks the van up anyway- and whatever they hit follows their tow to the Harbinger Motel. The counselors have a horror movie bad time instead of a party night as they wait for morning repairs. Bonus points for all those No Bars cellphones, easily cut phone lines, Mamma Hackett being the (kind granny-to-mean spitter) motel owner, and everyone thinking the creepy cop is the one slaughtering people instead of trying to keep them safe while he hunts Silas.

Summer Done It’s been an eventful night but the moon’s shine is finally fading.

∘ The Basement: Max waited on the Island’s dock for hours. To his dismay, he doses off and wakes up not to Laura’s return but being abducted a second time by Travis Hackett. Why is going home such an impossible thing? (RP based on Laura’s Basement ending, because Travis needs leverage to keep her docile and Max knows too much.)

∘ This Is Fine: Max has a lot of therapy ahead of him and still craves for meat when the moon is too bright. He doesn’t even know where to begin answering all the questions from family and friends and probably never will. Still. Better than being dead or back at that police station. (Any RP where Max has survived Hackett’s Quarry and had a chance to start moving on. But did killing Chris Hackett really end the curse?)

∘ New Normal: They failed to lift the curse, if it was even possible in the first place. Can Max find a way to accept his new normal?

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Michael/Harry (5sos + 1D) Masterlist

a dream for white light (ao3) - merlypops luke/calum, michael/harry G, 1k

Summary: A breeze picked up, stirring the dried autumn leaves where they were littering the tarmac around him. The wind seemed very localised - none of the trees edging the car park were moving and even the man sitting on the other side of the steps appeared unaffected - but Michael's hair was being tousled and the cool air felt like fingertips stroking his cheeks for a moment, reminding him that he wasn't alone. ‘Not now, Ash. Please not now.’

At Calum and Luke's wedding, Ashton helps Michael move on.

and i remember us now (ao3) - thedeathofhyacinth E, 2k

Summary: Michael hasn't seen Harry since the Brits and he feels homeless.

burnt eggs & broken promises (ao3) - kingscrossinseptember G, 4k

Summary: “…So after a month or two of getting hounded by people, I may or may not have invented a fictional boyfriend.”

Luke glanced up at Ashton with worried blue eyes, as if he was expecting to be berated for lying. Instead, Ashton shrugged. “I can see why.”

or,

Ashton’s always found his roommate, Luke, nothing but aggravating, but when they make a deal where Ashton has to pretend to be Luke’s boyfriend for a night, his opinion starts to shift slightly…

couldn't be what you need (he's just seventeen) (ao3) - zayndotcom E, 6k

Summary: "Michael's first encounter with Harry Styles after nearly two years of avoiding him couldn't have gone any worse if he tried. Fuck."

i just miss your accent and your friends (ao3) - bellawritess T, 2k

Summary: Of all the people Michael might have expected to see at the CALM release party, Harry Styles isn’t one.

I Just Miss Your Accent and Your Smile (ao3) - FayeHunter michael/calum, michael/harry E, 4k

Summary: "Harry (9:04am) I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I’m in LA if you want to hang.

Michael sits and stares at the text for a while, unsure if he’s fully comprehending what’s in front of him. It’s not unusual for Harry to text him when he’s in town, but normally he’s a little more subtle than this."

Or Harry's in town and Michael can't wait to see him again

Like Cardiac Arrest (high voltage when we kiss) (ao3) - orphan_account E, 4k

Summary: Michael didn’t want to do anything but accept this kiss from Harry at that moment. He forgot all of the words that were spinning around in his head and everything was quiet except the sound of Harry’s wet lips against his own. And that’s what Harry did, he made Michael forget.

Not That Important (ao3) - sammyswagstar M, 2k

Summary: "Michael tilted his head back further into the pillow, deciding he was doing too much thinking for a teenage boy about to have his brains fucked out." OR Michael and Harry have turned fucking into a regular thing between them and they might as well enjoy it.

some are like the heat (ao3) - clemmingtine M, 2k

Summary: The heat is driving Michael insane. Or maybe it's just Harry. Set during TMH.

somehow you kicked all my walls in (ao3) - estrella30 E, 15k

Summary: Enough time passes between the last Manchester show and the next time he sees Harry that Michael thinks he probably imagined everything that had happened between the two of them.

or, Harry and Michael hook up a lot over the course of the tour

something to prove (nothing to lose) (ao3) - bellawrites T, 1k

Summary: Michael props himself up on his elbows and gives Harry a blank stare. “You want to finish the chess game? Instead of make out?”

Voices Singing (Let's Be Jolly) (ao3) - allsassnoclass (brightblackholes) T, 4k

Summary: Harry loves Christmas and singing in his community choir. Michael hates Christmas but is playing the piano for their holiday concert, anyway.

we'll stumble through it all (ao3) - nemesina77 T, 6k

Summary: “You’re Twitter flirting with Harry Styles.”

“This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”

Luke leans in, impossibly closer. “Michael, this is a life-changing moment. One day you’ll look back and remember this and it’ll be the moment that changed the rest of your life, for better or worse.”

Ashton huffs and Michael’s eyes bug out impossibly bigger. “Wow Luke, way to freak him out even more. Just trust your gut Mikey, it’s worked so far.”

Will You Marry Me? (ao3) - kallie_larry_forever G, 1k

Summary: Michael is proposing to his boyfriend and Harry is so oblivious to what is going on

[sirenreading]

Reincarnation🥀

Paring: Vampire!Ezra x F!reader

Summary: Ezra spent years looking for his lost love whom the Gods promised would return to him.

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word count: 2.3k

Warning: mentions of : blood and death, PIV, unprotected sex, biting, age gap (obviously) , no use of y/n.

A/N: finally able to post this after writing it for a week, was on such a bad writers burn out ugh anyways enjoy! sorry for any mistakes if i missed them while editing! (creds to @/cinewhore for the idea of vampire!ezra) (creds to gif owner)

You walked down the dark hallways of an unknown castle. Your black floor length dress dragging behind you as you finally see light coming from inside of a room, Quickly making your way in, Your met with a tall man, he's handsome with brown eyes; That stare right into your soul. And a smile showing you his white fangs. You begin to slowly back away as he slowly approaches you. “Don't be scared my love, I have finally found you. This will only hurt for a second.” As he grabs you by the arm, sinking his teeth into your neck.

You awake, Your whole body hot, Sweat coming down your forehead, You try to slow your breathing, throwing the blanket off of you to run to look into the mirror.

No bite marks.

“Sir Ezra, all the invitations have been sent.” A small voice said, Ezra stood looking out the window of his castle; that sat at the tallest hill a little outside of the village. “Perfect.” He said ”Thank you.” slightly turning his head, waving the maid away. She quickly made her way out before Ezra could change his mind and have her as an evening snack.

‘You are hereby invited to Sir Ezra’s Masquerade Ball’

You read the small note, Sent to you and every other woman in the town. Sir Ezra threw this party every 20 or so years, Some say out of pure fun, Some think he's searching for something, or someone.

You set the letter down and go hop in the bath to prepare to do your chores. Once you showered and done your hair, You put on a simple dress from your closet and made sure to pack your knife, That your late father gave you for safety.

On your way to the watering hole you saw women and girls of all ages making their way into dress and fabric stores, All getting ready for the ball. You didn't understand why everyone was so excited to meet this man.’ He stayed up in his castle looking down at all of us like ants.’ you thought

You looked up through the trees and could see the dark castle shrouded by fog, Shaking your head as you continued on.

Ezra sat up in his bed, After dismissing another maid, He barely gave her time to recover before sending her back to her duties. She pulled back on her clothes and whipped the leftover blood on her neck, Before making her way out. Ezra let out a brief sigh, As he stood and retrieved his robe, Wrapping it around his naked body.

He heard three knocks to the door and told them to come in. “How are we this evening Sir?” His butler asked, Obviously asking about the sexual encounter. “She was like the rest of them, Beautiful but, Not her.” Ezra looked out at the midnight sky, looking up to see the stars and the full moon.

“Sir, Your reincarnated love will find her way to you soon, just as the Gods promised; I’m sure of it.” Ezra wasn't sure at this point living as long as he had, Having all the women he had, Throwing ball and the one with the face of his love nowhere to be found. “Sir, The ball is tomorrow, You never know. She may finally turn up.

Ezra turned to him, “I hope you're right.”

That night you awake from your dream once again, You’d had this dream countless times, Never understanding why or what was happening. You would walk into a room, see the vampire and he would bite you, walking you up. You wanted to understand who this man was, And what he wanted with you.

Ezra also awakens from a dream or i guess this is more of a nightmare, The same dream he had since his wife, Elizabeta died. He would go off to war not before giving his wife a tender kiss, Telling her he would return, Only to return to his home, With blood all over him, Finding his wife’s deceased body. Picking her up and holding her against his chest as his tears fell, Yelling to the Gods asking why.

Ezra walked into the bathroom running water over his breaded face. He would have to get one of the maids to save it for him later seeing he couldn't do it himself.

The ball a mere hours away, But all Ezra could think about is having to spend eternity without his soulmate, He’d lost her once, But his future foretold him that he would see her face, on another , again. So he was patient.

You sat as your friend finished putting your hair up in a neat but tight updo. You looked in the mirror at your makeup, the curled lashes along with the dark red lip you had on felt out of place.

“You look perfect.” Your friend said as she finished with your hair. “Thank you.” You gave a small, fake smile. She sighed as she sat next to you. “Ever since I talked you into going to this ball you've been upset, What's wrong?”

“Nothing, I'm just nervous.” You looked down at your gloved hands. “Nervous of what? That Sir Ezra will take a look at you and Fuck you?” you both giggled.

“Of course not, But i've been having these weird dreams, I dont kn-'' Before you could finish you both looked to see her mother knocked at the door, Telling you both the ball begins soon and it was time to make your way up the hill. You both quickly put on your masks and run out the door.

As you both sat in the carriage your friend arranged for you, You stared out the window, As you gained closer to the castle the fog became more intense, You couldn't barely see, the mask was no help. The carriage made a sudden stop, You both got out hand and hand making your way to the opened door of the castle, Maids in dresses greeted all the guests.

You walked into the open ballroom, The room was crowded with people from your town, and even some who didn't look familiar. Your friend whispered that she was going to find a dance partner and you waved her off trying to not show how nervous you were. Something about this castle felt familiar, you couldn't explain it.

You watched all the people in the ballroom as they began a slow song and slowly stepped away to the garden outside. You found the garden to be peaceful. Hopefully it will help calm your nerves. You walked towards a fountain with a dove on top, the only noise coming from the drips of water.

“It's a beautiful night isn't it.” I deep voice said behind you, You gasped quickly turning to see a man, very tall, you couldn't make out his face, due to the mask that covered his eyes, but he could see his deep brown eyes, and tan skin with a little bit of stubble around his chin and mouth.“I didn't mean to scare you Miss, My apologies.” He nodded, as he was about to walk away. You stopped him.

“It's fine, I j-just very nervous, I couldn't even tell you why, Thought i’d just catch some fresh air.” he nodded understanding “may i?”

He said sitting with you on the bench, The two of you staring up at the sky.

“I also needed a break from the party.” Ezra said, breaking the silence. “No nerves, just tired of waiting.” You looked over at him. Something about him felt so familiar. “Tired of waiting for wha-” Before you could finish, A butler holding a tray, called for the man sitting next to you. Sadly only calling him ‘Sir’ so you didn't catch his name, He politely dismissed himself, telling you to enjoy the party before disappearing back into the castle.

After a few more minutes alone you decided to make your way back into the party.

You felt a sudden shiver go up your spine and cold air went across the back of your neck, You turned to see a dark hallway. Just like the one in your dreams, You turned to see if any other guests were experiencing it too, Only to see everyone dancing, laughing, and getting drunk.

You slowly walk down the hall,’ This is stupid’ You think to yourself, ‘You know how this ends.’

You opened a room far from the party and came face to face with something you’d never seen in your dreams, a painting of a woman, she was wearing a dated dress with her hair down her back in a braid.

You and her were identical, You couldn't believe it. You began to breathe heavily and took steps back to leave the room, before you bumped into the hard chest of someone behind you.

“Hello, mi amor” He said into your ear, You turned to see the man who had been haunting your dreams for a year. You wanted to scream but could barely make one out.

“Mi amor, I've finally found you.” He said, grabbing your face between his cold hands. You tried pulling away but he was too strong.

“Don't be scared. I would never hurt you.” You turned your chin up forcing you to look into his eyes. You noticed the small blonde hair streak. “It’s you.” you said whispered.

“You are just as beautiful.” He was lost in your eyes, he couldn't believe he'd found you after all this time. “As all those years ago.” He leaned in kissing your plump lips, You immediately fell under his spell. His lips had a faint taste of blood, but it didn't bother you. A tear fell from Ezra’s eye, He finally found the woman he would spend eternity with, His soulmate.

Once you two finally broke the kiss, you stared at each other once more before Ezra picked you up, setting you on the bed.

“I'll be back mi amor.” He said giving you one more peck on the lips.

Ezra made his way to the ballroom, whispering to the butlers that everyone was to go home at once and all maids and butlers were dismissed for the night. They nodded and Ezra made his way back to you.

While Ezra was away you looked around the room, seeing old photos, books all looked hundreds of years old.

You heard the door crick behind you and you slowly turned, Seeing Ezra put a smile on your face, You barely knew the man, But something about him brought you comfort. Ezra noticed you were lost in thought and asked what was on your mind.

“At first when I had all those dreams, I was scared, terrified of what they meant, I thought it was showing me my future… my death. But here with you, I feel safe.”

Ezra smiled down at you “It's because you are her” Pointing to the woman in the painting, “My wife, my soulmate , my Elizabeta. I searched for hundreds of years to find you, I almost gave up, I was told by the Gods, If I continued to search I would find you.” He stood looking at the painting.

“And I did.” He turned to you making his way towards you.

Taking your lips once more, Your hands tangled in his hair as he picked you up placing you on the edge of the bed. He began to unbutton his dress shirt, leaving him in only his dress pants.

He took in his chest, Everything about him was so familiar and perfect.

“Mi amor, May I?” Asking permission to remove your dress, You nodded eagerly. He unzipped the dress, letting it drop to your hips, before pulling it completely off, leaving you in a bralette and panties. He finished undressing himself , and crawled onto the bed to unhook your bra, throwing it across the room.

“May I taste you, mi amor?” He asked already sinking to his knees, you eagerly shook your head yes, He began trailing kissing from your foot all the way to you thighs, stopping before he got to your core, and slowly sank his fangs into them, you threw back your head in pleasure, you’d been nervous it would be painful but he’s taken all your worry away.

He licked the leaking  blood before moving onto your folds, he lapped at them, drinking your juices before taking his fingers and slowly fucking them into you, spreading your lips apart and attacking your clit as he did so. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you ran your fingers through his soft hair. You told him you were close, he immediately crawled up to meet you face to face, “We're going to come together.”

Ezra kissed you as he slowly sank himself into you, you moaned allowing him to sneak his tongue into your mouth--His hands grabbed at the flesh on your hips roughly. “I've waited a thousand years for this mi amor.” He said as his hips barred into you, With his precise movements he lifted your thighs, “I could show you so many things.” trying to get himself deeper. “Just one bite and we can have eternity.” he said into your ear, the heat from his voice attacking your neck.

You were writhing beneath him. You were so close. “Ezra” you barely made out, your breath shaky. He starts applying sloppy thrusts as he tries to ride out his orgasm , you could hear the moans slipping from his lips into your ear, his warm breath behind your neck. Your hands gripping the white stain sheets on the bed.

“Mark me , Ezra.” You finally make out with a shaky voice, Ezra takes a quick look deep into your eyes, still deep inside of you, asking once again for permission to bite you and make you one of him. You nodded as well as you could before he sunk his teeth into your neck, making you let out a moan as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “ Te quiero mi amor, now we have eternity.”

****

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[dreadwulf]

2: The Black Mountains

Post-Apocalyptic Modern AU. Chapter 1 is here.

The last thing his right eye ever saw was Brienne. 

In that eye she is shouting. Of course he couldn’t hear her at the time over the jeers of the Bloody Mummers tying him to the table. Their laughter had been right up against his ears and the sound of it drowned out everything else in that abandoned mall. The image is soundless: her mouth is just open, her throat pushing out a word that looks like No. Her blue eyes are also open wide, both frightened and angry, a righteous fury that came to him as a surprise, at the time.

She is a still image that resides in the abandoned nerves to that empty eye socket. If he cares to, he can still see her there, superimposed over everything.

She hovers over The Spider’s right shoulder just now. Still saying No.  

He tries to focus on the Spider’s face instead. Varys raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow on his immaculate bald head.

“You can’t shoot anymore. Not like before, not with one eye. You know this.”

“I don’t mean to shoot.” Jaime shows his palms. “I have two hands still. I need a weapon I won’t have to aim.”

Varys measures this statement. He is a man who deals in knowledge more than goods, but he has an armed guard, and a collection of interesting weapons. Both for his own protection, and for use in acquiring the most valuable intel.

“In that case,” the Spider presses a button on the trailer wall. To one of the bikers, a large man with a burnt face who looks in the door in response to his call, he instructs, “bring me the Widow’s Wail.”

The same scarred man reappears with a comically oversized weapon in his hands. Turns out Widow’s Wail is an axe. It is a huge, two-handed, double-bladed axe and when the burnt biker hands it to Jaime his hands dip with the weight.

Axes, Brienne used to tell him, are the best weapon for killing Others. You don’t need to reload an axe. It can’t jam, doesn’t recoil. Simple and effective. 

Messy though, he had said back. He had always preferred his rifle -- clean and fast, one shot and done, and hopefully at a distance. The Others would fall down like carnival targets, one after another, and his favorite jacket would remain spotless. But after they took his eye, he had needed a new weapon, and his jacket was long-ruined by then. 

This is messy work, she had replied.

Now, he lifts the weapon, turns it one way and another. Both edges gleam in the fluorescent light. This axe has been sharpened recently. It is spotless. This weapon has never seen battle.

“It’s new,” Varys fills in immediately, “but it was designed to kill Others. Old valyrian steel, made the old way. We haven’t yet had opportunity to test it, but it will strike true.”

Jaime doesn’t ask how Varys would be able to make a valyrian steel weapon. Knowing how is what he does. 

The Spider watches him curiously. “Are we square then, Slayer?”

“Almost.” He sits again, crosses the long weapon over his lap with both fists grasping it tightly. “Where did it happen?”

“In the North. What exactly happened is unclear even to me, but we know for certain she had traveled north with a small gang. There are reports of her at Winterfell, and then she went with Snow and a small band of Starks beyond the Black Mountains. They returned without her.”

Jaime nods shortly. “Winterfell, then the wilds.”

The Spider frowns. He is perhaps a little perplexed by this conversation, or by Jaime himself. He likes to think he knows people, knows how they will react. But recent years have made a different man of Jaime Lannister. The fall of King’s Landing, his father’s death, the business with Cersei -- after all that, the arrogant and impetuous adventurer of his younger days is long gone. He is a ghost of himself, and the Spider doesn’t know what this ghost will do. He doesn’t like that.

He sits up a little bit straighter on his couch.  “Then it isn’t our local outbreak you intend to fight? I expected you would be nearby. Kill some Others, burn off some steam, and incidentally clear out some of the infestation in the Riverlands, which would be convenient for me. But you aren’t doing that, are you? You mean to follow her? To what purpose?”

Jaime’s eye flickers briefly right. “Hunting.”

“It will be pointless to mount a rescue mission, I assure you.”

“That isn’t the point.”

Their eyes meet for a moment. Jaime isn’t about to elaborate on his intentions, and Varys is visibly frustrated. His silky tones shorten, revealing something sharp beneath. 

“I ought to stop you. You have brought order to the Westerlands, and you’re starting to bring it here too. Alliances, patrols for the roads. Your brother, clever as he is, did not do that. If you abandon these lands, it may all fall apart.”

Jaime feels a flicker of guilt for that, but it is quickly doused by everything else happening inside him. No, this is important. Maybe the most important thing he has ever done.

He shrugs stiffly. “If it falls apart without me, it was too fragile to last.” 

“You’ll need more than an axe and your motorbike to make that journey. You have favors to trade, certainly,” Varys cuts him off before he can argue, “but not that many. The scouting party went beyond the Black Mountains, across them, into the far North. There are few enough waystations on the way to Winterfell, and everything North of Winterfell belongs to the Others. There will be no shelters for you along the way, no refuges, no refueling.”

Jaime is unconcerned. “If she made it there, then I can too.”

“The Blue Angel had a party of supporters, specialists. She would have been outfitted with the best supplies and equipment. She was welcomed everywhere she went, and at the peak of her powers. No offense, Slayer, but you are past your prime, and your powers lately end at the borders of Lannister territory.”

He smiles thinly as he stands. “I didn’t know you cared, Spider. Thanks for the weapon. We’re square.”

Jaime takes the axe outside, and stands staring up at the moon, while the bikers retrieve his motorbike.

Anytime he looks at the moon, anytime there is a moon, he thinks of her. Remembers how they had looked on it together, during those long nights on the road, even though they had parted years ago now. Her on to glory, him back to the arms of his family. They delivered the girls to Winterfell, and he left her to the Kingsroad. It was her territory after that, what once had been his. She had earned it in sweat and tears and blood. She tended it well without him. He had gloried in tales of her exploits.

Whenever he looks at the moon, he has always wondered if she is looking too. Wherever she is.

He thinks he will not be able to look at the moon anymore.

When he turns his head, Varys stands on the steps of his trailer, his bald head gleaming against the fluorescent light. Jaime has never seen him outside his trailer. It’s confusing, a little like seeing a penguin in the jungle.

“The Others of the Black Mountains are different,” The Spider warns him. “Worse.” 

When his bike comes rolling back with two of the Spider’s bikers, it comes with a few more gifts. Two metal spheres, one the size of a softball and the other the size of a chestnut.

Grenades, obviously Old World. Gods know where Varys got them from, certainly they aren’t made this way anymore. What they’re calling grenades now will mostly just make noise. But these two could probably blow a hole in a tank. He packs them onto his bike carefully.

Any old-world weapon would be priceless now, Jaime knows. Varys would not overpay a debt.

He squints up at the Spider, who makes a silky shadow in the doorway against his light. “And the cost?”  

The Spider smiles -- he can’t see it, on a shadow, but he can hear it in his voice. “If you come back, tell me what you saw. I hear very little of the Black Mountains and none of it first-hand.”

Jaime can promise that easily enough. He knows he won’t be coming back.

He walks his bike in silence about a mile up the road before waking the engines and roaring away.

He rides the motorbike until the last of his carefully hoarded gasoline is run out, rides right through the next day and into the night. Gets more miles out of it than he would have gotten with his creaky armored car, and certainly faster. 

Along the way he sees no other travelers. Five years ago there would have been at least a few others, some other vehicles, perhaps spaced out and alone, perhaps all in a big caravan for safety. But there is not much fuel left anymore. And North is not a direction people go in now.

It was how he had met her, actually. On a road much like this one.  He had been on a different motorbike and she had been driving a sedan. Obviously following him, less obvious why. He made it a chase - weaving between the stopped traffic, blasting around the walkers and cyclists and parades of cars going nowhere. She had somehow kept up with him, pushing her poor little car to its limits. Eventually he decided whoever it was had earned his attention for at least a few minutes, and he pulled over on the road to watch the tallest, ugliest woman he had ever seen unfold herself out of her car. 

She kept his attention considerably longer than a few minutes. .

Of course, he could enjoy a chase back then - you could still count on petrol, could siphon it out of most any vehicle you encountered along the way. The cars along the road here are bone dry by now, haven’t moved in years, and the electronics, trunk supplies, and even promising upholstery have been stripped out of them long ago. The cars pass by now in muted streaks of blue and red, dulled by layers of paint-stripping weather damage and snow. 

When his bike sputters to a stop, he leaves it right out on the highway. Packs his equipment onto his back. Then he begins to walk.

Without the headlights of his bike, it’s quite dark. No streetlights, of course. He has a torch in his bag, but he’s saving that battery as long as he can. Anyway, the moon is out, and once his eyes are adjusted he sees well enough. The trees encroaching on the interstate have not quite overtaken the shoulder, and the glow of moon and stars light up the cracked concrete in front of him, and glitter in the frost.

His boots echo his footfalls up and down the highway. First the gritty sound of gravel, and then the crunch of ice, and then the quieter scrunch of snow. 

There are no other sounds to hear out here -- no bird cries, no insects. They aren’t sure if the animals are dead, hiding, or run away, but no one sees them anymore. Means he doesn’t have to worry about being eaten by bears, at least.

The last bear he has seen was that time with Brienne, actually. It might have been the last bear, period. He hasn’t heard of any other ones since. That would be a shame, if that had been the last bear, and they’d killed it. He hadn’t wanted to. He can’t take it personally, the bear trying to eat them. He was only hungry, and they were all very hungry that winter. 

He didn’t know he would be fleeing the last bear in Westeros with her, when he met Brienne on the road. He only knew she was capable, and she was following him, and anyone out in the wilds could be dangerous. Out here other people were either foolishly overconfident, robbers, or competition. 

Brienne proved to be the last type, possibly also the first. She was after the Stark bounty, same as him. She had a personal stake. He could keep the money, she said. He had a lot more experience and knew where he was going, but she could be an ally. She could help.

He had laughed in her face, more or less. Said she was free to make the bounty herself, but he traveled alone. Newbies tended to die almost immediately, and he hadn’t stayed alive this long by babysitting foolish college students. He would locate the missing Stark girls and deliver them home. But if she wanted to return them herself she’d have to beat him there. 

A few weeks later they had wound up with one Stark girl apiece -- him with Sansa and her best girlfriend Jayne, her with Arya and her mate Gendry -- and again she had proposed an alliance for the trip up to Winterfell. No one had made it to Winterfell since the disaster, but their chances were better together, she said.

His better idea was that he could take the two valuable girls to Winterfell and she could take the two spares and go back to King’s Landing where it was safe, or jump in a lake for all he cared. But that conversation had been interrupted by the Bloody Mummers, and after that… things were very different after that.

Jaime slows to a stop with this remembrance, digs in his bag for his water bottle and takes a long pull. He’s tiring faster than he expected. He has tried to keep himself in fighting shape the last few years, but he hasn’t made a journey like this in a long time.

You’ve grown soft, he thinks, but inside his head it sounds like Brienne’s gentle ribbing. The tone she had taken after she stopped insulting him for real.

I’m refined, he answers back, slinging his pack over his shoulder and walking again. Answers between breaths, like he’s actually speaking. I’m a diplomat these days, remember? 

Will you try to negotiate with the Others then? She laughs in his ear. What will you trade them, wine? Broken electronics? The only economy they know is violence, and we trade them blows. 

He smiles to himself, despite everything. Young lady, it’s a good thing you didn’t come back to King’s Landing with me. You would have knocked out the Small Council within a day, and we’d both have been out on our asses.

And King’s Landing would have better off with us in the street than you in that office. We might have saved it. Old man, whatever have you done without me?

Jaime stops a moment, breathing hard, looking up at the moon.

I don’t know. I don’t know what I’ve been doing, where the time went. It all blurred together without you.

He has been having these conversations for years now. It isn’t exactly imagination. More prediction. He knows exactly what she would say in every instance. What she would think of the people he meets, the places he goes. He hears her critiques of his private practice sessions, when he tries to stay in shape for the inevitable invasion. Her quiet, private commentary. Her icy rejoinders to his jokes. They come to him like a reply. Like she has heard him gods-know-how-many miles away, and answered him back. 

It’s painful now, hearing her voice. He doesn’t know why it would be different - alive or dead, he is only talking to himself after all. Perhaps it is only more obviously futile this way, knowing she is gone. 

He was never going to see her again, he knows that. The things she does, they were always eventually going to get her killed. Hells, he told her that himself more than once. 

