#but apparently shifting over just slightly is enough to murder me

[feathery-fall]

So apparently (as discovered by my partner, who doesn't know i like tickling but is an asshole(/j) anyways), the sides of my neck are a lot more ticklish than any other part. and also the space just above my kneecaps

i already knew my sides were pretty bad, but they also helped reaffirm that 👍

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training XI (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers​

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

You felt like you were on the verge of a panic attack. Your breathing was shaky and far too heavy, and your chest felt way too tight. The air on your face felt much cooler from the tears that soaked your skin, and you swore that you felt the sheets rip beneath your fingers. You knew for a fact that your other hand was pressing into Peter’s arm so hard that it drew blood.

He didn’t seem to mind though.

Peter was way more preoccupied with the feel of you. Through a tearful gaze, you watched him throw his head back, eyes fluttering shut as he slowly inhaled. You couldn’t stop trembling, half in disbelief and half wanting to rip your hair out. The feel of Peter’s cock inside of you had lessened to a dull pulsing feeling between your legs, and when you shifted, you both hissed.

…but for different reasons.

When Peter finally opened his eyes, he lowered his head to gaze at you. You didn’t know what you looked like, but you had a feeling that your expression reflected what you felt inside. Peter’s expression fell some, and he blinked at you, frowning slightly before leaning down to brush his lips over yours.

“You’re okay,” he softly told you. “You’re okay.”

“No,” you finally choked out, finding your voice after some time. “I’m not.”

You dug your nails harder into his skin, not out of malice, but more so as a means to ground yourself. To hold onto something, because you felt completely out of control, like you were floating aimlessly, and the thought made more tears escape.

“Peter, please stop,” you shakily breathed, your gaze pleading as you looked into his dark eyes. “Please…”

You let the sheets go to press your hand into his chest, pushing hard, but he wouldn’t budge. Instead, he gripped your wrist, briefly squeezing it before gently pinning it to the bed. He leaned in some more, the action causing his hips to move just a tad, and you were suddenly strongly reminded of the presence of him inside of you.

You pressed your lips together, a whine escaping as you drew more blood. Peter hissed at the action, but he didn’t seem all that upset. When you looked closely enough, you could see the ghost of a smile on his pink lips, and he gently pressed his forehead to yours. His breathing was loud in your ear, and Peter briefly closed his eyes.

“I really wanted this day to be a happy one for you,” he slowly told you, sounding almost…disappointed. “It should be, after all.”

Peter leaned in to kiss your trembling lips again.

“Steve can be an asshole, sometimes…but I won’t let him ruin this.”

He kissed along your jaw and towards your neck, and you didn’t know how to tell him that he was making this day worse. The feel of him on you, in you, was making you emotional beyond comprehension. When Peter kissed you again, he slowly pulled his hips back, making you sharply gasp, and you hated the way your hips lifted too…like he was pulling you with him, attached by a string.

When he drove himself into you again, torturously slow, you dragged your nails down his arm. You could feel yourself leaving bloody streaks with the action, and Peter only groaned. You didn’t know if it was from that or from the feel of you wrapped tightly around him. He was so quiet for a while at first, just slowly pushing into you and fully immersing himself in what you felt like.

However, once your lack of reaction became apparent, that changed.

“Open up for me, pretty girl,” he murmured, letting your wrist go to reach down and rest his hand on your thigh.

He pushed on it, making your legs widen, and you couldn’t swallow down your sharp exhale. Peter completely ignored your hands on him as you tried to push him away, curving his hips into yours and stretching you out with every thrust. Every push of his cock became easier and smoother than the last, and you hated it.

At least, you thought you did.

You didn’t like that Peter was on top of you, trapping you between his body and the bed. You didn’t like that your senses were completely invaded by the smell and feel and sound of him. You hated that he was inside of you, his cock pushing into you and stroking your walls in a way that made you shudder. You hated it, and yet you couldn’t ignore the heat that settled deep in the pit of your gut.

You told yourself that it was your body’s natural reaction. As much as you liked to think you were so far removed from your baser instinct, you were an animal. A homo sapiens, but an animal nonetheless, and your body was going to react to certain things no matter how you personally felt. That was easy enough to accept and tell yourself, but when Peter ran his hand up your stomach, fingers gliding between your breasts, you couldn’t hold in your whimper.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” Peter whispered. “Perfect. Like you were made for me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, and Peter tutted.

“No, no, don’t do that,” he softly pleaded. “Let me see you…”

He plunged into you with a particularly hard thrust, holding himself there as your back arched.

“Please,” he begged. “Show me those pretty eyes.”

His hand was on your face, thumb softly brushing over your cheek, wiping away a few stray tears. You pressed your face into his shoulder, hiding from him as he continued to fuck you. Your hand clutched his back, and for some reason, his gentle and loving words made you cry harder. Maybe you wanted him to be mean? Cruel? Although, you supposed that he was already being that, wasn’t he? Perhaps you wanted him to be more like Steve that day in the yard.

The sight of his rough movements and Margaret was burned into your brain. It was a memory that struck you frozen and cold with fear, but at least if Peter was like that, it would be so much easier to hate him. You didn’t want him to be gentle with you, his touch almost loving in nature like you were some couple making love after a day apart.

You hated that it was making you feel good, driving you towards the edge.

You’d stopped crying, a little too horrified with what you felt happening. You could feel that familiar coil tighten in your stomach, strings attached to it that pulled at every nerve in your body. Your breathing started to hitch, and when Peter’s hand slid to your neck, he pushed you back down onto the bed, preventing you from hiding your face. On instinct, your hands reached up, clasping onto his wrist, and your eyes flew open.

Your tearful eyes met his enraptured ones, and Peter couldn’t take his eyes off of you. It was like he didn’t want to look away, didn’t want to miss a single expression on your face as he brought his tongue between his lips. He was slow to sheath himself inside of you again and again, and when you lifted your hips, your entire body tensing up, he sighed, pulling his lip between his teeth.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let go, pretty girl. Let go.”

You didn’t want to, fighting it and trying to starve it off for as long as you could.

Peter could tell.

“Nuh uh,” he breathed. “None of that…”

“Peter,” you murmured, almost pleadingly.

“No, no, let go,” he urged, hand tightening on your throat. “Relax and let go. It’s okay.”

You pressed a hand to his lower stomach, trying to stop his thrusts, and Peter mirrored you, pressing his own hand into your stomach hard and making you gasp. You could feel yourself tensing more, seizing up and gasping for breath as your orgasm crawled over you, slowly filling you and taking control until you were a whimpering mess beneath him.

“Good girl,” he quietly drawled. “Look at you…doing so good for me.”

His hand was still on your throat, squeezing and holding you in place while you rode out your climax underneath him, clenching down onto him.

“Just like that,” you heard him say. “Deep breaths…”

When the stars behind your eyes started to fade, Peter finally came back into focus. He was still lazily thrusting into you, fucking you through it, and when he slowed to a stop, you realized that he hadn’t come, at all. He was still hard when he pulled out of you, and the feel made you shudder. You kept your gaze on the ceiling as he kissed you, slow and long, before finally pulling away.

Absentmindedly, you could hear him going into the bathroom, and it wasn’t long before the sound of running water reached your ears. He wasn’t inside of you anymore, but you swore you could still feel him there, still feel that dull ache of his cock in you. You only just realized how cold you felt despite the light sheen of sweat that coated your skin. You shakily reached up, hands covering yourself just as Peter returned.

He was gentle in grabbing them, pulling you to your feet, and you closed your eyes when he pressed his lips to your forehead. Peter wrapped his arms around you as he guided you into the bathroom, and you felt so removed from your body as he pressed his chest to your back. You’d crossed the inevitable line with Peter, and you didn’t know how to feel about it.

“Easy,” he warned, helping you into the bathtub, the hot water jolting you back into reality. “It’s hot.”

You clung to the arm that was around you as he lowered you both into the water. It had the strong scent of oils and soap, and Peter forced you to lean your head back against his shoulder. You were all too aware of his naked body against your equally naked one, hands running over you as he grabbed the loofah. The memory of him inside of you made you tremble, but his soft touch as he cleaned the sweat from your body had the opposite effect.

You could feel Peter pressing his face into your hair as he cleaned you, almost inaudible praises leaving his lips.

“You were so good…you know that?”

You didn’t respond, watching him clean the inside of your thighs.

“You felt better than I even imagined.”

You got the feeling that you were supposed to be flattered.

…but all you wanted to do was cry.

So, you did.

Peter hummed at the sound, pulling you closer and making soft shushing noises.

“I know,” he softly comforted you.

Hot water dripped over your skin as he squeezed the loofah.

“It’s okay to feel good, Y/N…to let me make you feel good,” he continued. “You’re mine, after all, and I take good care of everything that belongs to me.”

Those words caused an internal conflict within you, torn between a deep sense of shame and disgust…and a small sliver of relief. Peter would take care of you. He’d said that many times, including now, and there was something in you that just wanted to let him. After all, he protected you from Steve, and, as the blond had so eloquently pointed out, held your hand through this entire ordeal.

It would be favorable if he wasn’t the reason you were here to begin with.

“Didn’t I take good care of you…?” he wondered, voice lowering. “Hmm?”

You nodded when he pressed you for an answer, your cheek resting on his chest as you turned your head. Peter held you to him, playing with your hair, and when he spoke again, you shuddered.

“Things will be so much easier for you when you let me.”

When…not if. The distinction made your heart sink, because as much as you wanted to deny it, you knew it was only a matter of when, not if, and you blinked as a few more tears escaped. Peter squeezed more water onto you, and when his free hand tilted your chin up, you knew that he wanted a kiss.

When you woke up, the feel of fingertips dragging over the skin of your back was the only thing you could focus on. It was a soothing feeling, something that almost lulled you back to sleep, but the knowledge of who the hand belonged to prevented you from doing so. A shudder traveled down your spine, and he hummed.

Peter fucked you well into the night. After he’d pulled you from the water, he’d pulled you into another kiss, and the water on your skin dampened the bed when he laid you down. Peter was determined to taste every part of you, and you would’ve thought that he didn’t have the rest of your lives to do that. It overwhelmed you, forcing you to freeze up several times as he covered your mouth with his own.

In the rare moments that panic broke through, forcing you to cry and fight against him, Peter was calm in holding you down until you quieted. He seemed to have an abundance of patience as he held himself inside of you, watching you cry and waiting for it to be over. When he finally did come inside of you, you’d been coming undone beneath him for the third time. His fingers had been threaded with yours, holding them down as his teeth scraped along your neck.

The sounds that left him were animalistic, a stark contrast from the words he murmured moments later.

“My pretty girl,” he’d whispered. “All mine.”

It was so confusing to be comforted and looked after by the same hands that held you down. It was mind bending to cry as Peter forced pleasure on you, and then to cry some more as he held you and stroked your face. He was your source of torment and also your only source of comfort. Who else would you cry to if not him? Who else would you safely and comfortably confide in if not him?

The feel of lips on the side of your face pulled you from your thoughts, and you slowly blinked. Your entire body ached, and even if you wanted to move, you didn’t think that you could. He brushed his lips over your temple and then your cheek and jaw before they finally grazed the corner of your mouth. You could feel his hand kneading into your waist through the sheet.

You didn’t even know what time it was, and faintly, you wondered about breakfast.

As if your mind had decided to bring your thoughts to life, there was a knock on the door. The sound of it made you jump, and you looked towards the door with wide eyes as if somehow knowing exactly who was on the other side. Peter noticed your discomfort, softly shushing you and rubbing your arm as he sat up. When he made his way towards the door, more decent, now, you blanched at the sight of his back.

You hadn’t remembered doing that, at all, and your eyes drifted to your fingernails…and the slight dried blood beneath them.

“Is there any reason she’s not downstairs with the rest?”

Steve’s voice was as cold and stern as ever, making you shrink in on yourself, twisting your hands into the sheet. Peter stood in the opening of the cracked door, completely blocking you from view, and you swallowed. You’d overslept? The thought made your heart race, and in all the times you’d screwed up, you’d never flat out overslept and missed your duties.

You struggled to sit up, fear and worry filling you just as Peter spoke.

“She’s indisposed for the day, Steve,” Peter told him, shocking you. “Making her work would be cruel and unusual punishment.”

Peter’s tone was light, teasing, but both you and Steve knew there was a strong hint of truth there.

“It’s not like she couldn’t use more of that,” the blond replied, making you frown. “…but alright.”

He paused, and you were unable to see any kind of visual exchange between them.

“I’m glad to hear that either way,” Steve evenly said, but there was a lilt in his voice that told you his sentiments were genuine.

Peter’s gaze met yours when he shut the door, turning to face you with a small smile. You must’ve been wearing your confusion because when he reached you, he took your face into his hands, gently kissing you.

“You’ve had a long night. Of course, I wouldn’t let you do anything other than…rest,” he said, a small smile dancing along his lips as he drank you in.

You noticed the way his gaze lingered on the top of the sheet, his eyes tracing your skin.

“You feeling okay…?”

What a loaded question.

You knew what Peter meant, of course. Did you feel hurt? Unwell? Concerningly sore? However, your mind could only drift to your captivity and how alone you felt and how even if you wanted to find comfort in any of the other women here, you couldn’t. Your every move outside of this room was watched, scrutinized, leaving the only place to fully cope…with Peter.

“I’m okay,” you finally whispered, addressing what you knew he meant.

“Good,” he whispered, kneeling before you and taking your chin in his fingers. “I want you to be okay.”

You warily eyed him as he looked between your eyes.

“I know you remember what I showed you when you first got here…with Steve and…”

Peter trailed off, and you sharply inhaled, blinking.

“I want you to know that that…that’ll never be us. At least…I hope not,” he was quick to add. “I think you’d have to do something pretty heinous for me to ever resort to that.”

Peter held your gaze as he said this, tone sincere, and he stroked your skin.

“When I touch you…it won’t be like that. I don’t want you to be in pain, to be hurting. I’ll always only want to ever make you feel good,” he whispered.

You looked down at that, gaze finding the floor.

“Steve doesn’t agree.”

There was a heavy silence at your words, both of you recalling what the blond had thrown at Peter the night before. If Steve had it his way, Peter would’ve tied you to that same tree and debased you in front of half the household. There was a part of you that was convinced he’d still force Peter to do that one day, but if you could count on Peter for anything, it was to protect you from Steve’s wrath.

“No…he doesn’t,” Peter eventually agreed. “…but you’re not his.”

You looked up at that, eyes meeting his.

“You’re mine.”

For the first time, those words didn’t make your stomach twist in discomfort. Instead, relief settled in your gut, grateful that you didn’t belong to Steve…but instead Peter. You swallowed and watched him as he stood, and you closed your eyes when his hand rested on the back of your head, cheek pressed to his stomach.

“You know that, now…right…?”

You recalled your angry words from last night, tearfully proclaiming that you didn’t want to belong to Peter. You recalled the slight pause, the way his eyes had glinted, the almost hint of hurt you saw there. Your gaze lowered to the ring on your hand, a symbol of that ownership, and as much as you hated the sight of it, something in you saw it as a shield.

A barrier between you and Steve’s ire, his unquenchable desire to break you down in the same way he’d done to Margaret.

You were Peter’s…and Steve couldn’t hurt you.

“Yes,” you finally answered Peter’s question, almost too quietly. “I know that.”

Peter’s hand under your chin tilted your head up, and he leaned in when his eyes met yours.

“Are you sure?”

Pressing your lips together, you reluctantly nodded.

You weren’t surprised when Peter kissed you again, but that didn’t mean you were eager when his hand drifted to your naked shoulder, trailing towards the sheet and fingering the material. You ducked your head, heart pounding as memories of last night assaulted you. Peter only rested his face in the crook of your neck, kissing your skin.

“I thought you said you were mine,” he murmured, and you felt him take your hand.

Pain flared in your finger as he squeezed the ring.

“I am,” you shakily assured him.

When he pulled away, his dark gaze met yours, only briefly, but it was enough.

Reluctantly, you didn’t turn away when he kissed you again, and when his arm snaked around your waist, you didn’t push it away no matter how much you wanted to. Peter was like a man starved as he laid you down, hovering over you as he pressed open mouthed kisses to your skin.

You clenched your teeth when he wrapped his lips around one of your breasts, tears in your eyes at the conflicting emotions you felt. Peter raped you—he was raping you—and despite the horror and helplessness you did feel, you could only manage to tell yourself that it could be so much worse. He could be brutally taking you outside for all to see. He could be hurting you to the point of making you bleed, to the point of bruising you.

Peter could be so much worse, it was true, but he was still bad.

You kept telling yourself that, kept repeating it to yourself, but the way his hands danced over you didn’t feel bad. The way his lips left gentle kisses on your skin didn’t feel bad, at all. His soothing praises and his fingers on your face and his teeth scraping your neck, nothing about it felt bad even though you knew you didn’t want it.

You struggled to breathe as he thrust into you, hands on your waist and holding the lower half of you up as his knees pressed into the bed. Your hands slid along the bed as your gaze became fixated on the ceiling, fighting to hold in the moans you wanted to let out as he drove himself into you. He was hitting something in you that had you squirming against your will.

Your first orgasm snuck up on you, and you jerked beneath him, and like the night before, Peter was confident that you could take another. Your own hands covered his, trying to pry them off, the overstimulation making your senses go haywire.

“Peter, please-I can’t,” you breathlessly pleaded.

You needed a minute to breathe, to think, to wrap your head around how quickly you’d been forced into the inevitable chapter of your captivity that you thought—hoped you could avoid.

“Shh,” he softly soothed you. “I know you can, pretty girl.”

He had your hips pinned, and when you looked at him, the determination in his eyes to get what he wanted told you to just give up. The soles of your feet pressed into the bed, sliding and digging into the mattress. Against your better judgement, you reached up to press your hands against his stomach, and Peter sucked his teeth.

“Stop,” he slowly drawled, one hand sliding up to press down just below your chest. “Stop it.”

“Peter-.”

“None of that,” he whispered, his dark eyes staring you down as he slowly pushed his cock into you. “Behave…and take it.”

You didn’t have a choice, something you already knew, but you still threw your head back, tears kissing your eyes. You could hear it every time he thrust into you, an embarrassing sound that made you squeeze your eyes shut. The hand just under your chest made it’s way to your neck, and Peter pressed his thumb to the front of your throat.

He leaned down, his body fully pressed to yours, now, and you opened your eyes, unsurprised to find his gaze already on you. He stared into your eyes as he dipped into you, his cock plunging into your walls as he made a home between your thighs. His thumb grazed your chin before completely swiping along your mouth, his other fingers still on your neck.

“I’m so glad I chose you…”

His thumb pulled your bottom lip down just a tad, another thrust making your toes curl.

“…and I know you will be too.”

[whydoeseveryonewanttobangchan]

PART 1: 🚪 Whats wrong with a little privacy, huh? 🚪

✎ Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

✎ Genre: Slightly smutty fluff (?)

✎ Summary: Your boyfriend takes you out to a nice restaurant, but you end up eating something not on the menu.

✎ CW: Tbh kissing. I hope you like kissing.

✎ Word count: 2,118

✩ A/N: Spicy part 2 is live!✩

❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥ ❥

“You look beautiful tonight, by the way,” Chan says, shooting you a quick smirk while he drives.

He always looks effortlessly sexy in the car: one hand on the steering wheel, one somewhere on your leg. Tonight, it’s high up on your thigh, squeezing and rubbing the bare skin just under the hem of your dress.

“Thanks, baby,” you reply. “You, too, of course.”

“Oh, stop,” he chides. “You’ll make me blush.”

But he does anyway. Even in the dark, you can see his cheeks take on a slightly pink hue. It’s so easy to make him flustered sometimes.

The way the moonlight hit his skin was enough to make you giddy, too. His umber eyes glancing back and forth between the road ahead and your thigh, the way his wide nose slopes down and curves just above his plump, pink lips, his silver hoops swinging back and forth in his earlobes when you hit a rough patch of pavement. He was like living art. And he was all yours.

“So….” he starts, trying to change the topic inside your brain to something less… him. “You excited for the seafood?”

“Mhhmmm,” you mumble, still entranced by the god next to you. He’s gonna have to try harder than that.

He catches your eyes for a second and giggles before squeezing your thigh.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he says sheepishly. “I can’t handle that look in your eyes.”

“What look?” you ask, fully aware of what look it is. But it’s always fun to hear him describe it.

“Like… like you’re…” he says between glances. “Like you love me. A ridiculous amount.”

“Like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life?” you add.

“Yes, that,” he says with a laugh. “It’s making me nervous. And… excited. I have to focus on driving and you’re over there looking at me like that — it’s so distracting.”

“Fine, fine,” you surrender and smirk. “I’ll save my lovey-dovey eyes for when you’re not operating a murder machine.”

“Thank you, my love,” he says appreciatively, reaching for your hand to bring it to his lips. “So, as I was saying… seafood. What do you think you’re gonna eat?”

“I’m not sure,” you say, shifting your glance to the road. “Clams definitely. Oysters maybe? Do you wanna share something?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’d love to share with you,” he says, squeezing your hand he still holds between the two of you.

The rest of the drive isn’t long, but keeping your eyes on the road is agony. Every brush of his thumb on the back of your hand fills you with raw emotion you need to channel back to him, but you fight to keep your eyes to yourself for the sake of his sanity — and your lives, apparently.

The car pulls into the parking lot, and he finds a spot easily. Once it’s in park, Chan removes his seatbelt, shoots you a wink, and says, “hold tight.” He exits his side, shuts the door, and hustles over to the passenger side where he opens the door for you with a slight bow.

“We’ve arrived, my lady,” he says and holds his hand out for you.

“Oh, thank you, good sir,” you reply, placing your hand in his to help you out of the car. “What a lovely gentleman you are.”

He shut the door, places his hand at his waist and holds out his elbow for you to take.

“Shall we?”

“Of course.”

You walk arm in arm toward the entrance, both smiling wide as you ascend the stairs.

“Good evening, sir and madam,” the host greets in a similar — but less sarcastic — tone of voice. “Do we have a reservation this evening?”

“Yes, should be under Christopher,” Chan answers.

“Ah, yes. Mr. Bahng. We have you in the private room this evening.”

“Oohhh, the private room, huh?” you whisper in his ear. “Ok, rich ass.”

He holds back a smile but squeezes your arm as the host extends his arm and gestures to follow him.

You weave through tables and up stairs and around hallway corners until the man opens a tall door and steps to the side so you can enter. Inside is a table for 4, but with only two seats. A small chandelier hangs from the tall ceiling, and the windowless walls are nearly bare, except for a themed photo or two.

“Will this do, sir and madam?” the host asks politely.

“Of course, this is perfect, thank you,” Chan replies. “Will a waiter come to us, or…”

“Yes, sir, they’ll come by and knock before entering.”

Oh, you sly piece of shit.

“Sounds perfect, thank you so much again,” Chan says.

The waiter nods and steps out of the room, closing the heavy door behind him.

“You fucking…” you tease, slapping Chan’s toned arms lightly. “Private room? The waiter has to knock? So pretentious.”

“Listen, I didn’t know it was this private, but yeah,” he defends himself, but his face softens again when he pulls you into his chest. “What’s wrong with a little privacy, huh?”

“You better be good,” you warn, looking at him sternly.

“I will, I promise,” he smirks, but then he holds you tighter and kisses your neck just below your jawline, so you’re almost certain his fingers must be crossed.

“Yeah, ok, sure,” you say sarcastically and lift his head to plant a quick kiss on his nose before heading to your respective sides of the table and sitting in the outlandish chairs — they’re almost like mini thrones.

“Well, these are… a lot,” Chan scoffs and turns his attention to you. “But they do suit you well, my queen.”

“And you, my king,” you say, barely holding in a giggle.

A knock at the door ends the role play — for now — and a waiter enters with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

“Good evening, can I get you two anything else to drink or eat?” he says politely as he pours your first glasses.

Chan skillfully orders a bottle of champagne, a tray of oysters, clams and other shellfish, and a pasta dish. The waiter takes note and leaves almost as quickly as he came.

“Wow, ok,” you say in amazement.

“What? Not happy with the selections?” he replies with a grin.

“No it’s fine, that was just… quick,” you marvel and pick up your glass, taking a sip of the Malbec.

“Yeah, hopefully the food comes quickly, too,” he says, then his expression turns much more serious, seductive even.

“Until then… wanna come sit in my lap?”

“Hm?” you ask. “You want me to sit in your lap… in a fancy restaurant?”

“Well, it is a private room…” he muses and grabs his glass, taking a sip and pushing his chair back from the table. Even confident Channie can’t help but blush when he gets excited, and you can’t resist those rosy cheeks.

“Well… will you? Please?” he repeats the question.

“… just because you asked nicely.”

You stand from your chair and slowly round the table to his seat, standing above him for a few seconds before lifting your dress enough to straddle his legs.

“Hi,” you chirp once your faces are only inches apart. “How are you?”

“Better now,” he says with a grin as he placed his glass back on the table and snakes his arms around your waist, pulling you closer so your noses touch. “How are you, darling?”

“I’m ok, a little hungry,” you answer, wrapping your arms around his neck and rubbing your nose against his. “You smell amazing.”

“So do you,” he says softly, leaning forward to inhale your exhales. “So sweet… I want to taste you.”

His lips gently press against yours as his palm travels up your back and stops at the base of your neck. His fingers close around it just enough to keep you steady, to keep you close.

He opens his lips then, slipping his tongue out to run along your bottom lip. Your tongue meets his there before returning to its original position to let him explore.

Soft sighs and moans bounce back and forth between your mouths as the kiss deepens. Heads tilt to gain better access, and hands travel to necks, to hair, to cheeks… to hold, to stroke, to savor.

Both of your eyes are squeezed shut, too overwhelmed by your other senses to process anything else. And you don’t need to see to understand the map of his mouth. It’s a place you’ve been so many times before. A place that stays with you even when you’re away. A place that feels like home.

Your mouth tastes like wine, but as more of his saliva sits on your tongue, the flavors change. The acidity drops away almost entirely, letting notes of vanilla, dark chocolate and blackberries shine through.