Even now it still isn’t entirely real to him. It doesn’t seem possible. But the Spider knows things, and if he knows them they aren’t just rumors. It’s true. It’s sinking in. Brienne is gone. 

She doesn’t walk the same world as him anymore. He will hear no more tales of her adventures, and smile privately at the things nobody else knows of her. He will not wonder if it snows where she is, or if the sun shines. Whether she ever thinks of him, the way he does of her. They traveled together only a year, but she carved a place for herself in him, in the slow and brutal way water carves a cliffside. He has kept her there all this time. Now in that space there is emptiness, a brutal, sucking vacuum that might just pull him apart if he stops moving long enough.

So he starts walking again. Keeps walking, on and on, without rest, for as long as he can stand it.

Here and there one of the Others comes onto the road ahead of him. They wander on and off aimlessly, looking lost. At a distance they look nearly alive, so long as they aren’t missing any limbs, and only the directionless of their movements give them away. As you get closer you can see their clothing is wrong -- it’s not enough clothes for the weather, or their clothes are torn, bits are missing. Maybe the clothes are rotting right off their bodies, if they’re been out long enough. Closer still and you can see the blueish tinge to the skin that the Others are famous for, the thin layer of frost that covers them head to toe. At ten feet or so you can make out the ice blue eyes that glow like cat’s eyes in the light. But by then they’ve seen you, and they move much faster than you think they can. Best not to get that close. Best to stay well away, and let them turn and wander in another direction out of sight. 

As always, one wonders what they’re looking for. Where they’re going.

Some of them will wander away before he catches up, and he pays them no mind. If he is quiet, and they didn’t take notice of him, it is easier to let them pass by. Fighting can be loud, and that sort of noise could bring more of them running.

But eventually one is too slow. They can be damaged, and those stumbling steps can be frustratingly deliberate at times. This one is fairly tall, and drags its foot in the snow. On the highway, it reminds him of an elderly driver occupying the fast lane at a crawl. Even as he slows his pace, he gets closer and closer, and the dead thing shows no signs of changing direction.

Eventually he can wait no longer. He will have to overtake the creature. At least he hasn’t seen any other Others nearby. This Other shows no sign of noticing him. Jaime slowly draws the axe off his back, and makes six rapid, long strides in the thing’s direction, winding up for a massive crossways swing.

Varys didn’t lie; the axe cuts true. One good blow across the back is enough to bring it down, and he remembers where to strike. Sever the spinal cord, destroy the brain, or burn them, that destroys them. The axe is so sharp it cuts the thing nearly in half. There is a quick, sharp sound of impact and the thud of a body hitting the ground, and then silence. 

They don’t scream, the others. They don’t make noises of any kind. Maybe because they don’t breathe anymore; who knows. He pulls the axe out of the thing’s bulk and wipes it in the snow. 

The first Other to fall to him in five years that he didn’t hit with his car. It feels good. It doesn’t relieve the great sucking void he has inside him but it does feel good.

He shoulders the axe and keeps walking. After that, he strikes down one of them every few hours, until the sun comes up, and then he huddles on the embankment, dozing, for most of the morning. It’s not so cold he’ll freeze - not yet, anyway - and there aren’t so many Others around that he can’t risk it.

He’s lucky, for the most part. There aren’t any big clusters of Others out here. Those tend to form up around settlements and cities, or lingering around empty houses. Not out here in the open space, where there aren’t travelers anymore. 

He passes the next night in a car, after crawling in a broken window. It’s not especially safer, but it is more comfortable than the ground. He sprawls across the backseat and thinks about the red wood-paneled station wagon he had found buried in a parking lot and managed to start. He and Brienne drove that car all the way to Harrenhall, the now five children sleeping in the back. The seat was so wide even Brienne could lay down in it, and she was inches taller than him. 

This car is blue, and he has to bend his knees and curl up to fit on the seat.

Keep watch for me, Angel, he tells her, before he drifts off.

Days of steady walking pass this way, with fitful bursts of sleep. 

The Black Mountains are looming in the far distance when he nears Winterfell. So tall he can see them all these miles away, staining the low edge of the horizon like a shadow. 

Jaime keeps his eyes on the ground mostly. He’s only been here once, and it wasn’t an enjoyable visit. It was a destination, and it meant the end of a long journey. He’s never much liked those. Endings. He tries to get those over with. If he can help it, he’d rather turn around and begin again right away, try to get back to the middle.

Wintertown is relatively intact, patrolled by fur-clad soldiers with shotguns. The town has grown since he was here last. The streets have people on them now, much more than in Lannisport or anywhere in the Riverlands. No cars, but regular people, old folks and even children, strolling about. He has to stop and stare at that for awhile. Pedestrians. It’s been a long time.

Perhaps things are better in the North? Maybe they are safer than they were. But Wintertown is small, and easily guarded, and in the shadow of the old Winterfell fortress these people know they can flee within its walls and be safe, should the Others attack again. That’s more reassurance than most places have. 

For a little while he walks up and down those streets, just another window-shopper. The buildings are mostly refitted as residences, but on the sidewalks people sell goods out of carts, or spread out on the sidewalk. Wanderers come through and trade the trinkets they’ve found. There aren’t prices. Most likely they will take food, and medicine, and more practical items, in trade. He didn’t bring anything like that, unfortunately. But there isn’t anything he needs here.

At the end of a long boulevard Jaime finds himself before the gates of Winterfell, and he pauses.

This was where he had parted from her. Right here.

He grimaces past that memory. He was an ass about it, of course. Tried to sneak away. She caught him. There was a confrontation. Things were said. 

Things? Brienne-in-his-mind prods him indignantly. Have you forgotten already?

I remember every word. He sighs. Unfortunately.

The gates to Winterfell stand open for now. Probably so that Wintertown can run inside, if someone rings the alarm. Jaime passes through and takes the gravel path to the old castle. It’s a sturdy thing, for being several hundred years old. Solid and undecayed. Sure, they have to replace the wood every few decades, but the stone is thick and unbroken. There are walls behind walls, like any medieval keep, and courtyards and gates separating them. Guards stand atop the fortifications with guns, and they watch him approaching. Wary, but welcoming. Anyone not undead is allowed to pass through, at least to the midden.

The kids are here at Winterfell, probably. Somewhere. Many of them stayed, he has heard. The Starks for sure, and maybe some of the other strays he and Brienne had picked up along the way. Any of the running kids in Wintertown could have been Apple, that baby that Willow and Sansa had fawned over. He would be five, six years old now. That is, if he were alive. 

He doesn’t want to see any of them if he can help it. Best not to go inside the Great Keep then. He goes to the Great Hall instead. The velvet ropes are all taken down. It was a tourist trap for a lot of years, before its fortifications became unexpectedly useful again. Used to be you could get a feast inside, with cosplayers and a jester and a bard, and then you could get back in your car and drive away home. 

Bit different now. The fires are still roaring, but put to more practical use. Broken furniture surrounds the great fireplaces where they have been stripping the upholstery and feeding the fire. Laundry is strung up before them, and boils in great kettles. Nearer to mealtime the laundry will be replaced with soup and stew. The fireplaces in the living quarters had been stripped out long ago, replaced with appliances that no longer work. They have to do nearly everything in the great hall now, and gather in smaller rooms. 

The head washerwoman takes his message back to the living quarters and Jaime sits down to wait. There is an armchair that is strikingly comfortable for as old as it looks, upholstered in a velvety material. It might be some kind of antique, something with a PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH sign on it back when this was a museum. There isn’t much use for antiques anymore. He sits in the chair.

He sits back and stares at nothing for a time. He might have fallen asleep, because the girls appear as if by magic, just as he remembers them but taller and leaner, their chubby faces hollowed by early adulthood. 

Sansa is quite tall, for a Stark anyway. She looks like her mother otherwise; red-haired, high-cheekboned, very pretty. Her sister looks like their father, sturdy and strong-jawed, Northern. They stare at him owlishly, and he wonders what he looks like to them. He is not nearly so changed -- grew a beard, added some lines around his eyes -- but they were children when they saw him last, and they are not children now. He has to look up to see them.

“You came for Brienne,” Arya says abruptly -- as usual she realizes the obvious first and doesn’t hesitate to speak it aloud. 

Jaime nods. There isn’t much more to say than that.

“We had a memorial,” Sansa hovers over him awkwardly, looking unsure. “All of Winterfell came, much of Wintertown as well. We would have waited if we had known you would come.”

“You thought I wouldn’t?” He says it more sharply than he intends.

Arya snaps back. “You’ve been gone a long time, and not a single letter. What else could we think?”

Sansa stops her with a hand to her shoulder. She was always an empathetic child. “You’re welcome here now. Can I get you anything?”

“Your brother. If he’s here.” His eyes drift to Widow’s Wail, where it sits on the floor beside him. “I’ve heard he was there when it happened. I need to hear it from him.”

Sansa leans forward and touches his hands, briefly. “We can take you to him.”

He can only nod. 

He follows the girls through the old fortress into a more modern living area. Home, most like. The Starks have all congregated here, the ones left.

Jon Snow he has never met before. The girls’ half-brother. Lord Snow of Winterfell, now. He stands straight and stiff, trying to look older than he is. He has a warm parka on over his polar fleece, something puffy and filled with down. It’s hard to be serious in a puffy coat without coming off at least faintly ridiculous, but the young man manages it somehow. 

“She was a great help to my family,” Jon says, and shakes his hand vigorously. “A great fighter, the bravest of all of us, and the kindest too. Every one of us here at Winterfell thought very highly of her.”

“And your mission?” Jaime shuts down the reminiscence quickly. He does not want to remember Brienne here. Certainly not with the Starks.

Jon hangs his head. “It wasn’t a complete waste. But it wasn’t quite what we wanted, either.”

He gestures to a sofa. Jaime sits on the edge of it, unwilling to relax. This is rather too much civilization for him right now. Jon sits down expansively on an easy chair, and runs a hand through wild black hair. 

“We were hoping to find something that would explain where the Others come from. We thought the Black Mountains might have the answer, the mountains and the land beyond. It’s hard to find much on the Mountains though -- only one road is passable, everywhere else is ice and deep snow. Beyond the Mountains there is a place they’re calling Craster’s Keep. We knew something was very wrong there. We should have stayed away.” Jon shakes his head, so serious. 

Jaime waits.

“We suspected they were colluding with the Others somehow. The ones on the Mountain. The old man… it was terrible. What he was doing. We had to put a stop to it. Brienne followed one of the men to their meeting place, where the Others come down the Mountain. She never came back.”

That is rather less definitive than Jaime wants to hear. 

“That’s all? Did you search?” he asks sharply.

Jon looks defensive at first, but softens quickly. “I assure you, if there was anything to find, we would have found it. We were very fond of her. There were signs of a battle, and several Others fallen there. But of her there was no sign. There was no body.” Jon looks reluctant to continue. “We did find this.”

Hesitantly, he holds out the wrapped bundle to Jaime. He knows it immediately. Takes it like he took the grenades, carefully and reluctantly.

His hands unwrap the thing before he can think twice, to show himself what he already knows. It’s Brienne’s titanium bat. Bloodstained, dirty, with a single chip in it near the tip. 

They had nicknamed it Oathkeeper, way back then. It was more like a mythical sword than a bat. Titanium bats weren’t even allowed in baseball, in any league. They hit the ball so hard it was dangerous to the other players. They probably shouldn’t have been made in the first place, and they stopped making them decades before the Others came and their true usefulness became apparent. 

Jaime holds the bat. Brienne had carried this thing for so long. He puts his fingers where she would have put hers, the way a player held it  to hit a ball. He can see the mark of her fingers there, slowly rubbed into the metal across the years. 

Jon is still talking. “These Others are different. Our Others will kill and turn. But these... We suspect that they consume the bodies instead of raising them. I think there was nothing remaining to find.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Jaime stands.

“If you will insist…” Jon rises as well, solemn. “My friend Sam stayed behind there. If you reach Craster’s Keep, ask for Sam. He’ll tell you what you need to know.”

*****************  

He passes a night there, lying awake in a bed. 

They gave him her room. A quiet, out-of-the-way guest bedroom with little in the way of modern amenities. It has a homey feeling, just the same. It feels like her.

She left some things there; little knick-knacks. She liked to pick up small things, put them in her pockets. Her coat had loads of pockets hidden everywhere. By the end of the day she would have lots of little treasures. You could turn her upside down and shake her and all sorts of shiny treats would come rolling out. Figurines, stones, tiny toys. They’re arranged all around the room, on the windowsill, on the dresser. Probably if he went through her clothes he would find more things still hidden away in her pockets. The coat, though, that wouldn’t be there in the closet, he knows without looking. She would have it with her, wherever she has gone.

Jaime leaves her things alone. It’s enough to know they’re there, waiting for her. 

Brienne slept in this bed. This is the only home she had, so far as he knows. She stayed here after he left, here at Winterfell. She would have rested here -- she was still a little sick. It had been a few weeks, at least, before she went back to the Kingsroad. After that she came back here between adventures, making the long, dangerous journey there and back again. In the dead of winter she would rest here at least a month, from what he could tell, every year.

He should have stayed with her. 

She never asked him. Not out loud. But he knows, deep down, he would have been welcome. He knew it then, too. But he had left her at Winterfell and gone back. Back to the arms of his family who needed him more than she ever would. Back to his father and his expectations, to his siblings who needed his protection. The job was over, and he went back to where he belonged. 

Not a day has gone by that he doesn’t regret it. 

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

In the morning he is lacing his new boots in the great hall, a gift from Jon. They are a little large, but warm, and useful for maneuvering on ice. He suspects they had once belonged to Ned Stark; certainly none of the Stark boys have feet this big.

Jon has also given him a down parka like his own. Such a thing would fetch a lot in trade these days, but he insists Jaime take it. “This is the least I can do, for bringing my brother and sisters home.” 

Jaime promises to return it, though he can see that Jon does not expect to see him at Winterfell again. Neither of them do.

His pack has been refilled with food, bandages, antiseptic, and an icepick. Arya had thrust the bag at him wordlessly and turned on her heel and left and he does not see her again. How much and how little people change from when they are small; he can still see the dark-eyed child in the woman she is becoming. It makes him feel positively ancient.

Sansa accompanies him to the gates of Winterfell, gliding elegantly over the snow in her warm winter coat. She chatters as much as she always did, though it was never to him before. She used to keep her distance from him, as she had from most men. She misses Brienne, he realizes, looking at her. She must have been like an older sister, or an aunt, or...

He never did lay eyes on Rickon, did he? He is probably running wild somewhere, running with the wolves. He doesn’t ask, though he suspects Sansa would like him to. Nor does he ask about Willow, or Gendry, or any of the others. He has too much to carry already.

“You’re different,” Sansa tells him, nearing the gates.

“You’re older,” he says. “You see me better.”

“Maybe.” The auburn beauty frowns. “Do you think she’s still alive out there?”

He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to see the concern on her face, not if it’s for him.

“Do you think Brienne would want you to do this? Go after her like this?”

No. “That won’t stop me.” 

“She would want you to go on with your life.”

“I don’t care.” He can’t quite look at Sansa. He couldn’t look at Arya either. They remind him of too much. 

“Why did you never come back? She waited for you. She was still waiting.”

He shuts his eyes against her. “Don’t tell me that. Don’t. Not now.”

Sansa sniffles, and her voice trembles. “I’m so sorry. You were both so good to us. I’m so sorry,” she repeats, and tries to put her arms around him, but he’s already walking away.

He’s going through the gates of Winterfell, straight down the boulevard of Wintertown.

He doesn’t stop. He turns to the Black Mountains, and keeps walking.

[pinkchanelbag]

— there’s no one else; chapter two. 

a jean kirstein x reader mafia au.

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series summary: a boy caught in a web with his survival depending on balancing niceties between his predators. a prim girl on thin ice that leads down the path of least resistance. no one too close and no one too far, no allegiance unquestioned, and no child whose value and future goes without evaluation like a playing card that determines their worth. to be destined for big things is more like being doomed to them, but that’s the way it goes. it’s just family matter.

chapter summary: the party begins.

wc: 1.9k.

cw: still nothing lol

note: putting this out short notice cause it’s JEANBOYS BIRTHDAYYY BABYYY anyway enjoy heeheee and my apologies for the slow plot thus far i swear it picks up trust me bro.

the venue is obnoxiously grand. the garden is more akin to a football field than anything else. there is no central lighting, but rather pure white string lights everywhere, everywhere. tucked behind and underneath tables and wrapped around trees and laying in the overhead greenery and in the bushes that act as walls. wherever you look, your eyes are strained, and you’re sure the dining hall can be seen from the moon. 

speaking of the dining hall, the organizers cleverly blocked off the front entrance to the building so that one is forced to walk the expanse of the entire garden—surely to ooh and aah at its elegant taste—in order to get inside through the back door entrance. in other words, having to greet every single member of the family before so much as putting your clutch down. 

you apply a friendly, attentive expression to your face each time pieck stops to greet someone new, having mastered the art of being engaged but not so engaged it’s troublesome, while in reality being completely disengaged in any way. as pieck converses with a bulky man drinking wine and you pick apart the key points (“we don’t got the ammo to make deals with top contractors—legal team in shambles—not good to have a weak spot”), really you are letting your eyes wander over the shrubbery which has been trimmed to perfection. yes, the lights are a pain and the band is too loud so early in the event, and there is not enough walking space between the bushes so people squeeze together to reach the large clearing of the garden. a perfectly obnoxious party, except you can’t help but appreciate the greenery. somehow, it is the only thing about this evening that doesn’t seem ridiculous. or maybe you’re just unusually irritated tonight. 

your eyebrows knit so slightly at this realization. why are you being so disagreeable? impatience and intolerance seem to grow in your chest for no particular reason. you make a note to identify the source of your mood, and quickly resolve it. there’s work to be done.

karina braun is a kind, opinionated sheep of a woman. she is liked by all, and not because she’s particularly easy to like, but rather because she’s hard to hate. stuck in her times and not having much intellectual value, she is possibly the most important woman in all the families. being the mother of reiner braun and the head of the braun-galliard family, gives her luxury without responsibility. you’ve only met her once before, and she possessed the kind of ignorance many privileged older women have. but still she’s kind, so you can’t justify how she makes you weary. 

her birthday, funnily enough, constitutes one of the very few gatherings that frowns upon trying to discuss family matter during the events, unlike a young girl’s birthday. it has to do with respect, you suppose. 

you spend your first half-hour at the party hovering around pieck as she makes small talk with associates, becoming increasingly nervous at your lack of breakthrough in communication with the family. you know the most important thing is your encounter with karina, and that will open up further talks with others, but you stall to approach her, imperceptibly steering pieck further away from the centre table where the older woman sits. not yet. 

“are you going to keep leading me through the same semi-circle, or are you just going to go talk to her?” pieck asks calmly. you curse her intelligence in your mind. 

“i’m just nervous,” you murmur, smiling politely at a group of men at a distance that eyes you like the business deal you are. 

“you should be, but that doesn’t change that you have to do it.” your eyes flick to look at the woman beside you for a moment. her expression is not encouraging or consoling, nor is it unsettling. it’s fitting. what you and pieck have is less than friendship but more than acquaintanceship. often you feel as thought she’s reading your emotions like an open book, which can be scary considering how many of them you really hide. but if and when she sees them, she doesn’t seem to care, whether they’re incriminating or worthy of sympathy. she sees you, and that is all. it’s not a comfort, nor a curse. 

“what are you waiting for?” she says, but it’s a genuine question rather than a push to complete the task at hand. you realize you’re waiting for porco. you want porco at your side. you want his strength and his jagged-edged ambition, and the forcefulness that makes you do the things your heart has no energy for.

“i just think it would be better if the boys were here,” you breathe. again, pieck sees your meaning, and your fright, and leaves it be. 

for the next eternity, you drink champagne and stretch back your memory to know if all parties are this boring once you become an adult, or if the braun family has a particular talent for making you crave the sight of paint drying. the closest thing to entertainment—and not the hired folk who attempt to call themselves singers—is gabi’s voice, which can be heard no matter where in the garden you stand. she tells stories, strikes up arguments, and gathers food and drink with her friends, all at top volume. for some reason, you don’t find amusement in this either, and really start to worry about this attitude problem you’ve got this night. to add on, porco’s meeting seems to stretch painfully long. it was a short-notice meeting, which either meant something very very good or very very bad—more so when he told you he was being picked up for it by reiner, colt, and annie. some of the most important family members gathering for an emergency meeting means trouble. your anxiety bubbles in your stomach, and you worry that your not approaching the woman of the hour is reaching a point where it might be seen as—rude. 

the guests are alerted that dinner is ready. it’s not long before each person has situated themselves along the tables that line the large garden. the seating plan is loosely maintained, but you have nowhere near the entitlement to mingle among other tables. you find yours and stay at it, and it’s only then that you get an idea of just how many people are at this event. each table is packed, holding roughly six people, and there are too many to count in the chaos, but they create a semi-rectangle in three respective rows. you make out countless bodies but few faces, just an endless sea of tuxedos and lovely dresses. at the front of the garden is the head table, where karina sits alone save gabi’s bouncing body going back and forth. your table is is only a few feet from hers, but you take a seat that puts your back to her front so you don’t make the unforgivable mistake of accidental eye contact. you’re to sit with porco, and his table—the galliard table—is the one closest in importance to the braun table. you are the only one at the table, further reminder of porco’s tardiness. the longer you fiddle with the white cloth on the surface, the more you worry about what exactly the meeting could mean. 

and then pieck comes and sits across from you without a word. as always, you know it’s only family matter—the concern that you look out of place—motivating her and not your obvious discomfort, but you’re grateful nonetheless. 

as the servers stream into the garden like white-clad troops armed with dome platters, a champagne glass’s unmistakeable ding ding ding catches the attention of the guests. a table near karina’s opposite side, not quite flanking her but near enough to display some importance. a man stands with his glass raised, looking unfitting for the position with the way his arm hesitantly dips and re-straightens. bertholdt, yet another notable name in braun-galliard (and it’s your job to know all the names), seems to be the only person around able to give the welcome speech. it’s easy to listen only selectively to the announcements and shoutouts, disregarding all the thank yous and remember whens and listening in for honored guests (who are honored because they’ve proven themselves useful). luckily for you, bertholdt’s clumsy speech has a clear distinction between the two categories, his eyes downturned to cards in which he lists off important guests and whatever thing they did to end up on he list before him. 

“a special welcome to general theo magath of the mexican military, who has been so generous to the family’s trade routes…” bertholdt’s words are careful, partly because of the nature of the things he is sharing, but also because all his actions have been careful since his fall from grace. formerly one of the most reliable heavy men in the family, bertholdt’s reputation was shot to hell when an important—very important—family member was killed on his watch. despite having happened years and years ago now, it took extensive efforts to just convince the higher-ups that he wasn’t in bed with the killer. it’s common knowledge that bertholdt’s incident was the first and last time someone “had it easy” from braun-galliard due to his close friendship with reiner himself. 

“an especially relieving guest to see here tonight—“ 

and—finally—the stragglers stalk into the clearing. like most others, you hear of their arrival from the ripple of murmurs long before you see them, seeing as their whereabouts are blocked off by tables and bushes. a few people stand up, but are quickly beckoned to sit down again and redirect their attention to the speaker, who clears his throat nervously. 

“carry on, bertholdt,” reiner’s affecting voice breaks through the space, and it’s enough to settle the audience, or at least have them pretend to pay attention while the late-comers shuffle through the outskirts of the tables to find their seats. bertholdt proceeds slowly. 

“…a person i’m sure we will all come to rely on during this chaotic time…”

you catch the first glimpse of porco as he turns the final corner of the rectangle, reiner walking before him and colt and annie just behind. reiner is the first to arrive to his table, the invitees seeming to hold their chests a little taller for the family’s true head—in every way except on paper—as he slides into his seat and presses a kiss to his mother’s cheek. 

“…a great legacy behind him and a bright career ahead, and we’re surely glad he’s kicked it off in our company…” bertholdt goes on. you and porco’s eyes meet, and immediately you know something is the matter; you’re just not sure if it’s fury or ecstasy in his gleam. 

colt and annie find their seats in the table just after yours, and finally porco is near enough to see—and ignore—the look of alarmed curiosity on your face. he arrives to the table, giving pieck a look of “we’ll talk later,” and briefly stopping behind your chair. his calloused hands are on your arms for a moment, running up and down comfortingly. 

“—a happy welcome to—“

“hey, doll.”

“—jean kirstein.” 

and your eyes flick away from porco’s and into the crowd of faceless bodies, and the anxieties that kept your brain buzzing with life halt and collapse to the floor of your mind like dead flies.

jean? 

[bisexualklausmikaelson]

and all the magic we made (12/20)

a/n: well i had another mental breakdown :/ so here's another sporadic update for you all :) thanks for sticking through with this story!

-

Rebekah runs around, from store to store, touching and feeling every item of clothing that catches her eye.

Sparkles, sequins, furs, silks -

Kol quickly realizes how grave of a mistake this shopping trip with his sister has suddenly become.

The length of his stay in his hometown still remain indefinite - last night was a surprise, seeing his niece and not to mention his brother’s infamous Hayley Marshall was certainly something he wasn’t expecting.

If anything, their interactions serve as inspiration for his next move.

Hence the dress shopping, of course.

“So tell me, brother,” Rebekah hums, fingers grasping at a white dress, holding it against her body as she stares at herself in the mirror. “Why are we here anyway? Are we shopping for a special someone? A girl, perhaps?” She stammers on.

“Bekah,” Kol chides. “Such curiosity will bite you in the arse,” he remarks, snatching the dress away from her and placing it back on the shopping rack.

She rolls her eyes, sighing as she follows him down towards the aisle of more colourful textures and fabrics. “Oh c’mon,” she breathes. “You know how starved I am for some hot gossip.”

He doesn’t answer her until she grabs his sleeve and starts whining.

Tell meeeee!!

“Fine-” Kol huffs, shrugging her hand away.

Then suddenly, the perfect dress catches his attention.

It’s a gorgeous purple gown with a mermaid tail flair at the bottom, the sleeves are adorned with pink pearls and with dark lace details.

“It is for a girl,” he confirms, grabbing a hold of the garment. “I like her, I wanna show her how much she means to me, there, satisfied?” He holds the dress up to show it to his sister.

Rebekah smiles, admiring the beauty of the outfit. “Very much,” she nods.

After that, he takes her through even more stores - a purse, jewelry and shoes is a must for a girl so special.

“Okay,” he sighs, grabbing a matching set of pearl earrings and a necklace. “Now it’s your turn,” he comments. “You and Marcel, is this thing happening again?”

She takes her time, taking a deep breath before proceeding to offer him an answer. “I don’t know,” Rebekah tells him. “I care for him, deeply, I always have. I’m just not sure he feels the same for me.”

The look on his sister’s face brings him no joy - he’s used to teasing her about her crushes, even embarrassing her about them. But, this time, Kol feels sorry for her, she loved so honestly and so carelessly.

It filled him with both admiration and pity.

“So, you’re looking for closure?” He wonders.

She raises a brow, thinking of his words carefully. “I am not sure,” Rebekah admits. “Maybe,” she whispers softly.

Kol doesn’t say anything else for a bit - he picks out a pair of heels, a small clutch to complete the outfit. His sister approves of his every choice, it comes so easily to him, almost as if he didn’t need her guidance anymore.

“If you ask me,” he finally says. “I always thought you deserved much better than a man who is too afraid to love you.”

His sentence hits deeper than she can ever imagine.

She finds herself asking when exactly did her troublesome little brother decide to become all grown up.

-

Hayley’s weekends are often spent alone with her daughter.

Normally, other girls her age are busy studying for college exams, hitting up a club or party, going on dates -

Being with Hope Marshall beats all of that, she thinks.

Even when she wants to hang out with Klaus Mikaelson.

“Ready to go, sweetheart?” He smiles widely as he’s at the door - reaching over to pick up his daughter.

“Yep!” Hope cheers.

Now, her weekends are spent with him. Sandalwood scented cologne, old books in the backseat, a picture of his siblings hanging from the rear view mirror of his car -

“So this gallery,” Hayley says, sitting beside him as he begins to drive them towards their destination. Hope is all settled in her car seat, distracted by her toys. “Is this the type of date the old Klaus would take me out on?” Hayley adds on.

Klaus offers her a confused look. “Old Klaus? A date?” He asks.

She doesn’t offer him much - she simply presses her lips together until they become a thin white line. “C’mon,” she shrugs. “Don’t beat around the bush. Old Klaus did that a lot, I wanna know what this new Klaus is like.”

He hasn’t heard this allegory from her before - he supposes that it’s how she’s rationalizing their whole relationship.

You see, in Hayley’s head, there are two Klaus’.

Old Klaus was aloof, a rule-breaker, the type to get high with her on her couch, to cut class on the school rooftop, to leave without a kiss goodbye in the morning.

And then, there’s new Klaus. New Klaus is…different. He’s more determined, more direct about what he wants.

He’s kind - kinder than she last remembers him.

“Well,” at last, he stops the car, arriving at the gallery. “New Klaus likes to keep you on your toes,” he smirks, leading Hope and Hayley inside the paintings section.

“Ah,” she hums, looking around the large room. “So not much has changed,” she realizes, looking back and seeing the strangest smile on his face.

They both follow Hope into another inter-connected room where only one single portrait is hung up on the wall.

It’s a forest of wolves, tall trees, greenery - and a young Hayley Marshall sitting amongst them.

She stares at it awe, Hope freaks out, screaming and jumping up and down.

Mommy! It’s you! You’re in the painting!!

“New Klaus still likes to surprise you,” he reveals, allowing her to take it all in.

-

By the time Kol finishes his shopping, it’s basically evening.

Rebekah had gone home for a rest while he still continued his way down the street.

The trip there is quiet - his head is filled with thoughts, how he’s gunna see the girl of his dreams again, how she’s probably just eagerly waiting for him.

So eager in fact, that she opens the door for him before he can even knock on it.

“You,” Davina releases, with her hair in a messy bun, bunny pyjamas and slippers still on. “Came back,” she completes.

“That I did, darling,” Kol tells her, smiling. “Just as I had promised you, all those years ago,” he offers.

Davina thought she’d be more upset at him.

Their relationship had been a strange one - meeting per chance at the local occult club, unexpected encounters at the music store, catching each other reading Edgar Allan Poe by the marina -

They started dating soon after, and connected on every single level.

For the longest time, their relationship felt like fate.

Until, that is, Kol Mikaelson, along with all the other Mikaelsons, mysteriously left town.

(Although, granted, he did still keep contact with his lover, unlike the rest of his siblings, who were so far deep in self-hatred that they denied themselves of this).

“What do you have there?” Davina asks, noticing the large shopping bag in Kol’s hands.

He pulls out the gorgeous gown he had gotten. “It’s for you,” he informs her. “A present, if you will,” Kol specifies.

She admires the shimmering fabric, in awe of the very romance of this gesture. “It’s beautiful,” Davina releases. “Thank you,” she smiles, grabbing a hold of the garment.

“Don’t thank me just yet,” he says, as fireworks go up in the sky.

They spell out the words

Will you have this dance with me?

-

The painting itself displays incredible technique - the composition, the brushstrokes, everything is so crisp and clear. Klaus’s talent has always been undeniable but, Hayley’s opinion of it has been…

“What do you think?”

A mystery.

“I’m guessing,” she starts, once she realizes exactly what she’s looking at. “This was made by old Klaus?” She presumes, looking at the date inscribed at the corner of the painting.

She stares at herself, immersed in the perfect image he had created of her.

“So it seems,” Klaus says. “However, new Klaus is the one who is brave enough to put it up in a gallery,” he informs her, taking a step closer so that he is right next to her.

Hayley looks and looks - passed the greenery of the scene, the tracks of dirt he had carefully painted on her arms and legs, big brown eyes burning a stare into her own.

“I always knew your work would go far,” she finally releases, realizing how carefully he had captured her loneliness in this painting.

And almost immediately, Klaus begins to laugh uncontrollably. “You said it was hideous,” he recalls, shaking his head.

She wonders why he made her look so sad in this piece - as if she had lost everything. And maybe, that’s how he saw it all, his betrayal and departure was written all over her face.

It’s the most honest thing she’s ever seen.

“Except this one,” she notes. “This piece is…”

“Nothing,” he intercepts, bravely placing a hand on her shoulder, catching her off guard. “Nothing, compared to the real thing.”

-

The drive home is quiet.

Hope is fast asleep in the backseat, little snores and soft breaths escaping her lips. Hayley looks back with a caring and loving gaze. Her daughter truly is an angel, she thinks.

“So then,” he whispers. “This new Klaus, is he up to your standards, as of yet?”

She pauses, catching his eye from the corner of hers. “Maybe,” Hayley remarks. “He certainly became a better driver, over the passed years,” she smiles.

He doesn’t push her any further, he knows he can get more out of her if he did but, this smile of hers was enough for now. He can deal with it - he can deal with her taking her time.

“Well, you’re home now,” he tells her, pulling over by her apartment complex.

She reaches over to shake Hope awake, she refuses though, still deep in slumber. “Looks like it,” Hayley shrugs, pulling away from her daughter. She strangely feels safer now, having the chance to speak more intimately with Klaus. “What do you think new Klaus would do if I tried to ask him to come upstairs?”

He thought that this moment would never come and, that, if it ever did - he would be in disbelief.

But oddly enough, Klaus isn’t in shock at all.

This is expected - he is, after all, charming as hell.

“I think he’d say,” he starts, and right then, he notices little Hope in the rear view mirror, opening one eye to sneak a peek. “You’ve got a restless little girl still listening in on our conversation,” he smirks.

Hayley turns to catch her daughter spying on them and pretending to go back sleep. “Hope,” she scolds. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” she sighs, finally exiting the car and taking her daughter into her arms.

Well, no use acting now, Hope thinks.

“Goodnight, little one,” Klaus tells her, ruffling her hair. “And you too, Hayley,” he lets her know, before he begins to drive off.

She watches him disappear into the night - her heart feels heavy and sinking as she notices how much she longs to see him again.

But, she is a mother first, and as much as the old Hayley would leave all her responsibilities behind and run after that speeding car - she’s not that girl anymore. The new Hayley takes her daughter, and all her old love and passion, and she walks back up to their room.

Of course, right before she enters her home, she notices a carefully placed envelope on her door.

It reads the words - Invitation for Hayley and Hope Marshall.

-

[prorevenge]

Bridezilla Karen ends up looking like a pauper at her own wedding.

I (F48) have known “Pat” (F48) for decades. As far as I can remember, she was fixated on having 5 children and a picket fence dream life. I slowly cut ties with her in college because she was an opportunist and I didn’t trust her. She is both manipulative and forceful. Her idea of cute rubs me the wrong way. Pat likes to walk like a penguin when she wants to elicit pity, and she usually does this when she wants to evoke the underdog narrative. I’ve never seen someone act so despicable and ridiculous at the same time.

I moved on with my life. Happily got rid of her for years. Pat eventually found me on facebook. I accepted her friend request out of politeness.

Pat has become the epitome of a permissive mother. Her (5) kids do as they please and she never calls them out. She tried to force a relationship between me and her daughters and made them call me Auntie. Pat tried to drop them at my house uninvited. Her phone calls were insistent, she tried to monopolize my time and she began to show up at my job. I created some boundaries so she tried to find loopholes. It was a nightmare.

My husband and I hosted a party for the community center (not the real name) new members. The community center is actually a very informal initiative and my husband and I mainly serve the homeless population. We prefer to help strangers instead of catering to potentially narcissistic acquaintances. We don't mind lending a hand but we have encountered truly dishonest choosing beggars.

There are other services, like one of the members who helps women get their wedding and prom dresses for free.The community center location “headquarters” is actually a farm owned by an elderly couple. There is a barn, a venue and a very nice green field with an artificial lake and some fowl. They charge for the use of their facilities (weddings , etc.) but not for community oriented stuff.

Pat had always been salty at her husband for demanding that she go back to work after baby #3. In the meantime, he worked three jobs. She demanded he get her pregnant to fulfill her dream of having 5 kids. He didn’t agree, because he was already nearly 45 and felt like he might never be able to retire. She got away with bringing new babies into this world anyway. Her fascination with being pregnant comes from all the attention she gets. She had at least one miscarriage in between each kid.

Pat latched on to our group. She never missed any of our activities. I hated having her in my house, but it was an open invitation that included virtually everyone and she was very active as an event organizer. I didn’t like the way her kids behaved. We have a designated area for parties and entertainment, but her kids ended up inside my bedroom. We ended up having to keep watch of them and enjoyed zero of our own party.

I called her days later to get my point across (regarding their overall behavior) but she completely cut me off and began talking about herself and said her kids wanted to come visit again and use our pool. I never answered that. I didn't want to say “no, I will not have your brats over”.

She also called me as summer was approaching specifically to let me know her middle daughter was bored and wanted to spend a WEEK at our home. I politely declined, citing that me and my husband have to work and cannot entertain guests. .

Pat paid no heed. Her kid called me on the weekend,calling me “auntie” and attempted to coax me by saying “Mom says you invited me to spend SUMMER with you”. I quickly clarified, and offered an explanation to avoid hurting a kid’s self esteem. Nevermind. Her daughter just hung up on me.

Pat’s facebook also showed some red flags. Some cryptic rants here and there were visible, along with friends’ comments and complaints on how she asked a particular person to watch her kids only for a couple of hours and ended up leaving them all day. Another of her friends criticized her “girls night out “ because Pat had just asked them to be patient and wait until she could pay back some money that she owed them, yet she had money to spend on Friday night outings. I thought those very public comments on private matters were more like a cry of lost patience.

Unpleasant things began to happen. Like the time she volunteered to wrap the Xmas presents for underprivileged kids. We all wanted to create a mix of less costly gifts with really nice ones. Surprisingly, some nice and eye-catching toys and games went missing but turned up under her Christmas Tree (courtesy of her mother in law’s FB posts). No one could prove anything but it was hate-inducing. Or the time my daughter called me in tears to pick her up after she attended Pat’s daughter’s birthday (Casey). My daughter had been ignored all night because she didn’t gift her the expensive gaming stuff Casey practically demanded. My daughter did ask, but I said no. We would buy her a very nice and thoughtful present according to her taste. So when I went to pick her up my daughter was sitting alone in the living room while Casey and her friends stayed outside.

Stories about Pat and her family multiplied. The owners at the farm (community center) decided keep their their gates locked unless they had guests or events because Pat got in the habit of driving in whenever she pleased and it was either her kids screaming and disturbing on-going weddings, throwing rocks at the koi in the lake or harassing the geese in the yard. Or how she stiffed another soccer mom with the lunch bill and then pulled the struggling financially card. Or how other parents hated her because she created unnecessary hostile competition.

When my daughter turned 13, I allowed her to wear my grandma’s ring. It's not an expensive piece of jewelry, but it's vintage and girls nowadays wanna look boho. My Granny gave it to me when I became a teenager so I passed it on to my kid so she could wear it on her birthweek.

It was weird that she became quiet and distracted after that. She also didn’t want to go to school and my husband and I became suspicious. She never opened up, and my other kids had no clue.

We went to her school but her teachers assured us nothing had changed in her environment. My husband and I suspected she was being bullied but our kid gave us no tools to support her. My kid is very sunny, and very compassionate. She has never had any problems with other kids. I called her best friend’s mom. Natalie, my kid’s BFF, told us what was going on. Casey (Pat’s eldest) and my daughter had become “close”. I knew this and wasn’t too thrilled. I found the age (Casey was 17) gap not exactly inappropriate but I’d rather see my daughter spend time with friends in the same age range. Casey is very beautiful and a gifted student. She is also very conceited. To make this story short, she asked my daughter if she could try on the ring and refused to give it back. She later claimed that she lost it but “would look for it” so my daughter was distraught. My daughter kept asking for her ring and as a result, Casey shunned her and spread the word that my kid was trying to steal HER ring. Some kids at school took Casey’s side. So now Casey just wore my kid’s jewelry to school like nothing happened. If that doesn’t qualify as taunting I don't know what does.

My guilt comes from not being able to get my daughter to open up and feel safe telling me the truth. I talked to her and she burst into tears. I was both pained as a mother and furious that some teenage b!tch was doing this under our noses.

I went straight to Pat’s car after school. I asked to talk as Casey was about to go in. So I grabbed Casey’s hand and asked to see her jewelry. Casey froze and she tried to make a fist, so I became relentless. Casey yelled “Mom!” and Pat struggled to get out of the car. I slid the ring off (Casey has tiny hands and wore the ring on her index finger). First Pat yelled at me. After I confronted her with the engraving on the band (my grandma's maiden name), she argued it was loaned to her daughter by my kid. Then she said she bought it. I paid no heed. I did warn them that I knew Casey had become an abusive friend to my daughter.

Pat called me to tell me off. She said she was trying to raise an assertive young woman and I had just messed that up by being “overbearing”. She never apologized for her thief of a child.

Pat's husband ( Hank) is what can be described as a doormat. Pat wore him down to a knob. He had no choice but to “obey” her to keep the peace. She was a bully who actively withdrew affection when he didn’t follow her wishes, even in public. So she got kids #4 and #5 after a relentless campaign that included leaving him for two months. Her pregnancies were a nuisance because she expected to be treated like the only lady who has even been pregnant. She strolled around in a wheelchair almost immediately after getting pregnant and she would “get very sick” on weekends, so her kids were often sent to friends and family so that she could “rest”.

Pat systematically bullied Hank. She would leave town and take the kids with her. Poor Hank would look distraught, drinking on his porch or just looking really lonely. This is how she got off the hook and was able to leave her job. Hank had virtually no voice, so he struggled to keep the marriage together. Everyone liked him, but hated her equally. Hank loved to talk to other people but seemed concerned that Pat would be upset. Over time, according to my husband, Hank began to show signs of depression and mental distress.

Our friend, Lenah, runs the wedding/prom dress initiative. It's not complicated. Dresses are sourced from donations, ebay, trunk shows, etc. Unusually beautiful dresses are retained so that more than one bride gets to wear them. In some cases, a bride will pay 50 bucks, but most of the time, the dresses are donated to the bride.

Pat was involved in this. Lenah kept her in because they never had any issues and her task was limited to just shipping the dresses out.

Pat decided to renew her vows and her bridezilla Karenzilla attitude became the icing on the cake. For starters, she bullied another couple into giving up their wedding date at the farm because she “needed her renewal to match her exact wedding date”. They were not impressed with her harassment, so they booked another venue. As a result, the farm owners were pissed because Pat was already costing them money after she had successfully negotiated a cut in their rate “because she couldn't afford it but will repay by doing maintenance work around the venue” (she never made good on her word).

Pat became attached to a particular dress that was already assigned to another bride. Lenah made it clear that she would need to pay for her own dress. So Pat played it cool and shipped the wrong gown instead. She was adamant that it was the right dress, despite all the notes on Leah’s agenda. The other bride was truly gracious about it. She was obviously disappointed, but never made a scene.

What bothered me most is that I picked that dress and bought it for 40 bucks at a garage sale (not my money, Leah’s money). It was a vintage dress, ankle length, white with lots of lace and a huge bargain. Again, when confronted, Pat “did a Casey” and used the “this is mine” strategy. We felt so bad for the other bride that we did our best to get her something nice to wear. The other bride was a true fighter, she had pulled out of welfare, earned her high school diploma and was working to get on her feet by trying to earn a certificate as an acrylic nail technician. So, her reward was to have some Karen steal her dress? Pat never admitted to messing up, but just by the fact that she claimed it was her dress, we knew.

Lenah never allowed her in her warehouse again. Their last phone fight ended with Pat bringing up the other bride’s past (like it mattered) and “this conversation is over, it's my dress and you are mistaken”. That was weeks before the other bride’s wedding.

Pat went all out on her wedding decor. She spent way too much. She hired a caterer for some food (mainly mimosas and appetizers), but the wedding invitation included a request for specific dishes for her Sunday brunch wedding. Either she ran out of banquet money or was on a complete moocher mode.I picture the penguin walking upon practically asking everyone to supply her wedding reception grub and I cringe.

There is nothing wrong with potluck weddings. In fact, they can be a nice addition to a very cozy and family oriented wedding reception. But, don’t you need to at least be close to your guests in order to ask for such a thing? Even I got an invitation. I told everyone I wasn’t going because I was very uncomfortable being told what to bring and was probably expected to give them a cash gift on top of that. Some of the older ladies in our group agreed. Some said they would not decline in advance because she is a bully and they didn’t want a confrontation.

Lenah called me the night before Pat’s re-wedding. Lenah was there to close the Saturday night bingo and Pat was awfully friendly, but that’s what she does whenever things are going her way. Lenah peeked into the garment bag and saw the exact same dress while Pat was caught up supervising the wedding decoration.

The thing with Karens is that they expect everyone to suck it up, or make their dreams come true, or they simply underestimate everyone and think we are all fools.

Lenah is a very straightforward person with a “so sue me” attitude. She told me she would just ruin the dress. After all, it was hers, so she could do whatever she wanted. If Pat wanted to take legal action, and should things get ugly, she needed to prove ownership. However, the dress was the same, the marks inside the hem and the tags were the same. Even the tag numbers that were punched to identify each dress for logistics purposes matched.

Pat had the dress altered, with some extra beading and dyed to a deep cream color. But it was obviously the same garment. Lenah and I snuck in before the venue was closed for the night. All brides are allowed to stay in a small bedroom for a small charge, so that they don’t need to drive in on their wedding day. Honestly, the makeshift chapel was gorgeous, I don’t know how she paid for it but it was full of flowers and presumptuous details. I naively brought in some ink to spill on the dress, but Lenah said she wanted “something more awful, like a nasty surprise”. Ink would be too obvious and if she saw it ahead, she may be able to snag another gown from somewhere. No, the ideal thing was to have her trust the dress was fine. So Lenah locked herself in a bathroom stall and completely cut out the back panel. She patiently put it back on its hanger and zipped the bag. We left through the emergency door with the back of the dress stuffed inside Lenah's purse. I completely hate people who target and steal from anyone they (Pat and her kid) calculate to be in a weaker position.

The wedding was scheduled at 9 AM. Pat called me at 7 AM, but I ignored her calls. I picked up by 8 AM, both curious and wondering if she suspected anything. Pat was frantic.She was crying that her dress was “missing by half”. I purposely made her explain, being annoyingly dense and continually interrupting like she does, and stalling the conversation. She asked me if I could lend her my wedding dress. I said no, sorry. She then asked me if I would help her get a dress. I was satisfied to remind her that the town's bridal shops were closed on Sunday and the others that would open were almost an hour away. The farm is already almost one hour away from our town.

If Pat could get a shop to rent a dress, she would need to try the dress on, and get it steamed. Even if the dress was ready to wear, it would easily take more than two hours (roundtrip). She tried to ask me to go pick a dress (who would pay for this??). Even if a shop were open and brought her a dress, it would add to the cost. Also, these shops open at 10 or 9:30 at earliest. By time they got to her, it would be time to wrap up the wedding because she needed to clear the venue by 12:00 for the next event.

She broke down and mumbled some stupid stuff I didn't understand. So Pat hung up on me and called Lenah instead.. She asked Lenah to bring her “anything she had available”. Lenah and I ended up delivering the most outdated, moss smelling, oversized dressed. Pat’s disappointment was a mix between angry and emotional. She also tried to wear her knee length silk bridal slip as a wedding dress but it was too obvious and it really looked cheap. She tried to get her daughter to give her her own dress to wear with an open back zipper (due to fitting issues) but Casey refused, asking if she was supposed to attend the wedding naked (she got a point, plus Casey is petite).

The dress needed a petticoat to plump up the skirt, which wasn’t available. So it dragged all over the floor and Pat had to keep pulling it up. Pat walked down the aisle with one hand on her bouquet and another one grabbing her dress. The dress looked limp and weird with the arrangements of pins (they didn’t show) that caused the sleeves and neckline to pucker into messy rims. She spent the ceremony looking uncomfortable and out of place. Very few people attended but that was not part of any revenge, that was just how people reacted to her entitled attitude.

The dress looked awful. The reception portion of the wedding had all this princely decoration, a very nice cake and a bridezilla with a dress from hell. I didn’t stay, but I was told, she was so disappointed she spent her wedding sulking. There was no dance, no actual speech. She had to change into a shirt and leggings because the dress was too uncomfortable. Everyone talked about how Pat put on her flip flops and walked around aimlessly until she ordered the ushers to start folding up the chairs within one hour of the reception. So she practically kicked everyone out and the cake was never cut.

Pat wasn’t the same after this.She was not as loud and avoided everyone. I think she was disappointed that nobody ran to her rescue, not even her family who came from out of town.

Her husband finally cracked under all the pressure and sought some help. He was slaving away and coming home to clean the house while Pat used her kids as an excuse to spend like crazy. Hank also had to do kid homework because Pat never had time or never had patience. She also refused to get a partime job so her kids could attend an afterschool and get help with their school stuff. Therapy seemed to help Hank because the last time Pat left with her kids, he didn't seem distraught. He would be riding his bicycle and could be seen more relaxed while mowing his lawn. Hank told my husband that he had contemplated suicide after their third kid. When Pat returned, he maintained the routine but was interested in going out by himself and doing things for himself. We began to see Pat alone all the time. Hank was seen less and less in the same car and eventually moved in with his parents. He filed for divorce on the grounds of emotional cruelty and I don't think he won. Instead (I’m not sure of this because this is what I was told) there was some sort of a settlement or agreement that she would not get close or interact with him unless it has to do with the kids).

I also don’t know if Pat even actually suspected who/what happened to her dress. She slowly pulled away from the community center and became less active in social gatherings. Pat also removed me from her facebook as well as mostly everyone else from school and the center.

TLDR

Bridezilla stole a wedding dress from an underprivileged woman. The actual dress owner destroys her big day.

(source) story by (/u/forestcabin123k)

[xxlittle0birdxx]

TFATWS: Look Me in the Heart

Prompted by this quote: “In my dreams I am kissing your mouth and you’re whispering ‘where have you been?’ I say, ‘I’ve been lost but I’m here now. You’re the only person who has ever been able to find me.’” — Sue Zhao

What woke him up this time?

He ran through the litany of the usual reasons he woke up in the middle of the night. He hadn’t had a nightmare. He wasn’t hungry, although, come to think of it, he could eat. He didn’t need to piss. Not urgently, anyway. He was a little warm, though, with Sam plastered against his back. But it wasn’t enough to wake him.

Bucky mentally shrugged and eased from the bed. Whatever the reason, he was wide awake now. He stooped to pick up a pair of sweatpants and a shirt from the floor, unsure if they were his or Sam’s. It didn’t matter really. He left the bedroom and went downstairs, navigating around the creaky spots in the floor and staircase so he didn’t wake Sam.

He wandered around the living room, picking up his book, and then put it down when he couldn't sit still long enough to focus on the page. There was a small easel in the corner, and the light of the full moon meant he could see enough to do some sketches if he wanted, but he turned from the easel and drifted to the large windows that bracketed the couch.

Bucky pushed the gauzy curtain aside and craned his head so he could look up. Nothing fascinated him more than star-strewn night skies. It had been hard to see the stars in Brooklyn, even in the thirties. He grasped the blanket folded over the arm of the couch and walked into the back, head tilted back as he crossed the yard, the grass cool under his bare feet. Bucky unfurled the blanket and lay down, staring up at the sky.

He could get lost in the expanse of it.

A few weeks before he plummeted from that train, the usual low, grey clouds parted, giving them a rare, clear night in Germany for Christmas. It had been so fucking cold, that he thought his balls were going to freeze off. But the stars… They had seemed close enough to touch. He could still recall the scent of the fir and spruce trees carried on the frigid tendrils of wind. The pinpricks of light in the inky darkness. And for an all-too-brief moment, the war faded.

It was his first clear memory as Bucky Barnes after he escaped Hydra, while lying on the bed in a motel room just outside D.C.

He'd wept for what felt like hours, his hand clamped over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his raw emotions. Just when he thought the tears had ceased, they welled up again. The joy had been tempered with the growing realization that he remembered every detail of his actions under the Winter Soldier conditioning, but in that moment, the only thing he cared about was knowing he was James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes.

And Bucky Barnes wasn't a killer.

***

‘Buck?’ Sam sat up, wiping sleep from his eyes. The right side of the bed was empty, the bedding flipped back and cold. He picked up his phone, squinting at the bright light as the screen lit up. It was nearly two in the morning.

As far as Sam was aware, nothing untoward had happened at the party. Bucky had spent enough time in Delacroix before he moved here that nearly everyone viewed him as a member of the Wilson family. AJ and Cass had seen to that. They’d called him Uncle Bucky even before he’d moved into the house without prompting from anyone. They loved Bucky at first because Sam did, then came to love him as someone separate from Sam.

Bucky had seemed fine while they cleaned up, humming lightly with the music that played on his phone while he washed the dishes, with a faint smile that skipped over his mouth. Neither had he seemed particularly bothered by anything when they went to bed. But that wasn't saying much. Bucky was getting rather good at tamping down his bad days in front of Sarah and the boys.

He slid out of bed and snagged the hoodie draped over the armchair in the corner and pulled it over his head, then headed down the stairs, avoiding the spots that creaked out of long habit.

Bucky wasn’t on the couch or the floor, as he’d half expected. Recovery wasn’t a straight line, and Bucky still had nightmares from time to time that chased him from their bed. He probably always would.

Sam picked up his running shoes by the front door and pulled them over his bare feet. He caught the screen door before it could slam shut, gazing around the front yard. Bucky’s motorcycle was still parked next to his truck.

He rounded to the back of the house and stopped short.

Bucky lay in the grass, staring up at the sky, limned in the silvery light of the moon and stars.

‘Hey.’ Sam spoke in a low tone so as not to startle him.

Bucky tilted his head back and grinned, his teeth flashing in the darkness. ‘Hey…’

Sam crossed to Bucky and stretched out next to him. ‘You good?’

Bucky nodded. 'Yeah.' He rolled over and straddled Sam, letting his lips slide down the slope of his nose. His mouth hovered over Sam’s, their lips brushing together as he spoke. ‘I was lost for a long time. And you helped me find myself again.’ His kissed him with a languorous sweetness that made Sam’s breath catch in his throat. ‘You were the only person who saw me.’

He shifted until he lay next to Sam once more, and laced their hands together. They lay in companionable silence, gazing at the stars. A streak of silvery light burst into life and arced across the sky. 'Make a wish,' Sam breathed.

Bucky felt the contented smile that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face appear. He hadn't let himself ponder why Sarah, AJ, and Cass so easily folded him into their family. Or the rest of Delacroix, for that matter. It all came back to Sam, who led by example. Sam didn't expect him to be the Bucky that Steve Rogers once knew. And despite their first encounters, Sam had been able to dissociate the Winter Soldier from Bucky Barnes, while acknowledging the years Hydra spent using his body had left their mark. No judgment. No pity. Just acceptance and unconditional love.

He turned his head, taking in the sight of Sam, starlight gleaming in his eyes. 'It already came true.'

[your-daily-biaswrecking]

Serva me, Servabo te

save me and I will save you

pairing: photographer!Taehyung x f.reader

genre: angst, smut, slight enemies to lovers

word count: 7.3k  |  reading time: 40 min

chapter summary: flash backs clear the mystery of their first encounter, they fight over it, and then things get a bit heavier

warnings: there’s finally some sexy stuff going on yall, alcohol usage, metions of cheating, some dirty talk ig, some not very fluffy smut, almost angry fucking, dubious I’d say, fingering f.receiving, oral f.receiving, kinda dom!Tae, name calling kink? idk

All chapters  |  Masterlist  |  Read on AO3

Chapter 5: Irresistible urges of the past

3 years, 2 months, and 14 days ago at 7:35 pm

The party was Yoonji's idea but you never complained. Well, okay, you complained a little bit. But that was only when you heard the approximate number of guests that had been invited so far and argued your small, shared apartment would probably collapse from the total weight in it. You offered to move the function over to the bar down the street, but apparently, that's not a house-warming party.