“Mmm,” he hums, breaking the kiss for just a second. “This wine is delicious.”

“I was just thinking the same,” you say, amazed for the millionth time how in sync you are. “Want some more?”

He nods, and you turn to grab his glass from the table and hand it to him. But he holds his hand up,l and gestures for you to drink.

“No, you go ahead, baby,” he says. “But don’t swallow it.”

Your eyes narrow at him, but you do as he asks anyway, taking a sip and letting the liquid slosh around between your cheeks.

“Good girl,” he says. “Now, come here.”

He places his palms on either side of your neck, pulling your mouths together once again. He presses his bottom lip firmly beneath yours and uses his tongue to separate your lips, letting wine spill from your mouth into his.

Your bodies stay eerily still as the stream falls between his lips, onto his tongue. If a waiter walked in right now, he may think he stumbled upon an ancient stone fountain, lovingly crafted by skilled and passionate hands.

The last drop falls, and his hold on your neck disappears. He closes his lips and lets the wine sit on his tongue for what seems like hours, though it was only a few seconds. Then he swallows.

“Hmmm,” he hums, his face scrunching up. “Vanilla… berries?”

A smile spreads across your face.

“I got that, too. Blackberries,” you say excitedly.

“Oh, yeah, that’s it,” he confirms. “Blackberries.”

He looks up into your eyes and sends that same smile, that same expression of understanding and love, right back at you. And you’re so synchronized, you dive back in to taste his lips at the same time he does, roughly bumping foreheads and noses in the process.

“Ow! Fuck!” you exclaim, moving your hand to the bridge of your nose to assess the damage.

You clearly got the worst of the collision, though, because he just sits there smiling and giggling.

“Come here, dumbass,” he says softly, placing one big hand on the back of your neck to guide you safely back to his lips.

His lips are softer now. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the swelling. But it’s like closing silky pillows between your lips again and again and again. There’s something so comforting, so safe, about being trapped there.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your mouth, too entranced to bother breaking the kiss for three small words.

And you’re too lightheaded to even form words, so you settle for a soft moan in reply and let your fingers find his hair.

You run the soft strands through your fingers and lure sweet sounds from his mouth, like you’re playing with a marionette. Pull this strand, he moans. Pull that strand, he sighs. Rub his scalp…

The hand on your neck travels down slowly, between your shoulder blades, and follows your spine down to your ass. He grips one cheek and squeezes just enough to make you groan. He knows how to pull your strings, too.

That hand travels forward now, around your hip to the top of your thigh. It sits there for a few seconds, enough time for its owner to slide his tongue behind your teeth, feeling every ridge as he goes.

He must’ve found some confidence there, because he takes that big hand and slides it over and down, between your legs.

You stifle a moan at the same time a knock sounds from the door. The knob twists before he has time to lift his hand out from under your panties, let alone get you off his lap and back to your seat. As the door swings open, Chan whispers in your ear.

“Looks like somebody’s getting a big tip…”

…continued in part 2...

[cambion-companion]

from the prompt list, 26, give me that overpossesive and jealous aemond 🤤

Of course, Anons! Aemond would be an incredibly possessive lover.

Aemond x reader | Kiss Prompts

Masterlist here

26. Jealous kiss

"May I have this dance, Y/N." You were expecting Aemond to approach you with this question, so it was with surprise you looked up into Jacaerys' face.

You were sure the boy had some ulterior motive for asking you to dance, as he fully knew the intimate nature of Aemond's affection for you. You hesitated only a moment before taking Jace's proffered hand and rising from your seat, you were a little miffed that Aemond had not yet asked you to dance.

The Targaryen prince sat at the end of the long oaken table, drumming his fingers on the wood, staring daggers at Jacaerys' brother, Lucerys.

You felt Aemond's gaze shift onto you as you let the Velaryon boy lead you into a jaunty two-step. You weaved around each other merrily, keenly feeling the heat of Aemond's eye upon your back. You made the mistake of glancing in his direction as, with a hand against Jace's, you circled around each other. Aemond's expression made your face blanche, he looked absolutely murderous. Aegon had apparently noticed as well because he was looking between you and his brother with barely concealed mirth.

Jacaerys took both your hands in his, interlocking your fingers and pulling you closer. You heard a clatter and looked over your shoulder to see Aemond rising from his chair, which had been pushed so hard it toppled to the stone floor. The music faltered as the voices chattering within the dining hall quieted momentarily, curious gazes watching as Aemond approached you and Jace with purposeful steps. You felt Jacaerys' grip on your hands tighten.

Aemond's hand gripped your elbow, pulling you slightly away from his nephew. "This dance is over." His voice was low and calm but promised swift violence if Jacaerys did not let you go.

Your eyes searched Aemond's face as he stared down at him, Jace hesitated only a moment before relinquishing his hold on you. Aemond's lip curled with ill-concealed loathing. "Perhaps your...attentions are best suited for your betrothed." He said it loud enough for the room to hear, easing the tension radiating off the onlookers. King Viserys was still in the room, having just given a toast to the family having peaceful interactions, and you sensed Aemond didn't want to instigate anything in his presence.

Jacaerys raised his chin in defiance, voice lowered so only Aemond and yourself could hear. "Perhaps you should pay more attention to your lady if you want to keep her."

You opened your mouth ready to defend both yourself but were cut off as Aemond hissed through his gritted teeth, leaning into Jace's personal space, making the boy look up at him. "The next time you touch her, I will take that hand and make you wear it around your neck."

You had never seen Aemond so livid, and his imposing stance was drawing attention again, so you tugged on the waist of his tunic. "Aemond..." You made eye contact with Alicent over his shoulder. She was looking at your small group, stress evident on her features. "Aemond, come. Let's not make a scene with the King here."

Aemond yielded to your touch, stepping away from his nephew and letting you pull him to the stairway at the end of the room. Jacaerys made a hasty retreat to where his brothers were gathered by their mother. You led Aemond, now holding his tense hand, down the stairs away from prying eyes of nobles and servants alike.

His hands grabbed your waist as you turned to him, looking up into his still-angry face. You reached up, trying to smooth his furrowed brow and frown with your caress. It didn't work, Aemond's violet eye was hard as he scanned your features. Without warning, he grabbed the back of your head, twisting long fingers in your hair, and pulled you in for a scorching kiss.

It was rough, his teeth scraping against your bottom lip as he pulled at you. "You are mine." He kissed you again, causing you to whine softly into his mouth. "That bastard is never to so much as glance in your direction again."

Oh, he was very angry. Aemond's ungentle embrace, almost desperate, told you as much. He pulled back slightly only to catch your chin in his hand. "Say it, Y/N. Tell me you belong to me, as I to you."

"I am yours, Aemond." You reached up to place a gentle kiss to his lips, Aemond groaned into your mouth as you ran your tongue along his bottom lip. He opened to your searching touches, allowing you to deepen the kiss. You combed your fingers through his long lustrous hair, reveling in the feel of him all around you, his smoky scent filling your nostrils.

"Aemond? Y/N? Please rejoin us at the table!" Alicent's voice called from the room above.

You reluctantly pulled away from Aemond, noting how he followed your movements with a hooded eye. "Come, my love." You took his hand in yours. "Let's try to get through the rest of this evening peacefully."

You noticed how Aemond didn't offer an answer as the two of your ascended the steps.

[underdark-dreams]

[ch1] - [ch2]

A Strand to Climb - Ch.3

Rainstorms, hard conversations, and long-awaited kisses.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Pining | Word Count: 4,189 [Read on AO3]

In a lucky turn of events, Lorroakan was called away from the Tower earlier than usual. Perhaps more Nightsong business connected with Tav’s visit today. 

More likely a soiree in the Upper City with the newly ordained Archduke Gortash and the city’s elite, Rolan thought to himself. Those were the parts of archwizardry that seemed to agree with his master the best.

Whatever the reason, his evening’s lessons were abruptly canceled—as Lorroakan’s projection materialized for a few seconds to unceremoniously inform him. Rolan felt his aching head throb with relief. He’d just been given a night of escape. 

When the closing hour’s bells rang out from Stormshore Tabernacle, Rolan fastened up the shop in record speed.

Rather than head to his siblings’ rented flat, Rolan carved a path toward the Elfsong. It was still early yet—Cal and Lia wouldn't expect him for hours, if they expected him at all tonight. 

A bit early to be visiting the tavern, as well. But watching the gray and downcast weather through the doors of Sorcerous Sundries all day had left him thirsty. Rolan breathed in the cloud-thick and misty air as he walked.

Even for the early hour, the main taproom of the Elfsong was almost completely empty. All the better; fewer chances at unwelcome stares and comments.

Despite having his pick of the entire floor, he slumped into a small table in the farthest corner possible and spilled a few coppers on its surface in preparation. He’d been ready to drink this day away for hours.

"Chancing murder this fine afternoon?" 

As if summoned, a cup of Arabellan Dry appeared in front of him. Lakrissa plucked his coin from the table in the same motion.

Rolan’s work had left him little time to follow the city’s goings on. But he did recall something the Gazette's paper boys had been shouting in the courtyard this morning—the most recent in a string of grisly murders, apparently occurring just above his head. 

No wonder the place was deserted.

"Can hardly be worse than what's behind us," Rolan said glumly, raising the cup to his lips without missing a beat. 

Lakrissa plopped herself down at his table uninvited. "I expected to see your lover with you tonight." 

"My—" It was different hearing someone else say it aloud; he coughed slightly into his wine.

“Cal told me she made it to the city,” Lakrissa explained.

Apparently Cal had taken the liberty of telling her everything else while he was at it. 

"Of course he did." Rolan huffed a sigh. He supposed it was good that his siblings kept in contact with old friends from the road…but could they find nothing more interesting to talk about than his personal life?

"She's pretty," Lakrissa said, as if the compliment was somehow directed at him. "Brave, good fighter…good heart. How exactly you pull that off?"

Her candor would've insulted him, had he not asked himself the same question many times today alone. "No idea," Rolan said, unshouldering the heavy weight of his ego for just a moment. 

"Hm. But you're hiding alone in a tavern, instead of off with her."

"I am not hiding," Rolan glowered at her, though he really was—and for the second time today no less. "I just needed to think, that's all."

"Ah…I get it." Lakrissa swung her bar towel over one shoulder. "She’s seen you."

For all of the times Rolan had visited the Elfsong Tavern while Lakrissa was waiting tables, she'd never commented on the ever-shifting landscape of wounds on his face. She was the type to keep her nose out of other peoples’ business, whether from discretion or from genuine disinterest. 

Either way, Rolan appreciated it about her. He got enough prying and questions from his siblings anytime he went home; the last thing he needed was to be interrogated while he was trying to drown his sorrows.

Perhaps that was why Rolan felt he could ask her the next question. If nothing else, Lakrissa was a realist.

“Be honest. If you were her, seeing me like this—" he gestured a hand stiffly in the direction of his aching face. "What would you think?”

Lakrissa propped elbows on the wood table to support her chin, regarding him in her casually thoughtful way. "I'd think that your apprenticeship with that wizard isn't going too well. But that you must have a good reason for staying."

That seemed more optimistic than he could hope for. Would Tav respect his reasons the same way? Surely she must know by now that he'd take much worse for the opportunity he'd been handed, if that's what it took. He didn't put Cal and Lia through everything he had on the journey here just to give up now.

But for a moment, Rolan pictured what it might be like in reverse. Watching a mad narcissist like Lorroakan lay hands on her; watching her willingly return for more. His knuckles gripped pale around his cup.

Rolan surfaced quickly from that disturbing image. "Sure she wouldn't see a pompous idiot who’d bragged to anyone who would listen?"

Lakrissa tipped her head in a way that suggested she saw his point. "You've never struck me as an idiot, though. How about this, then—I’d see the man who stepped up to get his people through a nightmare and safely to Baldur’s Gate.”

Rolan swirled the wine in his cup, watching the waves gloomily. “She’s the one who made the way safe for us. You know that.”

“You’re so—” Lakrissa leaned back from the table with a laugh. “Gods. For a smart bloke, Rolan, you can be so stupid. I respected Zevlor,” she told him with sudden emphasis, as though Rolan might think she didn't. “All of us did. He’s the one who got us out of Elturel when half of them wanted to chuck us right back into Avernus. And I’ve no idea why he left us, or whether he’s even alive—” A rare wrinkle of emotion appeared between her brows. “But I do know that you were there. Alfie told me all about how you protected the kids and got everyone to Last Light after…everything.”

"Alfira's a bard," Rolan told her, as if she of all people needed reminding. Foolish dreamer was the actual term that came to mind, but he suspected Lakrissa was the type who would smack people for rudeness. "I've no doubt she exaggerated."

"Oh no, she said you were a complete ass about it," Lakrissa replied matter-of-fact. "And that you spent most of your time drinking the Harpers dry before Tav showed up."

Rolan's pride stung at the comment, but he couldn't exactly deny it. Lakrissa went on. "That doesn't change the fact that you kept them safe. You saved people’s lives, Rolan."

He let out a bitter laugh. "It was only me because all the good ones were already dead."

They stared at each other in silence for a beat.

"That's a pretty shit thing to say,” Lakrissa said quietly. “About them, and about yourself."

Rolan looked down at the dark liquid in his cup, but he couldn't think of anything nicer to say on the subject. He was finding it hard to be nice about anything these days. 

"You're a hero, Rolan," Lakrissa told him simply. "And so is she. I reckon the two of you can figure it out…you deserve to give her a chance, at least."

Rolan only let her advice wash over him in silence. When Lakrissa shifted, he saw her grimacing over his shoulder. 

“Damn. Alan’s giving me the eye—ugh, like there's anyone else to serve anyway—” 

But she rose, and Rolan was ready to return to his glass until he felt a hand rustle between his horns—the way he'd often seen Tiefling parents do to their children back home.

“When you do see her, send her by?” Lakrissa asked. “I still owe her a drink.”

—

Rolan left the Elfsong a few minutes later. He found the wine had done little to quiet his troubled head, and something in Lakrissa’s pointed speech had made him feel too guilty to stay any longer.

As he stepped out through the tavern’s wide oak doors, a chill rustled through his robes. The storm was rolling angrily up from the port now. 

Rolan kept his head down against the breeze that pushed much sharper and colder through the streets than before, sweeping river mist off the roiling Chionthar and plastering it against his face and hands. He thought wistfully of his good cloak—currently sitting useless in his room at the Tower. 

Even after weeks in Baldur's Gate, Rolan was still learning to anticipate the rapid changes in weather that could descend on them from proximity to the coastline. Elturel was set deeper inland; they never got sudden squalls like this. 

The few others he encountered in the streets were also rushing to their destinations with bowed heads, or else frantically boarding up their stalls against the oncoming storm. As he glanced up at the clouds again, a large, foreboding drop landed on his brow.

Rolan ducked down an alleyway south past the print shop. Not normally a shortcut he'd take at twilight, especially through Heapside. But any cutpurse stupid enough to be out in this weather would be easy to dispatch.

Within its walls, the narrow space muffled the sounds of the city. Rolan could practically smell the electricity crackling through the stormclouds above as he walked. All of a sudden there was a blinding flash, a clear peal of thunder, and rain erupted on top of him.

Sheets of it swept down like curtains with breathtaking ferocity, drumming loud against roofs and cobblestones and smothering the warm light from any street lamps he hurried past. His robes were soaked through almost instantly. Rolan swore and raised an arm to shield his vision against the rivulets already running from his hair.

Despite the shortcut, the path to Cal and Lia’s took longer than usual. Small rivers were forming through the streets from the rapid downpour, and the cobbles grew slick under his boots. Rolan had to catch his balance against stone walls and fences a few times. The clatter of rain and thunder was so deafening he could almost feel his brain rattling around inside his skull.

When Rolan stepped under the footbridge around the corner from home, the muffled reprieve made him let out a breath of relief. He paused for a moment to wipe the rain from his forehead and eyes, even wrung out the ends of his hair.

With his head tilted so, he caught sight of a cloaked figure standing on the doorstep to his siblings’ front door. 

Where he stood was cast in shadow—combined with the thick curtains of rain falling between them, Tav hadn't noticed him yet, though they were standing just a few meters apart. She was squinting up at the number above the doorpost. One hand reached from under her cloak to knock, but she paused halfway through the motion as if second-guessing herself.

Was she just looking for Cal and Lia? Or had she somehow known Rolan would be here? But that didn’t make sense—even he hadn’t expected to spend a night with his family until a few hours ago.

Rolan stared at Tav’s upturned face, watching her lashes flutter as she blinked away a few droplets of rain. His heart leapt against his ribs from a bewildering mixture of love and fear.

“Rolan?”

Despite the downpour around them, her voice reached Rolan’s ear with a clarity that made him start where he stood.

She was peering at his figure through the curtain of rain between them. Then she rushed forward without a word, and before Rolan could react, her body collided against his wet robes with a smack. 

He found himself immediately enfolded in her familiar scent as her cheek pressed against his. Rolan's arms circled to hold her of their own volition, every other tumultuous thought conveniently swept from his head.

Then she drew back, and she leaned up to kiss him. 

Her lips were warm and welcoming as hearthfire. Rolan shivered slightly as he realized just how much the wind and rain had chilled him. When her mouth grazed a spot of broken skin, he flinched back at the sting.

"Oh." She stepped away as though he’d burned her. "I—sorry."

"It's not that," he told her. Unbidden, his hand reached toward the edge of her cloak to find one of hers.

Their fingers hooked together finally, and she inhaled in surprise. "Rolan, you're freezing! How long were you out in this?"

Without waiting for his answer, she tugged him forward to the door on the corner. She neglected to knock and simply reached for the latch, and the two of them spilled across the threshold in tandem with another peal of thunder.

Lia leapt up from the table, her shortsword at the ready and polishing rag in hand. Cal’s face appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking equally alarmed. The four of them stared at each other as rain poured into the doorway.

“For hell’s sake—”

Lia darted forward, and for a wild moment Rolan half-expected to be caught up in a hug. But she only pushed past him and wrenched the door shut against a fresh gust of rain, drawing the bolt across. 

Muffled silence blanketed the room around them. After being out in the storm, it made Rolan’s ears ring. Beside him, Tav pushed her cloak’s hood back to her shoulders. 

“Sorry about that,” she told his siblings with a breathless smile.

It triggered a flurry of activity. Lia was drawing her into the room, whisking her cloak off to hang it near the hearth to dry. Cal plunked a large cast iron pot of something steaming onto the central table—a good bit of it spilled over the side—and began poking around in cabinets to find another bowl. They were both talking over each other to Tav the entire time.

Rolan found himself rather left out of it all, and a bit indignant at the fact. 

He spread his palms wide to either side, dripping a path across the floor in the process. “Hello?”

“Oh—” Cal blinked over at him as though just noticing he was there. “Hi, Rolan.”

Lia made no response, suddenly busying herself with putting away her whetstone and sheathing her sword. The cool reception wasn’t lost on him.

“Nice place,” Tav remarked, stretching her hands appreciatively toward the fireplace.

“It’s really not,” Cal said cheerfully. “But it’s better than we hoped, really. All paid for by that bast—”

“Hungry?” Lia interrupted, looking pointedly at Tav and not her older brother. Tav exchanged an uncertain glance with him.

“Not for me,” she answered. “But thanks, and thanks for the invitation. It’s good to see you both well.”

Rolan caught her eye. “Lia and I caught up the other day,” she explained.

“About what?” Rolan asked, unable to stop himself.

Finally, Lia leveled a stare at him. “Take a guess.”

She and Rolan looked at each other in silence for a tense moment. Internally, he was fitting together the pieces of Tav’s visit to the Sundries.

“Anyway,” Tav interrupted slowly, “Rolan and I were actually just hoping for a place to talk.”

“Ah—right. Should we step out?” 

Cal’s voice sounded a bit strained; maybe he assumed that ‘talking’ was some kind of euphemism. The thought made Rolan’s ears grow warm under his hair, but Tav responded before he could open his mouth.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you two can’t go out in all this.” Her face turned toward Rolan, questioning. “Do you have a room we could go to?”

He nodded wordlessly and started down the hall. The fact that Lia and Cal both refrained from comment was a surprise—one that he felt grateful for. Perhaps they’d finally picked up on the tension between the two of them.

Rolan held the door to his bedroom open for her and followed her inside. He felt around for the candle sconce near the doorway and lit it with a word. 

The space was small and plain, but quite clean; his duties didn’t allow him to spend many nights here. Even the narrow bed along the wall was still neatly made from last week.

As she reached to lock the door behind them, she turned to Rolan. “Do you keep clothes here?”

“What are you talking about?” He cringed at how bluntly his own words came out.

Without explaining, she slipped the small pack from her shoulders and tossed it to the floor. Then she swept past him toward the wardrobe and began rifling through its contents.

“Here—” She tossed a set of clean clothes onto the bed. “Change into these. Towel?” Not pausing for an answer, she dug for one at the back of the shelf and added it to the pile.

Rolan frowned at her back defensively. “I can take care of my—”

“Rolan, please just shut up,” she interrupted. She was still turned away, but there was a slight tremor in her voice. “We have a lot we need to talk about. And I can't concentrate with you looking like a wet cat.”

Rolan glanced down at his robes; droplets from the hem were steadily forming a small puddle between his boots. His combined appearance must be pitiful indeed at the moment. Too embarrassed to protest further, Rolan began working at the fastenings of his garments.

Though she'd seen him entirely naked before, something about this moment felt even more intimate somehow. He undressed silently as the muffled rainstorm continued against the shuttered window of his room.

As he removed each soaked layer, she kept her gaze averted to respect his privacy. Rolan did catch her glancing at him a few times when she thought he wouldn't notice, but there was more concern than desire in it. As if she was checking him over.

It did feel much more comfortable to slip a dry tunic and trousers over his chilled skin. Before he set his wet robes aside, Rolan turned away as if folding them in order to retrieve her handwritten note from the pocket. Rain had smudged the ink a bit, but the three most important words were still legible. He exchanged it for the dry pocket at his hip.

The leather tie from his hair—the same one she'd used that very first night—was slipped off and into his pocket as well.

Then he moved to sit on the edge of the bed and began roughly scrubbing at his wet hair with the towel, as if the force might inject some courage into his skull. His mind was currently swirling with uncertainty of what she would say next.

Rolan caught her eye from behind his loose strands of hair. To his very great relief, her expression softened.

“Let me—”

In a flash, she had curled up cross-legged behind him on the bed and was taking the cloth from his hand. She smoothed his hair back and squeezed rainwater from the ends.

Her touch was much gentler than his own—the gentlest thing he’d felt in weeks. Rolan closed his eyes at the feeling of her fingers combing against his scalp. He found himself very grateful she couldn't see his face. If this was the most she ever wanted to touch him again, he thought he could almost be satisfied. 

“I spoke with Lorroakan today.”

Rolan sat quiet for a moment. “I know.”

“You’ve got more magic in one hand than that charlatan has in his whole fucking body.”

Her bluntness caused his lips to twitch with an unwilling smile. “I know,” Rolan repeated, more confident this time.

The fingers in his hair paused; he could practically feel her eyes boring into the back of his head. “Rolan, is that why he's doing this to you? Hurting you?

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Rolan told her. Making sense of Lorroakan was futile. He had stopped trying long ago, to save his own sanity. Even now, her questions stirred up an anxious frustration in his chest. “Does it matter?”

There was a soft rustle as she scooted sideways into his sight line—Rolan glanced over to see her brow wrinkled in a sad expression. 

“How can you say that?” She replied. “Of course it matters what happens to you, Rolan.”

There was not a trace of insincerity in her face. Rolan found he badly wanted to kiss her again. Instead, he bowed his head toward the floor.

“This is just how it is,” he told the floorboards. “It won't be forever. I'm strong enough to bear much worse than this, you know.” 

“I know you are—” Her fingers resumed their work in his hair, gently tugging and working at a small knot. “The point is you shouldn't have to.” 

She was right, of course. He had no logical defense against her words. The room lapsed into silence instead. Beyond the walls, blustering sheets of rain continued to buffet against the roof tiles and window panes.

Tav spoke up behind him again. “Some of those bruises are old. You aren't healing yourself at least?”

She gave his skill more credit than he deserved. “I’m still learning how,” Rolan admitted glumly, glad again to be facing away from her. 

In truth, healing scrolls were what he'd been searching for that night Lorroakan had accused him. If only he could see the techniques for himself—he was certain he could master them. The archmage had conspicuously neglected to allow any lessons on abjuration magic thus far.

The mattress behind him shifted as Tav rose. Rolan watched her move to snatch up her pack from the corner, then barely managed to catch it as the object sailed toward his lap.

“Take those,” she said as she clambered back up behind him to continue gently toweling his hair. “Keep them here, study from them whenever you want. They're yours.”

Rolan felt a thrill of pure excitement as he peered down into the leather bag—and found it filled with a score of tightly bound spell scrolls. This small cache was worth more gold than he’d ever seen together in one place.

He pulled one out to examine its formidable wax seal. “Where did you get all of these?”

“Um…don't worry about it.”

“Stolen,” he finished dryly.

Her tone grew playfully defensive behind him. “From a very bad man who is now dead. There, does that satisfy you?” 

Rolan had turned to kiss her before the last word left her lips. The pack slipped to the floor between his feet as his hands notched behind Tav’s jaw to pull her forward. He felt a damp weight land in his lap as her now-empty fingers slid around his torso.

Rolan broke away just enough to speak. “Stay here tonight,” he told her. It wasn't a question.

Tav nodded, leaning back in for his mouth.

Her fingers splayed in the dip between his jaw and his ear, tilting his face into hers. He kept his palm firmly pressed on the curve of her waist. Each time her lips slid softly over his, Rolan found his heart filled with another shimmering pearl of hope. They stayed there connected in a kiss until his back began to ache from the contorted position. 

To his immense disappointment, Tav pulled away first. But she only made a hesitant request to borrow some clothes for herself. Rolan finally realized with a jolt of guilt that her own were wet down the front, no doubt from that moment she'd held him outside in the rain.