"How on earth are so many people coming, anyway? We have, like, five friends at most. And that is including the lunch lady."

Yoonji gave you those puppy eyes. "Well, actually, Jimin just made an Instagram story to get the word out, not thinking many would wanna come," she mumbled under her breath, almost like she was trying to avoid giving you the explanation. "But it turns out ever since that video he did, lots and lots of people wanna be his friend now."

You exhaled hard, making a pathetic sound. "You gave the guy you've only been seeing for a couple of weeks permission to invite people to our party?"

She pouted at you. "I thought you liked him. Plus, he offered to do this for us. We barely know people here, Amy, this party is going to be the best to see new faces."

You chewed your lip as you were setting the drinks on the table in a nice order and contemplated your roommate's words. "What do you need new people for?" you whined. "You already have a best friend and a hot boyfriend."

Yoonji bumped her shoulder on your arm playfully. "But you don't. Who knows, maybe you'll like one of Jimin's friends."

You rolled your eyes at her, but that didn't cover up the smile that had started to form. "Doubt it," you objected. "Models are not exactly my type."

You heard Yoonji laugh from the kitchen. "Jimin's not a model!" she shouted back. Then peeked her head around the doorway to raise an eyebrow at you. "I mean, you're not entirely wrong."

People that you had never even seen before started showing up at your place, and without fail, they all asked where Jimin and Taehyung were. Rude, you thought. That was not their party; something that could easily be deduced by how they weren't even there yet. Also, when had Jimin become so popular all of a sudden? And who the fuck was Taehyung?

At about an hour after the place was already packed and your roommate's boyfriend had finally made an appearance, Yoonji just so happened that she was constantly MIA, and the task of welcoming the people that kept and kept on coming, fell entirely on your shoulders. A task that briefly seemed not so bad when you opened the door and a brown-haired, pretty boy stood in front of you. You guessed models were indeed invited to that party, the only explanation you could come up with for why the most handsome man you had ever led your eyes upon was looking at you and smiling.

"Is this Yoonji's and... Amy's party?" he asked and you were taken aback by his deep, raspy voice that countered his charming face.

"Yes," you said, letting him in. "And are you on the bride's or the groom's side?" You hated the joke the moment it left your lips, a moment too late to take it back. Five full seconds spent with a cute boy and you were already acting weird.

But the boy laughed, and the sound quite literally lifted your spirits. "I am with Jimin if that's what you're asking."

"Of course you are. Jacket?" You offered your hands up for him.

"Oh, right, where can I leave this?" he asked as he slid the piece of garment off his shoulders. You opened the door right behind you, a door that normally led to a small storage space, but you had turned into a temporary closet with all the jackets and purses you had shoved in there. The boy leaned next to you as he tried to find somewhere to leave his outerwear without just dropping it on the pile on the floor.

"Let me," you offered, taking a random jacket that hung from the ironing board, abandoning it on the ground, and replacing it with the pretty boy's one. That's pretty privilege for you.

He chuckled. "Whose was that? Is that okay?"

"Who cares, it's my house."

"Oh," he exclaimed, watching you more closely as you closed the door again and turned to him with your lips awkwardly pressed into a thin line. You pinned your body on the wall, waiting for him to move or say something. "You're Amy?" You nodded, and the boy burst out a big smirk. "Well, well, well..." he rasped. "I'm gonna kick Jimin's ass so hard. He didn't tell me Yoonji had such a cute roommate."

The way your entire face felt like it had caught on fire in a split second almost scared you. It definitely made your eyes widen and your head go into a defense mode; you had never flustered before, of course your brain would think it was under attack. And of course you would reply with something stupid again, like snorting and saying: "Right. And you are?"

"Kim Taehyung, freshly graduated and aspiring big photographer," he proudly introduced himself. It all suddenly seemed to click and you barely held yourself from gasping right in his face. He extended a hand to you, and you took it, ready to shake it. Instead, he surprised you by bringing it to his lips and planting a soft kiss right between your knuckles. "Enchanté," he whispered with his dark eyes piercing yours.

The stupid fire all over your face got worse. So worse all you could do was quickly pull away and scoff at him, but also laugh. "That was too much!"

"Sorry," he chuckled and gave you a big, boxy grin. "I was trying to make you swoon."

You couldn't help but mimic his energy. "Does that ever work on anyone?" Well, what a liar you are. It had literally turned your stomach into a knot.

And Taehyung, almost as if he knew that, smirked at you. "You'd be surprised."

Okay, so you may have overreacted a tiny bit when you took off running away from Taehyung. There could possibly have been other ways to go about it, like gently pushing him off and telling him this was a mistake, trying to talk, or even staying silent. Your head was spinning so hard as you stumbled down that path wishing you don't get lost in the foggy state your mind had dipped in due to the haste. And it had almost cleared, you had almost stopped to think about this rationally and wait for the photographer so that you could walk home together, but the longer you thought about it more clearly, the faster you ran. You didn't even know if it was fear or shame that was powering your flight, but it had to be one of those.

The further you stayed locked in your room, the later emotion became more and more prominent. You saw Taehyung emerge from the trees sometime later and get in the house, you heard him on the downstairs floor, you saw the lights turn on and off... He was everywhere, and you were hiding away, terrified and ashamed. How could you ever meet his eyes again? But most importantly, how would you face yourself in the mirror? You knew that was the worst part of the whole situation; you let your own self down.

3 years, 2 months, and 14 days ago at 1:23 am

You returned on the corner that Taehyung and you had been occupying all night long with a drink in your hands, swaying around and trying to survive the mob of drunk college students that were doing what you were sure they thought was dancing in the middle of the living room. Some of the drink spilled on the way and you're not sure if it was because of all the bumping on people or the way you had started seeing everything double and losing your balance pretty easily.

"What the hell happened to my chair?" you whined as you found the photographer sitting there alone when you had specifically asked him to save you the seat.

He shrugged. "I couldn't defend it, sorry." Then he spread his legs wide and pat his thigh, looking up at you with a smirk. "Just sit here."

You didn't think twice; sat down on his offered position, swinging your legs to the side to completely lie on his lap and an arm around his neck for balance. Your face was inches away from his, so much so you could smell the alcohol in his breath, his hands instantly on your waist and hips to pull you close. But it felt so comfortable. Since the moment you met, you hadn't left each other's side, and you hadn't stopped touching. Touching as in holding hands while talking or pushing him while laughing, playing with your clothes or stroking each other's hair. It seemed like there was always an excuse, or, better yet, constantly a need to touch.

"Ugh!" he gagged when he took one sip of the drink you had brought right to his lips. "What is this shit?"

You giggled. "Tequila."

"Is it just tequila?"

You kept giggling. "Actually, we ran out of soft drinks so I mixed it with water."

His mouth dropped open and he started laughing, too. "Of course! Why wouldn't you!" His hands around your body squeezed you tighter and you had to squirm around, still a need to get even closer.

"It's not that bad," you proclaimed, then took a sip from the same straw and had your entire face scrunch up. "See?"

Taehyung had gotten serious, staring at you intensely, as he slowly brought the straw right on his tongue yet again. He took a generous gulp, then offered the drink to you, his eyes fixed on your lips and the way they wrapped around right where his had just been. His stare gave you goosebumps, and you pressed yourself even closer, your hip flushed right against his lower abdomen.

"You know I don't drink," he said in a whisper. He didn't need to speak louder, you were right there. "I'm only doing this for you."

"Well," you mumbled as your fingers ran through the back of his hair. "That makes two of us doing something we don't usually do tonight." And you meant it. You never did this; whatever this was. Sitting on a cute boy's lap that you had only met a couple of hours ago, ready to devour him with the first chance you got. And boy, would you devour him.

"We haven't done anything yet," Taehyung noted, his hand dipping between your legs to pinch your thing.

"Yet," you murmured, pressing even closer to him, feeling his erection grow against your hip.

Your eyes alone could communicate. And all they conveyed was the urgency to get out of there. The need to be alone. Your entire body burned with that need, or maybe it was the alcohol. With no words spoken, you both got up, holding hands not to get lost in the crowd, and searched in the apartment for an empty room. The bathroom was locked, the kitchen busy, one bedroom filled with boys playing video games and the other with smokers. Taehyung pulled you towards the exit; he wasn't about to let the moment escape him. He would get you in his car or even back to his place if he had to, just to get his hands properly on you.

But you didn't have time for that. You needed him right away. So you opened up that makeshift closet and shoved him inside. Space was limited and your bodies were naturally pressed together. The moment the door closed behind you, you realized how dark it was; the light switch being outside, forgotten. You felt his hands ran up your body, trying to blindly find your face with haste like he was being chased.

His lips found yours. And you indeed devoured each other. He had you pinned against the door and his fingers through your hair as he kissed you like a starved man. You know how first kisses almost always suck? How it takes a while to find the right rhythm, to lean into it just enough to match the other's technic? That was nothing like that. It was the best kiss you had ever had, it was so perfect and so right. The way his lips moved over your own and his tongue stroked you, it was like you had done this a million times already, or simply like you were made for each other.

Nothing could stop you now. Not even your common sense that would advise you against fucking just anyone in that tiny space, when everyone was still outside. But common sense had left you long ago. Your body was being controlled by an innate, animalistic hunger. And you moaned his name as you straddled his waist and let him suck hickeys into your neck. And you thought about how this is the best thing that had happened to you as you started taking off his belt.

You heard it again; a thump in the room. This time it was certainly not just in your head. You looked around -let's be honest- scared out of your mind because the last thing you needed right now was for something to be hidden in there with you.

"Tae?" you asked in a low voice, just in case he was playing a stupid prank on you. But you were met with silence.

Until it happened again, a louder tap, and this time you determined it was coming from the window. Slowly, while keeping your body as far away as you could, you got closer. You stared at the glass, trying to figure out why it was making that sound. Then you saw it; a small pebble clashing on the pane and disappearing just as fast. You opened it immediately and leaned outside.

"What the hell?" you shouted when you noticed the shadow-covered man standing in the garden under your room. "What are you doing down there?"

Taehyung tossed away the stones he had in his palms, straining his neck to look up at you. "I wanted to talk to you."

"And you thought -instead of just coming to my room- it'd be easier to walk downstairs, get outside and throw rocks at my window?"

"I thought you wouldn't let me in if I just knocked on your door," he explained.

You groaned. He wasn't wrong; you would have probably continued to hide away and avoid him. But he didn't have to be so dramatic about it. Well, not that you are one to talk. "Ugh, just- get your ass in here," you shouted back.

"You're gonna talk to me?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

You groaned again. "Yes!"

You saw Taehyung run inside as if he was afraid you would change your mind in the meantime. Perhaps you would. You really didn't want to talk to him. What would you even say? You had no excuse to give him, or no excuse you wanted him to know, anyway. All you wanted was to pretend he wasn't even there until morning came; then you could drive back home and go back to pretending you didn't even know each other.

"He is crazy," you mumbled to yourself as you decided you couldn't evade this anymore. "No, that man is certified insane!" you kept on complaining to no one as you opened your door and dashed away.

You ran into him in the middle of the staircase. Stood there, just a step away from him, with your arms folded over your chest, keeping your eyes anywhere but on him.

"So?" you spat.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said in a whisper, a tone that sounded like he was guilty of something.

"Yes, I got that. You can talk now."

He looked down at your feet. "Here?"

You scoffed and moved past him, jogging down the stairs and taking a turn towards the kitchen. The boy followed you diligently. When you reached the room, you immediately grabbed a glass and filled it with water, chugging it down in one go and going for a second turn. You really wished this was something stronger, looking around to see if you could spot a bottle of some kind of liquor. You would need it if you were to have the conversation you thought you would.

"I have a confession to make," Taehyung announced after he decided the silence was enough.

You froze, the glass of water still against your lips, and you looked at him from the corner of your eyes. "Oh, please," you groaned but still couldn't move. "No more confessions from you."

He sighed, walking until he got right in front of you so that he could look you in the eyes for this. "I remember your party."

See, this is exactly what you feared the most. This...This conversation was what was making this place truly haunted for you.

"What?" you weakly breathed.

"Your... welcoming party? With Yoonji?" he continued. As if you didn't know what party he was talking about. "I remember everything about it."

"But-"

"I wasn't that drunk."

The glass hit the counter with such force, for a second you thought you had broken it in your grip. But it had just provided a loud noise as you gaped at the boy in front of you. What were you supposed to say, now? Where to start?

"You didn't even remember meeting me!" you called out.

"Yeah I- I lied."

The worst part wasn't that he was pretending he didn't know who you were. No, that was low-key genius and you would have done the exact same thing if you were quick enough to think of it when you found yourself in that sitting room, across the person you least wanted to see. The worst part was that you had believed it. You felt like such an idiot. You had believed it and thought it meant you could have a clean start.

3 years, 2 months, and 14 days ago at 1:44 am

You didn't want to stop, but you still did, when Taehyung's phone went off. When he pulled away, gasping for air and apologizing. You thought you were having a moment there, you know, a moment where no matter who was calling, it wasn't important enough to pick up. But he apparently didn't see it that way. He took one look at his screen and asked you to be quiet.

Maybe your eyes accidentally caught the pet name on his contact for a split second, or maybe it was the girly voice that came muffled from the speaker, but your head started spinning without warning. And the space was suddenly too small, and it was choking you. You found the knob before he realized what you were doing, and with your body weight on the door, you were launched outside; into the light that burned your eyes. A girl was standing on the other side of the hallway, looking at you with judgement in her eyes and her phone in her hands, then immediately averting her pretentious gaze. A hand tried to hold onto your shirt to keep you back, but you escaped.

You stumbled through the place, not sure where you were trying to go or who you were trying to find, solely trying to keep yourself up and not barf on the new carpet. You wanted to get away, but where could you go? You lived there. You heard Yoonji's laugh before you even saw her, sighing in relief when you spotted her in the kitchen and letting your body fall on hers.

"Baby, baby, everything alright?" your roommate called for you, but you just held onto her without a word. She tried to bear your weight as best as she could, holding onto the counter so that you wouldn't both plummet onto the floor.

Another hand rubbed your back. "Did you drink a little too much, Ames?" It was Jimin's sweet voice. You whined into your friend's neck before you pulled back to look at her boyfriend.

"Jimin, is Kim Taehyung your friend?" you asked him.

He frowned, a little confused as to how the conversation got there. "Ye- yeah. He's my best friend. You met him, right?"

"Yeah," Yoonji responded for you. "I saw them talking earlier."

You took a deep breath; everything seemed to be against you at that moment, even the air itself, and you were trying so hard to not crumble. "Does he have a girlfriend?" you dared ask, even though you thought you might vomit if you heard the answer.

"Who? Tae?" Yoonji mumbled. You nodded, and she gave you a smirk right away. "Ohh... Why do you ask, baby? You interested?"

You rolled your eyes as both of them started teasing you. "No," you tried to tell them.

"Why, was he flirting with you?"

"How does he get every girl like that?"

"No, guys-"

"I don't blame her. He's so hot."

"Hey! I'm right here!"

"Just answer the damn question!" you yelled at them, and they finally stopped. Jimin looked at you with the same frown again.

"He does," he said and everything that was spinning in the room stopped abruptly. "Sorry, love. I promise you'll be the first to know when they break up."

Everything was foggy, and you felt numb. So numb, there was absolutely no thought in your head. You barely noticed the couple turn their heads to the door, barely realized who it was they were looking at.

"No, thanks," you whispered to Jimin then and pulled Yoonji away. "Bathroom," you simply stated and she carefully took you there, avoiding successfully the boy that was the topic of your conversation. For the first time of the many, many more that followed. All those times you stayed clear of gatherings you knew he would be at. All those times you changed your way, left a coffee shop, stayed silently in a corner in places there was nowhere else to go. You never told Yoonji exactly why you didn't want to be in the same room with him again, but she was very supportive no matter what.

You weren't sure why, either. Whether it was your hurt ego, your high standards for the people surrounding you, or the shame you felt every time you met his eyes, you couldn't tell. One thing you knew for sure was how you vowed to never fall for that again. Not from Taehyung, and not from anyone else. No more hooking up with random fuck boys at parties. No more associating yourself with people you don't even value enough. Kim Taehyung was an asshole, and you didn't care what he did or who he did it with, but you would rather be caught dead than be caught with him ever again.

Yet there you were. With him.

You cleared your throat. "And you're telling me this now because...?"

The photographer frowned, mostly at himself, clenching his jaw and looking at the ground. "Well, because you kissed me and ran away as if your life depended on it. Thought it might have something to do with that."

"Right." You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding slightly as you tried to think of what to say. Truly, what could you say? There have been so many things torturing your mind, but you didn't know which of those would be worth saying aloud. "Okay," you simply mumbled. "Are we done then?"

You tried walking past him but he held you back. "Wait, wait, hold on. You promised we would talk."

You just looked at him with your eyes wide. "You said you had a confession to make. You made it. There’s nothing more to say about that."

"Yes, there is."

"Like what?"

Taehyung snorted, finally letting you go. "Like what your problem with me is!"

You released a bitter laugh. "I thought you said you remember everything about that night."

He licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair. "It's been three years-"

"And you stay lying to me." He looked at you intensely but you didn't back down. You might not have wanted to have this conversation, but now that it was happening, you wouldn't cower one bit.

"Look," he started, taking a step closer. "What I did was wrong. Both to you and to my girlfriend. I understand, it was very shitty and I don't have any excuses. I'm not here to give you any excuses."

"Yeah, 'cause there is no excuse for such a thing," you bit back.

Taehyung sighed at your attitude, somewhat losing his patience, but continued. "Right," he mumbled through his teeth. "I told her what I did and we broke up. Actually, she forgave me and wanted to stay with me but I insisted on breaking up because I didn't want her to be in a relationship where I made such a mistake, I wanted her to find someone better."

You shrugged, folding your arms over your chest yet again and tapping your foot on the floor. "Alright. Good for her. What do you want, a cookie?"

"No-"

"You really did less than the minimum, there, buddy. I don't know what you want from me right now."

"I- nothing!"

"Then why are you telling me this?"

He paused, opening and closing his mouth again, clearly not knowing how to reply. Maybe he expected a different reaction, or maybe he was nervous and it all translated into a type of irritation, but he was starting to look angry. "Because!" he said in a louder tone. "Because you keep treating me like that, you're acting like I'm this huge asshole, and I get it- first impressions are hard to change, but I'm not! I'm not that asshole you've made me out to be and quite frankly it's starting to get pretty annoying."

You chuckled. What else were you supposed to do? You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "Excuse me, but I have the right to believe anything I want about you. If I have a certain idea of who you are and it's not affecting you in any way, then what's the problem?" You saw Taehyung roll his eyes and turn away, his hands on his hips as he shook his head and sighed. "If I think what you did is bad enough for me to never change my mind about you, then that's my opinion."

He was mumbling his words out, not being able to form a sentence long enough for it to make sense. "But that's- you-" He kept grunting and shaking his head at you until he finally spoke up. "Three years!" he announced. "It's been three years, Amy, and you're still punishing me for this. Alright, it's your opinion to determine the gravity of it, but don't tell me it doesn't affect me. Not when you've been avoiding me for three years."

"I haven't-" you tried to lie.

But he knew better than that. "Yes, you have. Every time I wanted to come along with my friends, something always came up and you'd bail. You didn't even show up at Jimin's birthday for crying aloud! Because you knew I'd be there. And I wanted to talk to you, apologize to you. I liked you and wanted to make this right and you never gave me the chance." He took a deep breath after having given his monologue in a haste, almost like he was scared his words would bail, too, if he wasn't quick enough. "And then you're wondering why I pretended I didn't remember you?" You blinked at him when you realized he was waiting for an answer. You had none to give him. "What was I supposed to do, huh? What could I have done that wouldn't have resulted in you getting back in that car and driving away?"

You stayed silent, looking at him through your lashes, then averting your gaze again. You sniffed your nose a couple of times as you were trying to get your thoughts straight. Kicked the floor once or twice as you felt your body squirm under his stare; he wouldn't relieve you from the scrutiny. "I..." you finally mumbled. "I'm not interested in reconciling with you." You gulped but noticed his stance and expression didn't change at all. Like he expected those words. "I'm sorry if that's what you wanted to do, and that I prevented you from even trying. But I won't change my mind about this."

He licked his lips, looking at you with a serious frown, then simply said: "Why?"

Why was he even asking? Was it not obvious? "Look, I simply don't like people who do things like these. I don't want them as boyfriends, or friends, or anything. Nothing personal."

"But that's what I'm trying to say!" he insisted. "I'm not like that." He came close, so close his face was hovering above yours merely inches away, staring into your eyes with a sort of urgency. An urgency for you to understand him. "I'm not normally like that. That night... I don't know. That night was an exception. I really don't want to give you cliché excuses, but I thought you knew. I thought you felt it, too. I'm not crazy, right? There was something there that you felt, too?"

You gulped again, looking him up and down with fire all over your face. Because you knew instantly what he meant. But it had to take a few moments for it to actually sink in. That it wasn't just you. And that he, too, was unable to keep his hands from you that night. It certainly didn't justify his actions or lessen your disdain for him. But at least it felt a tiny bit good to know that you weren't just a naive little girl who had fallen for the pretty boy's trick, just like dozens of others.

"That still doesn't explain..." you started saying, keeping your opinion openly still the same, yet not denying his words.

"I know it doesn't!" he was quick to say. His eyes traveled all over your face, the tone of his voice having calmed a bit. "It was very douchy of me and I don't expect to be forgiven for it. Which is why I didn't stay with that girl." You jumped slightly when you felt his hands land on your arms. But you didn't pull away. "But I don't understand why you have to be so harsh on me. It's been three years, and this is still obviously bothering you. You haven't let it go even a little bit."

You looked away, taking a step back, but he quickly made up for it. "It doesn't bother me," you said, tongue in cheek.

"Well, it clearly does," he insisted. "When you are cold to me one moment, kissing me the next, and then running away like I hurt you."

"You did hurt me."

The words left your mouth before you could stop them. Before you even knew what you were saying yourself. He hurt you. You had never admitted that before. Always blaming your anger and aversion to him on your morals or whatever. Yet that was the true reason you didn’t want to see him, and you didn’t want to talk to him, and definitely not kiss him again.

Taehyung paused, taking a deep breath. He leaned nearer as he looked down at your lips as whispered. “I know,” he said in a sweet voice as if to reassure you. “I know.” That meant you weren’t crazy. “But why is it still hurting you now?” You tensed up at his question. “Why do you care -about me- so much that this is, to this day, an open wound?”

You scoffed. But you couldn't say anything. You tried pushing him away, and for a moment he let you, but then he was right in front of you again. Even closer, perhaps. “What are you…?” you murmured, looking quite lost. Especially with the close proximity that was driving your mind into a frenzy.

“Do you still like me?” he asked, straightforward.

“No!” you called immediately. But he didn’t seem convinced, raising an eyebrow at you. "I’m not still hurt. I just… I told you. I simply don't want anything to do with someone like you. So it's fine when you keep your distance, but it's not fine when you kiss me. I said I don't want- ."

"Yeah, yeah, you don't want a boyfriend nor a friend like me," he interrupted you to finish your sentence. "Not that I ever offered to be either of those."

Your cheeks flushed and you looked away immediately so as not to get caught. "I- I didn't say I wanted you to."

Taehyung chuckled. The sound almost scared you more than when he was shouting earlier. Because you knew a casual, flirty Taehyung was always more dangerous. "You know, you kissed me!" he reminded you.

Your mouth dropped in a dramatic way. "You seduced me into kissing you!" you complained.

And the boy laughed even harder. "Seduced? Is that your way of saying you couldn't resist me?"

You tried to fight back at his remarks that clearly only served the role of firing you up -whether that was with anger or something else, you weren't sure. And then he had the audacity to wonder why you still didn't like him? But your voice cracked, as you backed until your body hit the kitchen counter and your hands held the edge tight. "Is not!" you managed to get out.

Taehyung’s arms trapped you in that counter, his hands holding onto it on either side of your body until you were caged between them, as he leaned even closer, standing one breath away and staring at you with a smirk on his lips. It was clear then, he wasn’t trying to talk anymore.

“C’mon,” he rasped, a voice so low that it vibrated in frequencies hard to hear. “I know you can’t resist me. You couldn’t do it three years ago and you can’t do it now.”

Your palms hit his chest, trying to push him away from you as you breathed heavily, hearing your own heartbeat in your head and feeling your control slipping through your fingers. But you still couldn’t form any words. Your brain had shut down when it came to that. Just spinning around as Taehyung kept getting closer. What the hell was he trying to do?

"I'm just saying… There is no one here to judge you for it. No one will know you went against your morals," he purred, a hand leaving your side briefly to swipe your hair off your shoulder and caress your neck in the process. The contact made your palms clench into fists, his shirt pooling under your grip. And there were two ways you could go about this; either push or pull him.

“Tae…”

“Go on then,” he said in a teasing tone. “Show me how much you hate me, princess. How you despise me and everything I stand for. Resist me.”

You did hate him. And you hated being proven wrong. So, those two together should result in you pushing him away and going to your room. Right? You should resist that man, it couldn’t be so hard, anyway. So tell me why the way he was looking at you made your knees buck? Why his words filled your stomach with butterflies, his scent numbed your brain like a hallucinogen? Why you couldn’t resist him.

Tell me why you pulled him in by the shirt.

He didn’t hesitate to wrap his lips around yours. Didn’t waste any time to hold you by the waist and press his body on yours. This was the third chance he was given for this and he was about to make it work. And he seemed to have been waiting for it. He already knew what to do, how to hold you, how to kiss you in order to make you moan in his mouth. It was the party scene all over again; as in, you were devouring each other in a sort of urgency, bumping your lips together like you were drunk and had just found the person you were feeling the craziest chemistry with, grinding on each other as if you were trying to merge together.

And maybe he was right; you could never resist him.

Your fingers dipped into his soft locks and he moaned your name. He snaked his arms under your thighs to push you up, letting you sit at the edge of the counter. He immediately filled in the gap between your legs, hands rubbing up and down your back, while you started kissing down his neck, making sure to mark him as if he was yours. He hissed and growled every time you bit him, riding your shirt up to get a feel of your skin underneath. Then finding your hands, intertwining your fingers together, and pushing them past your body, almost like he was trying to confine them away from him. And you hated not being able to touch him, hated how he pushed your body back to have you almost lay on the counter completely, and you couldn’t move. Because you wanted more.

And maybe he was right; no one would ever know about this. So perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to do this. This mistake. Taehyung.

“Princess, if you plan on regretting this and running away again, you better tell me now,” he rasped while kissing your collarbone. “I might not stop later.”

He was giving you an out. And normally you would have taken it. But at that moment the only thing busying your mind was that implied promise of what was to come.

“You better not,” you mumbled, more to yourself, but heard him chuckle when he heard it, too.

His hands clenched harder around yours before he released you in favor of grabbing your ass and your thighs. He squeezed you close, pulling you until your crotch was rubbing against his clear erection under his pants, and all you could do was whimper. Still kissing his neck, that sweet spot under his ear, biting his lob, and hearing him grunt at the way you were making him feel. Your hands, free now, could run up his toned arms and enjoy his body like you wanted to for a while.

He pulled his head slightly back to look into your eyes. His seemed so unfocused, so dark, like he had gotten high from you. “You want me to make you feel good?” he asked with a smirk. You weren’t sure if he was asking for permission or just building the anticipation.

“Can you?” No, you weren’t making a plea. You were questioning his skills. And he picked it up from your tone immediately.