Rolan trained his eyes away to give her the same privacy. But though Tav didn't meet his eye, she made no attempt to hide her body—in fact seemed to move with deliberate slowness as she stripped down and pulled the threadbare tunic over her head. It barely skimmed the tops of her thighs.

Then she moved to the candle near the door and extinguished it with a puff.

Through the near-darkness, Rolan worked the bedcovers down to slip beneath them. As his damp hair landed on the pillow, he felt the mattress dip beside him as Tav promptly curled herself in along his front under the blankets. Underneath, his tail moved with a mind of its own to wind around one of her legs. She let out a small, happy sigh that tickled across his chin.

Rolan briefly wondered if they were intentionally trying to distract each other. Tav had clearly come here to find him and talk, after all. And there was much more to say—he could feel all the words unspoken hanging between them like a tangible thing. From the way Tav’s fingers worried the laces of his shirt, he wondered if she was thinking the same. 

But neither of them spoke for the moment, just lying together as they listened to the storm continue outside on the streets of Baldur’s Gate. 

Eventually, Rolan laid his arm still across her and closed his eyes. She was so warm, her quiet presence so comforting—and he found now that he was very, very tired. 

Perhaps the rest of it could keep until the morning.

[colormepurplex2]

Flowers of Fate | Lavender & Thyme

↳ UnseeliePrince!Yoongi x Human!f.Reader (ft. x UnseelieGuard!Jungkook x SeeliePrince!Jimin x WoodNymph!Namjoon) ⤜ Strangers to Bonded Mates ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 20,683 ⚠️ Adult humor, crass language, talk of murdered loved ones, angst, hurt feelings, vaginal sex, cum eating, body exploration, awkward yet endearingly cute sexual moments, jealousy, blood, stab wounds Next Chapter⇾ ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to series masterlist

The man looming over you narrows his eyes before he flicks them up to JK, who looks smug behind you. “They are supposed to be willing. This does not look willing to me. The bitter stink of her fear is burning my nose.” His nose wrinkles as if to accentuate his observation. “Can you not smell it? And…is that,” he sniffs the air, “the loch I also smell? What the hell happened?”

JK shifts his feet and clears his throat. “She may have had a slight incident going through the gateway. And, of course I can smell the fear. But what would you have had me do differently? She was unprotected, the first we’ve encountered in nearly a decade. I did what I had to.”

That makes the man’s eyebrows rise, and his eyes fall back down to you. “Unprotected? Is that so?”

“More or less,” JK mumbles.

“And that means?” The question comes from a man that steps around the side of the one in front of you. “That sounds a lot like loophole shenanigans to me.” He is pretty, with sandy brown hair, warm brown eyes, and ears pointed similarly to the man now glaring down at you. 

“Well, Joon, it means when I first arrived at the gathering, not a soul was without protection. Then, suddenly, she lit up like a dry stick of tinder, and I did the only thing I could think to do…I took her.” His placating shifts from the man he called Joon back to the one standing before you. “We’re losing time, Yoons. We can’t keep waiting around as we have been with our thumbs up our asses. This was the break we needed, don’t sneer at me over something I’ve done for you.”

The man clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Seven Hells. I hate that you are right.” Suddenly he’s in your face, crouched down with an elbow resting on a knee. He tilts his head slowly from side to side, those faceted green eyes roving over your face. “What is your name?” he finally asks, a long, slender finger lightly tapping your chin.

You jerk back, appalled. “Oh, fuck you, man! I’m not giving you my name! I’m not stupid. I just want to go home.”

“You’re stupid enough to get snatched up by a Fey,” JK snarks softly.

The man standing behind Yoons slaps a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Do be fair, JK. It is not like the poor girl really knew what was happening. It seems she may have become a victim of vandalism,” he muses, the words slightly muffled behind his hand. He steps forward and fingers a yellow petal from your wet hair. “Honey bell petals.”

JK snatches the petal from the man’s fingers. “Fuck,” he curses. “I saw the damaged crown, but I didn’t see any honey bells. Well, she was unprotected when I approached her. That’s what matters, right?”

“Mmm, technicalities,” Yoons scoffs, swatting JK’s hand, making the petal flutter down and land in your lap.

You pick up the tiny, crumpled, yellow petal. “This is why I’m here? Because my God damn flower crown got destroyed?” you ask, incredulously. The petal turns a dark ocher color as you roll and mash it between your fingers in anger. “Monica, you fucking drunk asshole with your flailing hands.”

“JK does have a point, though, Yoons. You are running out of time, and beggars cannot really be choosers. Sure, she is maybe not…ideal, but she will provide you with what you need.” For some reason, your hackles rise at the idea that you’re apparently not ideal for whatever it is they seemingly need you for.  

Yoons straightens and brushes his hands along the front of his shirt as if absently ridding himself of the slight touch he exchanged with you. “Yes, so it may seem. Well—,“ he glances at JK before continuing, “—Beautiful, it seems that either way you look at it, you are stuck here for the time being, and I do, indeed, have need of a human mate. Perhaps, we can come to some sort of…uh, agreement?”

All the warnings your grandpa ever gave you about making deals with the fae come crashing down on you all at once. “An agreement? You want me to make a deal with you, a supposed fae? Do I have ‘fool’ written on my forehead or something? Absolutely not!”

You scramble to your feet, backing up and putting as much distance as you can between you and the formidable forms standing around you. It’s a shorter gap than you’d like as your back bumps into the now-shut wooden door JK hauled you through. A cursory glance around shows a small open space serving as a kitchen, dining area, and living space. There are two doorways on the backside of the space, the doors slightly ajar, but the rooms beyond are too dark to discern.

“If you could just listen to my proposal, you may find yourself a bit more amicable to agreeing,” Yoons explains softly, gesturing behind him to the wooden dining table with benches to either side. “Please, sit and let me explain as much as I can. If you do not like what I have to say, then you will be free to walk back out that door, and we will not follow—”

“Yoon—!”

Yoons holds up a hand, silencing whatever protest JK is about to spew. “You have my word,” he says to you, slowly and deliberately. His eyes are wide and sincere, even though they’re still quite jarring to look at. They glimmer in the light emanating from the few wall sconces and the fire humming in the hearth across the room, the green shifting to soft gold and back again.

“The fae can’t lie, right?”

Yoons’ lips twitch, the corner tugging up into a slight smile. “Right.”

You sigh. “Even if you could lie, you probably wouldn’t admit it. God, maybe I really am a fool. Okay, okay, I’ll hear you out, but just so you know, I’m about two-point-five seconds away from just running out that door and never looking back.”

“Right back to the kelpies,” JK mutters. You catch Yoons giving him a stern look that makes him drop his eyes to the floor and take up a guarded position by the door, his hands behind his back and his feet shoulder-width apart.

“Despite his seemingly irresistible need to be so harsh with his words, JK does present another point to consider. Outside of this home and the clearing it sits in, you would be at the mercy of the creatures and beings of the Hollow Lands. Though we are closer to the Seelie Court, perhaps if you choose the right direction to run in…” he trails off, rolling his lips between his teeth. You can see how his prominent canines stretch the fullness of his upper lip.

The other man, Joon, gives you a gentile smile and gestures to one of the benches. “Please, have a seat. Oh! You must be freezing,” he titters, moving across to a large woven basket beside the fireplace. “Here.” He grabs out a large, thick woolen blanket and promptly drapes it over your shoulders. “If you decide to stay here, I am sure I can rustle up some garments that will fit you while yours dry properly.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Yoons places a hand on Joon’s arm as he passes by, heading toward the sink in the kitchen area. “My thoughts are scattered. I am grateful for your courtesy.” Those flickering green eyes shift to you, and you can see Yoons’ shoulders sag a little as he sighs. “Apologies, truly. I am normally not so…lacking in hospitality.”

Yoons takes a deep breath and settles on the bench across the table from you. The wood is smooth, dark with age, and worn from use. A steaming pot of what smells like lavender and thyme tea and empty teacups are set on the table between you by Joon. “Lemon sugar and sweet honeysuckle cream if you want it,” he says softly, placing small lidded ramekins and a tiny wooden spoon beside the pot.

You eye the steaming pot of tea, tempted but shake your head, keeping your hands fisting into the soft woolen fabric of the blanket instead. “If you are worried about accepting food from a Fey, thinking it will leave you ensorcelled or trapped here forever, you need not worry about that with Joon. He is not a Greater Fey. He does not possess the ability to entrap a human with his food or drink,” Yoons explains, helping himself to a cup of steaming tea. The fragrant brew is a light plum color, deepening as he adds a spoonful of lemon sugar. “For the sake of transparency, JK is not a Greater Fey either.”

“And you?” you ask when he doesn’t offer up that knowledge as well.

Yoons blows gently over the lip of his cup before taking a slow sip. The silence stretches, broken only by the occasional pop of a log in the fireplace and the soft sound of Joon now kneading dough on the kitchen counter. “I…am,” he finally says, setting his cup back down and cupping his hands around it as if seeking its added warmth.

“What does that mean exactly?” you ask, tentatively, eyeing the steaming pot of tea again. Your throat is dry, and you are awfully cold, even with the wool blanket and heat coming from the fire. Can you trust his word?

Yoons shift uncomfortably on the bench, his eyes staring into yours as you assume he thinks of how to respond. Instead, though, Joon comments, glancing at you from over his shoulder. “He is right. I am a simple woodland nymph. I barely have the magick needed to encourage my garden to grow and protect my home, much less entrap a human here in the Fey Realm. JK is but a simple Seelie guard. His prowess is more related to the thickness of his muscles than the ability of his glamor.”

JK scoffs from his position by the door. “Yes, let’s tell the human everything.”

“Half-truths are not the way to receive her trust. You, better than anyone, should realize that after the foot you have started her off on,” Yoons admonishes JK, waving a stern but dismissive hand in the air.

“Can you not talk about me like I’m not here?” you grumble, cutting your glance between Yoons and JK.

Yoons’ lips press firmly together before he gives you a slight nod. “Right, apologies again. It has been some time since we have had company other than those who know about this glade.”

“Let’s just get on with whatever this proposal is so I can decide whether or not I’m actually going fucking mental.” You finally relent and reach out to pour yourself a cup of tea, if only to have something to hold for extra warmth.

The lavender and thyme scent is comforting, reminding you of your grandpa. The heat and warmth suffusing through the porcelain cup seep into your hands, helping pull back a fraction of the chill from your tumble into the loch.

“I will try to speak as plainly as possible,” Yoons begins. “However, there are things that you still may not understand. For starters, it may be hard to believe, but you are indeed in the Hollow Lands, the expanse of land that sits between the Seelie and Unseelie courts. We are outside of your realm. JK brought you through…a portal of sorts—one that we have been using for centuries when the veil between our worlds is thin enough. You see, the myths and stories you may have heard all have at least a little truth about them. Do faeries kidnap humans? In a way, perhaps. Though, there are safeguards that humans have been using for just as long to make their desire and status known to the Fey. The honey bell flower is a ward, protecting any and all who wear a circle of it against the glamor of a Fey. Anyone not wearing a circlet of the honey bell is seen to be willing.”

“That doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, though, now does it?” you question.

Yoons sucks a breath between his teeth. “It does, but this seems like a very unusual situation we have all found ourselves in. You see, JK is sworn to me as a protector. He was acting on my behalf, trying to find the key I need in order to stop something bad from happening to my people.”

“That’s not cryptic at all,” you say, laying the sarcasm on as thick as you can. “I thought you were going to speak plainly?” You wet your lips with your tongue, so tempted to take just a tiny sip of the tea.

There is a momentary pause as Yoons takes another sip of his own tea. “I think this might be your best brew yet, Joon,” he murmurs softly. “Plain. Okay. I have been banished from the Unseelie Court. If I do not find a human mate before the next full moon, I will be permanently banned from crossing into the border of my home…locking away all of my people and my family in endless darkness with the one responsible for the turmoil that has befallen my court.”

“Why have you been banished? Banishment usually means you had to have done something to earn it. People don’t just get banished for no reason.” The last thing you want is to be fooled into thinking you are helping the good guy, only to find out later that he’s really the bad one.

Yoons shifts, again looking mildly uncomfortable by your question, which makes you glad you asked it. “It is believed that I killed my father and my brother.”

A chill slithers down the nape of your neck with that admission. “It is believed—believed but not true?”

“I would sooner take my own life than that of my kin. I loved my father dearly for what he did for our people; my brother was my best friend. I did not want nor seek their deaths.”

“What’s so important about the next full moon? Why is that significant?” Every piece of the puzzle he provides will help your decision-making. You just have to be sure to ask the right questions.

Tapping his fingers lightly against the outside of his cup, Yoons explains, “The longer a Fey is away from their origin of magick—for me, that would be the Unseelie Court Moon Stone—the less connected we are to it. It has been nearly a decade since I last was within the borders of my home, since I last felt the cooling mist of the lunar winds on my face. I can already feel how significantly depleted my magick is, how much weaker I grow by the day. If I do not secure a way to access the inner well of my power before the end of my tenth year away, I will lose touch with it completely. So, having a human mate is not only crucial to me being strong enough to defeat the one that started everything, but it also means I’ll retain my ability to touch magick at all.”

“What does a human mate have to do with any of that? How can that help? Couldn’t you bond with anyone?” You’d be lying if you said you weren’t at least somewhat intrigued now—if this is indeed the truth. The idea that you’re on a different plane of existence seems to be unquestionable at this point. How you’re not completely coming apart at the mental seams is beyond your understanding. There is a small glimmer inside, though, that you recognize as the same feeling you once got listening to your grandpa’s stories.

Yoons spreads his hands out in front of himself in a placating manner. “Everything. The reason there are tales of Fey taking humans is that they have taken willing participants as mates because humans can open the inner well of a Fey, unleashing their full potential of magick.”

“So, I woul— I mean, a human would allow you to access a secret well of power that’s just supposed to magically…what? Make the bad guy go away?” You hope they don’t read too much into your slip-up of words. It’s not like you’re actually considering his offer…whatever it is, as he still hasn’t truly laid that out yet.

He’s nodding before you finish asking. “Humans are like a conduit, an open channel for magick. They can amplify the strength of existing Fey magick and allow more to be harnessed safely. Having a human mate is the only way I can access enough of my power to save my people.”

“And you haven’t had any luck finding a human mate so far, so you send your muscle bunny over there to kidnap one for you?”

JK steps forward, intent to protest, but Yoons holds up a hand, silencing him. “Look, I know you did not come here of your own free will, and for that, I will forever apologize. But, I would be remiss to say I am not also grateful that you are here. Once, it may have been easy for my kind to come into your world and find someone willing. But, over time, the stories have changed how humans react and perceive our kind. In your stories, we are monsters, tricksters, and sly thieves. That is just a warped perception based on exaggerated presumptions. All I want is someone to help me save my people.”

“Say I do agree, then what? What will happen to me?” The tea in your cup ripples as you clench your hands around it in agitation. “You say I’m trapped here regardless. What happens if I say no? What madness awaits me out there?” You nod toward the door behind JK.

Joon turns from placing his dough into a deep pan, dusting his hands off on a blush-colored towel. “If I may?” Yoons gives him a slight nod. “Beyond my glade, await things that are far worse than being a mate to a Greater Fey. My magick is a ward, tethered to the soil where I plant my seeds. If you agree to stay and help Yoons, there is a chance you could see your world again…but if you leave here, that chance diminishes greatly. You would be lucky to make it to the Seelie Court, but even then, you would most likely end up as a captive rotting away the rest of your existence in the dungeons. The Fey take great care in choosing the outsiders they allow to walk freely within their courts. They would spend your entire human lifetime discussing what to do with you. Your bones would molder in the dark before they made up their minds.”

“I really am stuck here.” The resignation in your voice is apparent.

You see the moment Yoons thinks to reach across the table and console you. His hand lifts from where it’s resting on the wood, but he drops it back down and clenches his fingers instead. “Unfortunately, yes. At least, for the next six months or so, until the veil thins again and a gateway is accessible. As to what will happen to you if you agree to help me, well, you will become my mate. It is similar to what your kind calls marriage. There is a ceremony where we are bound and then a…um, consummation to solidify the link to my magick.”

Ignoring that blatant statement of having to have sex with this man, you ask another question, “Tell me more about your home and what’s going on with this supposed bad guy?”

Yoons’ face closes down, and he straightens his shoulders, hands dropping into his lap. “The male who murdered my father and brother, and holds my mother captive is using dark magick in order to steal and manipulate his way through my court. He has bewitched the whole of the Unseelie Court and uses his connection to the Seelie Court as a ruse. His ultimate goal is to see the end of my people and the absolute rule of Seelie. He thinks we are no better than a people to be enslaved, fodder for his kind to use as building blocks so they may reign supreme over all of this realm and the beings within it.”

“Do the Seelie support this? Why aren’t they doing something about it if they’re not in agreement? Are you fighting one man or an entire people? You make it seem like an impossible task.” You can’t help that some part of you feels sympathy for this man—faerie, whatever he is—despite your indignation over his methods of finding a solution.

JK harrumphs softly from the door. “It’s only impossible if you say no. The Seelie are just as much victims of this maddening farce as we are. The entirety of our realm, our world as we know it, is on the line and you can be the force to tip us one way or another. Look,” he sighs, taking a few steps forward from the door to stand beside the table, “I’ll be honest. It’s my fault you’re here. I didn’t realize you actually had a circle of honey bells on at some point. But, even if I had…I can’t say for certain I wouldn’t have still tried to bring you back with you being unprotected. Over the last decade, I have gone through the Carterhaugh gateway every chance I could. I have walked among the festivities, danced around the May-poles with oblivious humans, tried to ask for help, created friendships, anything I could think of that might allow me to do my job, but every time, it’s been the same. No one cares; no one believes me. They chalk it up to too much whisky or too many hours listening to childish fairy tales. It wasn’t until you that there was ever even a glimmer of hope for us.”

“Peace, JK,” Yoons murmurs. “It is the truth—The Seelie are victims in this. You see, the Fey responsible for all of this first came to the Unseelie Court as a liaison from the Seelie. It is no secret that though we are of the same people, we have conflicted against one another since the dawn of our time, at least until some fifty years ago. The Unseelie and Seelie Kings had enough. They were tired of seeing their people suffer. They came together to spark a truce. All conflict ceased, and trade began—bringing near-instant fruitfulness for both sides. The Hollow Lands remained neutral ground where markets were held at the beginning of each new moon phase, and things were going wonderfully. Then Chaddick, the Seelie Queen’s brother by marriage, came to the Unseelie Court to continue with the politics, and it has been darkness and decline ever since, beginning with his murder of the Unseelie King.”

“And you’re the only one that can save your people? Why you? Why your family? What exactly happened?” The more you learn, the harder it becomes to find a reason not to agree to help. It’s not like you have many other options. Perhaps if you decide to help, you can barter for your own help in return.

“As Greater Fey, we posed the biggest threat to thwarting his plans. I escaped, but only barely. I am the only remaining Greater Fey of the Unseelie Court who knows the truth and has the ability to do something about it. I represent the only hope there is.”

Silence settles between you and Yoons, his last words sinking in with a finality. You glance down at the cup nestled between your palms. As if without your permission, you bring it up and slowly press it to your lips. The slightly bitter and floral scent fills your lungs before sliding over your bottom lip and coating your tongue. It’s the tiniest sip, barely enough to wet your throat, but already you feel better—calmer. There is no apparent mindlessness, you’re not consumed with the desire to obey, and something inside you tells you that you know you could still leave if you wanted to.

“If I agree to help you—to become your mate…I want you to promise me that you’ll take me to a gateway and allow me to leave at the very next Samhain, unharmed, and with no strings attached.” The cup rattles gently against the tabletop as your trembling hands place it back down. “This is the only way I will agree to help you.” The words you choose are careful, constructed, and spoken in a way that is plain and concise, with no room for misinterpretation or fae foolery. “There will be absolutely no tricks, deceptions, or wayward attempts from you to keep me here. I want a guarantee that you will do all in your power to ensure I get back to my world in as much the same condition at which I left it as you can manage.”

Yoons studies you for a moment, his eyes unreadable as they flicker over your features. “I will agree to this…with one variable if you will. If I am able to free my people and see to it that Chaddick is no longer a threat, I will personally escort you to the Carterhaugh gateway come next Samhain and will allow you to leave with no further obligations. I, however, can not guarantee there will be no strings attached, per se. You see, becoming my mate would mean we are mated for all of our respective lifetimes. Being the mate to a Greater Fey, even living in your mortal realm, will mean you will still see the effects of our bond. Your life will become irrevocably longer. You will experience greater strength and stamina; you will, for all intents and purposes, be Fey yourself. Know that there is always a danger in being one of our kind living in your world. Even across the distance of parallel realms, we would still be aware of each other…the mate bond is an intimate one.”

Joon clears his throat before giving you a gentle smile. “I do know of a way to create an herbal suppressant, though. It will not completely blanket the bond, but it would ease the ache of separation. I could show you how to make it. Thankfully, all the herbs and spices you would need grow in your world, too.”

“The ache of separation?” you question, cocking an eyebrow at Yoons.

“As I said, I can not guarantee no strings. After many years apart, bonded mates may feel…ah, well, something akin to discomfort of the soul. A sadness that no amount of sun or sweets can remedy.” Yoons straights again in his seat, quickly bringing up his teacup to take another sip. “It is something I am willing to endure for the safety of my people. No pain could possibly compare to the pain I know in my heart currently.” His green eyes flash, hatred and malice darkening his features before he swipes his free hand over his face and sighs. “It has been a long day, longer for you, I am sure. If you would, Na—ahem, Joon, see to it that our guest has dry clothing and a place to rest. You may have an hour to rest and think about my offer.”

Pushing up from the table, Yoons places his cup back down and makes his way to the door you came in through. JK beats him to it, wrenching the knob and yanking it open. Yoons walks through the open door, JK disappearing behind it. The door thumps closed, sealing the interior of the small cottage in silence once more.

“Come, my dear, let’s get you more comfortable.” Joon gestures toward one of the doorways at the back of the room.

🌸🌸🌸

Yoongi

“This is a terrible idea. I swear, if you had wings…I. Would. Clip. Them,” Yoongi seethes, rounding on Jungkook, punctuating the last few words with sharp jabs to the center of his chest.

Jungkook swats Yoongi’s hand away, baring his teeth in turn. “The only terrible idea is you agreeing to let her return to her world in the end! You know the consequences of that. Are you really willing to accept an eternity of crippling pain for her?”

Yoongi sighs, turning away from Jungkook. His eyes fix on the large, green leaves of Namjoon’s seeded oak that are closer to the ground than they were yesterday, faintly twisting in the hazy breeze wafting from the west—the direction of the Seelie Court. The air holds a floral scent, one that Yoongi knows fondly.

“I do not think I have much of a choice, my friend,” he finally admits, resigned. “We need this to work. You have said so yourself that we are running out of time. The next full moon is just a few days away. If I cannot access the rest of my power by then, all will be lost, and you and I will never see the stars of the Unseelie Court again. It is a thought I can barely bring myself to contemplate. My mother…” Yoongi doesn’t have to finish his sentence. Jungkook knows exactly what would become of Yoongi’s mother—the woman that is just as much a mother to Jungkook—if all of this fails.

Jungkook closes the distance between himself and Yoongi. He hesitates, warring internally on whether or not he will be crossing a line, but finally places a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. Yoongi instantly tenses, making Jungkook flinch, but he keeps his hand where it is. “You know I would do anything for you. If there were even the slightest possibility that we could do this any other way, I’d dump her back in the loch myself in a heartbeat. Just know this, Yoongi, you have agreed to see that she returns to her world if she so wishes…but I have made no such promise.” Letting his hand slip from Yoongi’s shoulder, he huffs in irritation and disappears into Namjoon’s garden beyond the seeded oak. “I’ll gather some food for dinner.”

Yoongi watches Jungkook until he’s lost among the foliage. He knows agreeing to your terms was foolish. He just wasn’t sure what else he could have done to help convince you to agree. It took everything in Yoongi not to lunge across the table, grapple you to the floor, and use his magick to force you into submission. It would have been easy, a simple feat in just a matter of moments. But it would have been too risky.

There isn’t much known to him, personally, about the bond between a Fey and a human other than what his mother told him during his childhood. What he told you was mostly true, with perhaps a few omissions. It is true that the Fey took willing humans for their mated bonds, but that is such an archaic practice that Yoongi has never actually known a mated human-Fey pair. In all his years, it has only ever been Fey mated with Fey. It has been a very long time since a Fey needed access to their full power.

From what he knows, a mated bond can only work to its fullest potential with a willing human. Forcing a human into a mated bond has been known to have the opposite effect than desired. A Fey that takes an unwilling human will be tainted by the bond, their magick forever infused with darkness and pain. At least, that’s what the stories say. Yoongi entertained the idea in the beginning when he first escaped from Chaddick. Jungkook even captured a human man, hauling him back through the gateway just to have to take him back after Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to bond the man against his will. It’s been a very precarious line to walk ever since.

“A damned fool,” Yoongi whispers to himself before following Jungkook into the garden. He knows there is no use in arguing with Jungkook over his last declaration, so he will just have to tread carefully and hope you don’t catch wind of that revelation.

Namjoon’s garden is something of pride and bounty. Glowing, magick-infused spheres dot the meandering paths between beds of vegetables and fruits. Vines slither along runners of trellis, and branches ladened with juicy fruits dangle within easy reach at the end of each path. Everything in the garden, except for a few vegetables and herbs, is mortal. Just another precaution that Namjoon personally undertook to help Yoongi in this quest. Without the help of Jungkook and Namjoon, Yoongi knows he would never have had a chance.

“Do you think we should have asked if she has any allergies?” Jungkook muses as he digs up a cluster of red potatoes. “Maybe she only eats meat. I did find her by the grill pits. I have a few snares in the western glen that I can check.” He rattles off the different locations and how he’s learned the best runs to set up traps on, and how they change with the seasons.

Yoongi can’t help but smile as he listens to Jungkook. The youthful swagger left Jungkook’s step around the same time the roundness of his face did—when they escaped the Unseelie Court nearly a decade ago. Yoongi wonders if Jungkook mourns the playful nature that once possessed the guard as he does. Despite Yoongi’s status as a Greater Fey and Jungkook’s lack of, growing up together solidified their bond. The day Jungkook got down on his knees and swore himself in service of Yoongi only helped to strengthen it.

It’s on the tip of Yoongi’s tongue to talk about you, to muse along with Jungkook about what you do and don’t like. But, he holds back, choosing a different thought to voice aloud, lest he somehow gives himself some odd sense of false hope by letting you linger too long in his conscious thoughts. “I think Namjoon, at least, would appreciate some meat to add to the stew.” Yoongi moves to grab one of the harvest baskets Namjoon keeps in the garden, depositing the vegetables and fruits he chose. “I will take these inside and help Namjoon begin dinner if you want to check your snares.”

“Sure,” Jungkook agrees, depositing his own armful of goods into the basket. “I shouldn’t be too long.”

Yoongi makes his way out of the garden, parting ways with Jungkook at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the porch. Pausing at the top of the stairs, Yoongi takes a moment to look east, toward the Unseelie Court. For all the years he’s been in hiding, the constant drive to return home hasn’t lessened in the slightest. He can feel the longing deep in his heart and soul, his magick calling out to be within the barrier of his home. Perhaps, he’ll be returning there sooner than he imagined. Hopefully.

He hefts the basket onto his hip, freeing one of his hands to open the door. It swings open slowly, revealing Namjoon tending to a boiling pot over the fire. The welcoming smell of baking bread fills the small space.

“Where is she?” he immediately asks when he realizes you’re nowhere to be seen. 

Namjoon smirks, his warm brown eyes twinkling in the light from the fire. “I offered her the courtesy of a warm bath. You are welcome to go in and check on her if you would like.” He nods toward the second door across the room, now firmly shut—a tiny sliver of light peeks from under it.

Yoongi scoffs. “You have a poor sense of humor.”

“Do not worry. I did not let your precious human mate escape. As much as I am of the middle ground, our friendship means more to me than neutrality,” Namjoon comments quietly. “After all, I have been harboring a pair of wanted Fey for nearly a decade now.”

It’s not a jab by any means; Yoongi knows that, but those words add a slight ache to the crushing weight already on his shoulders. Just a reminder of how important this all is. Yoongi and Jungkook aren’t the only ones that would be facing irrevocable consequences should this not succeed. Even though Namjoon has been able to hide Yoongi and Jungkook behind the ward of his magick here in the clearing, Namjoon’s magick has slowly been depleting. With each passing year, the ward weakens. The drooping branches of Namjoon’s seeded oak are proof enough of that. Whereas the tree once stood tall, proud, with limbs extended high into the air—they’re now far closer to the ground than the clouds, a very alarming reality.

Before he can reply to Namjoon, a thump followed by a muffled yelp has him dropping the harvest basket—sending fruit and vegetables scattering across the floor—and racing to the closed door. It swings open, the hinges squealing in protest of the force at which Yoongi opens it. “Are you okay?!” Yoongi exclaims, eyes wide on your naked form, bent over to retrieve the towel puddled on the floor by the sink.

“What the—close the fucking door!” you yell, snatching up the towel and trying to cover yourself.

Your words barely register before Yoongi lets out his own yell and scrambles to close the door. “Sorry! Sorry!” he yells through the now-closed door. “I heard you scream! Seven Hells consume me. I am so sorry! Are you okay?”

Your voice grows louder as you walk closer to the door. “I’m fine,” is your breathy reply. Yoongi can hear the barely concealed laughter in your words. “I missed the last step getting out of the bath and caught myself on the sink. The only thing wounded is my pride at this point.”

Yoongi jerks away from the door when he feels you opening it. He tries to look anywhere but at you when it slowly opens, revealing you now with the towel tucked under your arms. His traitorous eyes lock onto a water drop that slips down your neck and traces the curved mound of your breast before being absorbed by the towel. He clears his throat, taking another step back and forcing his eyes to the floor. “I—uh, that was—I am terribly sorry. I should have knocked or…”

You do laugh now. It’s a pretty sound, one that has Yoongi’s eyes flickering back up to take in the slight smile now curling your lips. You take a deep breath. Yoongi is proud of himself for refraining from watching the rise and fall of your towel when you do so. “Well, I guess that will help with the awkwardness of seeing me naked before we have to…you know.”

A choking sound echoes from across the room, Namjoon trying to suppress his own laughter. Yoongi’s brows bunch together as he frantically tries deciphering some hidden meaning behind your words. Because, surely, you don’t mean what he thinks you do. “Is that your way of saying yes?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as he fights the need to heave air into his lungs for fear of breathing too loud and not hearing your response.

“Not how I intended to say it, but yeah…umm,” you pause, shifting awkwardly on your feet, wet your lips, and try again. “I mean—yes, it’s a yes. I’ll help you if you promise to help me return at the next Samhain.”

Yoongi can’t believe what he's hearing. He was sure he’d have to barter and spend several more hours trying to convince you, despite his earlier words of only giving you an hour to decide.

“Yes, yes, okay. Agreed.” Yoongi hesitates, wondering if he should let you get dressed. But decides he doesn’t want to give you any more time to possibly talk yourself out of the agreement. He steps toward you quickly, extending his right hand. “You have my word, I swear it. For your agreement to be my mate, I will do everything in my power to see to it that you return home at the next Samhain if that is your wish.”

Yoongi watches a myriad of emotions play out on your face as you stare at his long and slender fingers hanging in the air between you. He can see the moment you mentally leap over whatever last hurdle there was. You take a soft breath–that Yoongi allows himself to watch swell your chest this time–and slide your hand into his.

“It’s a dea—“ a loud yell outside the front door cuts off your words. Yoongi’s fingers tighten around yours, and he lets a trickle of his magick leech into you, cementing the agreement.

The smell of jasmine and chamomile floods the room as the front door is slammed open. That combined fragrance makes his heart ache, but not nearly as much as the look on the face of the figure now standing in the open doorway. He was so caught up in the moment that he hadn’t realized the scent in the air around the cabin had changed.

In strides a striking figure, regaling in beautiful blush-colored robes with silver accents. Jungkook follows quickly behind, a string of fuzzy hares tethered to his belt. “If you would just listen to me!” He stops in his tracks, eyes flicking from the newcomer to where you and Yoongi are standing across the room, hands still clasped together. “Ah, Seven Hells…you did it, didn’t you?”

Yoongi opens his mouth, intent to address the room, but a sharp hand is slashed in the air, cutting off anything he could possibly say in his own defense. “Sixty years,” whispers a voice Yoongi knows intimately. He is beautiful as always with his dark brown hair, the silky strands shifting to reveal his ears' soft, pointed tips. His plush lips help conceal the points of his canines, but as he speaks, they peek out. “Sixty years gone in an instant. I knew this day was coming. I knew it needed to come for the world to be right again…but I thought you would at least afford me the decency of allowing me to be here to help, to witness, to ensure you did not bind yourself to someone unworthy of the status of the bonded mate of a Fey Prince!” By the time he’s finished speaking, his voice has risen to a booming volume that fills the entire space.

“Mini.” Yoongi winces as Jimin sneers at his nickname—the name Yoongi has moaned into his ear many times over the last sixty years.

“Wait—a Prince? You’re a fae Prince! Oh, for fucks sake, what else are you keeping from me?!”

Tightening his grip around your hand, Yoongi prevents you from snatching your hand away in anger. He groans, tasting the sudden sour flare of betrayal coming from you. “Fuck.”

🌸🌸🌸

Yoons and the stranger, who you heard him call Mini, disappear out the door quickly after it’s revealed that Yoons is actually a fae Prince. He gave you a guarded look, dropped your hand, and stormed out the door with Mini hot on his heels. JK shut the door and has been standing with his back to it like a guarding sentinel ever since.

That was hours ago now, you’re sure. It’s hard to tell, considering what Joon explained about the passage of time in the fae realm. When he ushered you back into the lone bedroom, where he had clothes waiting for you laid out on the bed, you asked how long you had been there. He shrugged, explaining that time passes as it needs to based on the power demand of the sun and moon, but if he could guess, it would be nearing midday back in your world now, leaving you to balk at that realization as you got dressed.

Now, you sit cross-legged on an overstuffed pillow on the floor, elbow on your knee, and chin resting in your palm. You watch the fire crackle in the hearth. The stew Joon made with the vegetables and hares brought in earlier sits heavy in your belly. It was tasteless on your tongue, the flavors lost to your senses as you tried to come to terms with your situation.

You cringe at a loud curse from outside. It’s been a near-constant yelling match since the front door closed. The voices are muffled enough that you can’t make out every word, but it seems Yoons and Mini enjoy punctuating their sentences with very loud profanities.

Joon sighs from his spot in a rocking chair on the other side of the fire. He has a block of alder situated in his lap, shearing off small fluffs of wood with a tiny whittling knife. “I think this is the longest lover's quarrel they have ever had,” he murmurs, almost as if to himself.

“Lovers quarrel?” you question, glancing away from the fire and toward Joon.

“Oh,” Joon laughs awkwardly. “I did not realize I said that so loud. I—uh, well, I suppose you will find out eventually. They,” he nods toward the door, “have been together most of their lives.”

That’s an interesting revelation. “Cool. So, I get to be the Jolene in this situation,” you scoff. “Typical. Apparently, fae males are just as bad as human ones. They can’t be honest and think it’s okay to have multiple lovers just because you didn’t specifically tell him you wanted to be exclusive. You’d think that would be a given, right? But also, shouldn’t transparency come from the person who wants to do the hustling? Fuck me, I guess, for assuming men have the emotional maturity to navigate a relationship or, heaven forbid, know how to communicate beyond the twitch in their pants…” You let your words trail off, realizing you just let them vomit out in frustration.

“Well, I am not sure who or what Jolene is, but I know Yoons has had nothing but good intentions for this whole situation. Things have moved a lot faster than any of us could have anticipated. It is not like he was intentionally keeping Mini from you, nor you from Mini. They both know good and well that this is far more important than whatever feelings they have for one another. Fate is a cruel master that we are all at the mercy of.” Joon's speaking is oddly comforting, even if it is pretty blunt. He reminds you of your grandpa in many ways, seemingly knowing what needs to be said and when.

You may not understand the situation to the degree that they do, but you can still relate to and sympathize with their desperation. There was a point where you wanted something so badly you would and did do anything to obtain it. Granted, a sterling silver and amethyst engagement ring doesn’t quite equate to the lives of an entire people, but you still know what it feels like to fight tooth and nail for something you wholeheartedly want. It’s part of why you were so adamant about Monica enjoying herself with Malcolm and trying not to put so much expectation and demand into the situation. You’ve learned that life and its opportunities are fickle at best, so it’s inherently important to grab onto them while you can.

As opportunities go, despite Yoons apparent inability to not be the stereotypical fae you heard about in your grandpa’s stories, you know you don’t have many right now. Your best one is still to keep to the bargain you’ve agreed to. The faster you help Yoons, the quicker you can leave. Though, you reckon maybe you won’t be able to go all that fast. From your recollection, JK said Samhain wasn’t for another six moons.

“Joon, what happens once things are back to normal around here? Do I just stay here with you until Samhain?” you ask.

The corners of his warm brown eyes crinkle as he smiles at you. “You are more than welcome to stay here, but I imagine Yoons will want his bonded mate as close as possible until he can see you back through the gate himself when the time comes.”

“Why would you even want to go back?” The question surprises you, coming from JK. You had almost forgotten he was standing by the door.

You drop your hand and turn to look at him. The fire casts his face in shadows, highlighting the bridge of his nose and the cut of his cheekbones. He looks every bit the fae of lore that you once fantasized about. His eyes bore into yours, lips mashed into a severe line as he waits for you to respond.

“Why would I want to go back?” you parrot back incredulously. “Are you serious? Why wouldn’t I?! That’s where my friends, family, and all other things important to me are. It’s not like you took me from a life of nothing. You haven’t done me any favors…I can only imagine the domino effect this will have on the people in my world.”

🌸🌸🌸

Monica

“Mal, why isn’t she back yet? She’s abandoned me after everything I’ve done for her…traveling halfway around the world chasing after woo-woo kids' stories all because she can’t cope with losing someone.” Monica mumbles into Malcolm’s shoulder. If the way her stomach is clawing at itself, she’s sure it’s been hours since you left to get food. “I’m hungry.”

Malcolm shifts Monica in his lap, getting ready to stand up with her in his arms. “Well, I am glad she brought ye half wey aroond the world. And, I’m sure she’s braw. She likely got caught up in th’ festivities again. I will have mah pal, Finn, keep an eye oot for her. I think I should be getting ye in kip. Otherwise, ye’ll be in a fankle come mornin’.”

“At least send her a text or something for me, please?” Monica whines. “What about my food? Can you ask her where my food is, too? Ugh.”

Swinging Monica into his arms, Malcolm cradles her close, whispering assurances that he’ll take care of everything and not to worry. He calls out to his friend, Finn, asking him to keep an eye out for you and, if he sees you, to let you know that he’s taken Monica back to his place to sleep it off.

After getting Monica strapped into the passenger seat, he shoots off a quick text to your number that he got from her phone, reiterating his intentions and providing his home address if you wanted to come to check on her after you’re done at the festival.

When morning rolls around, you’re still nowhere to be found and aren’t responding to any texts or calls. The hangover is nothing compared to the guilt Monica feels recalling her words and actions last night. You may not have heard what she said to Malcolm, but she hates that she said it regardless.

“Where is she?” Monica voices for what feels like the thousandth time, wiping at the smeared mascara under her red-rimmed eyes.

Monica was nearing her wit's end when you still hadn’t shown up by lunchtime. Malcolm took her down to the local Police Authority to file a report; they immediately went into action. So far, the entire Bowhill House estate and surrounding woods have been searched with no luck. The rental car is still parked at the estate, and all your luggage and credentials are still in your hotel room. It’s like you simply disappeared.

Malcolm pulls the hot kettle off the burner, setting it aside to begin preparing coffee. The bakery sits empty, aside from him and Monica and the occasional officer or concerned friend who pops by with any updates. The time in between information has grown increasingly more significant, putting Monica even further on edge.

“She’ll turn up, lass. She would nae have left ye.” The assurances don’t seem to be doing as much as they had before.

Monica sighs, staring out the bakery window, trying to think of anything important that might lead to finding your whereabouts. Deep down, though, she can’t shake off the niggling thought that you’re no longer here…but somewhere else.

🌸🌸🌸

JK glares at you as if you’ve somehow offended him with your words. “At least your loved ones are safe, protected back in the human world…not mere days away from utter destruction.” His words make you grind your teeth, irritated in your own way that they make you feel selfish and ungrateful.

Joon clears his throat, breaking the thick tension in the air. “That will be enough of that; from both of you. Far too much negativity has permeated through the eaves of my home, and I will not allow it to continue.” A soft breath leaves him as he returns to his wood, murmuring something else you barely catch, “I do not think my magick can handle much more strain anyway.”

Drawing your legs up to your chest, you return to watching the fire dance in the hearth. The silken fabric of the pants Joon gave you slips along your legs as you shift, bringing with it soft whiffs of cedar and clove. The entire outfit smells faintly of it, like mulled spices and freshly chopped cedar chips. It’s comforting, much like the lavender and thyme tea from earlier. It reminds you of your grandpa. Your thoughts shift to him and his stories. A sad smile tugs at your lips, and you wonder if he’d believe you if you told him where you’d found yourself. You’re sure he would.

The voices outside have quieted down. Your eyes begin to droop as exhaustion creeps in. Since time holds little meaning here, you wouldn’t be surprised to see the sun peeking through the windows soon or several hours from now.

When the front door creaks open, you’re nearly slumped over on the floor asleep. You jerk upright and blink rapidly to bring your eyes back in focus. Yoons walks in, followed by a very somber-looking Mini. They both look as if they have been crying, eyes red-rimmed, and cheeks blotchy.

Mini approaches you, back ramrod straight and shoulders squared. He looks down at you along the bridge of his nose. His eyes are a startling turquoise color, something you missed when he first stormed through the door hours ago. They are soft, unlike the glinting green and gold of Yoons’ eyes. “I am sorry.”

You’re taken aback by his apology, balking up at him in confusion. “What?”

“My behavior was unbecoming of someone of my stature. I formally extend an apology to you on behalf of the entire Seelie Court and my position as Crowned Prince, Protector of The Sun, and Guardian to The Stars.” The words are stilted, sounding rehearsed and lacking any genuine emotion. “I hope you do not allow your first perception of me to color the view you hold for the rest of my people.” He cuts a short bow, looming over you as he does, before straightening and turning toward Yoons, standing by JK near the door. “I will be going now.”

“Mini, it does not have to be like this, and you know it.” Yoons crossed his arms over his chest, eyes fixed in a glare.

You can’t see the look on Mini’s face, but you can’t imagine it’s a nice one. “I would rather chew off my own tongue than witness the love of my life fornicating with a magickal void. I will return tomorrow night to move forward with our agreement of attack. Until then, goodnight.”

Yoons moves quickly, cutting off Mini’s advances toward the door. “Please, just stay. They will not miss you at court if you are gone for a few nights. They already think you are patrolling along the border.” He hesitates, flexing his fingers where they are wrapped around Mini’s bicep. “I was hoping you would do the binding for us as a way of offering your blessing. I would not want it to be done by anyone else.”

Mini scoffs. “You want me to be the one to bind you?” Bitterness coats his words, “Do you have no shame? You would ask me to do this, for your sake? What about my sake?”

“Please, Mini, I need this from you. I need this to know that once all of this is over, we will still be okay, that we will still be us” Yoons pleads, moving his hands to grip the lapels of Mini’s jacket. “I cannot do this without you. There is no point in doing this without you because, without you, I might as well not have a people, a kingdom…I would have nothing.”

“Fuck you,” Mini whispers, resignation taking the heat out of it. Yoons pulls him into a fierce hug, clinging to him in desperation. “Seven Suns knows this is not fair. I do not know what I did in a past life to deserve this.”

“I promise to spend the rest of my days making it up to you,” Yoons responds, his words choked with emotion.

You feel like you’re witnessing something private, something you shouldn’t be present for. There is no doubt the connection between them. You’re suddenly feeling something you haven’t in a long time; envy. To love and be loved, in turn, is a desire you hold close to your heart. Tearing your eyes away from where Yoons and Mini are still held in each other's arms, you let your gaze slide across the room, briefly landing on JK and then Joon, who seem to be ignoring the other two as you’re trying to do.

Running Mini’s words back through your head, you realize he mentioned his position as crowned prince of the Seelie Court. Of course he would also be a prince. No wonder he doesn’t think you’re good enough for Yoons. You’re nowhere near having a status like that. You feel a pang of sadness, knowing they can’t be together as mates all because Yoons needs to have access to his full power. It seems that Joon is right; fate is, indeed, a cruel master.

“The sun will be rising soon. We should hurry,” Yoons murmurs, finally pulling away from Mini. “Um, Beautiful,” he stumbles over the nickname given to you by JK, “I also want to apologize.” He turns to face you, quickly rubbing the sleeve of his top over his cheeks to clear away the residual tears. “This is not how any of this was supposed to pan out. I know you must have many questions, but time is not on our side. We are both bound by our word and agreement. I promise to answer any more of your questions once we have fulfilled the bond we have agreed to.”

You chew your bottom lip a moment, focusing on the knot you can feel sitting in the center of your chest, which you know is tied to the agreement you made. There is surprisingly little waiver in your voice as you speak, “What happens if I go back on my word? What if I have changed my mind and am no longer willing?”

The room falls into an uncomfortable quiet. As he stares at you, darkness boils in the mossy depths of Yoons’ eyes. “What can I offer you for that not to happen?” His words slice through the silence, quiet but teetering on the edge of barely restrained frustration.

Smoothing your hands along the front of the borrowed top you’re wearing, you stand from your place on the cushion and face Yoons fully. “I want you to give me your true name.”

“Absolutely fucking not!” JK roars immediately.

“Let us be reasonable here,” Namjoon tries, knuckles turning white as he clutches the wood in his hands.

Mini hisses, baring his teeth at you in challenge. “How dare you! I will—”

“Yoongi. Yoongi of House Min, Crowned Prince of the Unseelie Court, Protector of The Moon, and Guardian to The Stars.” A sense of power settles next to that knot in your chest. You weren’t sure if the stories about the power of given names were true, but it was worth asking; you’re glad you did. Holding leverage over this fae gives you a sense of peace, despite the circumstances.

You nod, satisfied and finally feeling in control for the first time since coming through the gateway. “Okay, Yoongi, what do I need to do?”

“We begin with the binding of our fates,” he says, glancing at Mini, who has a guarded expression on his face. “As the moon gives way to the sun, and the lines between the planes of magick blur, allowing them to embrace and kiss like lost lovers, we will exchange vows bound beneath a knot of eternity.”

“Under the oak?” Mini asks quietly.

Yoongi nods. “It is the closest that we have. JK, if you will?” He holds out a hand to his guard. You watch as JK slowly reaches up and undoes the silver necklace with the crescent pendant from around his neck.

“May I witness?” JK questions, his eyes wide and rounded with curiosity and wonder. You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the flickering light or not, but you’re almost sure you see the glossiness of unshed tears in their depths as well.

“I would not have it any other way, my friend,” Yoongi answers in kind, taking the silver necklace from JK with one hand and clapping him gently on the shoulder with the other. “Joon, you are welcome to bear witness as well.”

Joon hums thoughtfully, setting aside his wood project and tools on the floor. “It would be the greatest honor to stand in observance.”

“What exactly is going to happen?” you ask. You clench your fists at your side, fighting off the sudden wave of nerves barreling through you. You might have power over this fae, but you’re essentially about to marry him, and that feels far more daunting now that it’s about to happen.

Yoongi steps forward and takes one of your hands, gently uncurling your fingers and soothing them with his own. “There is an incantation, ancient words that bind souls together. We will clasp each other's arms like this,” he explains, sliding his fingers along your wrist and forearm before firmly grasping it so his wrist presses against the inside of yours. “We will wrap the silver chain of JK’s necklace around our wrists to keep the pulse points connected as we are bound, my magick to you and you to my magick. This opens the doorway to access the well of my magick. The act of…giving ourselves to one another—removing all barriers—will allow you to step through that doorway, anchoring my connection to my inner well through your access.”

“It sounds so mysterious and, let’s be honest, crazy.” You shake your head, silently pleading for some sort of sign that this is the right thing to do and that you’re not blindly putting your faith in a group of deranged strangers. The breath in your lungs wheezes out, and with the next inhale, you catch the faint cedar and clover scent of the borrowed clothes you’re wearing. It has a calming effect, one you latch onto and allow yourself to cling to. Everything happens for a reason. That’s something you have always believed. Perhaps the thing you’ve been chasing, that something that drove you to fly across the world on a whim, is this. Why else would all of this have happened? “So crazy that it has to be true, right? Fuck. Please don’t let me regret this,” you mutter to yourself.

Mini gestures impatiently toward the door. “Come on, before I have sense enough to change my mind.”

Yoongi guides you out the door and around the side of the tiny home. This is your first time getting a good look at the area. Joon’s cottage sits in a grassy clearing, a massive towering oak in the center, like everything else was built around it. The outer wall of the house sits just under the lowest branches, the fat leaves lightly brushing the lip of the roof. A small picket fence surrounds an expansive, full and lush garden with greenery and crops.

Mini, JK, and Joon follow you and Yoongi around the oak's far side. A large stone wall with a circular opening spanning through the center is hidden on the other side of the garden. Through the space, you can see a pathway into Joon’s garden, lined with blossoming white and purple flowers. “A moon gate,” you whisper in awe.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at you in surprise. “You know moon gates?”

“Well, yes, I’ve seen them dating as far back as the 17th century in China, though they are also popular in Bermuda. They’re often associated with wealth or good omens,” you rattle off the generic information you know about them. “Though, my grandpa always had a theory that, like structures such as Stonehenge and the Carnac Stones, the moon gates—given the proper implements—could be used as ceremonial gateways to and from other planes or as conduits of power.”

All three of them give you mild looks of astonishment. “You must tell me more about your grandfather once all of this is over,” Yoongi requests, much to your own surprise. “He sounds like an extraordinarily intuitive man.”

“He was, yes.” And with that, you decide you’re no longer acting on your sole behalf but on his, too. You know he would tell you this is the right thing to do. He would be proud of your sacrifice and commitment to helping Yoongi. “I think I would like that very much.”

A distinct pink hue begins to infiltrate the horizon, just over the treeline surrounding the clearing. “The sun is rising,” Joon comments lightly.

Standing together in the opening of the moon gate, Mini and JK work to secure the silver crescent moon necklace around your and Yoongi’s wrists. There is a fervent way to how they work, methodical with nimble and sure fingers. “You said before that we would exchange vows under the knot of eternity?” you say it more as a question than a statement, your curiosity getting the better of you.

Surprisingly, it’s Mini who answers. “Moon gates are an infinite symbol. They have no ending or beginning. They represent eternal continuity. The masonry of the moon gate is a form of stone knotting, precise cuts and measurements that allow the stone to secure together like a knot. It is integral to how the stone retains its perfectly rounded opening, thus a knot of eternity.”

“Beautiful,” you whisper under your breath, having a newfound interest in the symbols and nature of things here that are considered relatively mundane in your own world.

Yoongi’s hand is cool against the heat of your skin. The tips of his fingers graze lightly along the underside of your forearm, sending a slight flush of goosebumps up your arm. Those green and gold eyes meet yours, holding all his worries and relief, reservations and hope within them. He’s such a complex creature, you realize, full of facets and depths deeper than you can imagine. He’s a drowned soul, just someone looking for a way back to the surface . Fate may be a cruel master, but it seems also to have a poor sense of humor.

As the sun replaces the moon, darkness melding into light, Mini speaks words that you do not understand, but you know for sure that they are beautiful. The poetic words chanted over your union are rhythmic, flowing in a way that tugs at your heart. Joon and JK stand on either side of the moon gate, watching in silence as Mini recites the words of the bonding incantation. Finally, his words trail off, and he looks to Yoongi, giving him a slight nod.