“Can I?” he snorted, his eyes turning to the ceiling before he let his fingers slowly and very slightly brush your naked belly, moving further down. Your entire body squirmed with the rhythm of his fingertips. “You shiver every time I touch you. So, yeah, I think I can do anything I want to you.”

You immediately punched his chest, pushing him away. “God, I hate you.”

But his smug smirk wouldn’t back down. And he wouldn’t let go of you. “We have already established that,” he murmured, as he lowered his head down- and farther down- until it was right in front of the fly of your pants. And your stomach was sucked in the entire time, your whole body, actually, as if you were trying to take up less space. As if you were trying to pull away from him, even though at the same time you could feel your lower half burning from want, and your lips were already missing his.

But then he looked up at you too, as he was bent down there in front of your crotch, to stare into your eyes through his lashes with a hotshot grin and his tongue between his teeth; and you forgot how to breathe. And then he unbuttoned you with his mouth, biting the zipper and pulling it down slow enough for you to feel every vibration on your body, without ever breaking eye contact; and you thought your soul left your body.

He was back at his normal height, pushing your pants down while licking his lips and examining your face. “Alright, princess,” he spoke in a low tone. “I will give you my best, on one condition.” The pants were completely off and he was working on your unimpressive underwear next. “Every time I do make you feel good, you have to say my name.”

He had gotten you all naked from your waist down, yet he still hadn’t even glanced there; kept his eyes stubbornly on yours. But when you tried to press your legs together, feeling shy and exposed, he was holding them tight. “That’s your condition?” you wondered, not seeming too hard to do. You were probably going to do it anyway.

He leaned down, keeping his lips close enough to rub on yours when he spoke. “Yes. Every time. I want you to keep reminding yourself who it is that is making you feel this way.” When he kissed you, it worked almost as a distraction to how one hand crept in between your thighs and pressed around your folds, yet avoiding the place you needed him to touch.

His lips moved at the same rhythm as his fingers, his tongue slipping in your mouth right as he finally moved them closer, getting them all dirty with your wetness. Index and middle finger rubbing up and down, brushing against your clit and over your opening but never giving into either. You hummed in frustration as you bit down on his bottom lip, your hips trying to move forward, trying to get more.

“What did I tell you?” he whispered, increasing his pressure on your clit just for a moment, a moment long enough to make you gasp with your mouth open over his.

“Tae…” you breathed.

“Say it,” he insisted.

“Taehyung,” you moaned, closing your eyes as he started moving his fingers in circles over the sensitive bud like a reward.

“You’re so wet, already,” he observed, something quite obvious from the sounds the simple movement was creating. “Is that all for me?” He pulled his head back to watch your reaction better, smiling when he saw you nodding. “Good girl,” he purred, rewarding you yet again with sliding one finger easily inside.

"Oh,” you moaned, your body immediately arching towards his. You still needed more. The better it all felt, the more you wanted from him.

The photographer inhaled sharply through his teeth, stilling his actions. “Amy, what did we say?”

“Taehyung,” you immediately obeyed. And you didn’t need to be told twice. “Taehyung,” you moaned, again and again, as he worked his magic into you. As he kissed you in that way no one had ever been able to replicate. “Taehyung,” as he pushed a second finger in to stretch you out. “Taehyung,” as he found your g-spot and massaged it softly as if he was working with something fragile. “Taehyung, Taehyung,” as he made you come, once, twice, thrice. With his fingers inside you, on your clit, his mouth french-kissing your pussy, his tongue dipping in and out as he lapped at your juices.

All while you had to make yourself think of who exactly was fucking you like that. Who was making your legs shake, your head spin, your sight and hearing unclear. Whose hair you were pulling, whose teeth you had marks of on your thighs, whose name you were screaming.

Kim Taehyung.

Next Chapter

[thenightgazer]

Mask of Rapture

When she received an invitation to play at a masquerade party on an infamous cruise ship, Maureen has an unfathomable hunch that something wrong will happen. Between her enchanting violin performance and the glamorous waltz, she encounters a mysterious masked man whom will introduce her to the horror that waits for all the passengers... and a promising passionate night with the devil himself.

Pairing : Vergil x Female Violinist OC/Female Reader

Rating : Explicit

Warning : Rough sex, SDT sex, mild blood, mild gore, blood kink, light dom/sub, exhibitionism, porn with plot

Keep reading or read it on AO3

Lady Midnight is an infamous luxurious cruise ship that sails from Red Grave to Europe continent for five days weekly. It’s known by its exquisite interiors and six-star service, as well as excellent cuisine and impeccable suites. Lady Midnight provides the best and elegant experience of travel curated to satiate the wanderlust of adventurists. The cruise ship is also known to hold a sophisticated dance party in the form of a masquerade party on the night before they reach back to Red Grave. All guests will be dressed up and gathered in the ballroom decorated with classic and stunning architecture, waltzing on the dancefloor until midnight. 

Maureen won’t be here if it wasn’t because of the invitation from the owner of the ship. She received an invitation email and a request to be the guest violinist for the masquerade party in exchange for free vacation on Lady Midnight for five days. She’s no stranger for any invitation from wealthy people to play at their prosperous party, but this is her first time to be invited to a masquerade party. She had prepared a dress and the suitable songs to set the mood and perfect atmosphere for a masquerade ball weeks before departure. 

After days floating on the ocean and discovering breathtaking yachting destinations, finally the big day is coming. 

Maureen has performed countless times on stage, yet she still feels the nauseous gut whenever it comes about public appearance. But somehow, the psychosomatic feeling doesn’t really bother her right now. Maybe it’s because everyone will wear a mask, so she can avoid their curious and prying eyes on her. She’ll have more concentration to do her job. Just one or two hours playing, she reminds herself. Then I’ll enjoy Europe before the ship takes me back to Red Grave. 

Maureen folds her hands on her chest as she observes a white long sleeve maxi cape dress, a pair of heels and a matching colombina mask on the bed. She was thinking of buying some fancier gown, but she finally decided to buy something comfortable to wear because she needs full concentration for the concert rather than paying extra attention to her clothing. Don’t have time to add exaggerated accessories and worry about whether it would look fine on me or not.  

Satisfied with her choice of clothes, Maureen sits in front of the vanity table and begins to put some makeup on her face. She doesn’t put too much since she’s going to wear a mask anyway, so she emphasizes her full lips with mauve lipstick. Then she covers her body with the dress—its front thigh-high slit lifts her confidence. She straps the heels on her feet and puts the mask on to cover half of her face. Not bad, she watches herself in satisfaction while combing her black hair. 

The party will begin approximately in half an hour. Maureen has received an announcement that there will be a briefing before the party starts and all the crew will be gathered. While she’s not part of the crew, she’s still expected to attend as a guest star and part of the orchestra team. She wastes no time anymore and takes her violin case, heading to the ballroom. 

-- 

Maureen senses something wrong since the first time she stepped on the stage. 

She opens her violin case, observing the enticing violin and waits until the patrons of Lady Midnight—Lord and Lady Campbell arrive at the middle of the ball. The wife’s patron is smiling brightly as her husband bows down to ask her for a dance. While the couple are ready for the waltz and the applause from the guests are over, Maureen places the violin to her shoulder tucked under the chin and gives the audience a formal smile before drawing the bow across the strings. She can feel the tense atmosphere around the orchestra team as she starts to move the bow. Drawing the violin bow is like moving the pendulums; throw one and the other pendulums would follow before finally repelling back to the first pendulum. As light as a butterfly lands over the water and flies again at once.  

Shostakovich’s Waltz No. 2 is her first play and everyone’s favorite song in every masquerade ball. The sound of a violin can capture emotions, even the ones that are buried deep in a human's heart. She has seen how humans surrender to the ethereal sound of harmony. They rise at the beginning of the song and fall to the bittersweet emptiness when it’s over, leaving the unfathomable ache in their heart. Which is the reason why Maureen loves violin. It’s like the violin speaks on her behalf. Her way to connect with the world. 

Yet for the first time since a while, Maureen feels a jolt of perturbation come out of nowhere as she takes a glimpse to the crowd, searching for an answer.  

Something is wrong, Maureen is certain about that. But what could it be— 

And that’s when she caught the piercing blue eyes gazing at her behind a golden Venetian mask. 

Curious, because Maureen can’t look away from the man who possesses those eyes. If only she could just ignore him, she would have succeeded to perform the perfect vibrato on the next notes. It wasn’t a fatal mistake, nor that people would’ve noticed the almost flat tone. But she’s a professional violinist. She shouldn’t have made an amateur move just because a man with striking eyes was watching her performance. 

It was him, Maureen stared back at the mysterious man. From the stage, she can vaguely see his silver hair behind the mask. His tall and firm posture are visible, even if he stands between the crowd. All the people in this ballroom wear masks, and it’s odd that she can tell the way he looks at her is different from any other guests. It’s almost like he can see right through me… 

As the patrons end their first dance, the guests make their move and sway to the dancefloor. The man with striking blue eyes disappears amongst the hustle. Maureen doesn’t know what kind of effrontery that consumes her to trail for that man from the corner of her eyes during the seamless transition she made to the next song. Gundry’s The Vampire Masquerade is probably her most favorite piece. The scandalous and fiendish tunes are extremely apt for this Halloween masquerade, and her prediction was right: the guests spin their body faster and swirl their illustrious and extravagant fabrics as if they’re hypnotized by the melody. 

It’s hard for Maureen to find the mysterious man amongst the sea of eminent painting. 

Who is he? Maureen asks herself. I sense something dangerous about him. 

The dark and lustrous atmosphere lasts for one hour. When Maureen finally rests her hands, she can feel how tired she is. But it wasn’t because of her playing, it’s the unsettling feeling that constantly lingers all over the ballroom. She bows and smiles as the guests give their applause and appraisal before she takes her leave from the stage, blending in the crowd while the orchestra team continue their job. Lady Campbell welcomes her at the food section. She and a group of women in Victorian gowns hand her a glass of champagne and toasting for the success of the masquerade party. 

“Miss Graves, was it? I’ve never seen such a divine and elegant performance! I was never an enthusiastic dancer until you tune your violin and enchanted us!” The woman in a red mask greets Maureen. Her glass is trembling a bit when she continues her appraisal. Maybe she’s drunk already, Maureen keeps her smile still as she thanks all the compliments from the women and observes the group’s chatter. They talk about recent destinations, some inconveniences of Lady Midnight’s service, gossip about some influential guests, and finally the one that caught Maureen’s attention; a disturbing issue that there could be a demon on this ship. 

“My husband and I have a great concern regarding Lady Midnight’s security. He recruited the best security team and mercenaries to protect this ship. You don’t have to worry about the thing. They guard us until we’re back to Red Grave tomorrow.” Lady Campbell reassures the worried women, but Maureen can hear a degree of hesitation from her words. 

“Mercenaries?” Maureen asks cautiously. 

A woman in purple gown taps her shoulder. “You know, devil hunters.” 

The women let out exaggerated gasps. 

“It’s for precaution, of course,” Lady Campbell interrupts. “With the tragedy of a mysterious tree that happened three years ago, we can’t let our guard down anymore.” 

“Agreed! Besides, we sailed for almost five days and there’s no update about the demon or whatever it is!” the woman in purple gown convinces them, taking a side with Lady Campbell. 

“But Mrs. Tyrell, I swear I heard something hissing from the room beside me!” the woman in yellow mask shivers. “On the first night I thought it was just the sound of the sea, but last night I’m sure that it was something else. I’m not imagining things! Even my husband heard that too!” 

“You’re not the only one who said that,” the woman in the golden lace mask agrees. “I heard Baron and Baroness Powell complain about the noisy sound from their room’s ceiling. They said it felt like there’s a snake up there! Could it be a demon? For God’s sake, we can’t even breathe for a second because those monsters are everywhere!” 

The woman in green lace gown, whom Maureen considers to be the most beautiful than the rest of them, laughs at their worries. “Nonsense! Let’s not disrespect our patron’s kindness and just enjoy this party! If Lady Campbell said that this ship is safe, then it is!” 

The other women seem to disagree with that unbelievable cheerful reassurance. But the patron’s wife exclaims her agreement, despite her forceful fake smile and excitement. “Miss Malia was right! Let us continue to live up this ball. Let me show you our rare collection of paintings in this ballroom. Miss Graves, please come join us!” 

Maureen shakes her hand, even though the group shows their interest for her to join them. “I think I will stay a while for more champagne. Enjoy the tour, my ladies.” 

The group bids their farewell, much to Maureen’s pleasure. She takes one more glass of champagne from the tray and swallows a half of it. The unsettling feeling is stronger after she heard the possible demon issue. That man. Was it him? Is he a demon? Maureen has seen demons in her life, but she can’t comprehend why she didn’t feel the same dangerous atmosphere as she was when she caught the mysterious man’s eyes… 

… like she does right now. 

The man is very much taller than she expected. His clothes show off the gallant and menacing impression; a dark blue ascot wrapped around his neck and black vest under black three-tailed coat with silver serpent patterns runs around the collar. His hands were covered by dark fingerless gloves. His black pants and gaiter boots emphasize his beautiful and toned legs. His face is covered in a simple golden Venetian mask, giving a contrast to his dark attire. Even without looking behind that mask, Maureen knows that this man must be gorgeous, and now he’s approaching her. 

Oh God. It’s too late to run away. 

The man hands her his hand. “My lady.” 

Maureen hesitates, but it’s rude to ignore someone’s good intention. If only he really had a good intention to me, she smiles as she lets him give a light kiss on her palm. 

“I must say that your violin performance was magnificent. It’s been a while since the last time I saw such a splendid performance.” The man’s husky voice is irresistible. He speaks in a calm and posh mannerism, yet the voice sends the chill down to Maureen’s spine. Moreover, she feels a strange heat rush inside her body. She looks at her glass, pondering if it was the alcohol did its trickery. 

“Thank you. It was my pleasure to entertain the guest as well,” Maureen responds at the praise formally as usual. “Although I have to say, it’s my first time playing in a masquerade party.” 

“Hard to believe that it’s your first time, with that eloquent violin play of yours. This ball finds its life thanks to you.” 

“You’re too flattering, Sir.” 

Maureen hears a chuckle behind the man’s mask. She’s so nervous that she imitates his chuckle out of courtesy. “Do you fancy champagne, Sir? I can get you—” 

“Please, no need to offer me a drink. I’ve been told that the champagne is extraordinary, but I prefer not to drink.” 

“Can’t stand alcohol?”  

“I’m afraid so.” 

“No way!” She doesn’t know where this audacity to tease him comes from. It must be the champagne, Maureen convinces herself.  

The man chuckles again as he offers his hand. “Instead of drinking, I’d be honored if my lady doesn’t mind me asking for a dance.” 

Maureen stares at his hand before taking a glance to the dancing floor. She notices the orchestra team is playing Gundry’s Tonight Ve’ Dance. I like this song, Maureen admits half-heartedly, but… this stranger… “I’m not particularly good at dancing.” she laments at her poor excuse. 

“I can teach you,” Maureen can sense that he’s smiling as she catches a warmer gaze from the man’s eyes. “You will catch up in no time, I believe that.” 

This man is persistent. Knowing that it’s useless to refuse his offer, she accepts his hand. Maureen observes the mysterious silver-haired man who leads her to the middle of festivity. He nods as he wraps his right hand on Maureen’s waist and his other hand reaches her hand. That little gesture surprises her and she doesn’t know why. She finds it hard to just breathe, sensing his fixated eyes on her lenient body in a strange, intimate way. 

And it takes her whole bravery to finally put her left hand on his broad shoulder. 

Neither one of them say a word as the man guides her tenderly in tune to the music. Maureen follows his movement thoroughly, stepping her left feet forward and backward. Their masked faces are facing each other, as if they are seeking answers from their unspeakable question. He raises their entangled hands, and she twirls gracefully before he holds her body, pulling her ever close to his embrace again when she turns around to face him again. 

“Strange,” he remarks. “You’re unexpectedly a quick learner. Viennese waltz is quite tough for beginners.” 

Thank God I wear a mask right now. “You must be an outstanding teacher then.” 

“Quite the contrary, I believe you have talent in dancing,” the man chuckles. His caresses on Maureen’s back are subtle, yet it’s a sensuous one. “A natural one, apparently.” 

Maureen can’t hide her canny smirk. “Alright then. I must confess that I was lying when I said I’m not good at dancing.” 

The man moves his head forward, his mouth murmurs a whisper to the shell of her ear. “I knew that already, Miss Graves.” 

The radiating warmth from the man’s layers of cloth sends a tingle of strange desire through Maureen at the touch. She clings to him tighter than before, not willing to avoid his cold blue eyes, not even dare to breathe for fear that he might notice her heated, sacrilegious desire. She was never attracted to strangers, until this man showed up and broke her rules. Her little white lie is just fueling the tension between them; his seems intrigued by the lie, but he says nothing. Instead he continues the dance as if he never heard her confession. His gaze indicates his attraction to her, witnessing how delicate she moves between his strong arms. Given their contrast vibes from their dances, anyone could mistake them as an angel and a devil—one is graceful and delicate in white gown, while the other one sparks perilous seduction in dark attire. 

“You haven’t mentioned your name.” Maureen confesses her curiosity. 

“I thought you would never ask,” he says lightly. “You can call me Vergil.” 

“Vergil…” she mumbles the man’s name. Her vision drifts away as a brief memory resides in her head for a while. “Where did I hear that name before…?” 

“If you’re familiar with Dante’s Divine Comedy, you’d find my name mentioned plenty of times there.” 

“I know that. But I heard that name recently…” 

“Perhaps from poetry. Aeneid is Virgil’s infamous work.” 

“I know! But… no... not from poetry.” she doubts herself. She’s certain that she heard his name somewhere else.  

“Memories are dangerous things, Miss Graves. It could help you or betray you.” 

“Then it’s best to leave it be,” Maureen twirls ecstatically and leaning back against Vergil’s chest. “Mr. Vergil, I believe today is the first time I see you since the first day of voyage.” 

“I’ve been working behind the scene,” Vergil covers her small hands with his arms. “For the sake of this ship’s safety.’ 

Maureen tilts her head over him. “You’re one of the mercenaries?” 

“Why, Miss Graves. I presumed Lady Campbell had told you.” 

A rush of dread fills Maureen’s veins right after Vergil’s disclosure. 

“Lord Campbell contacted me two weeks ago,” he continues, his eyes trace on Maureen’s sudden discomfort. “Rumors about sea monsters sends him on his edge.” 

“Did you… find any demons then?” 

Vergil pulls her hand gently to make her face him. His words are certain and undeniable, chilling her to the marrow. “Yes.” 

Maureen stops her moves at once, barely breathing and unable to think clearly. So, here’s why his presence terrifies me. Each of her nerves are screaming, forcing her to just escape him. But he seems to expect this reaction—he squeezes her hand and waist gently, with eyes linger to her bitten lips as if he prevents her from running away. “Have you heard rumors spoken by the guests? They said they heard slither and croaky hissing every midnight. I found a body devil hunter who was supposed to work with me in his room—his bones were salient because his blood was drained like a mummy. And this morning, Madame Cross’s little baby is paralyzed. He’s still alive, but unable to wake from his sleep. I believe the demon is currently in this ballroom with us.” 

Maureen’s jolt of shock gives Vergil his answer to his unspeakable question. He continues to step forward, followed by Maureen who is trying to hide her fear by her steady steps. She accidentally steps on Vergil’s toe, which Vergil just laughs casually at it. His crisp laugh sounds lethal in her ears, as if the Death itself were laughing at her. Maureen’s brain can’t cope with dreadful terror she’s facing right now. She grips onto Vergil’s shoulders, slightly clawing his fine coat. 

Of course, Vergil notices this as he stops moving, lifting Maureen’s chin in a tender way.  “You look rather pale, my lady. Am I scaring you?” 

She shakes her head immediately. “I’m fine. I just wondered… do you have a name for that demon in your mind?” 

Vergil nods, glancing at the crowd as the orchestra team has stopped the music and people give them applause. “I’m certain that there are almost twenty Lamias lurking around the ball.” 

Lamia? Maureen gasps with eyes wide open. Twenty Lamias? Why can’t I feel their presence—wait, this man… he doesn’t know that I am— 

“Impressive. They hide themselves quite well. It’s difficult to notice their presence. But now their patience has worn out. They won’t wait anymore. It should be easy, yet…” he continues, holding both of Maureen’s palm and lifting them to meet his tantalizing lips. “I need more time to figure out what you are.” 

He… knows? 

Just right when the question was about to leave the tip of Maureen’s tongue, the unforeseen power outage shocked all the passengers. The baffling voices spread through the room, shouting questions and complaints. Maureen can hear Lord Campbell’s raging yell to his employees and demands them to turn on the power at instant. In the middle of this uproar, she’s surprised by a comforting feeling from the presence of Vergil, whose arms are covering her body. It’s almost like he’s protecting her, despite their previous austere tension. The dark always calms her, yet she can’t really enjoy it now, for she knows that this power outage was intentional. “It’s them, right?” 

“Apparently so,” Vergil agrees. “I can even hear them snarling right now.” 

“But why now…?” 

“A room full of prey is perfect for feasting, don’t you think so?” 

It sounds like he throws me sarcasm. “I… don’t know…” Maureen loses her words. 

The light turns on, followed by relieved sighs from the guests. But it doesn’t last, for a ghastly scream of a woman deafens the entire ballroom. The crowd circles between her, witnessing her howl of anguish over a mummified, dead body of a masked man under her extravagant Edwardian dress. Such a horrid view, raising a ruckus among the guests. Another petrifying scream comes followed by demonic roars. Some guests turn into monstrous snake-like demons while melting their human skins. They feast on whoever closest nearby, sucking their blood and clawing out their eyes before they gulp it down. 

“Mr. Vergil!” Lord Campbell arrives from nowhere. Clearly, he doesn’t look very happy when he sees Vergil just stand still with Maureen. “What are you doing there?! THEY SLAUGHTER ALL OF MY GUESTS!” 

Vergil chaffs mockingly at the cruise ship’s patron. “But it was your plan all along, wasn’t it? You and your Lamia lover. Do you really think you can fool me, Lord Campbell?” 

Confusion clouds on Lord Campbell’s face as he startles when Vergil summons a katana out of thin air. He unleashes it from the scabbard, pointing the tip of the blade to the patron. “Go. Run for your life. I will find you soon after I exterminate those abominable demons.” 

As expected, Lord Campbell runs away, ditching and pushing people around him like a tortured animal. Maureen was about to chase him, but Vergil grabs her shoulder. “Find Lady Campbell. Keep her safe.” 

“But you said he and his Lamia lover—” 

“Lady Campbell is not the Lamia queen. I know that for sure. The queen is somewhere here. I’ll go find her once I slay her subordinates,” Vergil draws his sword, glaring at a Lamia that taunts him and cuts its head in a single slash. “Can I count on you, Miss Graves?” 

Maureen can sense how dangerous and powerful Vergil is just by witnessing how he killed the Lamia. He isn’t a human. I’m sure of it. I cannot imagine how terrifying it must be… to be at his complete mercy. The katana… was forged in darkness. Just like me. 

She finally gives him a nod. Her hand reaches into her thigh-high slit of her dress, pulling out a handgun she always brings with her wherever she goes. It is loaded, but she doesn’t bring more ammunition in case the situation gets worse than she had imagined. “Then I can count on you to demolish those snakes, Mr. Vergil.” 

“Certainly, Miss Graves.” 

“Call me Maureen.” 

Vergil gives her a final grin before he goes at a speed of light to the hustle. 

Although she’s still in awe from witnessing Vergil’s superhuman speed, Maureen takes a haste to find Lady Campbell. She rushes to the east side of the ballroom, where Lady Campbell was last seen. She shudders when she sees a pile of mummified women bodies, which a moment ago was the group of women she had encountered for champagne. Maureen aims her gun at a woman in green gown who pins and chokes Lady Campbell to the wall. “Put her down, Miss Malia.” 

The queen of Lamia hisses at her, chuckling in croaky laughter. “Well, well, if it isn’t our lovely violinist.” 

“I should’ve realized it. Your choice of alias is terrible.” 

“Yet people didn’t notice,” the Lamia queen drops Lady Campbell, leaving her coughing breathlessly. “Pitiful humans. I promised Lord Campbell prosperous life and money because he’s about to be penniless, only if he gives me humans as sacrifice. He said this pathetic ship was his last chance, and he’s right. Tonight, there will be no humans left in this ship—” 

A bullet comes through her chest before she encloses her words. Maureen puts a finger on the trigger again. “You finished?” 

“My dear, look at you,” Lamia queen slowly pads to Maureen. “I don’t know what you are, but you’re not a human. Why bother protecting them? We can work together, you know that.” 

Maureen pulls the trigger right to the queen’s forehead. “I’m not interested.” 

The Lamia queen bursts out laughing. Her clothes are torn apart, skins melt and reveals her beautiful human face turns into her original bestial face. Her fangs lengthen as her lower body transforms into a gigantic snake body. The wound on her head heals quickly in just a second. “My dear, you should use a silver bullet.” 

She’s right. I left my silver ammo in my room. “I can still kill you.” 

“How? There’s no silver in this ship. Campbell threw it all to the ocean.” 

“And you believe he checked all the rooms? That’s far-fetched.” 

“At least in this room. Doesn’t matter. You're all going to die here anyway.” 

The queen charges an attack to Maureen, but the violinist is quicker. She repels the attack and launches the bullet to the queen’s head again, this time is calmer and takes a precise move to bait the queen to the stage. Fucking heels, she takes off her shoes while evades insistent strikes from Lamia queen. The ballroom seems a little bit spacious since most of the guests are running out from the room and the rest are dead, or still trying to escape this madness. She catches Vergil’s tall and firm stature in the middle of the dance floor, swinging his sword in remarkable versatility. His attack is quick and precise while keeping his distance from a pack of Lamia, not even a drop of Lamia’s blood can reach him. His fighting movement is like dancing, ponders Maureen as she observes him unleashes rapid slashes with a vortex of purple-blue energy that instantly kills all the Lamia around him. She can’t even see when he unsheathes his sword and puts it back to the scabbard again. 

“Where are you looking at, girl? I’m right here!” the Lamia queen taunts her; her yellowed eyes turn darker, an evidence of her hunger and eagerness to feast on Maureen. 

A light smile appears on Maureen’s face as she keeps firing the queen. “Oh, I forgot you’re still here.” 

Almost here, Maureen jumps to the wrecked stage and searches her violin case viciously. Still intact and undamaged! 

“Oh, poor Miss Graves…” the Lamia queen hisses, enjoying Maureen’s confusion. “Ran out of bullets?” 

“I don’t need that anymore,” Maureen tosses her gun to Lamia’s head, raising the queen’s anger while she slithers faster to where Maureen stands right now with an unnatural crave to kill the violinist. Keeping her calm and composed mind together, Maureen draws her violin bow with anticipation. I hope this is going to work. Can’t rely on Vergil right now… 

“DIE!” the Lamia queen attacks in an ambush, wrapping herself around Maureen’s body and squeezing it tighter as Maureen tries to escape. 

“You should have accepted my invitation earlier, Miss Graves,” the Lamia queen giggles unpleasantly. “Maybe I could spare you, even letting you eat those humans.” 

“I… don’t eat… human flesh,” Maureen pants. 

“Pity. Then I shall—AAAARRGHH!” 

The tight wrap around Maureen’s body loosens gradually as the Lamia queen screams in agony. “Wretched human! How dare you stab me?!” 

Maureen, still adjusting her breath, raises her violin bow. “It's a silver mounted bow, bitch.” 

Despite the pain from her perforated tail, The Lamia queen still manages to launch another attack even though it’s getting slower. Maureen keeps stabbing her with the violin bow, piercing its grip to the demon’s body as much as she can. The amount of silver in the winding is too little, but it’s better than nothing. The Lamia queen forces her to leave the stage again, her sloppy movement causes her hand to bleed by the sharpness of the bow hair. 