Yoongi takes a slow breath, his eyes dropping to where your hand is clasped to his forearm. “As the moon gives way to the rising sun, so too will I give way to you as my mate. I open my heart to you so you may gaze upon my stars and find warmth within my soul. You are now the blood of my blood and bone of my bone. I give you my spirit till my life shall be done.”

With his words, you feel an effervescent tingle beneath your skin from your fingertips all the way down to your toes. You’re not sure what to say or if you need to say anything at all, but you feel like you should.

“I—uh…”

“Just speak from your heart,” Mini encourages, sounding genuinely friendly toward you for the first time.

You look at him, realizing just how hard this must be. Wetness is gathered along his lashes, and his hands are fisting into the sides of his linen pants. He looks at Yoongi like he created the universe, and you suppose that maybe Yoongi did create one—the universe he shares with Mini. 

The words come easy now, flowing like you knew what to say all along. “The moon spends its entire life reflecting the light of the sun so that others may see, even in the dark. I offer myself to you not as the sun but as the ocean, so that you may look upon me and see the reflection of yourself with every cresting wave, to see yourself as others see you and know your full potential. You are now the blood of my blood and bone of my bone. I give you my spirit till my life shall be done.” 

There is a small glimmer of playfulness that you can see in the awe on Yoongi’s face. His hand is no longer cold against your flesh. The buzzing beneath your skin has begun to increase to a staccato pulse, centered in the middle of your chest. The smell of fresh cedar and mulled spice reaches you suddenly, making you realize it is, in fact, Yoongi that smells like that. The subtle scent of jasmine and chamomile mix with it as Mini moves to begin unwinding the silver necklace from around your and Yoongi’s wrists.

“Thank you, Mini, for this gift you have given me.”

Mini gives Yoongi a sad smile. “I am sorry for the way I acted before. I know I have been selfish and a fool, but I will never stop loving you.” His eyes drift to yours. “I thank you for everything you do for Yoongi and our people. Your act of selflessness and kindness will be forever marked in our history.” He finishes removing the small silver chain, allowing you and Yoongi to release each other.

The sun is starting to peak above the treeline, flooding the garden with soft light that catches in the silvery strands of Yoongi’s hair and makes his eyes glitter. Yoongi’s hand slides down your arm until his fingers meet yours. It feels like he’s beneath your skin, the touch heightened in a way you’ve never experienced before.

“We will remain out here for the day, I think,” Joon comments. “It is sure to be a pleasantly beautiful one and perfect for a nap under the oak.”

“I should return to my patrol. I shall return here before nightfall to move forward with the plan.” Mini hesitates, looking uncertain as to what to do. Finally, he briefly grips Yoongi’s free hand, giving it a squeeze before letting go and taking a step back. “Until then.”

You watch as he crosses the clearing, his shoulders tight and his steps stiff. He glances back over his shoulder before disappearing beyond the treeline heading west, back toward the border of the Seelie Court.

“What plan is he talking about?” you ask, turning your attention to Yoongi. His hand still lingers on yours, his fingers lightly tapping against your palm in a calming rhythm.

Yoongi nods to Joon and JK, who have started to meander into the garden through the moon gate. “We think it best to move as soon as possible. My powers are at their greatest when the moon is high, so once night falls again, and we are fully bonded…I should be powerful enough to enter back into the Unseelie Court and finally confront Chaddick—to kill him and his swamp hag, Borgia.”

“That seems so…soon, so sudden. Would it not be better to wait a few days to get used to your new level of power?”

The look Yoongi gives you makes you want to cry. There is so much anguish and hurt you’re certain you can feel the extension of it in your own chest. “I have waited for nearly ten years. I do not know the extent of what horrors have befallen my mother. Every day I do not return is one more day that that bastard gets to extort and pull the strings of my people.” His fingers drop from yours. “Please try to understand.”

Yoongi turns and begins walking back to the front of the cottage. You mean to follow him and apologize, but Joon calls out to you from the garden. “Just a moment, please.”

You chew your bottom lip, watching Yoongi disappear around the corner before turning and finding Joon standing just on the other side of the opening of the moon gate. “What’s up?” you try not to sound too irritated, but you’re not sure it works.

Joon rubs the back of his neck, eyes locked onto the ground at your feet. “I was not sure when would be a good time, but I wanted to give you this before you went back in.” He looks up, extending his hand toward you. In his open palm rests a single white flower, the petals wide and curling haphazardly. “It is called Silver Ward. We use it to control the moon cycle of a female. I believe from what JK has told me of your world…you would call this birth control.”

That has warmth settling into your cheeks. “Oh. Thank you, I think.” You take the flower, pinching it between your thumb and forefinger. “What, um, what exactly do I do with it?” The bud left a chalky residue on Joon’s palm, and you can feel the powdery texture between your fingers.

“You need just one petal. Let it dissolve under your tongue. I am told it tastes like sweet cream. It offers protection for up to one moon cycle. I grow it here in the garden if you have need of more,” he says the last part hurriedly, giving you a shy smile before gesturing back through the moon gate. “If you need anything, we will be…here.”

“Right. Okay. Thank you,” you offer, blowing out your cheeks and eyeing the small white flower again. You turn to go, but Joon clears his throat, making you look back.

“I know this is unconventional, and you and Yoongi are practical strangers, but go easy on him. These are new waters for him to navigate. He will most likely make a fool of himself at least once.” And with that, Joon disappears back into the garden. You stand there easily more confused than you were before. You’re not sure what exactly Joon means concerning Yoongi, but there is only one way to find out.

The sun has risen above the trees by now, but the interior of Joon’s cottage is dark, the curtains over the windows drawn. A small fire burns in the hearth, illuminating enough to see the flower now nestled in your palm. You pluck off a single petal, the chalky coating feels silky against your fingers. You set the flower on the dining table and bring the petal up to your lips. It tastes like marshmallow fluff and disintegrates quickly under your tongue.

There are a myriad of new smells inside the small space, but the most prominent is a mixture of pine and orange blossom. With each breath you take, you’re sure you can distinguish the different smells on a deeper level than before, almost like you’re experiencing them with more than just your sense of smell. Already you feel so different, and you’re not even fully bonded to Yoongi. Before you can let yourself dwell too much on the changes and the unknown that’s to come, you take a deep breath and approach the door to the bedroom.

“Here goes nothing, I guess,” you mumble to yourself. The door to the bedroom is pushed nearly closed, leaving just a line of soft firelight revealed from within. You stand at the threshold, listening for a moment.

“You need this. You better not mess this up. We know the basics. It is not so dissimilar to—“ The floor under your feet creaks as you try to inch closer to hear him more clearly, cutting off his personal pep talk.

Knowing you’ve been caught, you ease open the door and step inside. “Sorry, I was just—whoa! Oh god!” You throw up your hands, slapping them over your eyes. “What are you doing?!” The image of Yoongi standing in front of the fireplace stark naked might as well be burned into your retinas. You can still see it just as vividly, even with your eyes now squeezed closed.

Yoongi makes a distressed noise, fumbling over his words in confusion. “I thought—is this not—umm, would you like me to cover up?” You can hear the rustle of fabric and his light footsteps as they draw near. “I am sorry.” He’s so close that his words, laced with his distinct clove and cedar scent, ghost over the backs of your hands where they’re still covering your face.

The stories got it all wrong, you’re sure. Fae don’t charm people with their glamors; surely all they do is remove their clothing, and the person is entranced. You can’t get the slow curve of where his spine meets his ass out of your head; the way his shoulders appear wider without a shirt, or how his waist tapers in to accentuate the angles of his hip bones. You only caught a brief glimpse as he turned from facing the fire to looking in your direction, but it was enough to fully flesh out all the intimate details.

You’re not a prude by any means. You actually consider yourself very sex-positive and forward-thinking. However, you suddenly feel like you belong in a nunnery, which is absurd. Shaking away the residual thoughts of habits and virtue, you lower your hands and open your eyes.

Yoongi is standing right before you, his black brows pinched in concern. The purple and green checkered quilt tucked under his arms seems comical now, considering you already know what it’s hiding. “You don’t have to do that,” you wave a hand toward the quilt. “I just wasn’t expecting to walk in and see you—umm, like that, is all.”

“I was nervous,” Yoongi admits shyly. “I thought if I went ahead and removed some barriers, it would make it easier.”

That makes you laugh and lightens the mood instantly. “Well, I guess that makes us even, at least. We’ve each seen the other naked without expecting it.”

“So it would seem,” Yoongi muses playfully.

You clear your throat, trying to think of something thoughtful to say that doesn’t involve asking him to drop the blanket so you can get another look. “Why are you nervous?”

He studies you briefly before opening his mouth but doesn’t answer your question. “JK chose correctly,” he says instead, a slight smile on his face as his eyes flicker between your lips and your eyes. “Beautiful is the perfect name for you…you are absolutely exquisite. I hate that I am just now getting a true look at you up close.”

“Oh.” Heat creeps into your cheeks, your bottom lip catching between your teeth. “Thanks, I think. Umm, should we?” You nod toward the bed, gesturing awkwardly between the two of you.

Yoongi glances at the bed and then back at you. “Would it be okay if I kiss you first? Just to get over some of my nerves.”

All you can do is nod, caught as you are swimming in the serenity you find in Yoongi’s eyes. His lips are light against yours at first, just a soft brush. The flavor of clove and spice bursts on your tongue as you inhale, tasting his harried exhale as he presses his lips more firmly to yours.

Your fingers find themselves fisting into the blanket covering Yoongi’s chest as you try to draw him closer. His taste is intoxicating, spicy, and exotic. The first brush of his tongue against yours has your knees going weak. He brings his arms around you, effortlessly supporting you as you take over the kiss.

It’s like a switch has been flipped. You feel consumed with desire and the need to mark this fae as yours. That intense pulse inside your chest is compounding, intensifying into a roaring storm. Yoongi lets out a soft moan that spurs you on, your fingers loosening the blanket and letting it drop to the floor between you. “What am I doing?” you pant, mildly appalled by your own brazen behavior. “It’s like I can’t stop.”

“My m-magick—ah, it is calling to you,” Yoongi moans as your lips break away from his to move along his jaw. You nip and lick down his neck and press open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone.

Yoongi staggers back a step, breaking free of your hold, gasping and clutching at the center of his chest. “Seven Hells! It is like you are beneath my skin,” he speaks the words you thought to yourself earlier.

“I know,” you moan breathily. With the step he’s taken back, you’re now free to see what you only got a glimpse of before. It’s just as pleasing, maybe even more so, considering the very impressive erection that he’s now sporting. His cock is blushed pink at the head, a glistening bead of moisture pooling along his tip. “I need to feel more of that. Whatever that is,” you fist a hand over your own chest, “whatever this is.”

Licking your lips, you can feel how aroused you are. The pulsing between your thighs is accentuated when you step toward Yoongi. He backs up, and you continue forward, smirking at the shy alarm on his face. “I-I am not sure what to do.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, chuckling softly. “You have done this before, right?”

Yoongi flinches when the backs of his knees bump into the foot of the bed. “Well, I—uh, sort of.”

“Mini?” His name leaves your mouth as a breathy question.

“That is different. It is…not like this,” he admits, eyes wide as you press your body to his. “If you had a cock I might know what to do with it.”

You bite your bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud. “Take my clothes off.”

Yoongi gives you a sharp look, raising an eyebrow like he expects you to be playing with him. He settles against the end of the mattress, his weight dips the downy material, putting him now at eye level with you. “Your clothes?” he smirks. “I was annoyed, at first, when I saw you wearing these. Apparently, Joon thought it would be funny to have you parading around in my clothes, marking them with your scent.”

The linen fabric of the top shreds easily under his hands, his fingers sliding between two buttons and pulling until they all pop, scattering across the room. You can’t help but moan. Your chest heaves as you try to regain some composure, sucking in stilted breaths laced with cedar and clove. “Do you need me to give you a step-by-step guide to a woman’s body?” you go for a bit of snark to try and tip the power balance back in your favor.

All evidence of Yoongi’s previous shy awkwardness has vanished. “I think I can figure it out,” he whispers before leaning forward and pressing an opening-mouthed kiss to the fabric covering your left nipple. Your bra is lacey, quickly becoming sheer as Yoongi laves his tongue over it.

You shudder under his mouth, tentatively resting your hands on his shoulders. “Take it off,” you urge.

Yoongi leans back, strings of saliva connecting his parted lips to your breast. “You taste like solstice rain and moonlight. I do not know how else to describe it.” His fingers make quick work of the remnants of the tattered top. He fumbles with the clasp of your bra, but before you can move to help him, he simply snaps the strap—the sound of fabric rending  tears through the air with your own gasp of barely restrained surprise.

“I needed that,” you whine, trying to step back and away from Yoongi before he ruins any more clothing.

“No.” He bares his teeth, glaring up at you through a lust-filled haze. “It is unfair to keep yourself so restricted.”

You roll your eyes and giggle softly as Yoongi grabs at you and brings you back in close. “What’s unfair is how long it’s taking you to undress me.” Shrugging your shoulders, you let the straps of your bra fall down your arms and discard it on the floor.

“I will take my time, and you will be patient,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your now exposed chest. “You are making me ache in ways I never knew possible, like a hunger that can not be sated.”

He slides his hands up your stomach, letting his fingers spread across your ribs and thumbing over your pert nipples, kneading the rounded flesh of your breasts. “Does it always feel like this? Y’know, with a fae?” you question with a gasp.

“This is the first time I have experienced something like this,” he admits, a dopey smile tugging at his lips to expose his pointed canines. “I feel drunk whenever I touch you like I am high on moon wine and blue caps.”

His breath is warm against your skin as he dips forward and latches onto one nipple and then the other. “I might cum if you keep doing that,” you moan as he does it again, spreading his attention between them equally. “It’s like you’re sucking right on my clit.”

“I do not know what this clit is, but I would like to find out,” his words are muffled against your skin, reverberating through your chest and right down to your aching core.

You find your hands fisting into his silver hair, encouraging him to continue exploring your chest with his tongue and teeth. “Let me show you,” you plead. Relenting, curious to continue learning your body, he pulls away and pants against your sternum. “The pants.” He drops his hands down to the fastening on your borrowed pants and methodically unties the knot, letting them fall lax around your hips. Earlier, after your bath, you put your bra back on but decided to forgo your panties, thinking a slightly damp shirt was better than wet pants.

Yoongi’s eyes follow the pants as they slip down your thighs, and his breath hitches as they hit the floor, allowing your sweet and intoxicating scent to permeate the air of the room thoroughly. “You smell so sweet. Show me.” 

“Here,” you breathe, bracing your hands on his shoulders and slowly bringing one of your legs up, perching your foot on the bed beside his hip, opening yourself to him. Your half-mast eyes meet his as he stares up at you. The gold and green of his eyes are nearly consumed whole by the black of his blown pupils. 

“Fuck,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut and grinding his teeth. “It is almost too much,” he grits, bringing one of his hands down to fist around his weeping cock. He hisses in a sharp breath, stroking slowly up and down before finally opening his eyes and letting them drift down to where you are exposed to him.

Slowly reaching down, you grab his other hand and bring it up between your thighs. You guide his fingers, probing them along your lower lips until they brush over your clit. “This is it. It’s very sensitive,” you suck in a breath as he swirls his fingers in a circle.

“Interesting,” he muses. “I wonder what would happen if…” his words trail off as he catches one of your nipples between his teeth and lightly pinches your clit between his thumb and forefinger.

You jerk against him, crying out from the mix of pleasure and pain. “Yoongi!” When his name leaves your lips, you feel his body go rigid, and a strangled sound emanates from his throat.

That tether inside your chest pulls taut, and you’re pretty sure you can feel him even more now. Not only does it feel like he’s beneath your skin, it feels like he’s invaded every molecule of your being. His breath is your breath, his heartbeat thumps to the same rhythm as yours, and the arousal pumping through his body echoes through you with a shiver down your spine.

His lips come off your nipple with an audibly wet pop, the sensation making you both moan wantonly. “Where do I put my cock, Beautiful? I need to mate with you before I lose my mind.”

“Fuck me,” you correct. “You need to fuck me before you lose your mind. Mating sounds so clinical, fucking is far more sexy, dirty…naughty.” You push on his shoulder, forcing him to lay back. “Say it.”

“I need to fuck you before I lose my mind,” he emphasizes, voice going husky, letting the words curl his lips up in a smirk. His dark eyes track your movements as you follow him onto the bed, moving slowly on your knees as he shifts toward the pillows.

Stopping with your knees to either side of his hips, you settle your ass against the tops of his thighs. The glistening head of his cock smears drips of precum against his stomach as it twitches under your gaze. If you weren’t already so strung out, you’d take him into your mouth and draw more of those guttural moans from him. As it is, the ache between your thighs is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Yoongi isn’t the only one on the brink of losing their mind. You’ve never wanted something so much in your life.

“I want you to feel,” you encourage, taking up both of his hands. You guide one between your thighs, purposefully dragging both of your hands over his swollen cock. His bottom lip is puffy and red from the gnashing he’s giving it. Sticky strands of arousal drip onto your fingers as you press his to your clit again. “Spread your fingers,” you guide his hand further, nudging his fingers to either side of your pussy.

“You are so warm and wet. Is that normal?”

You hum in amusement. “Warm? Generally. Wet? Only if you’re doing it right.” Yoongi makes a satisfactory noise, his eyes taking on a smug softness as he gazes up at you. “Just wait until you feel how warm and wet it is around your cock.” That makes him lick his lips, his gaze sliding down your body until it rests on his fingers, now gently probing around your opening.

His thick erection pulses in your hand when you wrap your fingers around it. They don’t reach all the way around. You give him an appreciative squeeze that has his teeth sinking into his bottom lip again and his hips flexing under you.

You press his other hand against one of your breasts, encouraging him to knead and thumb over your nipple. “You are so soft everywhere. Delicate and sweet. It makes me want to mark you and dirty you up.”

That makes you shudder and whine, his words tugging at that place in the center of your chest. Not being able to hold back any longer, you shift up onto your knees and angle his cock up. With a slow and smooth roll of your hips, you work the head of his cock through your wetness. You can feel his fingers move, rubbing along the crown of his head, smearing your arousal around.

“Fuck. Me,” he growls. If words alone could elicit an orgasm from you, you’re pretty sure it would be those exact ones, spoken in that very tone, coming from this specific male.

Your lips part with a gasp, your walls fluttering in anticipation. A smirk kicks up the corner of your mouth as you give him precisely what he wants. It’s an empowering experience, watching the emotions and feelings morph across his face. The way his lips slowly part until you can see the pink of his tongue resting over his teeth, the hitch in his breath with each additional inch you take; perhaps most potent of all is the heat and all-consuming desire you see bloom in his eyes as he bottoms out inside of you.

There is a moment of suspended time when you can feel your body accepting his, the stretch is delicious in all the right ways. The universe shifts around you, clicking into place so he truly becomes the moon reflected on your ocean—realistically and metaphysically. You know this is the bond expanding and settling into place, the door opening for you to cement that connection to Yoongi’s magick.

Yoongi smoothes his hand across your breast until it’s pressed right over your heart. His other gently slides out from around where he’s stretching you, fingers splaying against your lower stomach and thumb settling against your clit. “I can feel everything, my hands on your skin, the pressure of my cock inside you, the way my magick is ardently beckoning to you. Reach for it,” he urges, flexing his hips again to grind himself inside you.

“What does it feel like?” the words become a moan as you lift up and then drop back down, rocking your hips as you do.

The full-body shudder that goes through him reverberates into you, raising the hairs on the back of your neck and making goosebumps cascade down your arms. “Ecstasy,” he moans, mouth hanging open and eyes fluttering shut. His back arches, and you find yourself mesmerized by the incandescence of his skin in the firelight.

You dip down, flicking at one of his nipples with your tongue before sucking a blushing mark beside it. The sound of your body meeting his repeatedly is obscene, the scent of arousal and sweat heavy in the air. With each rise and fall of your body, you accept him deeper until there is no discernible difference, no ending or beginning. You just exist together in the same space.

His magick is like a cool sip of water on a hot summer day, cooling and soothing your throat that you didn’t even know was so parched. It is the finest ambrosia, sweet silk on your tongue. Pinpricks of light break through the shadowy haze of your arousal, keying you into the well inside Yoongi. His eyes snap open, finding yours; glittering stars and fiery planets flit through nebulas of swirling galaxies in their depths, constantly changing with every beat of his heart.

The closer you draw to orgasm, the closer you feel to fully immersing yourself in that pool of starlight and cosmic energy. Just as the moon is forever connected to the tide, this will tether you to him for the rest of your existence. The fear of that, which was palpable before, is now nonexistent. You find comfort in letting your walls down and welcoming Yoongi in.

“I’m going to cum,” you whine, moving faster against him. His thumb adds just the right amount of pressure to your clit with each roll of your hips.

“Make me yours,” Yoongi pleads.

His words are the beginning, the tipping of the scales into the endless abyss that is his magick. You cry out, your body surrendering to the pleasure that he provides. The orgasm begins at a violent peak, sucking all the air from your lungs and pulling your muscles so tight they feel like they will snap. The plummet down the other side is exhilarating in high contrast to the tempest, turning from a raging storm into a comforting spring rain. You pulse around him, claiming and marking him as yours, demanding he gives in, too.

You can see the moment he lets go and feel the muscles in his thighs bulge with strain. Warmth floods you with each jet of his cum, punctuated with sharp grunts through his bared teeth. Magick floods the room, encapsulating you and Yoongi in a fog of power so potent you can feel it caressing your skin, thin tendrils of smoke curling around your limbs and weaving through the strands of your hair.

“Yoongi,” you whisper his name, completely in awe at what you’re experiencing.

“Mine,” he murmurs in response, looking up at you with complete and utter devotion—surrender—in his lichen and ochre eyes. He raises his hands, cupping your face and gently pulling you down. His lips meet yours in a soft kiss, lingering a moment before deepening.

Pulling back, you break the kiss with a breathy sigh of contentment. “Mine.” The fact that less than twenty-four hours ago, he was nothing more than your captor no longer matters. He is yours as much as you are his. You know you are where you’re meant to be, doing what you’re meant to do. It was always written in the stars—how could it not be?

Easing one of your legs up, you brace yourself and, with his hands on your hips for assistance, pull off him in a gush of sticky warmth. The scent of clove and maple syrup invades the air in a thick wave. It makes your mouth water, and you can’t help but look down at the mess pooling around his half-hard cock and smeared over your inner thighs with a bit of hunger in your eyes.

“Here,” he says, amusement coloring his husky voice. He swirls a long, slender finger through the sticky mess and brings it to your lips. “Taste.”

Your lips part automatically, your tongue poking out slightly in anticipation. His finger presses down on your tongue, firmly depositing the mix of cum. You greedily suck at his finger, moaning at the taste of warm spices and sweet syrup that burst on your tongue.

It’s now on the tip of your tongue to request to suck his cock, but the flicker of seriousness you see on his face stops that line of thought. You shift, slumping onto the bed beside him, never letting your eyes leave his. The finger he had in your mouth goes into his, and he makes a pleased sound deep in his chest, but his face remains alarmingly impassive. You wonder if you concentrate hard enough whether or not the bond will allow you to hear his thoughts. You can feel him trying to tamp down his feelings as it is. The only thing you have clear and unfettered access to is the seemingly endless well of magick he now has.

“I guess we should go then?” you say after a stretch of silence.

He gives you a sharp look, brows pinched. After a moment, they smooth out, and his face softens. “I can feel your uncertainty. No, my beautiful mate, we do not need to go yet. I do not mean to appear so…distant. I am just trying to understand these new feelings,” he trails off in a whisper, dropping one of his hands onto his chest above his heart. The tips of his fingers prod at his skin like he could dig beneath it and find the answers.

“It’s kind of weird, huh?” You rub at your own chest, marveling at the echoed sensation of Yoongi still gently prodding at his own.

A soft huff of laughter escapes him as he rolls over to face you. It surprises you that his cock is fully hard again, resting against your thigh. “I would not call it weird. I would call it extraordinary.”

That makes you feel fuzzy, cottony-sweet in all the right ways. “Tell me about the plan,” you hesitate to ask, but can’t help yourself now. Your fingers brush lightly along his hip as you adjust beside him, absently moving closer.

Yoongi reaches up, brushing hair from your face. His eyes flick over your features, lingering on your lips several times. “We will leave as soon as the moon appears in the sky. It is roughly a two day journey if we move cautiously. We aim to reach an old turret house on the castle's south side. The last time JK did reconnaissance in the area, he found it abandoned. There is a tunnel through the gatehouse there that leads into the dungeons. It was filled with stones and rubble many years ago, but JK has slowly been excavating it over the last handful of years. It should not take long to break through the remainder and make it inside the castle. The rest…” he trails off, shrugging slightly.

“What about Borgia? The guards?” You lick your lips, trying to stay focused on getting some more clarity on his plan. The heat of Yoongi’s body calls to you. You slip your hand onto his side, trailing your fingers over the smooth curve of his hip bone.

“We can talk about those things later,” he dismisses. “I would much rather focus on something else.” He nips lightly at your bottom lip, trying to coax you away from the conversation. “Wait–you can’t really expect just to waltz in there and be welcomed with open arms. You said you were framed for murder. That leads me to believe that everyone believes it. Otherwise, they’d not be following this Chaddick douche in the first place. So, how are you—“ Yoongi cuts off your tirade with a searing kiss, pressing his tongue into your mouth as you try to protest weakly. “What are you doing? I was just wondering about th–”

He shifts beside you, rolling so his body fits over yours, his hips pushing your thighs wide. “No,” he says, a light snarl sharpening the word. “None of that—not now. It seems I may have not fucked you thoroughly enough, if you still have a mind to wonder.” There is a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he smirks before adjusting his hips and sliding back into your wet heat with a groan. You gasp, clawing at his back as all thoughts of the holes in his plan are replaced with heady moans and delicious orgasms.

🌸🌸🌸

Jimin

It was hard to walk away, leaving Yoongi standing there beside such a devastatingly beautiful creature. The thought makes his lips curl in agitation. It’s not that he hates you. It’s just that he’s jealous of you. So, painfully jealous.