“You cannot defeat me with that flimsy stick of yours!” the Lamia queen declares assertively. Black, thick blood is spilled from holes that Maureen has created on the beast’ body, yet she shows no signs of surrender. 

“I know,” Maureen admits wholeheartedly, eyes fixate on the snake demon in front of her and points the violin bow to her direction. “But he can.” 

Even before the Lamia queen could figure Maureen’s words, a sharp blade passes through the queen’s chest as she wails in suffering, looking at a fatal wound on her chest. 

“Don’t get so cocky,” the man in a golden Venetian mask warns the queen. “Now, you’re going down.” 

He pulls back his sword before he swings it again to decapitate the Lamia queen, leaving no chance for the demon to revive her body once and for all. Its headless body falls motionless, ending the terror on the ship. Maureen looks up at Vergil, who’s still clean from Lamia's blood, contrasting to her blood-soaked dress. She was going to greet him, only if Vergil didn’t look at her in a poignant way. She wonders why Vergil stares at her with that look—a curious, intrigued gaze that makes her feel like she’s naked. 

When she glances at a wall of mirror, she gets her answer. Her mask is gone, leaving her face exposed entirely. But that’s not her main concern. 

Her onyx eyes are now as red as blood. 

Vergil sees it, and he still hasn’t sheathed his sword. 

He’s going to kill me. 

“Miss Graves!” 

Maureen quickly blinks her eyes, transforming her red eyes to her original black ones as Lady Campbell, now without her mask, runs at her hastily. She’s accompanied by security team and sea marshals, asking if she’s hurt anywhere and thanking her for her help. The medics has arrived to heal the guests. The security crew rush into the ballroom and shout at the undamaged survivor to come back to their room while they clean up the mess. Maureen has no choice but follows Lady Campbell heading out from the ballroom, pestering at Maureen’s wounded palm. She turns her head back at Vergil, who’s still staring at her while giving reports to the marshals, consumed by either curiosity or desire to kill her. 

Maybe both, Maureen’s body begins to tremble in fear, without hope for the devil hunter to spare her life. 

-- 

The cruise ship returns to normal and quiet soon after the marshals arrest Lord Campbell, who was about to jump to the ocean before the marshals caught him. Lady Campbell had told Maureen about the arrest, and how her husband went hopeless because his company is going bankrupt. He started to constantly beat up his wife and abandon his responsibilities, but Lady Campbell had never spared any thought about the lord would gone too far as sealing a pact with Lamia and intended to sacrifice all passengers, including herself. 

That was when she told Maureen how grateful she was for having Vergil on board, which reminds her again about Vergil’s threatening demeanor. 

Once Maureen had left Lady Campbell’s room to let her rest, she rushes to her own room. All passengers are obliged to stay in their rooms until Lady Midnight arrives on Red Grave to prevent any danger while the crews continue to maintain the safety of the ship. Most of the passengers have already stated that they will sue this ship once they arrive on Red Grave, which is not surprising since nobody wanted bloodbath on a vacation. Maureen decides to pass the crowd by hiding in the shadow, letting herself blended with the darkness… until she becomes one with the dark and travels between the shadows into her room. 

She doesn’t bother to turn the light on and makes her way to the bathroom, ripping her bloody dress off and taking a shower. Her wounded palm hurts a little when the water drips on it. Lady Campbell asked her to go to the medic, but Maureen refused. All she needs right now is time for herself. She needs to think how to escape this ship before Vergil finds her. Perhaps I could hide in the shadow again until it’s safe, Maureen muses as she wraps a bathrobe over her body. He won’t realize it. He said he still needs to figure out what kind of creature I am… 

A vibrating, almost inaudible knock comes from the windows balcony, startling Maureen to her aghast. Vergil is there, comes out of nowhere while Maureen thinks she’s safe right now. Her body is freezing, and can't even think about any anticipation especially when she spots Vergil is still holding his sheathed katana. She knows Vergil will find out her room soon, but she never thought he would find this soon. He says something to her, but the window is soundproof. Not that she wanted to open the window for him. It’s not too late to shadow travel, Maureen checks on the room’s surrounding, ignoring Vergil’s persistent knocks. 

Flashy blue light from the window distracts her concentration. Vergil sends his sword off to the thin air. He raises both of his hands as a sign of peace. His mouth moves in a certain shape of words: ‘I’m not here to hurt you. Would you please let me in?’ 

I can’t trust him, Maureen shakes her head. But, he’s a hunter. If I escape now, he will find me again somehow. 

Casting aside her fear, she reaches her hand to the knob, unlocking the window. Must Vergil exhibit any slightest gesture to attack her, she’s ready to escape in the shadow anytime. The man finally comes in, offering his hand to the violinist. “May I see your hand, Maureen? I noticed the bow scratched your left palm.” 

“It’s okay,” Maureen hides her hands behind her back. “What do you want, Mr. Vergil?” 

“Just call me Vergil. No more formality,” Vergil takes one more step closer to her, his hand still waiting for her. “Please, I just want to make sure if you’re okay.” 

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” 

“My lady, I have no slightest idea on how you perceive me as someone who wants to kill you.” 

“You… you know who I am. And you are a devil hunter. I saw your desire to kill me soon after you beheaded the Lamia queen.” 

For a moment, none of them speaks their mind out. They just stand still, eyes trailing on each other, but it’s different from their last encounter. Vergil takes her left hand carefully, this time he receives no resistance from Maureen. He caresses the vertical wound, eyebrows furrowed, as if he feels the pain as well. “You are the first non human being I’ve encountered in this ship.” 

“What?” 

“I thought you were a vampire. Your pale skin and red eyes when in danger or thirst resembles them,” Vergil moves his thumb over the scar. “But you are not a vampire. You walk freely in broad daylight. You didn’t flinch on silver, but you hesitated whenever there’s an iron nearby. Iron doesn’t hurt you, but it makes you uncomfortable. I didn’t know what you are at that time, therefore I decided to just keep an eye on you.” 

Maureen lets him cup both of her palms, calmly exhales as she gives him a hint of smirk. “Do you know what I am now, Vergil?” 

“Why, yes,” Vergil gives a peck on the top of Maureen’s palm, then locking her hands on his chest. “I saw you absorbing human’s energy every night when most passengers are asleep. Out there, at your balcony.” 

“That’s impossible! Normal humans can’t see energy form—” 

“But I am not a normal human. I bet I’m the only one in this ship who can see that, since all the Lamia are now dead,” Vergil’s head is slightly lowered, his masked face is still unreadable, yet now it radiates more warmth and… compassion. “You have many names… and I believe humans rarely aware of your presence. Plaksy, krisky, night hag… gorska makva…” 

Maureen finds herself struggling to move as Vergil circles her until he stops right behind her, fingers trailing on Maureen’s tensing shoulders. She feels his hot minty breath getting closer to her ear, whispering his precise statement. 

“… nocnitsa.” 

Fuck. 

The only sound that breaks the silence is just the heavy breathing coming from them. Vergil’s firm and warm hands rest on Maureen’s shoulders before he gives them a small massage as if to ensure her to stay still. His touch makes her flinch, trembling from his unexpected delicious movements. 

“You’re known as a spirit who drains life energy from humans. Sitting on their chest as you suck their energy, causing them experiencing sleep paralysis. Some source said you take a liking to children, because their dreams are richer than adults…” he continues his pressure on her shoulders. “We both know it’s folklore version. Nocnitsa lives by sucking life energy from every living being in every possible way, not just by sitting on their chest. The stronger their emotions and dreams; be it nightmare or pleasant dream, the more strength you’d gain. Greater amount of drained energy can cause nightmares and paralysis to their victim, even death.” 

The vibration of his voice propelling tension throughout Maureen’s body as Vergil presses his entire front body against her back.  

“Evil nocnitsa loves to drain energy until their victim run out of life energy,” Vergil’s lips touch her reddened ear. “They are known to terrorize children in their sleep. Feeding on their dream slowly...” 

Maureen tries her best to form a sentence. “Madame Cross’ baby—it wasn’t me. I’m not that heartless—” 

“I know,” his finger lingers on Maureen’s lips, caressing it to slightly open her mouth. “The baby woke up once the Lamia queen was slayed. Apparently, Madame Cross realized that her baby’s paralysis happened after a teatime with Miss Malia, the queen’s human form. My best guess is that the baby was sensitive to evil presence and the queen casted a spell to put him to long slumber, perhaps to silence him or eat him later.” 

“T-that’s horrid…” Maureen’s voice is barely recognizable, carefully moving her lips without accidentally bite Vergil’s finger while she’s captured between Vergil’s embrace. “But… Vergil… who are you…?” 

“Me?” he chuckles darkly. “I’m a cambion.” 

Human and demon’s offspring? No way. Could it be… “Vergil… one of the sons of Sparda?” 

His short hum says it all.  

That’s why his name sounds familiar to me. And no wonder I feel danger whenever he’s around. Such an odd circumstance to have him here… capturing me in my own room… 

Vergil nips her earlobe lightly, raising the unyielding pressure in her throbbing core. She can hear his removed mask falling on the floor as she automatically turns to face him, but he stops her. His hand rested on her nape, asserting his control and dominance. 

“I want to see you.” Maureen breathes heavily. 

“Not yet,” Vergil declines steadily. 

He lowers his index finger from her nape, trailing a slow and subtle stroke up the center of her spine. Maureen nods slightly at his refusal, surrenders completely to his touches. His finger ends on her stomach, exactly at the bathrobe’s belt... 

“May I have you, Maureen?” he purrs, skimming his lips across her neck. “Will you have me?” 

“Yes,” she leans back into him, feeling his throbbing erection through his pants, pulsing hard into her spine. “Yes… Please… Vergil…” 

Vergil grasps the belt and pulls it off, lowering the bathrobe and exposing Maureen’s bare skin. She can hear his breath gets heavier, growling at the sight of her. Maureen is completely naked before him; her fair and very pale skin is glowing in the darkness of the room. He kisses her smooth long black hair tenderly, inhaling the intoxicating scent of hers.  

“You are exceptionally beautiful, beloved,” his words are full of conviction. “Now... you and me…” 

He removes his hands from her body. Maureen can’t believe that she misses the heat from Vergil’s body already. She feels hollow and empty, and he hasn’t even touched her properly. She hears more stuff falling on the floor; his coat, vest, pants, even boots. Only then she realizes that they both are clothless. His lips back on her shoulder again and giving them tiny little bites. He pulls her to lean on his chest again, this time Maureen can feel his bare skin entangled with hers in a feverish heat. His hands grip her hips as if he wants her to move closer to him. One of those firm hands heading up in a mild but definite motion to her right breast, circling her nipple with his thumb. Her nipple lengthens at that contact. Her whimper creates a small grin at the corner of his lips. He’s aware of the effect he’s having on her. 

“Already this eager, my dear?” he murmurs, still pecking on her shoulders. He brings his other palm to cup her other breast, squeezing them in painfully slow motion. Her breasts become heavy as her whimper gradually changes into wanton moans. 

“Haaa… Vergil…” Maureen whines. Her shaking palms settle on Vergil’s arms, holding at him tight as she follows his palm’s movement over her aching mounds. Her head arches back by the intimate pleasure from her chest and her already wet cunt. The knead on her mounds are getting harder when Maureen forces herself to turn her head over to see Vergil as a warning that he doesn’t allow her to see him yet. 

“I told you, haven’t I? Not yet.”  

Her eagerness excites him, makes him want to delve more inside her. His right palm leaves her chest, long and hot fingers of him lands on the outside of her wet flower. He barely moves any of his fingers, yet it sends unbearable shiver all over Maureen’s body while she shakes her head and shut her eyes out of pleasure. 

“Don’t look away. Look at yourself, Maureen. Look at how my fingers are going to fill your tight cunt up.” Vergil’s command is undeniable. Maureen does exactly as he orders, not dare to spare a glance from her lower body. It’s quite hard to see her beautiful vagina being invaded by Vergil’s skillful fingers in this position, while his fingers are moving in and out of her, stretching her hot walls. Maureen’s face burns up from hearing wet and amoral noises which grow louder in the room. She tightens her grip on Vergil’s left arm until her knuckles turn paler than her skin as she finally jerks up at the flood of releasement. Her head tilts as a lewd moan finds its way out of her throat. 

“So wet for me, hmm…” Vergil slides out of Maureen’s folds while she pants sluggishly, still hasn’t recovered her from nectarous orgasm. He pushes his body on her back; his fully erected thick cock presses on her buttock, jolting her in shock. Maureen worries if such a large of manhood would fit inside her. Vergil gives her a tease by moving his cock between her buttock, causing her to whimper delinquently. His fingers trace on Maureen’s chin, tilting it to face him… 

She doesn’t believe that such a breathtaking, godly face belongs to a mere human. His skin is as fair as she is, with swept back white hair that emphasizes on his fierce and cold expression. Maureen braves herself to put her index finger on his clean and strong jaw, down to his throat… feeling his slow purr as he kisses her temple before he spins her around, crashing his lips against hers, stealing her breath. She flings her arms over his shoulders to pull him closer while their hot mouth and tongues dueling. He presses his groin on her lower stomach, so she can feel his hard as steel erection, bidding to enter her soaked flowers. A groan escapes from Maureen’s mouth during this heat moment. She squirms underneath him. 

Vergil pulls away, despite his covetous desire to break her. He casts a gaze on her current predicament, pleased at the sight before him; Maureen’s moist lips part and her flushed red cheeks seduce him to have her in his grasps… to claim her as his. Her cloudy eyes trace his smothering body, eventually meeting with his icy eyes that reflects his unspeakable demand to have her beneath him. 

“Take me, Vergil,” Maureen begs. 

Vergil buries his face on her neck, giving her whole pure skin his marks. “I will. At my pace.” 

“Please…”   

“More,” he growls. “I like it when you beg.” 

Maureen tightens her embrace, clawing her slender fingers on his beautiful back. “Please Vergil… I want you, so bad… I need your cock inside me! Please fuck me hard! I want you to fill me… fuck me mindlessly… I want you to—” 

His desperate groans cut her plea as he swoops down to her mouth, claiming and raiding her mouth possessively. Their hard kisses become wilder as they bite each other, while Vergil lifts her body and she wraps her legs around his waist. Maureen’s body trembles on burning arousal just by feeling his hot cock slipping and entering her swollen cunt, causing a scandalous cry to escape her mouth. Vergil pins her against the window, her legs still covering his waist. 

“Does my cock feel good?” Vergil asks roughly. His touch and presence are suffocating her, yet it makes her craving for him… for more… and more… 

“Yes! So good, Vergil… it feels so good!” Maureen catches her breath in struggle. A subtle smirk appears on the corner of the lips. “It would feel much better… if you move your cock right now.” 

“It seems like I need to teach you a lesson,” Vergil thrusts upwards, painfully slow. “I am a cruel man, little bird, and I will be cruel to you.” 

He invades her mouth ravenously while moving his hips, this time harder and more powerful, thrusting her mercilessly. Maureen claws at him and panting as each strike from Vergil drowns her lost into the sea of lust. Please… harder. Lose yourself. Don’t hold back… 

Vergil lets out a smug grin. “My little bird seems to enjoy herself.” 

“So good, Vergil… it’s too good—ah!” 

The next thrust from Vergil marks her second releasement. It was so good and intense that Maureen feels her body starts to get weaker. One of her trembling hands slips from Vergil’s neck as she tries to balance herself from falling, despite she knows Vergil won’t let her fall. But her clumsy movement causes a little accident; she pushes the knob and the window opens, letting the sea breeze come inside her room, tickling her flaming skin. 

“Hmm…” Vergil hums roughly. “Good idea, little bird.” 

“Wha—no! Not outside!” Maureen clings to him, pleading her disagreement. But Vergil walks to the fence, putting her down from his waist and pinning her to prevent her struggle. 

“The window is soundproof.” 

“People still can see!” 

“This room is located at the very back of the ship. With aft-facing corner balconies, this room has the most secure privacy. There are no neighbor’s balconies on either side…” Vergil kisses her forehead tenderly, quite opposite with his intimidating gaze. “Besides, we would know if someone’s still awake, and don’t pretend you don’t have the ability to put them in their sleep.” 

“I do have that ability… it just feels… so wrong.” 

Vergil cups her jaws before giving her a soft kiss on her nose and lips. “We both know you want this, little bird.” 

He turns her body, placing her hands on the fence. “Let the sea witness how beautiful and enchanting you are when you’re full of ecstasy.” 

As he inserts himself into her tight walls again, it’s too late for Maureen to hold back. 

He grips her hips and pushes himself deep. He pounds hard and fast, almost without mercy. They feel the intensity and intimacy of their attached bodies moving together. They can’t hold their seductive gasps and moans as they keep fucking each other in salacious desire.  

“Vergil… Vergil… oh—ah! M-more!” Maureen wails and whimpers as her walls are getting tighter. She can feel her clitoris throbs harder as she’s close to another releasement. 

“You are such a greedy little thing…” he growls. His voice grows lower and darker on each groan. 

“Vergil… please give me more…!” 

The cambion stops his movement and pulls away his cock abruptly, leaving his woman gasps in confusion as she feels the void filling her body. She moans desperately. “Vergil… why…?” 

Vergil kneads her sensitive mounds gently, teasing her with his cock slipping between her warm inner thighs. “I know you’re about to come. Is that true, my love?” 

“Yes!” she cries. 

“Do you want more? Do you want me fuck you harder?” 

“Yes, please!” 

“Then prove your worth,” Vergil tilts her body to face him, smirking at the sight of her beautiful, submissive woman. “On your knees, slut.” 

Maureen lowers her body down to the cold floor, eyes captivated by Vergil’s menacing face. She opens her mouth slightly to catch some air, but it turns out her little action excites him very much. He caresses her hair and cheeks softly as if she’s a good pet, before he pushes his thumb into her mouth. 

“You know what to do, little bird.” Vergil’s command is absolute.  

His dominant presence secretly excites Maureen as she feels a weird surge of tension fulfill her stomach and swelled pussy. She reaches Vergil’s cock, giving it a light rub before she massages it softly. He seems to grow impatient at her soft and light touches, pounding his cock into her little mouth. 

“I told you,” Vergil says seductively. “I’m a cruel person.” 

Contrary to her protest, Maureen’s body seems eager to indulge his lust of her. She blows him, licking his long and thick cock as if she’s thirsty of him. She takes a glance to Vergil, seeking a slight sign of approval from him. She admires his beautiful body from below, feeling the urge to find her own releasement as she slides her hand to her cunt, but Vergil notices it. 

“I forbid you to touch yourself,” he snarls. “Or I will leave you here, desperate and begging me to please you like a pathetic little slut.” 

She shakes her head immediately, sucking his cock harder as an apology. He seems satisfied by her surrender, eyes lingering to her full mouth. 

“Who would have thought that you, an enchanting nocnitsa, the keeper of the night, turn out to be a wanton harlot?” he murmurs as she sucks him deeper. “Such a ravishing seductress, aren’t you?” 

There’s no sign of insult from his face. Instead, he seems to adore her as he gently guides her head to move faster. Maureen can feel he’s close to his first release. He shuts his eyes when he releases his fluid inside Maureen’s mouth—his cock still throbbing while she continues to move her tongue. She swallows it all before she pulls her mouth away, waiting for Vergil’s next command. But Vergil lifts her up instead, carrying her back inside her room. 

“Good,” he kisses her temple and drops her tenderly on the bed. A guttural sound comes from his throat. “I shall comply with your desire as well.” 

He kisses her face, down to her chest and slightly biting her breasts. Then he gulps one of the mounds, his tongue dances on the hardened nipple like a hungry baby while the other hand squeezes the other mound. Her delicate skin and his calloused hands feel like an amazing contrast. He inhales her scent and that drives him crazy, finding himself hard again and his cock is now fully erected. Her mounds are now moist and hot under his persistent care. 

Vergil’s caresses go further down to Maureen’s inner thighs. He spreads her legs apart, smiling at Maureen’s embarrassment. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“No! Don’t stop!” 

“Very well.” He buries his face down between her thighs, worshiping her blossoming, nectarous tight hole. Each of his lick sends prickly goosebumps on her skins, causing her to arch her back and violently pull the sheet to hold herself.  

“Ahhhh!” Maureen feels his hot and wicked tongue circles her clit and the inner part of her vulva. He increases his speed and pressure, adding two fingers inside her. The surging tension crashes down into her lower stomach, preventing her to breath normally, even now she can’t form a single thought as he strokes faster until she feels a torturous pleasure comes out like flood. He licks his fingers, tantalizing the woman beneath him who’s whimpering, still hasn’t recovered from the delicious blackout. 

“Ever since I saw you for the first time, I know you would haunt me,” Vergil places his arms between Maureen’s shoulders. “That I won’t get enough of you… that I will get hurt for you…” 

His mouth meets hers, dancing in a tender motion. She folds her hands over his back, deepening their kiss and embrace. Her soft caresses on his back soothes him as his breath is getting calmer, giving her a sense of comfort. He gives her a peck on her nose while eyeing her exposed nakedness sharply. Only then, he thrusts himself inside her again, slowly and gently. He wants to feel the warmth between her walls, taking his time to feel his cock bulging harder inside her. Vergil spares her a small smile, showing his pure affection towards the nocnitsa. 

“May I move?” he asks politely. 

Maureen nods, unable to form a word despite her eagerness to answer him. 

They deeply tangled in that bed in sensual rhythm. Moans and ragged breath are mingled. He pulls up his body and holds his knees close to her hips, enclosing his palms around Maureen’s ankles to spread her legs wider, kissing the soft skin of her calf, much to her surprise. For a moment ago, he was cruel and dominating, yet now he indulges her sweetly as if he worships her. His growl is changing, almost sounds like a beast. Maureen can’t hide her shock when she sees his blue eyes glowing and his pupils are splitting into demonic eyes.  

Is he turning into his demon form?  “Vergil…?” 

“Hush now…” Vergil keeps digging inwardly, groaning at the narrow sensation from her inside. 

“Don’t hold back,” Maureen pants. “I want to see your true form.” 

“You will regret it.” 

“I can handle that. Please, Vergil.” 

Her wish is his command. He can no longer hold his primal instinct to consume her, to mark her as his. He releases his demon form; his body turns into blue scaly beast, with four wings attached on his back. His face can’t hide his deepest lust for her as he wraps his scaly tail over her body, gently places her on his lap. She rests her body on his scaly thighs before she pushes herself down, swallowing his monstrous cock. She can’t believe that Vergil can be this large. When she thinks Vergil can’t be more surprising, he always exceeds her expectations. 

“Stay still,” he murmurs in a demonic voice.  

Maureen carefully flings her arms onto Vergil’s harsh neck. She kisses his beastly jaw, causing him to shiver and growl impatiently. 

“Don’t provoke me,” Vergil warns her, thrusting his cock upwards tenderly. His long, fiendish tongue licks her shoulders and chest. 

Maureen caresses his face, her eyes spark with adoration. “Vergil… you are so beautiful.” 

And that’s enough to fuel him up. 

He moves his thighs, shoving himself so deep and hard, causing Maureen’s stifled cries to fill the room. The prickly sensation of scratching at her inner walls struck her sharply. Their affectionate kiss turns into nasty one. His fangs linger on her jaw and lowers to her nape, bleeding her for a little while he strikes her like a stake over and over again. His tail is keeping her in balance, protecting her from falling and his sharp scaly skin. As he drags Maureen deeper into her animalistic lust, her eyes change into blood red. Her desire and thirst for him is flowing as she absorbs him—a glowing blue mist radiates from Vergil’s body, circling Maureen before she opens her mouth and swallows the mist to gain more strength. 

“That’s it. Absorb me. Absorb all my emotions, my nightmares, my power. You are mine, as I am yours, Maureen. Feed only me.” 

“Vergil… oh my… you taste so good… I need more of you,” Maureen offers her neck to him. “Let’s have each other, Vergil. Please, take me…” 

Vergil accepts the offer to bite her neck, carefully not to rip it off or else she could die. Blood spilled over her shoulder and he licked it all, drinking and enjoying the taste of her. They consume each other whilst their bodies are still connected and moving at a wilder pace. They already forgot about anything else, not that it matters right now. They just want to devour and savor each other’s souls until they are lost in oblivion. 

“Vergil…” Maureen comes to her limit. “My love… I’m—” 

“Come. Come to me, beloved.” 

He pounds harder and his hands clamping onto her shoulders along with Maureen’s insatiate scream and squirting her nectar. His cock swells and jerks as he releases his seed violently deep inside her womb. Fluids come out from her moisten womanhood. Deliriously, she collapses forward onto his upper body, which gradually returns to his human form. Their damp bodies still entangled to each other, exhausted and content. Vergil strokes her back providently, feeling amazed as he sees the misty energy that she absorbed from him heals her wounds quickly. 

“I made a mess of you.” He sighs calmly. “Did I hurt you?” 

Vergil senses her head on his chest shaking slowly. 

“We broke the bed…” Maureen giggles, pointing at the bed with disarray holes in it. 

“I guess it won’t be a problem. This ship will never sail again anyway. At least until we reach Red Grave.” Vergil leans their bodies on the bed, bringing her head on his chest again. They speak nothing for a moment, just feeling the warmth emitted from their bodies. Maureen finds herself love to hear his steady heartbeat, shutting her eyes to feel its movement. 

“Try to sleep, my love.” He gives her a peck on the crown of her head. 

“You realize that nocnitsa is doomed to have a nightmare every time they fall asleep as a price for our power, right?” 

“I do,” Vergil caresses her head. “But I can do something about that.” 

He transfers his demonic power to her, as she gradually feels her body getting numb and sleepy. She doesn’t even realize when she falls asleep. She just falls into absolute darkness. No nightmares, no dreams, not even an anxious feeling but the pleasant and calming memory of Vergil. 

-- 

From the moment she opened her eyes, Vergil was nowhere to find. 

Lady Midnight has landed at the port of Red Grave. It’s not very shocking to see the passengers rush themselves out from the cursed ship. Luckily, Maureen found a great spot to hide and blend in the shadows of the passengers, so she doesn’t have to mingle with the horde of angry passengers. She lifts her suitcase, escaping herself from the journalists who're waiting for them.  

Maureen realizes that she misses this city, even though weird things always happen in this forsaken city. She misses its clear and fresh breath. She cannot wait to arrive at her apartment, playing her violin again. Maybe she would compose a song. She already has her idea ever since her steamy night with Vergil. 

Vergil… 

She makes a mental note to pass by the Devil May Cry office someday. She never thought that the famous devil hunter in this city has a twin brother. The one who created a big hole in her heart once she woke up without his presence. 

Maureen reaches in the pocket of her coat to find her phone, intending to order a taxi. But her fingers catch something else aside from her cellphone. 

A memo? 

Maureen opens the paper, reading the neat handwriting written on it. 

Never to bid good-bye 

Or lip me the softest call, 

Or utter a wish for a word, 

While I saw morning harden upon the wall, 

Unmoved, unknowing 

That your great going 

Had place that moment and altered all.

Until we meet again, my little bird.

-Vergil

Maureen folds the paper neatly and puts it back into her pocket. For the first time in her long and empty life, she feels an unexpected encouragement as well as an aching longing for someone. It is true when you dance with the devil, you don’t change the devil. It’s the devil who changes you.

Until then, Vergil. 

Notes:

The poem mentioned by Vergil is “The Going” written by Thomas Hardy

===

A/N :  Finally, my first smut! I blame whitedemonqueen from AO3 and all the thirsty Vergil's hoes lovers at Discord server for making me write this sinned fic XD 

Tagging : @shiranyaaww @harlot-of-oblivion

Masterlist

[wwitbeyondmeasure]

Summer at the Burrow / r.w. fan fiction

Previous Chapters

Introduction / Author’s Note / Chapter 1: The Journey to the Burrow / Chapter 2: Hidden Letters / Chapter 3: Ron’s Return / Chapter 4: Nighttime Conversations / Chapter 5: A Morning Surprise / Chapter 6: The Quidditch Match / Chapter 7: Girl Talk / Chapter 8: Aphrodite’s Push / Chapter 9: Mistakes and Love Potions

Chapter 10: You Would be Fine

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for all the love and support for this fic, it means so much to me :) Get prepared because this chapter is a lengthy one (about 4,200 words I think...oops). Also, the gif has nothing to do with the chapter I just thought Ron looked really cute lol. Okay anyways enjoy!!!

You were fine. Really you were.

Every time Hermione or Ginny gave you a concerned look while passing, you could easily plaster on an "I'm-good-everything-is-good-thanks-for-asking" smile onto your face.

In reality though, your heart hurt ever damn day.

About 2 weeks ago, Ron broke your heart. Under the oak tree outside, he told you that whatever happened between you was a mistake. Mistake. So instead of moping around for the rest of your summer vacation, you tried to be happy. During the day time you would laugh and joke with the Weasleys, help make meals, finish your school work, and do chores. But at night is when you finally let yourself feel your heartbreak. Once everyone fell asleep, you would creep down the stairs and sit underneath the oak tree, and cry.

It was therapeutic, kind of. With each passing night, you felt better. Yes, it still hurt seeing Ron's freckled face every morning at breakfast. And it still made your skin and body ache when he accidentally brushed up next to you in the tight kitchen. But you were okay.

You knew that if you let Ron fully see how heartbroken you were, it would change the dynamic between you. You were best friends, and nothing more. No matter how much you loved him, that's all you would ever be. Instead of jeopardizing the friendship you had come to cherish so greatly, you simply suppressed your love for Ron so you could maintain it. And it was working, king of.

The night after your heartbreak at the oak tree, you started treating Ron exactly as you had before you came to the Burrow, before you had let your emotions run wild. He reciprocated this and before long, you were best friends again. You played Quidditch on each other's team, joked around with Fred and George, tried the newest Weasley Wizard Wheezes products (though you stayed away from the love potions), and played wizard's chess together. Although your heart still skipped a beat whenever Ron leaned closer to you, everything was back to normal with your best friend.

Over the past 2 weeks, you had been alternating between sleeping in Ginny's room for sleepovers, the bed in the attic, or the couch in the living room. Ron didn't offer his room to you again, which made you sad but you understood. If you were alone with him late at night when your emotions were high, your cover of "nope-i-don't-love-him-we-are-just-best-friends" was going out the window. So you stuck to your usual 3 beds.

That morning, you had awoken from the attic bed bright and early. Hermione had been getting the girls up at 8am for the past 2 weeks so that you could finish your school work early in the morning and have the rest of the day to relax. Although you hated her every morning for this, you were glad she had such a strict regimen because you had all finished your homework yesterday. Now, for the rest of the summer you were homework free.

By now you were so used to waking up early that it was no longer a surprise for anyone to see you help cook breakfast with Mrs Weasley. Besides Hermione, you two were usually the first awake and in the kitchen right away. This morning was no different as you padded down the creaky wooden steps into the kitchen.

"Good morning Mrs Weasley," you greeted her, tying an apron around your waist. There were four aprons in the Weasley house; a floral one designated for Mrs Weasley, a dark blue one for Mr Weasley when he would attempt to use a muggle grill, a plain white one for whoever decided to help cook, and a yellow one with stars for you. Mrs Weasley even spelled your name, y/n, on the edge in elegant cursive.

"For my newest child," she has said when she showed it to you. She pinched your cheeks, the way she did with all of her kids, and the action almost made you tear up. You threw your arms around her in a tight hug and thanked her profusely.

Mrs Weasley smiled approvingly at you as you started on the breakfast. As the usual morning rhythm took place, you cherished the routine of cracking the eggs, putting them in pans, flipping them, and then doing the same thing again and again.

But soon, Mrs Weasley's voice broke the silence. "Sweetheart, what happened with Ron?" she asked.

Your head snapped up from the frying pan, your eyes meeting Mrs Weasley's. She looked at you with motherly concern, and for some reason you couldn't look at her loving face and lie to her.

"I don't think he feels the same way that I do about him," you stated, turning your attention back to cooking.

Mrs Weasley huffed. "Well, my son has never been the sharpest boy, as you know," she said. You giggled, though you were still sad, and she smiled at you. "Maybe things will change honey," she told you, "love happens unexpectedly."

Before you got the chance to reply, thundering footsteps sounded from the staircase. You whipped your head around to see the twins barreling down the steps, practically tripping over one another in their hurry.

"Where's the fire?" you asked.

Fred ran across the room, picked you up around the waist, and spun you around.

"Percy's home! His work is called off for the week because of his birthday!" He shouted excitedly. You laughed, swatting at him with your spatula until he set you down.

"I didn't know you two were so excited to see your brother," Mrs Weasley noted, fixing her sons with a stern and skeptical stare.

"Oh mother, we're not," George replied.

"We're excited to mess with him for a week straight," Fred added with the largest grin you had ever seen.

As soon as the words left his mouth, more of a promise than anything else, the front door swung open and in entered the most prestigious Weasley of the house. With his rigorous work schedule, you hadn't seen Percy once this entire summer. But now, here he was, standing in the kitchen in a three piece suit with a pocket watch and shiny black shoes at 8 in the morning.

"Hi Percy," you said, trying your best not to laugh at the long tail of his suit coat.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Fred asked, his face shocked as he took in Percy's outfit. George's face was bright red as he held in his laughter.

"This," Percy said, unironically spinning so everyone could see his outfit, "Is traditional Muggle-wear. As I climb higher in the Ministry's success ladder, sometimes I have to encounter Muggles, so I must dress accordingly. This particular suit was a gift from one of my many clients."

He turned to you and you tried to wipe the teasing smile off your face. "Y/n, this is what muggles wear to their jobs, isn't it?" he asked.

You schooled your features into seriousness. "Oh yes," you responded, "definitely."

At that moment, Ron, Harry, Ginny, and Hermione stumbled down the stairs, looking like they had just woken up. Everyone stayed up late last night playing nighttime Quidditch (an especially difficult yet fun game considering the fact that you can't see the bludgers because of how dark it is).  

Ron froze when he saw Percy standing in the kitchen, his shoes so shiny they were reflecting the kitchen lights into the eyes of anyone who looked at them.

"Bloody hell, what happened to your clothes?" he asked incredulously. Him and Harry shared a look and then burst out in laughter.

Percy's ears turned pink at the tips as he huffed before sitting down in one of the chairs around the kitchen table. You and Mrs Weasley decorated the center of the table with plate after plate of delicious warm breakfast food. Proud of your hard work, you took off your apron and sat down next to Percy.

Ron sat down next to you as the others joined the table.

"For your information, Ronald, your girlfriend says my clothes are the proper Muggle attire," Percy said, glaring at his little brother.

"She's not my girlfriend," Ron responded, his ears turning pink now too.

"How's Penelope?" you asked Percy before you could let yourself get too caught up in the fact that you really wanted Ron's response to that question to be different.

Percy smiled at the mention of his longtime girlfriend, who had been a Prefect at Hogwarts with him. "Oh she's fantastic," Percy said before launching into a long-winded story about Penelope's latest project she was working on at the ministry. Words such as "top-secret" "highly important" and "imperative job" floated past your ears.

Ron leaned closer to you and mumbled in your ear, "I wish you hadn't asked him that."

"Me too," you whispered back, giggling behind your hand.

As breakfast began, you were proud of all the compliments you received on your cooking. Waking up early to cook with Mrs Weasley was a part of the day you always looked forward too, and the compliments only made you feel better about it.

After everyone finished eating, and cleared their plates, chairs scraped against the wood of the floor as everyone prepared to go about their daily business.

"Wait!" Percy shouting, using his wand to spell everyone back into their chairs. "Nobody leave this table until we discuss my birthday party details."

Theses past few weeks your brain had been so focused on Ron that you had forgotten Percy's huge birthday party that was taking place at the Burrow next week. From the guilty expressions of everyone else around the table, you could tell they had forgotten too.

"I want this party to be perfect," Percy said. "My bosses are coming to this party, as is Penelope, so I will not tolerate any shenanigans." He fixed his eyes on the twins and gave them an icy glare. "I mean it, no funny business."

Fred and George saluted him, shouting "yes mother" before jumping out of their chairs and running to their room. A memory flashed in your head from the beginning of summer. The twins were showing you fireworks in their room, "special fireworks for Percy's party" they had said. There was definitely going to be some shenanigans taking place.

Increasingly interested about what kind of pranks the twins were going to pull on Percy, you excused yourself from the table and followed them upstairs. You were about to knock on their door before it swung open and Fred dragged you inside.

"Can I have a sneak peek?" you asked them giddily as soon as the door closed behind you. Apart from the twins, you were the most excited about their funny products and pranks they always pulled. You knew Percy's party wasn't going to disappoint.

Instead of reciprocating your excitement, the twins traded nervous glances.

"What is it?" you asked them. You felt a strange sense of deja vu to the time when they picked you up to drive you to the Burrow in the beginning of summer. They were hiding something from you then, and they were certainly hiding something from you now.

"So we take it you're not going to tell Ron about your unconditional love for him anytime soon?" George asked, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish expression on his face. Fred was ringing his hands nervously next to him.

"That is correct," you responded flatly.

"Well, you see," Fred began, "When we ordered these special fireworks for Percy's party, we assumed you two would be dating and in love by the time of the party. And the thing is, there's no refunds on the fireworks, so we kind of have to use them." He spoke so fast that the words were tumbling together in your head.

"Okay...what does that mean? What do the fireworks have to do with Ron and I?" you asked, getting increasingly more upset by the moment.

The twins must have sensed your anger because they traded a quick glance before assuring you "Okay, never mind, love, everything is under control," Fred promised.

"Yep, totally under control," George said, steering you out of the room. You didn't even register what they were saying before you were standing in the hallway.

"What aren't you telling me?" you asked, eyes narrowing into a glare at the twins.

They both gulped nervously.

"Don't worry about it, y/n, everything is fine. Percy's party will be full of lots of laughs and fun," Fred promised, before promptly shutting the door in your face. Once again, you got deja vu.

And with that, you left the twins room, feeling even more confused about your relationship with Ron than ever.

                                                                                              ...

The next week was frantic, hectic, and insane as you all scrambled to prepare for Percy's big party. Decorations needed to be made, food needed to be cooked, and you totally forgot to get Percy a present. After a day trip to Diagon Alley, you had returned home with a bag of more owl food for Dite and a magical watch for Percy. Despite all of the high energy and excitement in the house, the twins words still weighed on you. The party was quickly approaching and you had yet to "confess your unconditional love" to Ron. What would happen if you didn't? You didn't even want to think about it.

It was the night before Percy's party, and you were in the garden helping Bill string up lights around the outdoor tables. You and Bill had been spending a lot more time together over the past week. Bill had always opted to help you in whatever decoration or cooking you were tasked with for that day. Although you could tell that made Ron grumpy, you tried to ignore it. Your feelings were confusing enough without trying to unpack Ron's jealousy at the moment.

You wobbled on the chair you were standing on as you tied the last string of lights around the nearest tree branch. After you finished, you put your hands on your hips and took a look around the garden. It looked amazing. 10 tables were arranged in a neat circle around the yard, completed with white table clothes and centerpieces with Percy's photo in the middle. You bought a couple packs of muggle Christmas lights to hang from the trees to illuminate the area, which Mr Weasley was very happy about. He spent about 2 hours asking you about the mechanics behind muggle electricity.

There was a long table for the buffet to be served at and a short circular table for Percy's gifts to be placed on. At the corner of the garden the twins had set up a firing booth for the fireworks. To be totally honest, the decoration fit more for a wedding than a birthday party, but Percy wanted things to be perfect, so the family followed his decoration ideas to a tee.

While being distracted by observing your handiwork, you weren't really paying attention to what was happening behind you. This was unfortunate because Harry and Ron were practicing disarming charms right behind you.

"Y/n, look out!" you heard someone yell behind you. Whipping around towards the voice, you saw a red ball of sparks sailing towards you from the end of Harry's wand. How did Harry always manage to accidentally attack you?

You dove from your chair to avoid the sparks, and were fully expecting to land roughy in the grass. Instead, you felt strong arms wrap around you to prevent you from hitting the ground. You looked up to see none other than Bill Weasley as your knight in shining armour.

"Thanks," you said quietly.

Bill didn't let his arms drop from around you.

"Anytime," he replied with a grin. His arms were still wrapped around you when you heard angry footsteps marching towards you.

"Get your hands off her, you prat," you heard Ron's voice say. Bill's arms dropped from your sides as you both turned to face Ron.

"Calm down, Ron," Bill told him.

Ron glared at his older brother. "Stop flirting with her, she's my best friend," he said sternly.

Your heart hurt. You wanted Ron to be jealous because he liked you, not because you were just his best friend.

"He can flirt with me if he wants." The words were out of your mouth before you could even filter it.

Ron's gaze snapped towards you and you almost had to take a step back from their intensity.  "Do you want him to?" He asked you, his voice strained.

The answer was easy. No. You knew you didn't want Bill to flirt with you. He had been your first crush and he was beyond attractive, but he wasn't Ron. The only person you wanted was Ron. You said those words not because you wanted Bill, but because you wanted Ron to stop acting possessive if he didn't even love you back. It just hurt too much for him to act like your boyfriend if he was never going to be.

"Ron, I'm sorry," Bill said, mediating the situation. "I know you and y/n have something together, I shouldn't have overstepped. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

It won't happen again.

That's exactly what Ron told you after the night he had taken the love potion. The night that made you believe that maybe he did have the same feelings for you. But in the end, he regretted the moment that you had loved so much.

It won't happen again.

Tears crowded your vision and you tried your best to blink them away, you were not about to cry in front of him and show him just how much power he had over you and your emotions. But soon there were hot tears slipping down your cheeks and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Bill and Harry exchanged nervous glances as you and Ron just continued staring at each other. They both took a couple steps away to give you and Ron the space you needed to hash things out. Ron was breathing heavily, obviously still angry from the flirting between you and his brother. But you were angry too, angry that he didn't want you the way you wanted him.

"I don't want you flirting with my brother," he said, his intense gaze never leaving yours.

You rolled your eyes, "It's not your choice if I do."

Ron bristled at your comment, taking another step closer to you. You could practically feel the heat and anger radiating off of him.

"You know, you've really been pissing me off these past couple weeks," he said. "You prance around making breakfast in the mornings, but in reality all you're doing is trying to get with Bill. It's so fucking frustrating! I'm your best friend, we were supposed to be together every day you visited, but instead you found someone better to spend your time with."

God, he was thick.  You told him that.

"I'm not trying to get with Bill, you dumb git!" you shouted back. Why couldn't he see that he was the only one you wanted. Bill hadn't even crossed your mind this summer, your heart was too full of Ron as it is.

At this point, you were practically nose to nose with him, your shouting words bringing you closer and closer towards each other.

Ron mimicked you from earlier and rolled his eyes. It was beyond infuriating. You set your jaw and clenched your hands as you tried not to yell more.

"Oh of course you're not. You just spend every waking moment with him and barely hang out with me, but sure you're not trying to get with him," he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Now it was your turn to get angry. "Oh really? I'm the one to blame right now?" You shouted at him. The words were hot rolling off your tongue.

"You're the one who treats me so poorly! You cuddle me in your bed, and then run out the next morning. You almost kiss me and then act like it didn't happen! You told me what happened in your room was a mistake," the last sentence flew out of you, the anger just boiling and boiling up towards your breaking point.

Even though you knew it wouldn't do you any good, you kept talking. "Don't you dare try to put blame on me for this summer going to shit, because it's not my fault Ron! It's not my fault you're jealous of Bill, it's not my fault things aren't the same between us, and it's not my fault you don't love me back!"

Both of you froze as the words left your mouth. You wanted Ron to say something, needed him to say something, but he remained silent. You couldn't read his emotions and it was going to drive you crazy.

Ron stared at you, his eyes full to the brim with turbulent emotions that you couldn't read. All he did was shake his head.

"I don't want you with Bill," he finally said.

"You're not my boyfriend! You've made that perfectly clear!" You shouted back, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence.

Ron raked his hands through his messy hair, obvious frustrated. "If I were your boyfriend..." he started. "If I were your boyfriend... I wouldn't...." He glanced up at you and the words stopped forming at his mouth. You had tear streaks on your face and your eyes were still watery. The look of you must have shaken him too much for him to continue speaking.

"But you're fucking not! So stop acting like you are, because it hurts too much," you responded, all the fire gone from your argument. Instead it was replaced with a sad silence, the only sounds were the rustle in the tree branches and your occasional sniffle.

"I never meant to hurt you," he said, taking a step closer with his hand out to you, almost like he was thinking of reaching out to you.

You couldn't do this. You couldn't stay there, letting him reach out to touch you. It was clear he didn't love you back, so you couldn't stay and let him hold you when there wasn't any hope. You backed away from him, shaking your head as tears continued to fall down your cheeks.

"You did. You do," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. If not for Ron's body suddenly becoming stiff, you would have thought he didn't hear you.

"Y/n, please..." he began, but no words followed. You shook your head again before turning and running back inside to the Burrow.

Nobody moved when you entered the dimly lit house. The family was sitting around the crackling fire, chatting with one another. But all talk stopped as soon as you entered.

Hastily wiping the tears from your eyes, you tried to make yourself presentable.

"Sweetheart," Mrs Weasley said with that loving tone of hers only a mother could have, "are you alright?"

You nodded, despite the fact that you knew none of them believed you.

"I'm just a little tired is all, I think I'm going to head up to bed," you said, before climbing the stairs as quickly as possible.

As soon as you entered your makeshift room in the attic, you slammed the door shut behind you. You couldn't even make it to the bed before you crumbled onto the ground, your back pressed against the door. Drawing your knees up to your chest, you buried your head in your arms and let yourself cry.

Sobs racked your body as you replayed the conversation from outside. Ron didn't want you. He didn't love you back. He was angry and jealous, but he still didn't love you back.

You stayed there, pressed against the door for the next hour. Everyone headed up to bed at some point and Hermione and Ginny came to check on you. They explained how Harry told them about what happened outside but you just asked them to let you be alone for now. Being the good friends they are, they listened to your request, but not before Ginny promised to "beat Ron to a pulp for hurting you" the next morning.

Even Harry came to check on you. He was visibly uncomfortable, crying girls were never his strong suit (as you could remember from his first kiss with Cho Chang) but he still managed to give you a comforting hug. You thanked him and he left almost as quickly as he arrived. You got ready for bed in a trance, your eyes now swollen from the crying. Slipping on your pajamas, you barely noticed you were throwing on the vintage band shirt Ron had gotten you for a gift earlier. This only made you cry more. Dite landed on your shoulder as you lay in your bed. She affectionately pecked your ear and nuzzled her feathers against your cheek.  

"I'm okay, Dite," you told her, petting her soft feathers. Your fingers traced the black heart on her head. Ron bought you an owl named Aphrodite, with a heart literally on her feathers, but he couldn't even tell you he loved you. These mixed signals made your head and heart both throb.

You fell asleep fitfully, waking up every couple of hours and tossing and turning in bed. Tomorrow was Percy's party, and you had to be okay for it. You couldn't let Ron know just how much he had hurt you. You would be fine tomorrow. You would be fine, just like you had been these past few weeks. You would be fine.

[mayraki]

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“everything happens for a reason”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SERIES MASTERLIST

MY MASTERLIST

who is max belinsky?

summary: Max Belinsky and JJ Maybank are the two troublemakers of Outer Banks. Going to parties, getting into trouble, having an attitude and being the two people you don’t mess with are the perfect ways to describe them. What would happen when the two people who seem to have trouble follow them around meet? One thing is for sure, they didn’t expect this outcome.

The last month that Max spent with her mom passed more faster than she ever thought it would. Her relationship with her mother grew up even stronger than before and those little conversations they had every night she’d cherish them forever. But it was time to go back, it’s not like she was sad to come back to her house and see her friends and family, the opposite, seeing those people was the only thing that was keeping her from the thought of her birthday coming up.

All those ugly memories of the car accident that that day would bring up to her were almost impossible to avoid. She would try everything to let it go, enjoy her day with her friends and family, but somehow her chest would close up and that feeling of her throat closing wouldn’t miss a single minute.

At one point, she learnt how to ignore it, but this time she felt like she didn’t have the energy. Having a chill day was all she wanted.

It was the day before her birthday when she was at the ferry with her mom next to her, they were getting closer and closer to the main dock of the island. She could even see the little people that were on there becoming even more bigger as they got close, and that’s when she noticed all of her friends waiting for her and a little smile escaped her lips.

“Welcome baaaack!” Sam yelled while running towards Max once Gianna and her were out of the ferry. The tight hug of Sam became even bigger when the rest of the Pogues were now in the hug.

“We missed you!” Kie yelled once the hug was over. Max couldn’t erase the smile she had on her face once she saw her friends. It was only a month that she spent away, but it felt way more than that.

“Did Max behave?” Ben asked with a smile once the family hugged Gianna.

“She didn’t even get into trouble once.” Gianna said looking at Max.

But she let out a tiny sigh and then turned to her friends. “It was a nightmare.” They all let out laughs. But when JJ and Max locked eyes with each other, they all went in silence.

“Hi.” He said with his hands in his pockets.

“Hi.” Max let out a tiny smile.

“Uhm, guys, I think I forgot to.... organise the rocks at The Chateau.” John B said. JJ and Max both turned to him. “Would you guys, Pope Sarah Kie and Sam...” He said the names quickly “help me? Please?” They all nodded expect for Pope, who turned to John B confused.

“Rocks?” He asked but John B slapped him in the arm and then did a little nod with his head towards Max and JJ. “Oooooh. Right, rocks!”

“Very discreet, guys.” Max did a thumbs up. “Well done.”

Max turned to her family to see that, unfortunately, they all saw and heard that.

“We’ll wait for you in the car.” Fred said with a smile, trying to prevent Ben from intervening and ruining the little reunion Max and JJ wanted to have. They all left the two teenagers on the dock but still gave little excited looks at them before they were out of their sights.

Max let out a tiny laugh while shaking her head. “They’d die as undercover agents.” She said and JJ nodded.

“Yeah, not even survive the training.” They both let out tiny laughs before staring a each other for a couple of minutes, enjoying what they missed over this month. “So, how’ve you been?”

“Good. I missed you guys a lot, to be honest. Pope freaking out or Kie’s and Sam’s wild dancing at the parties.” She let out tiny laugh before JJ spoke.

“We missed you too, Max.” They both stayed locking eyes trying to think of their next words. All the communication they had over the past month was only texts, and most of them where on the group chat they had with the rest of the Pogues. Neither of them knew what to do after their last encounter, or what to say if they wanted to talk about it. So they did what they do best, forget about it. And “forget about it” in their book meant: not actually forgetting about it, because they could never do that, but instead pretend like it never happen even though it was really hard for them since it was the only thing they could think about when they saw each other and overthink what the other is thinking until it’s 4 am.... simple.

“This is not awkward at all!” Max said sarcastically trying to lose the tension that was on the air.

“No!” JJ quickly shook his head. “Not at all!” JJ bit the corner of his lower lip trying to say those words that he practiced since she left for the main land. But somehow, he felt like his tongue was wrapping itself and his mind forgot all the words in the English language.

“Well... my family is waiting for me. So I guess I’ll g-”

“Wait!” JJ said louder than he intended to.

“You good bro?” Max let out a tiny laugh at JJ’s sudden behaviour.

“Yeah- I just... I heard it’s your birthday tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Max did a slow nod before looking down.

“Are you planing on doing something?”

You idiot! Tell her that you want to take her out! JJ’s mind was screaming at him, but he tried to ignore it.

“Not really, I don’t like celebrating my birthday.” Max looked up and that’s when JJ remembered her story... the accident.

“Oh. Ok.” JJ slowly nodded. DUMBASS! Your plan is NOT a celebration! It’s a date! Invite her and see what she says!

“Yeah, it’s not my favorite day, if I’m being honest.”

SAY TO HER THAT YOU’D LIKE TO MAKE IT BETTER! NOW!

“Because I was thinking-” JJ was saying but Max let out a tiny laugh.

“You think?” She asked jokingly and then tried to control her laughter but failed enormously.

She’s so fucking cute- BRAIN! SHUT THE FUCK UP!

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

“Oh, c’mon! I was gone a month! I have to keep my throne of bullying you.” Max playfully punched JJ’s arm before saying “you were saying...”

“Right.” JJ nodded. “I was thinking, that maybe if you wanted... you could, you know-” c’mon, say it! say it! “If you don’t want it’s totally fine, I’ll get it-” JJ was so nervous he started to rock his body back and forward with his hands on his pockets.

“Oh my god.” Max said with a smile. “Is JJ Maybank asking me on a date?” She asked with a girly voice. “Oh my god! Giiiiirls, I’m going to faint!” She waved her hand dramatically in front of her face jokingly, while JJ was staring at her with a smile admiring how cute she was.

Stop being a simp and end the fucking question, you dumbass. “Yes, I am asking you on a date. Tonight. At what hour do I pick you up?” The sudden wave of confidence came back to JJ’s body, that’s all he needed.

“I never said yes, Maybank.” Max said crossing her arms around her chest.

“Well hurry up then, because the time that I want to pick you up is close.” He looked at his wrist like he had a watch.

“Oh, so you have a plan for us already?” Max asked with a smirk.

“I may or may not have been preparing this since Sam told me your birthday was coming.”

Max’s heart skipped a beat and then melted at the fact that JJ had been planing something for them, no one has ever done that for her. But she controlled everything she felt inside perfectly, to keep the smirk on her face.

“Really?”

“Are you impressed, Belinsky?”

Max took some steps to end up real close to his face and then said almost in a whisper. “It takes a lot more than that to surprise me, Maybank.” JJ let out a tiny smirk while looking at her lips, before she started to walk to the road at the end of the dock.

“I’ll pick you up at eleven, then. I want to start your birthday with you.” He said behind her. A smile escaped her lips, but then it turned to a smirk once she turned around to face him.

“Don’t be late, Maybank.”

“So, wait wait wait wait wait WHAT?!” Sam yelled on the phone and Max moved it away from her ear. “He finally asked you out!? KIE! JJ FINALLY ASKED MAX OUT! (...) YEAH! THE FUCKER FINALLY DID IT.”

“Is Kie there too? You two DO ANYTHING without the other?” Max let out tiny laugh.

“What? We love doing things together.” Kie talked for the first time on the conversation.

“I would be gagging right now if I wouldn’t find you two extremely cute and love you with all my heart.”

“No, you don’t love us with your whole heart. Don’t lie, you bitch.” Sam complained.

“What?! What do you mean?!” Max asked confused leaving the phone to her side on the bed after hitting the speaker button.

“JJ stole a part of it, can you believe that?! That fucker. I’m going to kick his ass for stealing my best friend’s heart without talking to me first.” Sam said and Max did a fake gag.

“Yeah, there it is.” She said. “And with that thought, Kie?! I’m going to kick your ass then!”

“Uh, uh. Don’t pull me into this weird dynamic you two are having.”

“ANYWAY.” Max said after letting out a laugh. “JJ didn’t steal anything, nobody can steal this heart of mine. It’s sealed with million locks. And my surf board has the key.”

“Then call JJ a magician, because he unlocked those locks without the key.”

Max did a fake gag, again. “If you keep going, I may vomit.”

“Max and JJ, sitting on a tree..” Sam and Kie started singing, Max slapped herself in the face but a little smile escaped her lips, she couldn’t help it.

“I’m going to hang up!” Max yelled but her two friends were still singing. “You guys suck!”

She heard laughs on the other side of the phone and then Kie spoke. “C’mon, Max! It’s loooooove, nobody should be embarrass of that.”

“I’m not embarrassed! It’s just- fuck! Nothing. Can we just drop it and talk about something else, please?”