Now that he’s on his way back to Namjoon’s, the sun having set a few hours ago, Jimin feels like he has a clearer head than before. He spent the entire day barking orders at his squadrons, pushing them to train harder than usual. Something he might come to regret in the following days, but he’s resolved to deal with that when and if it comes up. Right now, he focuses on what lies ahead and the journey Yoongi is about to embark on.

To most individuals traversing the Hollow Lands, Namjoon’s clearing looks like a standard meadow with a large oak in the center. Jimin feels a repulsion as he approaches it, something he has to consciously fight against as he comes up to the invisible barrier. It’s how Yoongi has gone the last ten years undetected. Not only does Namjoon’s magickal ward hide the power signatures of another Fey, it also acts as a deterrent, forcing those that don’t know it exists to walk entirely around it without even knowing.

After Yoongi escaped the Unseelie Court, the Hollow Lands were crawling with Unseelie and Seelie guards alike for several months. All in search of the rogue prince. Jimin lamented the entire time, knowing where Yoongi was but wondering whether or not Namjoon could hold the ward. Little did Jimin realize, Namjoon could hold it for far, far longer than any of them thought possible. Though, Jimin is hyper-aware of how much Namjoon’s magick is flagging. He’s glad the ward and strain on his magick won’t be needed much longer.

The large, seeded oak, swathed in shafts of moonlight, comes into view, and Jimin slows his pace, taking as much time as he can to control his breathing and temper. He doesn’t want to snap and snarl at you like a rabid hound constantly, it just happens, and the guilt of it is gnawing at him.

Plastering on a neutral expression, he pushes through the invisible boundary and enters the clearing. The first thing he sees is you and Yoongi, standing on Namjoon’s porch, haloed by the soft glowing lights, with your lips pressed together in a languid kiss. His nose is tickled by your sickly sweet syrupy scent, mixing with his lovers’. A growl forms in his chest, but he swallows it before it can come out.

Jimin clears his throat as he crosses the yard, startling you and Yoongi. Yoongi flinches away from you, putting several inches between your bodies. That familiar guilt rolls in as Jimin watches your expression drop as if Yoongi’s knee-jerk reaction hurts you. Jimin subtly shakes his chin, dismisses it, and looks to Yoongi. “The moon will be at its zenith soon. Have you prepared?”

Namjoon and Jungkook appear from around the side of the house, carrying baskets full of harvested crops. “We began preparing as soon as the sun went down. We’ve been waiting for you,” Jungkook states cooly. He eyes Jimin, daring him to offer up some pitiful excuse for why he is arriving so late.

“I was under the impression we were not going to leave until the moon was at its highest point, giving Yoongi the most access to his magick,” Jimin replies, sounding only mildly annoyed.

“There will not be a we, Mini. You are not going.”

Jimin jerks around to gawk at Yoongi. “Excuse me?”

Yoongi subconsciously brushes his hand against yours as he steps closer to skirt around you and descend the porch stairs. “We have been talking about it and—“

“We? I thought there was no ‘we’?” Jimin interrupts, his annoyance flaring again.

Taking a deep breath, Yoongi gestures back to you, “We—Beautiful and I—we, have been talking through the plan and agree that it would be best for you to remain behind just in case something happens. I do not want the wrong people to discover that you have been privy to my whereabouts this entire time.”

Jimin knows that makes sense and is exceptionally logical, but it still burns him inside. “What does she know?” he sneers. “She is barely Fey. What can she possibly offer in this situation other than her cunt!?”

“Watch what you say,” Yoongi warns in a voice like cold steel. “I have been nothing but patient with you, Mini. But I will not tolerate your tantrums much longer. Do not let my love for you blind you to all else. You will stay here, or you can go back to the Seelie Court, but you are not coming, and that is final.”

That burn intensifies, consuming Jimin in a conflagration of sorrow and anger. He chews his tongue until the metallic taste of blood bubbles in his mouth. All he can do is stare at Yoongi, wondering if they’ll be able to come back from this or if he’s lost him to the human forever. He finally drops his eyes, backing down from the argument. “So be it,” he mumbles.

Namjoon and Jungkook amble up the steps, setting the food baskets by the door. “The bags are almost ready,” Namjoon tells Yoongi. “I just have a few more items to add.”

“You honor me,” Yoongi replies, affectionately clapping Namjoon on the shoulder. “It will not be much longer, my friend.”

There is a haggardness around Namjoon’s eyes that Jimin hadn’t noticed before. The strain on his magick has never been more apparent. It helps break him out of his internal battle, pushing aside his grievances to deal with later.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Jimin hears you telling Yoongi.

“Everything will be fine, Beautiful. You have nothing to worry about.”

Jimin watches you shake your head and your brow furrow as you take up one of Yoongi’s hands. “I don’t like it. There’s still so much we don’t know about this,” you gesture between yourself and Yoongi. “What if it’s too much and we can’t navigate the flood properly? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“What are you talking about?” Jimin can’t help himself. He’s curious as to what you’re whining about. Curious about your bond in general, if he’s being honest with himself.

Your eyes slowly shift to Jimin, and he feels like a bug under a looking glass, being examined for flaws by you. “I want Yoongi to wait, a day at least, so he can experiment and get used to the new level of power he has now. I can feel it,” you absently pat your chest, making Jimin realize you’re wearing another of Yoongi’s shirts. He tries to shove down the envy that rears up, only barely managing to keep the sneer off his face. “It’s chaotic and unruly…it scares me.”

Jimin scoffs. “Of course it scares you. You are not Fey. You are not used to the ways of magick. Have some faith in your mate. I know you have barely known him for a day, but I have known him most of my life. Take it from someone who truly loves him. If he says he will be fine, then he will be.” He’s so intent on lashing at you that he misses the hurt he causes reflected in Yoongi’s eyes.

You frown at Jimin, chewing your bottom lip. “I do…um, have faith in him. I’m just…it’s hard to explain.”

Yoongi turns his eyes on you, and at that moment, Jimin almost drops to his knees. But, instead, he remains on his feet, swaying slightly as he silently anguishes over the adoration he sees in the depths of Yoongi’s gaze, the passion that was once meant only for him but is now shining so brightly for you.

“With you and JK with me, nothing can go wrong. We have two days of travel to work on control. We will be fine,” he assures, kissing your forehead softly.

“She’s going with you?” The words are caustic, like acid burning up his throat.

Yoongi sighs. “Yes. She and JK will accompany me. They will remain outside once we get to the castle while I confront Chaddick.”

“Ready to go whenever you are, boss,” Jungkook calls, coming out of the house ladened with three rucksacks and a string of metal canteens. “Beautiful, you get the tiny bag,” he chuckles, handing you the smaller of the three bags.

Jimin notes the amusement in your eyes as you swat at Jungkook affectionately. It seems the two of you have made up in the time he’s been away. It makes Jimin curious about what else you’ve managed to do. He glances at Namjoon, coming down the steps behind Jungkook.

“Packed enough food for the journey and then some.” Namjoon smiles, offering you a small loaf of something wrapped in a blue linen cloth. “Bread for tonight.”

“I tried to convince him that a loaf of bread isn’t really sensible for travel like this, but you know how he is,” Jungkook chides, playfully elbowing Namjoon in the ribs with a laugh.

“You will not be complaining tonight when you eat half of it yourself,” Namjoon murmurs. It makes Jungkook laugh again, their light banter continuing. Jimin watches, trying to come to terms with the myriad of emotions he’s feeling.

Yoongi takes one of the packs from Jungkook, securing it on his back comfortably before helping you with yours. “Joon,” Yoongi turns to Namjoon, embracing him. “Without you, we would have been lost long ago. It is time, my friend. Rest.”

Namjoon nods his head, eyes glistening with emotion. “It has been my pleasure.”

The moment the ward disappears, Jimin can feel it. His own magick prickles with the loss of such a powerful expression. He had never paid much attention to just how quiet the barrier made the glade. A cacophony of sounds infiltrates the small space around the house, bugs and birds, and all other manner of creature noises.

The seeded oak in the center of the clearing rustles in the wind, the leaves perking up ever so slightly as the strain of the ward lifts off of Namjoon’s shoulders.

“Take care while we are gone. I will send word as soon as possible, if you do not hear something beforehand.” Yoongi shifts his attention from Namjoon to Jimin. “Mini, it might be wise to check in with the Seelie Court sometime between now and three days from now to solidify your alibi just in case.”

Jimin crosses his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes. “This is absurd. I could just as easily wait outside the castle with JK. Besides, what if you need someone who can actually help if things go badly?”

“I already said—“ Yoongi begins but, to Jimin’s surprise, you step forward and cut him off.

There is no hostility in your eyes, which makes Jimin irritated all the more. He wishes you would yell and scream at him, shake a finger in his face or something to paint you in a negative light—to validate his dislike for you. “Mini,” the way you say his name so calmly makes him want to spit, “I know how much you care for Yoongi, but it wouldn’t be doing him any favors if you somehow got caught or found out to be with him. He explained to me much of what you have both endured the last ten years, don’t throw it away now.”

“You talked to her about us?” Jimin doesn’t bother to mask the hurt in his voice.

Shaking his head, not in denial but in exhaustion for this back and forth, Yoongi spreads his hands. “I do not know what you want from me. I am doing the best I can right now, Mini. Please…just, try. Try to be understanding. You and I both know this makes sense.”

Jimin wants nothing more than to lash out, continue arguing his point until Yoongi relents—leaving behind you and taking him instead. But, the way you look at Yoongi, almost like you pity him for having to put up with Jimin’s bullshit, has him swallowing down his next snide retort. The bridge between him and Yoongi is already hanging precariously by a fraying thread that’s maple flavored and you-shaped. He can’t afford to see it weaken further because of his own wounded pride.

“We need to move now while the moon is high. The darkness will help conceal us, but we can also use the additional power to cloak with,” Jungkook states, breaking the awkward tension, offering a brief nod in farewell to Namjoon and Jimin.

Jungkook has already moved to the edge of the tree line, waiting patiently for Yoongi and you to follow. An awkward moment passes as Yoongi and Jimin stare at each other. You offer Jimin a tight smile before pushing onto your toes and whispering something into Yoongi’s ear. Jimin wishes he could read your mind or that you’d speak aloud instead of in hushed tones. You pat Yoongi on the shoulder, turn without another word, and join Jungkook, your back to the clearing.

Yoongi closes the distance between himself and Jimin, reaching up with both hands and cradling Jimin’s face as he’s done countless times before. Jimin’s eyes flutter closed, a sob catching deep in his chest. He refuses to cry right now. He won’t let you see his weakness and how much this is hurting him. His resolve almost flags when Yoongi’s lips press to his, that familiar taste of clove flooding his senses, bringing with it a hint of maple that is far more alluring than it has a right to be.

It’s over far sooner than Jimin would like, but he’s too stunned to react. “You do not give her enough credit, my love. She deserves more than your ire.”

Whatever response Jimin had died on his tongue as Yoongi stepped away, giving him a sad smile before turning. He doesn’t look back as he joins you and Jungkook. Jimin stands there, staring until your group disappears in the gloom of the trees. Even then, he remains rooted to the spot, uncertain of what to do.

“Join me?” Namjoon asks. Jimin shakes himself, turning toward Namjoon, who nods to the baskets of potatoes and peas sitting on his porch. “Just like old times.”

“Of course.” Jimin nods, willing away the sadness threatening to swallow him whole. “I will welcome a good distraction.”

Namjoon moves up to the porch and eases himself down to sit on the edge of it, long legs making his feet nearly touch the ground. He pats the porch beside him. Jimin pulls over a basket of peas and has a seat.

Picking up one of the green pods, he presses his thumb into the seam and pops it open, depositing the dozen or so peas into the empty basket Namjoon places between them.

“Is it really so bad?” Namjoon asks. He doesn’t pose it as a snide question but as a genuinely concerned inquiry.

Jimin grabs another pod, methodically opening it and shelling the peas into the basket. “You would think after all this time, I would have developed some sense of acceptance regarding this situation. Perhaps I even thought I might have, but it seems that would be incorrect.”

“She is not that bad, you know.” Namjoon is efficient in his shelling, working through handfuls of pods simultaneously.

“I can see that, be assured. I just—Seven Suns—I am being an asshole. I do not mean to be. There is something I can not shake no matter how hard I try.” Jimin accidentally smashes a pea in frustration, flicking the ruined green mush into the yard. “I love him and fear that may not be enough now. I can not bring him the joys that she does. There is nothing more powerful than a mated bond.”

A silence that is surprisingly comfortable falls between them, Namjoon letting Jimin take the space he needs. Jimin knows he can speak plainly to his friend. After all, he has known Namjoon even longer than he has Yoongi. Namjoon used to reside within the Seelie Court, the son of a gardener on the very grounds where Jimin grew up. They were fast friends and crib mates when Namjoon’s mom would sometimes help the Seelie Queen tend to the younglings.

Namjoon is the reason Jimin did not neglect his duties as crown prince, and Jimin is the reason Namjoon now lives a life of solitude in the Hollow Lands. It was an accident, but no less Jimin’s fault for being careless. Namjoon had been helping him sneak out of the castle to meet with Yoongi secretly, helping foster the budding of their never-meant-to-be romance. They were caught one night. Jimin received guard duty as punishment. But Namjoon was turned out of the castle, not permitted to return.

Hours have passed and Jimin is so deep in his thoughts of life from before, that it takes Namjoon a few tries to get him to snap out of it. “Jimin! Jimin! I thought I heard—”

“Huh, what?” Jimin blinks his eyes, throwing a glance at Namjoon. Namjoon is staring into the distance. The sun is just beginning to peek over the trees, the spaces beneath still heavily shadowed. Namjoon opens his mouth to respond, but a pained scream echoing from the trees cuts him off. “What was that?”

“That sounds like—“ Another gut-wrenching scream rips through the air.

They’re both on their feet in seconds, leaping effortlessly off the porch, peas scattered and forgotten. “Can you get the ward back up?” Jimin asks, a feverish pitch to his words.

Namjoon licks his lips, perspiration already beginning to bead on his brow as he gathers the strength to attempt it. “I do not know, but I will try.”

“Here,” Jimin mindlessly snatches at the pendant around his neck, popping the links of the chain it’s attached to in the process. “Use this.” He drops the crescent moon necklace they used for the bonding ceremony in Namjoon’s palm. Implements used for bonding retain residual powers that can be used as amplifiers, like an echo of the magick the bond was created with. Jimin hopes it’s enough.

Namjoon closes his eyes and begins to mumble words under his breath. “It will not be as big, just focused directly around the house…but it will have to do.”

Jimin steps forward after another scream peals through the air, closer now. His feet falter as two figures come into view, stumbling out of the gloomy covering of the trees. “Seven Suns!” Jimin curses, frozen in shock at the sight before him.

His feet finally move as if with a mind of their own. He lurches forward, arms catching the smaller, bloodied form before it hits the ground.

Your cheeks are marred with jarring splashes of raven-colored liquid. Unseelie Blood. The metallic tang burns Jimin’s nose as he hauls you against his chest. Pitiful whimpers bubble past your lips, your whole body trembling in his hold. A faltering, equally bloody Jungkook hits the grass beside him, barely within the new barrier Namjoon has erected.

“What the fuck happened?” Namjoon drops beside Jungkook, frantic hands patting at his friend, checking his vitals.

“Sh!” Jungkook huffs, slapping a hand over Namjoon’s mouth. Despite being obviously injured, Jungkook pushes up into a sitting position, eyes locked on the treeline they just stumbled from.

The sounds of shouting pick up a moment later, and then a cluster of silhouettes move along about fifty yards in. It’s hard to hear what they’re talking about, but the few words Jimin catches have his hands tightening around you.

The new ward is up, but Jimin isn’t sure how long Namjoon can hold it. If it were to drop before the guards move on, they’d be far outnumbered. It would be an impossible battle. His eyes flick to Jungkook, taking a moment to assess his condition. There is already a dark wet patch on the grass beneath him. The entire right side of his body is drenched in black blood…hard to tell if it’s his or someone else's.

Jimin grits his teeth, silently willing the guards to move on. They finally do, pushing further west. You’re practically catatonic in Jimin’s arms, he realizes after finally looking back down at you. Your head is listing to the side, and your eyelids are drooping heavily. Pulling you away from his chest, he realizes bright crimson is coloring your front. He quickly traces the blood, finding the source—a fingers-width-sized knife wound in your right side. He can’t tell how deep it is, but probing with his magick tells him it’s not immediately life-threatening.

“Beautiful,” Jungkook croaks, trying but failing to shift over to you. “Is she okay?”

That is the furthest thing from Jimin’s mind right now. There is only one thing he can focus on. Even though he fears the answer, Jimin forces the words past his lips, “Where is he? Where is Yoongi?”

Jungkook lets out a despairing sob, collapsing back into the grass. Namjoon begins to assess for wounds, tearing away Jungkook’s clothing methodically.

You pitifully grab at the front of Jimin’s shirt, your eyes locking onto his turquoise ones with a fleeting moment of clarity. “T-th-they took him.” 

It’s like a dagger to Jimin’s heart.

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[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Dancing 'til the break of dawn - Pt3

<Pt2

(TWST zombie apocalypse au for all your crack-fic needs)

Yuu was… so tired.

Why was he so tired, you may ask? He is perfectly capable of sleep, after all, there is no fear of zombies keeping him awake. Ace had installed a bell above the door, which should alert them all if a survivor were to wander inside. Sleeping in shifts was a thing of the past, now. They could rest without worry.

Except Yuu could not. Because his newfound friends were the worst.

“Look, look, look, Grim,” said Ace, sounding close to begging. “You don’t have to do much. Just a little nibble. You like nibbling on humans! They taste good!”

Grim lifted his head from Yuu’s chest, briefly. He groaned internally, readying himself to catch the monster before he could make a meal of Deuce.

But (surprisingly, thankfully) Grim made no moves to stand, which meant… 

Yuu was going to cry. Was Grim finally learning that murdering his friends is bad? He successfully drilled that into his brain? He’s, like, a proud parent now. Wow.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Ace huffed. “Think about it this way: what if Deuce convinces Yuu that eating people is wrong?”

Yuu… already thought that? Did they think that Yuu was okay with eating people? Because he wasn’t! Eating people is gross.

And morally gray-to-black, he supposes. If you think about it. Which Yuu doesn’t usually do, so really he just finds it kinda icky.

“If Deuce wins, Yuu won’t cook for us anymore! We’ll have to go back to bland, flavorless meat.”

Grim made a distressed squeaking sound.

“Exactly,” said Ace.

Dang it.

He sighed, finally opening his eyes. “Ace, man, come on.”

Ace, who had been kneeling far closer than Yuu had originally assumed, actually, nearly fell over in his haste to back up a few steps. Which is not the behavior of a particularly innocent person. But, to his credit, he was quick to rectify this. He sat himself down on his futon, hugged his legs to his chest, and propped his chin on his knees. With a new, slightly tired smile in place, he looked for all the world as if he had just been talking to Grim to fill the time until he could pass out. “Hey, Yuu, how long have you been awake?”

Yuu gave him a flat look.

Ace maintained his expression for a few more moments, before apparently giving up, spinning and flopping back against his pillow with a loud groan. “I don’t want him to stay! Like, you suck enough, with your morals and weird-as-hell complex, but at least you don’t tell me what to do! And you’re useful!”

Yuu sat up slowly, propping his chin in his hand, just so Ace could continue to see how unimpressed he was with this whole situation. He is a growing boy, after all, he needs his beauty sleep. He does not need to deal with weird interpersonal drama and various morality issues.

“You flatter me, Ace.”

“I’ve always been told I’m quite the sweet-talker,” Ace said, winking.

“‘Ace’ and ‘sweet’ should never be in the same sentence, unless the word ‘is not’ is between them.”

“But that sentence didn’t have ‘is not’ between ‘Ace’ and ‘sweet’,” Ace pointed out.

“You’re just proving me right.”

Ace considered this. And then shook his head. “Nah, I’m proving you wrong.”

“It – it doesn’t work like that,” said Yuu, utterly flabbergasted.

“It does, actually.”

Yuu frowned. “I think I’m being gaslit.”

“If you were being gaslit, you’d know.”

... would he know? Maybe...

Wait.

He looked at Ace, betrayed, and found the boy snickering into his hand. Yuu hated him, actually, Ace was the worst person to ever exist.

Deuce must have agreed, because he groaned in his sleep and turned over, shoving his pillow over his head with mumbled curses.

Okay. Maybe not actually in his sleep. Ace and Yuu hadn’t really been bothering to keep quiet. Sorry, Deuce. Except Yuu wasn’t actually all that sorry – if he had to be awake because Ace and Deuce couldn’t just Be Normal, then Deuce wasn’t allowed to sleep either.

Speaking of…

“Why don’t you just kill him yourself?” Yuu asked, because he was curious. It wasn’t like Ace had any problems committing murder, and it would certainly be faster to just slit Deuce’s throat than convince Grim to bite him… so, why?

Ace eyed him warily. “Am I allowed to do that?”

Yuu thought about it.

Grim was allowed to kill people. Because look at him. He’s adorable.

Is Ace adorable?

Ehhhhhhh, debatably. But not get-away-with-murder adorable, he doesn’t think.

“Good point, I guess.”

Ace had clearly expected that, but his shoulders slumped regardless.

(Deuce’s shoulders also slumped, but that was most likely due to relief rather than exasperation. But who knows. Maybe Deuce was into being killed and was very disappointed. Yuu wasn’t going to assume.)

~

You may be thinking ‘Well, Yuu, you already knew that Ace was kind of awful, but Deuce has done nothing wrong’. And Yuu would like to laugh in your face, because Deuce is just as inconvenient.

Like, sure, the guy wasn’t trying to murder Ace (because that would kind of ruin his argument), but he was still determined to sway Yuu in any way possible.

Don’t believe him?

Yuu brings to the stand: the attempted kidnapping.

Actually, thinking back on it, it was an entirely successful kidnapping. Get rid of that ‘attempted’!

Yuu brings to the stand: the kidnapping.

It happened only a few days later, when Deuce claimed that he was going to move the rest of his belongings to the convenience store, since it seemed like his stay was going to be far longer than he’d originally hoped.

“Don’t bring your stuff over,” Ace said, his lip curling in abject disgust. “Just leave.”

Deuce didn’t even look at him. “Yuu, can you come with me? I’ve got a couple of heavy things, so…”

Yuu, like the fool he was, thought nothing of it. After all, Deuce was largely ignoring Ace nowadays. Which, really, was better than he had ever hoped for.

He should have known it was too good to be true.

Alas.

He went with Deuce. It was a (relatively) short trip, they got there just after the sun had set. The walk itself wasn’t particularly eventful, people tend to keep quiet while traveling for fear of attracting the wrong kind of attention. The only thing of note was that Deuce spent the entire trip wondering why they weren’t seeing any zombies. Yuu realized, very abruptly, that Deuce might not know that Grim was a zombie. Which, on one hand, vindication – it wasn’t that obvious, Yuu was glad to know he wasn’t the only person who would ever mistake a weird green cat for normal. On the other hand, that was hilarious, and Yuu wanted to see how long it would take for Deuce to realize.

Was it hypocritical? Sure. But who cares? It’s not like you can sue him for it, seeing as lawyers were pretty much the first ones to die out.

Not because of the zombies. Because criminals broke out of prison after day three of the apocalypse and, apparently, just really didn’t like the guys. For some reason.

Also, lawyers are annoying – imagine choosing to be a Reddit debate lord full time – so Yuu kind of gets it.

Point is, Yuu likes to make fun of Deuce, so he will do it.

Not for things that feel too far, of course. He had opened his mouth to tease Deuce for having free reign to choose literally any house and still going with an apartment, but had quickly shut it upon seeing the nameplate declaring this the ‘Spade’ residence. He said nothing when Deuce opened the door to his old apartment and sighed when he found it devoid of all life.

Yuu really did not want to deal with All That. He came here to grab a few things and go, not to deal with someone else’s trauma.

He didn’t even want to deal with his own trauma, thank you very much.

He helped gather everything that might be of use. There wasn’t much. Deuce had packed pretty much everything before heading off in search of food, but there were quite a few sentimental items that he had wanted to pick up.

Still, not enough to warrant two people making the trip over, though.

This, he would later realize, was yet another warning sign. But he had assumed that Deuce just wanted moral support, so he ignored that glaring red flag, too.

Deuce shoved a couple of posters and magazines into his bag, as well as what looked to be a tracksuit and a deck of playing cards. Yuu supposed that all of that would be nice to have – people don’t talk about how boring apocalypses are. Like, sure, you’re fighting for your life, but when you’re not? No technology, no books past sundown, nothing but yourself for company unless you’re lucky enough to find a group (or unlucky enough, in Yuu’s case).

Honestly, they deserved a medal for not being completely insane. Yet.

Yuu pulled a poster from the wall, fighting to keep the laughter out of his voice when he said, “Didn’t think that was the kind of thing you’d be into.”

Deuce looked over and his face flushed red. “I really like motorcycles, okay?”

“The fact that there’s a woman in the photo is just an unfortunate addition, then?” he teased.

Deuce stomped over and snatched up the poster, mumbling unkind words under his breath. Yuu did not fail to notice that Deuce still packed the poster. Oh, Ace was going to get a kick out of that when he saw.

Luckily for Deuce, Grim fell asleep soon after. Yuu was much more interested in cooing over his baby crafted by God himself (and also probably some sort of Evil Scientist Experimentation or something like that) than making fun of his friend. Because he has priorities.

Priorities that were, unfortunately, put on hold when Deuce finished packing up. He paused for a moment to take the nameplate off of his doorway, and then turned to Yuu, something akin to curiosity sparkling in his gaze.

“Hey, Yuu, do you have a last name?” Deuce asked.

Yuu paused and looked over, frowning. “I mean… obviously? Not many people are born without them, y’know.”

Deuce blushed. “I mean, obviously, but I just realized you never really formally introduced yourself to me, and I wanted to call you by the right name…”

“It’s the apocalypse, Deuce. You’ve seen me naked. At that point, I don’t think formalities really matter.”

Deuce sighed. “I guess that makes sense…”

“My full name is ‘Yuu Zombie’, if you must know.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not! Y’know, when this zombie stuff started up, I was like ‘Woah what a coincidence, I would laugh if I were any less terrified!’”

Deuce stared at him for a minute more before sighing. “You are joking.”

Yuu’s lips twitched. “Yeah, I am. Should I have gone for something a little more believable? ‘Undead’? Oh, or maybe ‘Apparition’? Yeah, that sounds cool. Can I have a redo?”

Deuce groaned. “You’re the worst.”

“Oh oh oh! What about ‘Infected’? Like in those snobby horror films that won’t admit that they’re zombies –!”

“Know what? I don’t feel bad about this anymore.”

Yuu froze. “Bad about what?”

And that’s the moment where he got shoved into a closet.

Not again!

He groaned when the lock clicked behind him. He considered ‘tripping’ and bumping as many walls as he could on the way down, just to see if that would make Deuce open it. But he decided against it, if only because he didn’t want to ruin his beautiful face.

So. Plan B.

“Deuce, if you don’t let me out I’m going to fake a panic attack.”

“What the –?!”

“I will cry. This is a threat.”

Deuce hissed something that sounded like a curse. Not a curse word, but an actual curse, perhaps on Yuu’s bloodline or something. Which wouldn’t matter, because Yuu wasn’t going to have one. Take that!

… Yuu might still be losing. He is still stuck in a closet, after all. Hard to feel like a winner in that kind of scenario.

Deuce sighed. “Listen, I’m just doing this until you realize that you can do better than fucking Ace of all people.”

Yuu sighed, sliding down the back wall so he could safely sit. Everything was, unfortunately, dark, but he could feel Grim slip out of his pocket and rush up to the door. The sound of claws scratching against the wood was grating.

It also meant that he had a time limit. If Grim managed to claw his way through, Yuu had no doubts that he would immediately try to maul Deuce.

Which would be annoying.

“Deuce,” he said, trying to keep his voice level even though he was in a closet and talking to a door of all things. “I’m not leaving Ace.”

Yuu wasn’t being stubborn about this because he liked Ace or anything, he swears, he just… really liked… Ace’s store…?

Shut up.

“You could do so much better than him!”

Yuu gritted his teeth. He had his doubts – he wasn’t sure why Grim had allowed Ace and Deuce to stay, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He needed human interaction. He was already deferential to a cat, for Pete’s sake!

“I don’t want better than him,” he said.

“He’s the worst!” Deuce said, sounding frustrated, like Yuu was the one that was just not getting it. “He literally calls you his chef. You don’t have to put up with that!”

Man, Deuce was really hung up on the Chef thing. Yuu wasn’t sure why.

“He has a whole futon but he makes you sleep on the floor!”

“Of course I sleep on the floor. Where else would I –?!”

Wait.

Wait. A. Minute.

“You think that Ace and I are dating,” Yuu realized, fighting the urge to laugh. And then the offense crept in. “Hold on, you think I’m dating Ace?!”

“... yeah?” said Deuce.

“I could do so much better than him!”

“That’s what I said!”

Yuu groaned, pressing his face into his hands. “Jeez, dude, no. He’s, like, a friend at best. We barely know each other.”

“Wait… that makes even less sense! Why won’t you leave him if literally neither of you cares about each other?”

Yuu shrugged, even if he knew that Deuce couldn’t see it. “It’s whatever.”

“Just… okay, name one good reason why you haven’t left him.”

For some reason, he doubted ‘listen, I do not have that many options’ would go over well. Probably because he had already tried that, to very poor results. Unfortunately, Yuu wasn’t sure that he could honestly say that Ace had that many good qualities. The ones that he did have were buried so deep that he wasn’t sure that they counted.

He supposed he could trauma dump on Deuce and take the win, but that didn’t sound all that fun…

… fun.

Fun.

“He’s funny!” he blurted, because that definitely was a good trait that Ace had. He would readily admit that the redhead could tell a few good jokes, so long as he was 100% sure that it would never get back to him. Ace’s ego was large enough as it was, no need to inflate it.

But was this good enough to convince Deuce to let him out?

No.

“A. You took way too long to decide on that. B. So is a clown! Would you make friends with a clown?!”

“I mean. Probably.”

“... I think you might be beyond saving.”

Alright. Rude.

It was silent for a minute.

“Are you going to let me out now?”

Another minute.

“Yeah, sure. Fuck it, I guess.”

Before Yuu could celebrate annoying his kidnapper into letting him go (which, after saying that out loud, doesn't feel like something he should be celebrating), he had something important to do. Yuu lunged for the doorknob the moment the lock clicked, holding it firmly in place.

“Hold on a sec.”

“Uhhhh… don’t you want to come out?”

“Grimmmmm,” he cooed instead of answering. “Pspspspspspsps…”

He smiled when a tiny paw came to rest upon his knee. He picked up his darling and hugged him to his chest.

“Alright, now you can open the door.”

Deuce did so, giving him a very confused look.

“He would have tried to bite you,” Yuu explained.

Grim swung his legs like he was still tempted to try. Yuu pressed a quick kiss to the top of the zombie’s head in an attempt to placate him.

The two humans ignored the cat in favor of finally getting out of the apartment.

“You don’t have to come back with me, you know,” Yuu said.

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” said Deuce. He wasn’t meeting Yuu’s eyes, and the boy could claim that this was because he was carefully closing and locking the door behind them, but Yuu knew the truth: Deuce was definitely lying. He had been staring at Yuu like he was something to be studied. Yuu wasn’t sure whether this was flattering or not.

Yuu gave him a flat look.

“It’s better than staying here, I guess,” Deuce finally gave in.

Yuu snorted and bumped their shoulders together, lightly. “Now you’re getting it.”

They managed to get all the way outside before Yuu finally spoke again:

“Oh, wait. I forgot to tell you something.”

“What?”

“Yuu could be a last name, too.”

Deuce punched him in the arm so hard that Yuu could swear he felt a bone crack.