After talking about some news that happened while Max was gone, the girls ended the call and Max closed her eyes enjoying th sound of silence that now surrounded her room. But then her phone vibrated, letting her know a message was recieved. She turned her head and once she saw the name “Punching bag” on her screen, she picked it up quickly than intended.

“Change of plans, I’ll meet you next to the Chateau at eleven. Don’t be late, dumbass.”

She read the message and that’s when she realised it was over for her, since a smile escaped her lips and her heart skipped a beat. Yeah... it was game over.

As the time was getting closer, JJ said goodbye to John B and Sarah since both decided to leave him and Max alone, leaving to have a little “date” of their own at the beach.

JJ watched how the lights were perfectly illuminating the little picnic he made for her. He made all of this for her. He never thought that he would be into a girl so much that even the little details mattered. His heart was beating a little bit faster as the seconds were passing and he couldn’t wait any longer for her to walk towards him and see what he made. He wanted to see that smile that he loved so much, and then probably her making fun of him for being her little bitch... with her joking tone.

He looked at his phone to see the hour and the numbers ‘10:57’ where showing on the screen. He bit the corner of his lower lip nervously, but when he heard someone walking towards him he quickly turned around expecting to see Max, but instead there was a blonde girl standing in front of him.

“Hi JJ.” She said with a smile. It was weird, because she knew his name but he didn’t recall seeing this girl in his life.

“Hi?” He said confused. “Can I help you?”

“You don’t remember me?” The girl said pretending to be offended but then a little smile escaped her lips. “Maybe I can bring back your memory.” The girl took some steps closer to him but he stepped back. “What? I’m Samantha! We met last summer.” The girl said with a flirty tone. “You told me that when I came back I should look for you in this place.”

“Did I?” JJ didn’t want to sound rude, but he didn’t remember that girl at all. Maybe he was extremely gone at a Kegger.

Samantha nodded. “Yes, you did. Maybe we can go inside and relive that lovely night.” She contienued to step closer to him but this time he didn’t step away, he was too focus trying to remember her and that night. But he couldn’t. On the moment he noticed that Samantha was really close to him, ready to unite her lips with his, but he quickly pushed her away. “C’mon! We had such a good time last time. I have to be honest, I couldn’t forget about you. You were the best.”

“Sorry, but I can’t. I like someone else.” JJ took some steps away from her but she grabbed his arm.

“I don’t see her.” Samantha said with an innocent smile.

“She’s going to come any second now, so I’ll suggest you to leave, Samantha.”

“C’mon, we had such a great time. I just want to do it again.” The girl said and then quicker than the wind united her lips with hers, but he pushed her away.

“What the fuck?!” JJ asked.

“C’mon-” she was saying but was cut off by some car driving away, so fast that it made a really loud noise.

JJ’s heart dropped to his ass when he recognised that old white Jeep. She saw. Max saw him kissing Samantha.

“Wait, Max! Wait!” JJ yelled once he dropped his motorcycle after getting out of it and seeing Max getting out of her Jeep and quickly walking to the front door of her house.

“I’m not mad JJ.” Max said with her back facing him without stopping.

“Then why are you running away from me?” JJ asked more loudly after noticing that Max wasn’t stopping.

“I don’t know! Just leave me alone.” Max said once she was trying to grab the keys of the door on the back pocket, but JJ grabbed her arm to stop her from searching.

“Just wait! What you saw it was not what I looked like.” JJ said with heavy breathing.

“Then what was it?” For the first time, Max turned to face JJ to see those eyes that were clearly hurt, but not as much as hers. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? Because I know what I saw!”

“Fuck! I don’t have an explanation for it! It just happened!” JJ said frustrated and with his heart going full speed.

“Yeah.” Max nodded. “I was there, JJ.”

“She just came and started to talk with me about a night and next thing I know she’s all over me. It all happened so fast, and the kiss lasted not even a second and that’s what you saw! Please, you have to believe me.”

Max looked down once she felt some tears fighting to come out. “JJ, you say words that you don’t mean and then you ask me to meet you but you’re with another girl!” She looked up at him and once he saw her eyes getting wet, his heart skipped a beat.

“I know! I know!”

“Then what am I supposed to think?!” Max said more loudly than she wanted to.

“I don’t know! I don’t know what is happening here with this... with us!” JJ let out big sigh trying to control his heavy breathing but it wasn’t working.

Max swallowed with the intention to control the tears that were trying to come out, but it was too late, a single tear came down her cheek but she quickly wiped it away. “This is way too complicated. And... I’m tired.”

“I’m sorry.” That’s JJ felt he could say. He felt like everything was getting lose, and the fact that he didn’t know that to do made him feel worthless.

“I’m not mad at you.” Max shook her head. “What happened, happened. It’s done.” She said more softly this time.

“Then what is it? What are you tired of?” JJ said trying to get the answers to fix this, but the way Max looked at him made his heart and chest close up even more.

“Getting hurt.” Max said and then looked down biting the corner of her lower lip. “And I’m so fucking scared. Terrified.” She said almost in a whisper.

“I am too.” JJ said softly taking a step closer to her. “But I can’t take control of what happens. This is my life, bad things happen all the fucking time.”

Max quickly looked at him and that made him stopped getting closer. “Maybe this is happening for a reason.”

“What is?” JJ asked confused.

“This! We’re both terrified, and the this happens! Your dad, my family, that girl- maybe, maybe something is trying to tell us something.”

JJ swallowed. “What are you saying?”

Max took a deep breath when tears started to come out of her eyes and going down her cheeks, and then said even if those words were going to completely destroy them both. “Maybe we’re not meant for each other.”

JJ felt his chest get even tighter and his heart beating faster. “And... do you believe that?”

“I don’t know.” Max said in a whisper shaking her head.

“Do you want to?” JJ asked quickly even if he knew the answer was going to kill him on the inside.

“All I know-” Max said looking up at him. “is that I’m done. I’m done getting hurt. And I’m sure you are too.” She said before grabbing the keys from her back pocket. “I’m not mad JJ, I just- I can’t anymore. I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked and before breaking down in front of JJ, she opened her door to quickly walked inside her house, leaving JJ with his heart almost leaving his chest and tears going down his cheeks, hurting like he never hurt before.

Max let her back rest on the closed door and that’s when she noticed the time on the living room clock.

“Happy fucking birthday to me.” She said almost in a whisper before sitting down and letting the tears go down fast from her cheeks.

one chapter left my friends!

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[skullrock]

the young lovers - Steve x Reader

pairing: Steve x Reader

request: I was thinking of Steve and Reader having immediately been attracted to one another and had a first sexual encounter kind of spur of the moment. and while they really like each other and want to go on dates, they also have a very hard time resisting not just bonking each others brains out because it is very fun. I'm wondering if you could write something that plays with that tension, really affectionate and teasing, also probably smutty cus we out here. anyways, bye, i love you!

summary: Being with Steve brought a lot more sex than you ever thought possible. 

word count: 2.1k

warnings: smut n swearin’

a/n: I regret nothing

=====

If you had a bucket list of all the weirdest and inappropriate places to have sex, you’d have crossed them all off within a few months of seeing Steve.

Diner bathroom? Check.

Movie theater bathroom? Check.

Pretty much any bathroom in the Hawkins area? Check.

Tourist attractions? Yep.

Shower? Of course.

You tried not to – you really did. You tried to just talk for one date, just one date. But Steve looked so god damn cute all the time, doing anything, eating anything, wearing anything.

It would start pretty innocently. A cute dinner date. He is telling you about his life, something silly he did when he was 5, and he giggles. That’s all it took for you to go to the bathroom, him meeting you there a few minutes later, going completely crazy while leaning against the sink.

You weren’t reckless, of course. Well, maybe a bit. But not too reckless.

“We can’t keep doing this,” you moan as he kisses harshly and quickly down your neck, tugging at your shirt for it to come off.

“I don’t see why not,” he mumbles into your skin, gripping onto you, soaking every part of you in. He’d throw your leg around his waist and run his hand down to your underwear.

“You’re right,” you laugh, and he laughs back, and you both pause to stare into each other’s eyes before he continues, saying “I love you” without ever having it leave your lips.

--

You’re at the movies, and the two main characters would kiss, and you look over at Steve while he looks at you, and that’s all it takes for you both to speed home and jump each other’s bones, giggling the entire time. You wonder in the morning how the movie ended, and Steve offers to take you to see it again, but you both knew you’d never ever finish it.

--

You visit Steve while he is working a closing shift, offering to help him put away the new inventory while Robin spends the night with her girlfriend.

He bends over to put a few movies on the bottom row and you walk by, smacking his ass, earning a surprised yelp from him. You keep walking to another aisle, putting away some comedy movies. He comes up behind you suddenly, pressing against you while reaching up to put a movie away – it definitely didn’t belong there, but it didn’t matter, as long as you felt him behind you. He walks away as quickly as he came, winking at you while you look after him, brows furrowed and heart racing.

A few minutes later, you emerge before him with a VHS in your hand. You throw it carelessly behind you, looking back and saying, “Oops!” before bending down and picking it up, your shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of skin. Steve swallows hard, ears turning red, and you straighten.

“You’re killin’ me,” he says, voice hoarse, feeling the strain in his pants.

“You’re saying that like there’s nothing you can do about it,” you reply innocently, looking around. “I don’t see anyone here.”

“Are you crazy? I’m on the clock.”

“That’s too bad,” you tsk, walking past him to grab a few more movies, but he grabs you and pushes you against one of the display shelves.

“Jesus!” you laugh, “You’re going to make this topple over, dude –“

He pulls away, looking stressed, as if there isn’t a back room with a table. You grab his hand and pull him into the break room, clothes off in seconds, and you’re back at square one with him – fucking instead of doing anything productive.

“If I’m on the clock while we fuck, is it technically prostitution?” he asks when you finish, and although it makes your eyes roll painfully, it also reminds you of how much you like him.

--

Back at the movies with Dustin and Robin, having to leave midway because you’re “not feeling well” when in reality, you’re feeling great, just very horny. Steve’s hand resting on your knee, the warmth of it radiating up, thinking about what he must be thinking about while his fingers rub circles onto the fabric of your pants – it was a bit much. One shared look is all it takes for Steve to lean over to your friends, explaining that you don’t feel well, despite no words being shared between you. Robin and Dustin would raise their brows and share a look.

“Be right back,” you say, strained, and Steve would help you out of the theater with his hand on your lower back, both of you giggling and getting a few harsh shhh!’s thrown your way.

“Young love,” Robin says, shrugging to Dustin. “You’ll get it one day.”

--

Steve takes you to the quarry with a picnic. It’s sunset, and he knows just the place. He wants this date to be good – he’s going to tell you he loves you right when the sun hits the horizon, tinting everything a spectacular golden color. He packs some healthy stuff, a bottle of cheap champagne from the supermarket. You both dress up for the occasion and you are giddy the entire way there. Finally, a night of just you two, talking – no banging allowed, as you both agreed upon.

You talk and laugh, teasing each other, just like always. You’d been together for a while now, and each day, you get happier. You don’t know if you believe the concept of soulmates, but Steve must be yours. It’s like your souls have always known each other. His hands always fit perfect in yours, lips always fit nicely against yours – other things fit nicely, too.

The sun hits the horizon and the quarry lights up with a golden hue. The sky is light blue, and orange, and lilac. There’s a slight breeze, and you can hear the trees rustling behind you. Steve’s hair blows lightly around his face, pale skin shimmering with the light of the red sun, and your heart skips a beat.

“Hey,” you both say simultaneously.

“Me first,” Steve says, sitting his plastic cup of champagne down. He clears his throat and throws his hands out, flexing them, palms sweating. “I have something to tell you.”

You nod eagerly.

“I – I have known you for a while. And ever since our first encounter at that house party, I have never felt more complete. I feel like… I feel like you’re a part of me, you know? I know that sounds dumb or whatever –“

“Steve.”

“Right, sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “Look, Y/N, I don’t know what it is, but every time we are together, it feels right. It feels like everything makes sense, like everything… was supposed to happen to bring me here. To you.” His eyes light up and he smiles softly, grabbing your hand. “I used to think I was in love before, but I don’t think – I do think you’re it. I think you’re – I think I love you. No! I do love you.”

Your mouth falls. You knew that. You knew he loved you, and you knew you loved him, but hearing it while his skin shines in the sun – it was the best thing ever.

And, also, sexy as hell.

You pounce onto him, cup of champagne spilling onto the blanket, but you don’t care. Neither does he – he’s pretty pleased with this reaction.

“I love you,” you confess between kisses.

“I love you,” he says back.

Your lips move slower than usual, more meaningful than your usual kisses. He flips you over gently, propping himself up on his elbow. It’s uncomfortable, but most of your spontaneous encounters were.

“Thought we said we weren’t going to do this tonight,” you say against his lips, and he giggles.

“We said that about fucking, not making love,” he quips, kissing slowly down your neck.

“Shut up,” you say, hitting his arm, moaning when he sucks on the perfect spot. His free hand comes up to cup a breast, rubbing his thumb over the fabric, making you squirm. Every touch his gentle, igniting a fire within you that you hadn’t yet felt before.

He pulls back suddenly. “We’re about to fuck at the quarry.”

You pause. “Yeah?”

“Kinda weird.”

“We have fucked in worse places,” you remind. Smirking, you add, “Like that time we fucked in the reference section of the libra—”

With a groan, he attacks your lips again, still meaningful but faster. He grinds his hips into yours, making both of your hips buck. His hand slips under your shirt to palm at your breasts, and yours sneak up his shirt, resting on his broad chest. After a moment, you slide your hand down to his waistband, tucking your fingers into it. He lifts his hips for you to unzip him, pulling his pants and boxers down just enough to expose him. He groans into your neck as you start to pump.

“I love you,” you whisper again, smiling happily.

“I love you,” he replies. “I promise I’ll – fuck – this’ll be better once we get to a bed –”

“I want you now,” you say, laughing softly. “Like usual.”

Steve opens his mouth to respond, but groans again at your hand, so soft against him. He thrusts himself into it and sits up quickly, hands flying to the hem of your dress. He lifts the edge up and pushes it around your hips. He slowly takes your underwear off, groaning again just at the sight of you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he sighs. “I love you.”

“That what you tell all the girls?”

“Only the one that matters.” He props himself up again – damn, his arm is tired – and he runs a finger loosely through your folds. “This wet already?”

“You say that every time – God, Steve,” you moan as he gently pushes a finger into you.

“You say that to all the boys?” he smirks.

“I don’t call all the boys Steve, Steve – fuck!”

He adds another finger and kisses your neck again while you continue to pump. He pulls back to stare into your eyes, warm and inviting, making his heart flutter.

“Steve,” you groan. “Condom?”

“Oh – you want to have sex or something?”

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever loved,” you sigh as he reaches into his back pocket, fumbling to get the condom out of his wallet.

“My pleasure,” he says, tugging it on. He flexes his arm one more time before propping himself on it again. He laces his fingers through yours.

“I love you,” he says, and kisses your forehead. He slowly slips in and you grip his shoulders.

“I love you, Steve.”

He starts his rhythm, purposeful and meaningful, hips colliding with yours. You don’t think you both had ever had sex this purposeful before, but you like it, and the love within each push makes your stomach flip. You unlace your fingers and pull him down to your lips, muttering confessions against each other again as he continues his pace, slow and gentle and passionate. His hand runs down your body and finds your clit, rubbing it in slow circles. It’s dizzying, and you’re happy he listened to you when you taught him where the fuck it was; he’s pretty good at giving it attention.

You reach your climaxes together, muttering how much you love each other as you come undone, his forehead resting against yours. At this point, the sun is almost completely down, most of the light coming from the rising moon. He rolls off of you, pulling you to him.

“Can’t wait for Hopper to arrest us for all the public sex we’ve been having,” you joke.

Steve groans. “I don’t want to think about Hopper right now.” He pauses before adding, “Prison sex sounds kind of hot, though.”

“I love you,” you sigh happily. “I love you, Steve Harrington.”

“I love you, too,” he says, smiling, happy to finally know what it’s like to be with someone who loves him back.

===

taglist (join here): @harrington-ofhawkins @comedy-witch @harringtonisadingus @sassisaluxury @gothackedalready @willowrose99​ @pxtrickhxckstettxr @wolfish-willow @harringtown

[writersplanetarium]

Facade: Back In Business

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 12

Aelin moaned as she grasped at Rowan’s back, her nails dragging along his skin. His hips thrust above her, his hands braced beside her head. The wall behind them thumped with every strong thrust, the headboard hitting it with the movement. Rowan bit his lip, groaning above her as he moved faster.

“Gods, please,” she begged.

“Cut!” Aelin sighed, letting her hands drop. Rowan looked down at her.

“You know you-” “Yes I know I didn’t wait long enough. I know,” she shot back, “I think you all just count too slow.” “All you have to do is lay there and pretend,” Rowan said, brushing his hair back from where it hung in his face, “Surely you can manage that.”

“Just like every other sexual encounter I’ve ever had,” she said.

“I’m going to tell Chaol you said that.” Aelin rolled her eyes, shoving him playfully. “If you’re going to be grumpy, I can be on top,” Aelin said, “We could swing it.”

“I’m fine,” he retorted, staring right back at her with those pine green eyes, clearly getting riled up at her insinuation.

“Okay,” she said, resisting a grin, “I’m just saying that it wouldn’t be out of character for Charlotte to want to be on top if this is too much for you to manage.”

“You couldn’t handle what I can manage,” he said, his eyes growing a shade darker that Aelin pretended not to notice.

“Daemion does kind of seem like he could be a bottom though. Not all the time, but he has his moments-” “They put me on top so I’m going to stay on top since I can manage just-”

“What are you two talking about?” Fenrys asked from the other side of the door to the fake dorm they had set up, waiting for his cue.

“Nothing!” ********

“I’m telling you it was ten seconds!” Aelin argued as her and Lysandra walked off the set, done for the day.

“Sure,” Lysandra drawled, “Aelin, it’s okay to admit that you liked having him on top of you.” She cast her friend a short look, making her laugh. “You two have been getting on alarmingly well. I’m just saying...”

“Rowan and I are barely friends,” she said, “And we’re far from lovers.”

“Sure, sure,” Lysandra said, “That’s why he’s been going over to your house and you two have been watching movies and having dinner and-”

“That’s for work, and for someone who wanted us to get along, you’re really pushing me to stop,” Aelin said.

“You’re telling me you’ve never thought of climbing that man like a tree?” Lysandra asked. Aelin couldn’t necessarily say that. She’d actually thought about it a shameful amount of times, especially since she and him had started getting along. She wrote it off as just pent up energy. She hadn’t gotten laid in months, and even then it had been so disappointing she’d decided it wasn’t worth it to go through the trouble. She was recognizable now, and she hated when men only wanted her for clout.

“I’m saying it’s never going to happen,” Aelin said, climbing into the car, “Is Aedion bringing Evangeline?”

“Yeah, they didn’t want her on set for yours and Rowan’s scene, so he said he’d bring her up. But don’t change the subject. I think I saw him smile at you the other day. That’s real progress.” Lysandra dropped herself into the driver’s seat, pulling on her sunglasses, starting the car.

“Well I’m just fine with staying where we are. Do you realize the hell it’d be to be in a relationship with him? All the paparazzi? We’d never know another day’s rest. Besides, half his charm for fans is being the eligible bachelor. You know how strict Maeve is on them about their relationships.”

“She doesn’t hate you though,” Lysandra said, looking out the back as she pulled out, “Me on the other hand?”

“That’s because of the ordeal with Fenrys,” Aelin said.

“I told her that it was a joke, but she didn’t care,” Lysandra said, “Regardless, I couldn’t care less about what that bitch has to say. We’re having dinner tonight and both you and Rowan are going to be there.”

“He agreed to that?” Aelin snorted.

“I may have guilted him by saying Evangeline was very excited to see him again,” Lysandra said. Aelin laughed, shaking her head. “Works like a charm. And she really is expecting the both of you, so there’s no backing out. Plus, I know you don’t have plans, or an early morning, so you’re stuck with us.”

“Fine, fine,” Aelin said, “So long as Aedion’s not cooking. He burns shit and thinks it’s flavor.”

“We’re ordering in,” Lysandra said, “Pizza.”

“I do love pizza,” Aelin said.

“I know,” Lysandra grinned.

********

Rowan tugged on his t-shirt before he glanced over at the clock. He had ten minutes before he had to head over to Lysandra and Aedion’s place for dinner. He’d been reluctant to agree, honestly just wanting to pick something up on the way home and stuff himself full before going to bed. The first day back of filming had felt exceedingly long. He’d had to stay all day, running scene after scene, and of course they’d started right off the bat with his and Aelin’s opening scene. 

It had left him very, very uncomfortable all day.

It wasn’t that he wanted her, he definitely didn’t want her like that, he told himself. It was just a natural response to the suggestive sounds and movements to think about it. And think about it. And think about it. Luckily the sheer awkwardness of it in the moment kept it from being too obvious, since there was nothing sexy about a room full of people watching and filming you as you pretend to have sex with your neighbor slash coworker, and then critiquing your form. But after... his mind wouldn’t let go.

He walked into the bathroom, splashing his face with some cold water. No. Not tonight. Not before dinner. Not ever. He did not want Aelin. He didn’t. Even if she smelled like jasmine. Even if she made those sounds- No.

Rowan dried his face off and grabbed his phone, checking it quickly. He saw he had a text from Maeve.

Call me.

He huffed, hoping this didn’t take long. It only took two rings for her to answer.

“Rowan,” she drawled.

“You said to call,” he said.

“I did,” she replied, “I have some news I’m sure you’ll be eager to hear.” 

Great. She rarely ever actually had news he wanted to hear.

“Remelle is coming to town while on tour for her new movie.” Of course. Of course Remelle was coming because his life wasn’t chaotic enough. “I figured since you two are on such good terms now, it’d be good for you two to meet up.”

“Why?” Rowan asked.

“You’re becoming more popular, as is she. We don’t want anyone thinking there’s remaining tension between you two. Benson and Essar are going to be with her, so it won’t be just the two of you anyway. I expect you all to have dinner together at least once.”

“Fine,” Rowan ground, “Set it up.”

“Already done. You’ll be eating at The Mistward at seven next Tuesday.” Pefect. Just perfect. His only night off and he has to spend it with Remelle.

“Fine,” he said, hanging up. He checked the time and quickly made his way to the door. He grabbed his keys from their bowl, locking up the house. As he stepped out, he saw Aelin leaving her own house.

“You too, huh?” She called, meeting his gaze. He nodded, meeting her on the side walk in front of her house. “Not like you to be so late Rowan.”

“It’s one minute,” he said.

“Kind of sad when you live right next door,” she teased.

“And you?” He asked.

“I’m habitually late,” she said, waving him off, “They expect it.”

“I’ll just say you held me up,” he said.

“And what was it that actually held you up. You look grumpy.”

“You say I always look grumpy,” he said.

“You do, but this is more pronounced,” she poked him between the eyebrows, earning her a shove.

“Remelle is coming to town,” he huffed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Remelle?” Aelin asked.

“My ex,” he said, “One of the girls I got caught hooking up with a few years ago. She wanted more and I didn’t. Caused a big thing when I broke things off.”

“Oh I remember that,” she laughed, “She’s making a movie now, isn’t she?”

“That’s why she’s coming, and bringing some of her other costars,” Rowan huffed, “I apparently have to have dinner with them.”

“Have to?” She asked.

“You don’t generally get to question Maeve,” he said.

“Right,” Aelin said, “So when’s this dinner thing happening?”

“Next Tuesday,” he said, “7. At Mistward.”

“Really?” Aelin asked, looking more intrigued, “I like Mistward.”

“Well... you could come,” he said, despite knowing it was likely a bad idea.

“You want to hang out for non work related purposes? Rowan, if you say that, I might think I’m growing on you,” she said.

“Like a tumor,” he said, “If you don’t want to come-”

“No, I’ll go,” she said, “Ask her embarrassing questions about your sex life. It’ll be great.”

“You will ask no such thing,” he said with a sharp look.

“You gonna stop me?” She asked, a mischevious glint to her turquoise and gold eyes.

“I could uninvite you,” he said.

“Well I already know when and where. I could just show up. Imagine that.”

“You enjoy causing trouble too much,” he said, knocking on Lysandra and Aedion’s door.

“Guilty as charged.” The door swung open to reveal Evangeline grinning, dressed up in a nice shirt and skirt. Rowan realized he should have probably worn something nicer than jeans and a tshirt as he looked over and realized Aelin had dressed up a bit too.

“Hi!” She said exitedly, “Aedion just got back with the pizza so it’s nice and warm.”

“Perfect,” Aelin said, “You look so nice. Is that new?” Evangeline nodded.

“You have to look nice for a dinner party.”

“Of course,” Aelin agreed. Luckily Rowan saw Aedion was dressed pretty much the same as him. Aedion gave him a nod of greeting that Rowan returned.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” Lysandra said, “There’s beer, juice, and water in the fridge, wine on the counter, and pizza’s on the table.”

Rowan grabbed a beer, sitting down to the left of the head of the table. He raised an eyebrow at Aelin as she sat across from him. She grinned taking a sip from her wine, raising an eyebrow.

Am I doing something wrong? He narrowed his eyes at her.

Not yet. She chuckled, looking down the table as Aedion sat beside Rowan and Lysandra sat beside Aelin, Evangeline taking the seat at the head of the table.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve gathered you here today,” she said, “Today, we are having dinner to celebrate everyone being friends now!”

“Is that so?” Aelin asked, looking over at Lysandra.

“It’s a milestone,” she pointed out, “It’s the first time everyone at this table is on speaking terms. I’d say that’s something to celebrate.”

“Exactly!” Evangeline said, “So we all have to eat dinner and be happy.”

“I think we can manage dinner. Like a little trial run,” Aelin said, looking at Rowan, who rolled his eyes.

“Trial run?” Aedion asked.

“Remelle’s in town,” Rowan said, “I’m being forced to have dinner, and Aelin’s coming along.”

“For moral support,” she said.

“I don’t need moral support,” he said.

“Everyone needs moral support,” Evangeline said, “I feel much happier when I go to the doctor when Lys is there with me.”

“Me too,” Aelin said, “When I had to get my nose fixed I was much happier with Lys and Aedion there.” Rowan met her gaze.

Really? I thought we were past this.

That doesn’t mean I’ll ever let you forget it. She winked before speaking aloud. “I’m absolutely starving, so I say we should start digging into this pizza.”

Dinner actually went by rather well. Rowan hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d just had dinner with friends. It was... nice. No fighting, no insults, and no tension. 

He actually felt like he could relax for the first time in a long time.

He stayed late, playing games and talking. It was an oddly familial feeling Rowan hadn’t had in a long time. Looking around and seeing everyone sitting there, it felt like he fit in, somehow. But it also created a bit of a bittersweet hole in his gut. He’d wanted this with Lyria. He’d wanted this with her and his child. A family. Happiness. It still hurt like hell to think about, but he realized, with a bit of a reluctance, that maybe he was moving on.

But he wasn’t sure if he was ready.

“I think I’m going to go home,” he said, “Thank you for having me over.”

“Any time,” Aedion said.

“Don’t go! The sooner you leave, the sooner I have to go to bed,” Evangeline said. Rowan gave a small amused huff.

“Sleep is good for you,” he said, patting her head, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she sighed.

“I’m going to head out too,” Aelin said, “I’ve got a bathtub calling my name.” They all finished with their goodbyes, Aelin leaving right after Rowan. The night air had a sharp nip to it, but Rowan didn’t really mind. He looked up at the moon, watching it as he walked. “You doing okay?” He looked over to find Aelin rubbing her bare arms for warmth since her silk tanktop wasn’t doing much to warm her.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“If you say so,” she said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. He watched her head back to her own house when he reached his doorstep, telling himself it was just his protective, male nature. That it was just to make sure she got home safe and most certainly not because he just wanted to look at her a little longer.

Definitely not.

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