(This, unsurprisingly, did not make Grim any more happy with the boy.)

~~~~~~~

Pt4>

[peanutbutterwrites]

My Good Looking Boy - Part Three

warnings for series: angst, struggles with self worth and self esteem, issues with appearance, childhood trauma, and mentions of death and murder.

summary: taking place after the southern raiders, zuko and katara finally learn to understand each other a bit more and long held on to feelings come to the surface. the gaang go and watch the ember island play and chaos ensues with katara's feelings.

part one - part two - part three - part four

authors note: hey guys! I know this one took a fat minute, sorry about that. I was really struggling on how to end this part as there's another big part of the story that plays on the theme of zuko struggling in his self esteem, and it was really long if i did include it and really short if i didn't. in the end, i decided to leave that to part four which i promise will have a much shorter wait since i'm almost happy with it. anyways, as always feel free to let me know what you think in the comments and enjoy!

word count: 1.1k

Katara awoke the next morning curled up in the red sheets, tucked in nicely. She didn’t remember getting into bed, but her clothes from the night before were still fully on and angry red imprints were becoming apparent from the flowy fabric from pressing into her skin all night. Groaning slightly, she uncurled herself from under the fabrics and began getting ready for the day. She was still in bed, brushing her hair when the door swung open.

“Morning Katara!” She tensed up slightly, but tried to relax as Aang and Momo made their way into the room, Momo perched on Aang’s right shoulder and a tray in his arms. “I know the play was kind of ridiculous, so I thought a nice breakfast would help.” He smiled wide, and Katara blinked back at him in surprise. 

“Wow, Aang you didn’t need to.” Dropping the brush down onto the bed sheets, she turned her body in order to accept the tray full of fruits and nuts and sent him a happy smile.

“I know it's not much, but it was what was left in the kitchen.” He spoke shyly, scratching the back of his head with a light dusting of blush on his cheeks. Katara blinked back again,

“What was left? Do we have no more food?”

“Not really, I swear I’ll make you a better breakfast when this war is over.” 

“Well, that was very thoughtful. Thank you, Aaang.” He smiled at her and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Katara hesitantly dug into her healthy breakfast and the two fell into somewhat of an awkward silence. “You know,” he trailed off, “I kinda wanted to talk to you about something. You awake enough?” Chewing quickly, Katara shook herself slightly to wake up.

“Yeah of course, what did you need?” Putting the silverware down carefully, she moved the tray to the side prepared to give him her full attention. 

“Well, I just wanted to talk about, us.” She froze. No, this is not what I think it is. 

“Oh okay, what's wrong? I thought we were doing just fine in our friendship.” She gulped down the nausea hitting her, trying to calm the unease filling her stomach.

“That’s just it Katara, I want more than friendship. I Thought after the kiss…”

“You thought what, Aang.” She snapped, though it came out more harshly than she intended. 

“I just, well I thought we’d be together, but we’re not.”

“Don’t you think we have other things to worry about? It's just not the right time. There is a war going on out there Aang, people are dying.” 

“When is the right time!” He quipped, clearly letting his frustration be apparent. “You know how frustrating that play was to watch? It made me so angry!” 

“Really? That made you so angry, Aang? Not the lives being affected by this war?”

“Oh come on, you know that I worry about the world! That's not fair!” 

“Then why does some stupid play have such an effect on you!”

“Because, why am I like a little brother! Why do you feel that way?” he shouted, panting as Momo scampered out of the room. Katara just sighed and shifted towards him.

“Look, Aang. That play isn’t my feelings, it's some silly fantasy the fire nation came up with. Don’t let it affect you so much.” She said, feeling a little guilty chastising him when the play clearly had an effect on her as well. 

“S’not?” He mumbled back. 

“No, Aang.” She said while giving him a tentative smile. He smiled back at her, a little less bright than earlier but still sincere.

“So, you like me too?” Katara sighed. 

“I don’t know Aang, I'm just a little…confused.” They sat in silence for a little bit while Katara frowned, What is it that is holding me back? 

“Well, maybe this will help.” Before she had time to react, she felt lips pressing to hers and her eyes widened in shock. 

“Aang,” she whispered, moving away, “I said I was confused. That means I need some time and space to figure my own feelings out. Please, leave Aang.” He frowned and began to argue back. “I asked nicely Aang, now please leave.” He hung his head and made his way towards the door to leave. Pausing he looked back at her. 

“Just think about it.” Gripping her elbows, she turned her head to look out the balcony and didn’t entertain a reply. Once she heard the quiet click of the door closing, she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Why was everything so messed up now?

After such an eventful morning, Katara wanted to take the day to relax and focus on things besides hope and housework. She knew she needed time to reflect and she always did her thinking when she was in her element, literally. Deciding to use the morning for some water bending practice, she made her way out to sea where she knew she wouldn’t be bothered. The others used the courtyard of the summer home for bending practice, so as long as she stayed on this side of the private beach she shouldn’t be bothered by anyone, friend or foe. She began with meditation to help with the push and pull of the water, breathing deep and closing her eyes, she began to focus on the waves. However, it wasn’t long before her mind seemed to wander even though she desperately tussled with it to go back to focussing. I know he doesn’t feel like a little brother, but he doesn’t feel like a friend either. Does that mean I do have feelings for him? Why can’t this be straight forward?“Gah!” she huffed in irritation, causing the sea to stutter in its own waves. Katara was used to arguing out other people’s true feelings, why was it so hard to get it out of herself? Also frustrated that she couldn’t keep her mind straight enough to meditate and focus, she couldn’t help but feel her whole trek out here was a waste of time. I can’t let this get to me. Resolving to focus on other things, Katara made her way back to the summer home and got back to work on what needed to be completed today.

[clairethecutepup]

Murder Drones: N's New Pet

Uzi didn’t know what the hell she’s looking at… Well, whatever, uh, “that” was supposed to be, N sure seemed excited about it. In fact, excited enough to forget they’re supposed to be on a super important mission here! If they’re going to the humans’ planet, they need to find some way of getting there… Or, Uzi supposes she could always build something to wipe out human life from here, like a giant version of her railgun that’d totally decimate Earth. Nah, probably better to do things “in person” and it’d also be a pretty dick move to wipe out the non-human life there. Sure, the dogs there would be fine, at the very least, but no canonically immortal being would appreciate endlessly floating and suffocating in space-- on top of surviving whatever otherwise-mortal wound a distant attack would leave on them.

Still, Uzi couldn’t deny this was an interesting discovery on N’s part, while the disassembly unit couldn’t stop that large and stupid grin on his face.

“I found her right over there!” he points to some distant portion of the tundra-like wasteland, “I was looking for that possible rocket or something else we could use, but then I saw the cutest little blue eyes watching me--!”

“Uh, what the hell even is this…?” Uzi points at the equally sized weird-creature-thing, “Is it supposed to be, like, some sort of dog…?”

Well, if humans performed experiments to make canines achieve that mentioned immortality, why not experiments to make them something else? But if this clearly wasn’t a pure dog, then what was it…?

“She’s a…!” N still smiles, but needs to pause, “... Well, I know she’s a girl!”

“... Hhhoowww…?”

“Well, she came to me when I tried, ‘Here, girl…?’ after trying, ‘Here, boy…’ In fact, she actually gave me a confused look when I called her ‘boy,’ too…”

“Okay, it’s apparently something that understands speech, so maybe it can actually say something--” Uzi presses a finger into the organic being’s nose,  “like what the hell you’re supposed to be?”

“Oh, great idea!” N pats the pup’s shoulder, “Come on, girl, speak!”

The canid creature could only muster, “Ca’ s’ea’...”

Uzi raises her digital eyebrow, while N’s grin turns a bit more nervous.

“Uh, sorry,” he pats the pup’s head, “what was that…?”

The strange kid tries again, “Ca’t… S’e’k…”

“I think she’s saying she can’t really talk,” Uzi points out, “Which, yeah, obviously not…”

“Aw, that’s terrible…” N hugs the pup, “Poor little guy; not only all alone, but she wouldn’t be able to ask anyone she could find for help…”

“Yeah, it’s sad and all,” Uzi sighs, “but we really need to get back to work… If we don’t find some way to Earth, then we can’t make the humans pay for--”

She suddenly narrows her digital eyes, burning holes into the shrinking and recoiling pup before her.

“Wait a minute…” the worker drone points again, “Look past the ears, tail and all that…” Uzi straightens up, eyes wide and arms falling to her sides, “You’re exactly what a human is…”

“Uh, I guess she could be…?” N asks, but his eyes go wide as he recalls, “... Uh, U-Uzi, y-you’re not gonna…?”

There’s a tense silence: Uzi continues to stare, N bites his lip, and the pup backs into N and quivers her own lip. Uzi then begins to giggle, prompting N to anxiously follow suit. Then, Uzi maniacally cackles, while N laughs and digital sweat drops appear on his facial screen. The poor little pup in N’s hands seeks sanctuary in him: turning toward him and clinging to him, accepting his tightening arms around her. Then, Uzi pulls her railgun out from behind and aims straight for the weird hybrid’s head.

“I’ve always wondered what this could do to a human, too…”

N shrieks, “Uzi, NO!!”

“Good point,” she slightly lowers the firearm, “I’d be hitting you, too… So, maybe just set her down over--”

“N-No, I meant you can’t…!” N’s eyes shift in desperation for an idea, “Uh, she…!” he then holds one of the pup’s wrists and shakes her paw, while using his other hand to lightly pull a wolf ear, “S-She’s probably not even actually human!! I mean, humans don’t usually have soft little paws o-or big, floppy little ears!”

“Being part human is just as bad as being fully human!” Uzi lies the gun on her shoulder, “Now, mind throwing her into the air or something, if I apparently can’t have a grounded target?”

“Uzi, please…” N whimpers, giving his biggest digital doe eyes, “Even if she looks human, she’s not responsible for us being sent here to wipe all of you out…”

“That’s another reason, N!” Uzi points at them, “What if she’s a new attempt to wipe all of us out because you guys aren’t doing it ‘fast enough’ or something?!”

“Uh, not to be rude, but I think it’s pretty clear which of you might be the bigger threat…” N steps back, still clutching the pup protectively, “Besides, how could something so deadly be so cute?” he holds the pup up and makes her face him, “Just look at those big little eyes!”

“You ever hear of a ‘false sense of security’?” Uzi shrugs, then properly holds her railgun again but points it down, “It’s also a little fishy that you suddenly find something like that… It’s not exactly like this planet’s rich in more organic life, and why else would something like this even exist if someone didn’t want it made-- like for extermination purposes?”

“Well, maybe she’s something that was leftover, too…?” N taps his chin, looking up. He then motions to Uzi, “I mean, you guys used to be here as worker drones for humans, so maybe they wanted to make…” he looks at the pup, “Uh, humanlike-puppy-things for some other reason-- that doesn’t involve killing anyone!!” N quickly hides the hybrid behind himself, “I-I mean, sh-she doesn’t even look like she could hurt anyone… No scary syringe-tail, clearly no arm-weapons…” he grabs one of the pup’s paws and holds it out, “Just soft little paws, see?”

He squeezes them for emphasis, his smile growing; Uzi simply looks back and forth between the two, slowly accepting the fact N won’t let her desires become reality. Yes, N has regenerative abilities and even recovered from the last time Uzi actually shot him, but she doesn’t like him being generally hurt and thus can’t just fire anyway. What? It’s not like she likes him or anything…! … Okay, maybe a little. Bite her!

Anyway, N made some good points… It’s weird humans would make something like this to kill them all, when disassembly drones seemed to be doing a fine enough job. It’s not like they hid behind her father’s doors because they feared the snow out here… Speaking of fear, this weird dog-thing seemed more eager to escape Uzi than destroy her. She was even the same size as Uzi, making her even less formidable. No, Uzi’s not short, the weird dog-thing is! “But being the same size as something ‘short’ makes you--” blah, blah, blah, bite her-- again!

But still, why was this clearly unnatural thing able to exist; plus, if she’s organic and all, how is she not dying from the frigid wasteland and unsuitable air? Something about her just doesn’t sit right with Uzi…

“Fine, N, I won’t kill it…” she sighs, “... But do me a favor and get rid of it yourself then,” she then rolls her eyes at his dramatic gasp, “No, I don’t mean you have to do it like that… You know, maybe throw a stick or something, and disappear before she’s got a chance to come back?”

“B-But Uzi…”

“No ‘buts,’ I don’t see any reason why it’d be a good idea to keep it around…”

“But there’s no reason why it’d be a bad one…”

“N…”

The taller drone bites his lip, his eyes shifting about. Then he suddenly perks up.

“Okay, Uzi, no problem! You won’t ever see her again…”

“Good, now do it before she causes us any trouble…”

N expands his metallic wings and flies off with the strange pup.

“Hey, just tell her to run back into the trees or something!” Uzi cries, “Don’t just leave me alone to-- UGH…”

Why did she even bother asking him for help…? Well, at least he’d return to actually do that… Uzi puts her gun back behind herself and ventures on. Of course, N was back in a near-instant. Uzi thought he seemed suspiciously happy for someone who just got rid of something that he took a liking to… He claimed he found someplace the pup could safely stay and would be taken care of. Note to herself: Uzi must check any areas that’d be perfect for hiding a potentially dangerous dog-human-thing… 

Oh, look at that: later on, she catches N carrying something in his hands.

“What’s that?”

He yelps and turns around.

“Oh, hey, Uzi…”

“... ‘#1 Pet’?” she points to the crafted water bowl, before crossing her arms, “... You’re seriously keeping her?”

That’s all she needed to say. N then shifts his eyes around, holding the welded and muglike water dish in his hands.

“... Mmmmayyyybbeeeee…?”

He chuckles and grins, making Uzi roll her eyes.

“... Do you think she’ll like it?” N asks, “I even put on this handle, in case she wants to drink it more like a person!”

“Just make sure she doesn’t kill anyone or cause any other trouble…”

“Don’t worry, Claire’s way too sweet and obedient for that!”

“You’re going with that for a name? How about one that actually kicks ass: like, ‘Vira’ or the classic ‘Cujo’? Although, I guess ‘Cuja’ would sound better for a girl…”

“Oh no, I didn’t name her, that’s what it said on her tag!”

Oh yeah, she was wearing a collar of sorts… Perhaps Uzi should take a closer look at it sometime, then they’ll get some answers to this “Claire” suddenly showing up-- and why she did.

----------------------------

It's always fun to have your ocs interact with canon characters. Of course, I prefer going the platonic route as I'm not big on romance... Also, it's fun to take fanart/fan comics and turn them into an expanded tale through literary writing. Yes, this will be a bit of a "series" as I wanna make more images/comics.

[charcoalhawk]

The haunting of Masters’ Mansion

This is a backup truce gift for @shadowofaghost5 , hope to bring you some (very) belated Christmas cheer!

Prompt: Vlad & Danny bonding (by annoying each other? did they have to work together for something and accidentally started enjoying it? is Vlad being nice for once and teaching Danny stuff? How they bond is entirely up to you!)

Warnings: none

“-and Frankie said I could stay with them and their partner for the holidays. I think we may go to one of our other friends' houses on Christmas Day, but that’s still up in the air pending how many of his family is coming home.”

“That’s awesome Jazz”, Danny smiles at his sister over FaceTime, “so I’ll see you probably during spring break? Assuming no, uh, pit stops?”

“Yeah, spring break. And no Danny, no pit stops. Enjoy your last semester and your extracurriculars, we can call and text as much as you need.”

“I don’t know, if the house is still being fumigated after the new year I may just have to hide in your dorm for a few days just to get some sleep.”

Apparently using unstable ectoplasm for years and building much of their own home had caused the building not to be strictly up to code, and while they’re not having to rebuild any existing structures, the city had insisted on doing a through investigation, and then announced that the house would need to be thoroughly fumigated for at least a month, amongst other problems.

They’d been able to book a hotel for the first few nights, but as it grew closer to Christmas his parents had been informed they would need to find other lodgings as their rooms had already been booked starting the next two days all the way through the new year.

Luckily a family friend was willing to host them over the holidays, as after a frantic search it seemed like most hotels had already been bought out or were charging truly outrageous prices for the holidays.

Unluckily for Danny his parents insisted he stay with them for the Holidays, even after both Tucker and Sam had promised that either of their parents wouldn’t mind hosting Danny for a few weeks.

So they had shuffled themselves into the Fenton RV, suitcases and presents pressing into Danny from every angle from where they’re all crammed indiscriminately.

It has only taken an hour for his parents to restart the argument they had put on hold last night. At this point after almost eighteen years Danny thought he could recite both sides of his parents "is Santa real" argument from memory. Danny knows he had been lucky before that his parents had only had small arguments since Mariah Carey had started haunting every radio station since October.

“You know mom and dad just wanted one more Christmas with you before you go off to college.”

“I know.” He chances a glance at the front of the RV where even now his parents are in furious debate, “but knowing them they’re just going to spend the whole time arguing or trying to make me pick a side.”

Jazz tries to smile on video call, but they’re far enough out in the countryside that his phone’s connection is getting really spotty.

“I know. I tried when I called them last week to get them to understand how doing this was only going to drive you away” Danny can’t help but scrunch his nose in distaste, “don’t look at me like that Danny, you’re almost an adult. We can have these kinds of conversations, but I don’t think it quite stuck like I wanted it to.”

Jazz gives him a sympathetic look before her picture abruptly flips, and now Danny is staring at a slightly worse for wear Bearbert Einstein. Jazz waives one of his arms and puts on her most obnoxious, silly voice.

“But both me and Jazz want to wish you a very good new year,” her hand shifts so it seems Bearbert is nodding his head, “and Jazz would like to kindly request that you don’t try and murder Vlad unless he tries to get you first!”

Danny chokes on a laugh as the camera switches back to Jazz’s now beaming smile, and soon they’re saying their goodbyes as Jazz rushes to finish packing.

Once the call ends and the low arguing of his parents is now the only sound in the RV, Danny allows himself to scowl.

That was the other unfortunate thing, turns out they would be staring with Vlad over the holidays.

The only thing worse than Christmas time, and trust him there is not much worse than the Fenton’s at Christmas, is having to share that time with Uncle Vlad.

Danny can see his future now, Vlad will take his mom’s side, which in turn will make his dad turn to him.

The only silver lining in all this, and trust him it is a very slim silver lining, is that over the past four years he and Vlad have a more steady truce in place and neither goes out of his way to intentionally maim or attack the other.

When they finally pull up to Vlad’s gaudy home, nothing immediately strikes Danny as out of place, but he notices that his parents seem unnerved about something and that immediately sets him on edge.

As they all clamor out of the RV his ghost sense tells him Vlad is lurking nearby. No one exits to help them get their bags but the door swings open dramatically before his dad can start pounding on the door.

“Jack! Glad to see that you are well.” Vlad places a very reluctant hand on his Dad’s shoulder, which is all the prompting Dad needs to sweep Vlad into a truly impressive bear hug.

Vlad’s smile is carefully pinned in place, as he allows the extended contact with Jack before sweeping down to RV, likely to offer to carry his mom’s bags.

“Madeline! How good to see you!” His mom carefully steps out of Vlad’s way while keeping her own smile carefully on.

“It’s good to see you too Vlad, we really can’t thank you enough for agreeing to host us on such short notice.”

He and Vlad share a careful nod as Dad leads them all into the foyer, and Danny can only hope with such a big house it can actually allow him some peace and quiet.

“Yeah V-man, thanks for letting us stay here while the house is being checked out. But I gotta say Vladdie,” his dad gestures around the opulent foyer, “where’s all your Christmas stuff?”

His mom takes a careful look around and her eyes widen as she realizes what her husband says is true.

“Oh now that you mentioned it dear, it is odd,” she turns more fully towards Vlad, genuine interest in her tone and not the carefully cultivated fake interest Danny knows she holds whenever he’s seen her interact with Vlad in recent years.

“While Santa Claus obviously isn’t real, the story of Saint Nick should still be celebrated, and of course a chance to give gifts to our loved ones.”

His parents share a glare, but it’s clear they’re too shaken by Vlad’s lack of decorations to devolve back into spirited debate.

“We can take the RV into town right now!” His Dad makes an abrupt about face and starts tugging Vlad along with him, “bet they still have some real trees for sale, only real way to celebrate is with a real tree!”

“Oh good idea Jack! Vlad can show us where he stores his other decor and while you two are gone Danny and I can set up the lights.”

“Oh nonsense, we should all get the tree together!”

“I guess you're right Jack, that is a very important Christmas tradition. Then do you know where the nearest tree farm is Vlad? I’m sure we could find one but I’m sure you have your preferences.”

Vlad starts to look increasingly uncomfortable as his parents gang up on him.

“C’mon Vladdie! If we leave now we should still have time to set up the Christmas tree!”

Just as his Dad is about to pull Vlad past the threshold of the house, Vlad seems to snap out of his stupor and easily shakes off his Dad’s hand, backing up further into the house like he thinks Dad will lunge at him to pull him into the RV.

“That won’t be necessary. While I wouldn’t begrudge your family its traditions, I have no interest in spending multiple hours putting up frivolous decorations that are only going to live in boxes most of the year.”

“Oh bah, I’ve seen you spend weeks decorating this place for whenever the Packers play!”

“I don’t care, I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

It feels like the entire house freezes.

“I don’t have any particularly strong feelings around winter and Christmas time, and so to me they are just another few weeks of the year. I only even remember them because every store and TV station is decorated in red and green from November until the new year.”

It’s silly, but Danny had never realized that you could just, do that. He knows Sam and her family celebrate Hanukkah, hell even ghosts have the Truce, but he’d kinda been under the impression that everyone did something for the winter holidays.

The next few minutes are filled with his parents arguing the joys of Christmas time, while Vlad seems to grow increasingly more bored as the minutes tick by.

At some point his parents seem to realize they won’t get through to Vlad by simply arguing their case, so his Dad declares they will go out and vows that by the time they leave Vlad will be filled with the Christmas spirit.

With the slam of the RV door his parents are gone, leaving Danny and Vlad standing awkwardly in the now empty foyer.

“Well, that was a waste of my time.”

As the shadow of the RV disappears around the corner, Danny suddenly has an idea.

“Ok frootloop I’ve got a deal for you.” Vlad raises a single brow, at least he’s curious. “Neither of us wants this place to become infested with Christmas, so we work together and make my Mom and Dad think your house is haunted by some Christmas hating spectr, and then they’ll be so focused on hunting down the ghost they won’t have time to bother either of us.”

“Are you suggesting we make up a ghost to haunt your parents Daniel? My, that’s something I would usually think of.”

“Oh don’t give yourself that much credit. I’ve already been basically haunting my parents for the last four years.”

As so, an alliance is born.

The next two weeks Danny finds out he and Vlad make a startlingly efficient pair at tracking down and vanishing any extra Christmas decor his parents try to smuggle in the house.

Danny knows his parents have kept all their presents in the RV for fear of this new ‘Christmas ghoul’ stealing them, and honestly Danny is having the time of his life. His parents are united for once in their Christmas opinions, and they’re so busy trying to hunt this imaginary ghost that they forget to try and get Danny on either of their sides.

Christmas Day still passes in a flurry of activity, but this year it’s his parents camping out by the chimney all night waiting for a ghost, or Santa, to come sneaking into the house. They end up sleeping most of the next day, and by the time new year hits Danny hasn’t heard his parents argue about Santa being real in almost a week.

And if his friends ever question the morality of the situation Vlad is such an easy target he won’t even deny it.

[selfspinninglies]

hi happy pride I wrote gays

word count: 2765 [<- what possessed me to write this much how did I do that]

tws/cws: implied/discussed murder, desecration of a body, not technically cannibalism but they do eat a person [<- not graphic]

notes: I wrote 2530 words of this in 2 days somehow . The oc hyperfixation is real . Also some of this might not make sense cause I still haven't wrote an experimental plot summary yet sooo oops . They're both so oblivious it makes me ill anyway enjoyy

1-2 shifts slightly on the couch. Its not the most comfortable place to lay down, but he doesn't feel like getting up and into bed (or moving at all for that matter). His vessel feels like it's going to rip itself apart. He should've went hunting a few days ago, but he's gotten inconsistent. And now this was a result. He buries his face in the throw pillow next to him. Stupid rapidly deteriorating body.

After a few minutes of nothing he feels a nudge on his foot.

"Scoot. You're taking up the whole couch laying like that."

1-3 is the owner of the complaint. He didn't even have to look to know it was them. It was the only person who made sense, since the two lived together and he would've heard the door. Its not like they get visitors anyway.

He sighs in an exaggerated fashion, unclear if this actually bothers him or not, moves over a little and tucks his knees in to make room. He would've been more bitchy about it if he wasn't exhausted and if the only other place to sit in the apartment wasn't a mattress.

1-3 rolls their eyes at his antics. They glance at him for a moment. "You look like shit." They say flatly.

He makes a small angry noise in response, not feeling like using regular words. He looks up. Surprising nobody, 1-3 also looks like shit. Neither of them ever look that great, but apparently he looked bad enough to warrant a comment.

Was it concern? It was always hard to tell with them. Their face didn't change that much. Or maybe it was clear as day and 1-2 was just terrible at reading people.

He sits up into a horribly slouched position, one arm looped around the armrest and the other dangling oddly. He gives a glance to 1-3, who is watching him carefully. They probably know what's coming. They can see the rivulets of cracks piercing his shell. The two go through this weird routine often.

He exhales sharply, opening his mouth and willing the words in his brain to crawl out and onto his tounge. A few seconds of nothing. Yep. Not happening.

Grabbing 1-3's hand, he lifts it and turns it carefully, examining the similar darkness enveloping their fingertips. He listens and feels for a flinch or glare or hitch of breath, which usually indicates that they aren't in the mood for his antics, but he catches nothing. In fact, they're barely looking, head turned the other way, pupils facing him.

They've only been living together for a few months or so and they're so used to each other. It makes him feel weird.

He moves 1-3's hand up to his mouth bites down. He must have done it too hard, since he hears a quiet "shit" from 1-3. They take their hand from his and turn to face him. "I'd prefer if you asked next time." They say, a little sharply, though they never hold grudges over little things like this.

1-2 shakes his head and puts a smirk on his face, which earns a scoff from 1-3. They get up to leave anyway.

He tugs on their longsleeve, using it to pull himself up. They look confused for a second before an incredulous expression takes over and they shake their head.

"You are not coming with me. You cannot move well and don't have the energy for it. Sit."

1-2 rolls his eyes, but sits back down anyway. He knew that they were right, though he would rather explode right at that moment than admit that.

"Don't do anything stupid." They nod and give a half-hearted wave as they exit the [truthfully] cramped space. The door closes with a nice click.

He listens to 1-3's footfalls as they walk down the hall, as if he expected them to turn around and come back. He wasn't sure if he wanted that or not. Anything was better than sitting around and doing nothing, even if they usually didn't take long.

He gets bored and decides to heave himself to the bathroom. His feet drag against the floor and his posture sags. It doesn't particularly hurt, besides the dull aches where his vessel splits from neglect, it just feels like every ounce of energy has been stolen out of his strange hands.

After pulling himself up to the mirror, he examines himself. The cracks under his eyes look wide enough to stick a finger through it. He doesn't try. The thought of it makes him feel gross.

His hair is disheveled and overgrown. His bangs fall on his eyes slightly and stick in different directions, stuck there by natural grease and some brown stuff that's probably blood. It isn't his. He doesn't have any. The last time he went hunting was a few weeks ago. Had it really been that long since he showered? Fuck, he was gross.

He laughs. Its a weird, crackly sound, but it's rare so he lets it escape his throat. Nobody was here to listen to it. 1-3 really was right, he absolutely looked like shit.

He slinks back to the couch and passes out as soon as he hits the cushions.

------‐--------------------------------------------------------------

1-3 sighs, slumping against the wall of an alley. The world is humid and oppressive, or maybe that's the blood soaked into most of them talking, a mix of their's, One's, and the body on the pavement's.

The unexpected run-in made this outing take longer than it usually would have. They don't have anything to tell the time on them, so they can only guess, but it's likely been around an hour. God, why did they have to see One when they were in a hurry?

They shake their head. The body. They have to take care of that. They didn't want to. It was the last thing they wanted to do. Just don't think about it. Don't think about anything, just grab the knife-

It takes longer than they would like to put themself into the thoughtless haze that helps with the process. This isn't a person, it is a creature, this is necessary, if not for you then for Two. Remember what he looked like? Shit, that's what you said.

Swish thud swish thud swish thud swish thud swish- over and over again.

There's even more blood now. Less of it belonging to them. It's on the wall, the floor, in the air, in their vessel, in their soul, eating them alive. It's disgusting. If they had insides they would have thrown them up by now. The world smells and tastes and feels of viscera, it's made of it.

The meat is in neat pieces now. The knife is put into a pocket. The bones and unnecessary bits will be left there to be picked off by something that can use it. They gather the pieces they cut into a bag and stand, swaying like they were trying to be pulled in different directions by the universe.

They take their sweater off and tie it around their waist to get some of the flesh off of them, unveiling a slightly oversized white t-shirt. It's cold, but they'd rather deal with that then the feeling of your clothes being soaked with remnants and wafting into your nose and tounge.

They shuffle through the bag and take a piece between their fingers. Don't think about it, just eat it, you have to-

The only taste that registers is the sharp, metallic tang of blood. They swallow it quickly. It always makes them feel sick, the texture, smell, taste, and the weight of taking a life. But they have to. It's the only way.

Fuck, they hate it all.

Taking a breath, they steel themself and begin walking down the street and back to the building. They aren't worried about being spotted, nobody is ever here. The silence presses itself into their body. Bricks in walls are staring at them, singing, guilty, guilty.

The walk is short, as horrid as it is. The apartment is close to many places. It's convenient for hunting. The bag swings awkwardly in their needlessly tight grip.

They knock on the door in their usual pattern, opening it and walking inside. They set the bag on the counter like it's groceries.

"Two. I'm home." They announce, though the noise of the door opening and rustling of the bag should have alerted him. Strange. Knowing him, he's probably long passed out. Still, they look over the couch to check.

Exactly like they thought. He's sprawled out awkwardly on the couch (he'll probably be sore if he stays like that) out cold. He always slept like this, which made it especially annoying to share the mattress with him. They still let him, though. It always feels weird now when he isn't there.

"Two." They say again, walking over to him and poking his face. "C'mon. Hey, wake up." This probably won't work. 1-2 is an obnoxiously heavy sleeper.

Surprisingly, they see 1-2's eyes flicker open.

------‐--------------------------------------------------------------

1-2 stirs, feeling fingers tap against his cheek. Ones that kind of look like his, with the way they sharpen into claws and darken at the ends. It's 1-3. Right. They left. They're back. What time was it?

He inhales and smells something weird. Quickly recognizing it as blood and probably a bit of sweat, he looks up at 1-3 questioningly. He points a finger at them and starts talking, voice still groggy from sleep.

"Blood. 'Sit yours?"

1-3 shrugs, making a so-so motion with their hand. "Some of it is, some of it isn't." Their voice is oddly nonchalant.

"What happened?" He asks, sitting against the cushions.

"Had a run in with One. I'll tell you later."

1-2 just nods. As long as he finds out eventually, he doesn't care when. He's also curious as to what 1-1 was doing anyways. The last time anyone saw her was in the lab, before all of them were released.

1-3 sits next to him again and crosses their legs, hands in their lap. He doesn't know how they sit like that, it doesn't look comfortable in the slightest.

He fiddles with his hair awkwardly. He really needed to do something with it. He remembers his reflection in the mirror. Too long. He puts a strand between his fingers and continues to twist it.

1-3 seems to notice. "Do you want me to cut it for you?" They ask.

"You can cut hair?"

"I've done it before. Did my own." They gesture to their own hair.

1-2 examines it for a second, leaning forward a bit. It looks pretty good, actually. He doesn't know if he trusts them to do it, his always picky about his hair. It's not like he can go and get it cut, though, with how he looks.

He nods, moving his gaze to 1-3's eyes. Their face is a little red. Oh. Right. Their faces were still only separated by a few inches. He leans back and speaks again. "Fine. Just be careful. If you fuck it up I get to fuck up yours." He pokes the air near 1-3 to make his point.

Something he didn't expect at all happens. 1-3 laughs. Really laughs. At a stupid threat that really isn't one.

What.

"Alright, I won't fuck it up." They reply.

The smile lingers on their face a little. Their laugh is also crackly and weird and nonhuman like his. What. They never laugh at his dumb jokes. They must be tired. Or they hit their head. He stares at their expression for way too long.

They interrupt the developing silence. "I'll cut your hair after you eat. I went out." They lean their head towards the counter. He follows their line of sight and sees a plastic black back placed there. "Thanks." He says quickly, before he forgets.

Its weird how they just. Do that. For him. They both dance around talking about it, for obvious reasons, but in his head he knows what they mean by "went out". They killed someone. For him. So he didn't sit here and rot.

He stops himself from thinking about it and walks over to the counter. He takes a few pieces and forces it down his throat. It tastes bad, it always does, but he's pretty used to it. It's easier to just get it over with. Not like he really has a choice in it. Could be worse. 1-3 hates it much more than he does.

------‐--------------------------------------------------------------

They're in the bedroom now, 1-3 sitting on the mattress and 1-2 on the floor directly below them. They hold a pair of thin scissors in their hand. It's not the right kind, but it'll work.

1-2 told them what they wanted earlier, and while they weren't a professional in the slightest, it would be easy. And he didn't need to know that, anyway.

God, they were close. It wasn't uncomfortable, but for some reason their brain latched onto their proximity and didn't let go. Like earlier, when 1-2 looked them in the eyes and moved towards them.

Do NOT think about his face right now just cut his hair it's what he asked of you- They hold some of his hair in their hand and begin cutting. The satisfying snip snip snip of the scissors echoes around the space as hair flutters to the carpeted floor.

It doesn't take long for them to finish. There wasn't much to do. They look at their work for a bit just to see if there's anything they need to fix in the back. They move to sit infront of 1-2 and look at the front, hands brushing against his forehead to adjust the strands slightly before giving a curt nod and leaning back. It's his turn to redden.

They push any thoughts related to 1-2's face [for the second time] and the contact they just made with him to the back of their mind.

1-2 gets up and goes to the bathroom quickly to look at what they did. He comes back after a short moment, taking his place on the floor again. He nods back. "Your hair's safe from me." He says, which is his way of giving them a compliment.

1-3 goes to sit next to him instead of infront so its less awkward. They both bathe in the sound of absolutely nothing. They do this a lot, simply sit in the same space. It was kind of nice. Better than being alone.

"You're tired." 1-2 says, now eyeing them carefully. They hate how easily he can read them most of the time. "As are you. I was only gone for an hour or so and you passed out waiting."

"Touché."

"Well," 1-2 says, standing. "We might as well sleep now, then. Neither of us have plans."

They nod and crawl into bed after him. They don't feel like denying it today. He needs the rest and so do they.

They sleep on opposite sides of the bed, though they're still close do to the size of it. They also share a blanket, which 1-3 often has to steal back from 1-2. He has a habit of taking it all in his sleep. God, they already know his sleeping habits and it's only been a few months.

He falls asleep quickly [he always does, he's always tired] but 1-3 takes a bit longer. More thoughts than usual bubble to the surface of their head and spill over. Some involve blood and the experiments and slicing, which always makes it hard to sleep, but a select few involve him.

They want to get closer, so, so badly for no reason at all. The thought of it sounds nice. It rings like gentle bells. When was the last time they were close to someone who they weren't trying to kill?

After a contemplative silence, they shift towards him and wrap their arms around him. They think this is selfish, they don't even know if he'd like it, if he'd feel the same, but they let themself have this. If he asks they'll say that it just happened in their sleep. He wont believe it, since they never move much in their sleep, but it will probably get him to not ask.

It feels nice, like they thought, a pleasant warmth to it all. It's also a little awkward since they don't do this often, but it doesn't matter. The sounds of soft breathing fill the silence.

It doesn't take them long to fall asleep now.

[skyfall8600]

Killer Queen

Chapter 3: Blood-stained

Series Masterlist

Warnings: murder, g on g making out, poison, needles, mentions of abuse

“She’s a motherfucking killer queen, a psychopath at 17

A beauty in a blood-stained dress

She’ll fill your heart with kerosene

And light you up ‘till you can’t breathe

If you cross her path you just might end up dead”

She looked down at her list, two names already crossed off, and she debated who would be unfortunate enough to be next. Of course, the decision came naturally once she was back at school, pretending to be shaken and crying over Justin on Chelsea’s shoulder.

The girl’s cheerleading uniform was somehow fresh and untainted with sweat despite just finishing cheer practice. Apparently girls like Chelsea, who are always perfect and put together, would rather be caught dead than be in a sweaty uniform. Her daddy made enough that buying another uniform…. Perhaps even enough to wear multiple everyday of the week was like nothing to them.

“Oh honey, I know it’s so hard— Justin was so hot and I can’t believe he’s gone!” Chelsea whispered into Y/n’s ear.

“I don’t know what he was doing in that house, he was suppose to meet me in the park so we could… you know.”

Chelsea‘s body stiffened slightly and Y/n knew that the little blonde cheerleader was blushing. Just like how she was on that dreadful night, overhearing what the boys had planned and did nothing to stop them.

There was a reason why Chelsea was so high up in the list; and it had a lot more to do with than her actions on that night. No. Chelsea Van Martin was an upright hypocrite bitch.

The rumour started back in grade school for a young Chelsea Van Martin…. Secret lesbian in hiding. Y/n didn’t have anything wrong with that, queer, gay, straight—as long as you were a decent human you were in a good books. But Chelsea was anything but good.

Chelsea’s torment of other students may have been a way to suppress her own confusion with her feelings, but her specific target of other girls who were different or liked the same sex as brutal.

“I’m sure there’s another boy that can tickle your fancy—“ Chelsea tried to say, playing it off in some weird attempt to cheer Y/n up.

“Urgh— that’s the thing. It’s always boy after boy and it’s like I’m never…. They never… god Chi-Chi, I can’t explain it.”

Chelsea nodded, “If it helps, I know how you feel. God, the amount of boys I’ve had to fake it for.”

The two girls erupted in soft giggles between, almost the perfect opportunity for Y/n to make her move.

The plan was simple, befriend Chelsea, make her question herself and slowly break her down. There at her lowest point, the little cheerleader would give her final bow.

Sifting her eyes, Y/n moved her hands to slide against Chelsea’s wrists. She saw the blonde inhale deeply, her eyes now shifting to look around them all alone under the bleachers.

“You shouldn’t have to fake it. You should find something you understands you, who’ll make you feel every pleasure possible… almost like your heart might explode on itself.” Y/n spoke gently, bringing one hand to rest on Chelsea’s now fast beating heart. “Exactly like that.”

The girl remained speechless but didn’t protest any movements.

“Plus, I doubt faking it sounds as hot as the real thing. Imagine the uncontrollable breaths coming from your mouth—“

“Stop it.” She snipped quickly but again didn’t move.

“I’ve seen how you look at me Chi-chi, where your eyes wonder and a blush creeps on.” She whispers closer to her ear now, their faces only inches apart. “I couldn’t have gone through shit without you…. We’ll just be two friends finding comfort in each other.”

“Just friends— I’m not a— a—“

“Neither am I.” Y/n reassure her, “But we both have something in common.”

“Like what?”

“Boys can’t satisfy us, and here we are so desperate for release we have to turn to a friend.”

Their lips almost brush over each other. “No one can find out—“

“Oh I know, I’m counting on no one ever finding out we were here. Under the bleachers. Together.”

And with that final word, Y/n was almost taken aback by how fiercely Chelsea crashed her lips into her. The longer they stayed in that position, the more demanding and reckless Chelsea became. Her hands gripping her body so tightly, Y/n was sure she’d have bruises along her body.

She couldn’t deny that it was probably the most intense and passionate make out of her life, but Y/n had a task to complete.

The filled syringe she had stashed in her back pocket was now in her hand. The GHB drug inside would provide Chelsea with a brief sense of confidence and relaxation before drowsing off in silent agony. The dosage high enough to ensure her heart imploded within minutes.

Y/n moved her mouth to nip along Chelsea’s neck. The girl too breathless to really know the differences between teeth nipping at her skin and the sharp pinch of a needle.

Mere minutes later, when Chelsea was all but rubbing her most private part on Y/n’s thigh. She muffled Chelsea’s burning screams with her mouth and felt as her body overheated.

The thud of her body hitting the ground was accompanied but a crack coming from her left shoulder.

Y/n stood there for a moment, wiping her mouth and spitting on the girls dead body. Catching her breath slowly she wrote a note, mimicking Chelsea’s handwriting as best as possible.

‘Only death gives me peace over what I have done. Ashamed of my attraction to females and more repulsed by my actions to other girls like me’

She placed the note scrunched up in the dead girls hand and made her way back to the trailer park. She wanted to feel bad, to feel anything other than rage but she couldn’t. She knew how Chelsea treated any person who was different, her previous self included. The worst she could recall was the use of small tweezers against Georgia Wilson’s stitches the one year she fell while riding her bike. Chelsea laughed and claimed that since Georgia was a lesbian she should’ve loved that Chelsea have her another slit to use.

It was repulsive… it was idiotic.

A beeping car horn came from behind her, tires screeching.

“What the fuck! Look where your driving you stupid—“

“Are you okay?” A male voice cut off her screaming. That voice—It caught her off guard but when an opportunity prevented itself she knew better than to not take it.

“So do you normally try to run over girls, Harrington?”

“Harri— you again.” He turned the engine off and forced himself to move as quick a as possible.

“Yeah. Me again, you know I’m starting to think you have a thing for trying to knock me over.”

Keep it playful.

His smile was sweet and almost made her forget everything. Almost.

“Scouts honour— I had no intention of running you over.” He joked, saluting two fingers to his head. “Besides, it’s a bit late for a pretty girl to be walking around the streets alone.”

She tried hard to not let his bad attempt at flirting affect her, however the blush creeping along her cheeks.

“Bold of you to assume I can’t take care of myself Harrington.”

His eyes widened ever so slightly but his smile remained.

“Of course, I apologise— however what sort of gentleman would I be if I didn’t at least offer to drive you home?”

“Especially after almost hitting me—“

“I did no such thing!” He laughed so dramatically, “Come on, won’t be my first stop of the night. Sit up in the front and ignore the sleeping brats in the back.”

She cocked her head to the side. Suddenly unsure of herself and the situation.

“Oh, I promised Dustin and Max I’d drive them home from the Wheeler’s house. Don’t exactly want them riding their bikes this late.”

She nodded and was surprised that her body moved without instruction to take his offer. “Thanks I guess, I um… live in the trailer park with Max so at least it’s not adding to your trip.”

She saw no judgement in his eyes, no disgust or rejection. He just continued to smile and hummed to himself when he sat behind the wheel, keeping the radio music down to a soft buzz as to not disturb the sleeping children in the back.

Perhaps this Steve was different to the one she remembered…

Her thoughts were cut short when Steve coughed out embarrassingly, “I actually didn’t catch your name…”

Her own smile vanished. “Y/n.” Was all she told him. And that was all he needed to know; if he couldn’t remember who she was prior to the change then perhaps he was no different than before.

————————————- ————————————- ————————————- ————————————-

Hi everyone! It’s been a while….. but I’ve got my passion and time back. If you’d like to be removed from tagging fully understandable. It’s been almost a full year….

Taglist: @loving-and-dreaming @sweetsweetjellybean @azaleapeachberry @cutiecusp @sheisjoeschateau @tinydonkeysforlife @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @gothvamp1973 @taeddybearkim @whoreforhowl

[your-divine-ribs]

Ice Cold Part 1

Words 2k

This is an AU crime story about obsession, forbidden love and revenge so there's dark themes throughout. I started writing this a few years back and have 50 parts to upload so it might take me a while but hopefully by then I'll have even more to post 💙

Ice Cold Masterlist Main Masterlist

I didn't choose this life. It chose me. That's what I always told myself. As I grew into adulthood it soon became apparent that I wasn't going to be satisfied with just any 9-5 desk job. I craved something more. And later, whilst my friends were all settling down and going gooey-eyed over wedding dresses and the prospect of having babies, I was training hard, learning how to handle a gun, mastering the art of tracking some of the country's deadliest killers.

The handful of relationships I'd had were short-lived. It wasn't easy to commit when I could be called away at any moment, catching a flight to some distant city. And it wasn't just being away. The job consumed me. It was more than just a career.

I rolled over in bed, blinking awake, temporarily confused as to my surroundings. Then it all came flooding back. The tip-off that my latest target had been spotted in London. The exhilaration that had flooded me as I'd boarded the train and my arrival in the capital. And then... I cursed under my breath, glancing over at the sleeping figure beside me. This was becoming an all too familiar pattern. I was getting sloppy, distracted from the case. I'd settled down for a meal and a drink at the hotel bar last night, intending to get an early night and a good head-start the following morning, but I'd been approached by a handsome guy who'd offered me a drink. One drink had turned into two, and then three... the next thing he was in my hotel room, pinning me up against the wall and fucking me hard and rough just like I'd asked him to.

I watched as he shifted in bed, letting out a snore, grimacing slightly at the recollection of all the depraved stuff I'd begged him to do to me whilst fuelled by the wine I'd consumed last night. It had been just what I'd needed at the time but now he was just another faceless conquest, an inconvenience that I needed to get rid of, and quick. I leaned over and purposefully nudged him in the ribs.

"Wha... huh...?" He grumbled sleepily, then rolled on to his side, seeing me and smiling. "Oh hey sexy... last night was..."

"Last night was last night!" I cut him off. "Now I need you to go."

"But Lyla..."

"I mean it. Get your clothes and fuck off!" I spat at him.

I didn't even remember his name. Matt? Mark? Max? It didn't matter. He'd served his purpose and now I needed him gone. I had more important things to worry about. I waited until he'd got dressed and slunk out of my hotel room, then reached for my phone, scrolling through for details of my latest assignment, a shiver of excitement shooting through me as I opened the file. A photo filled my phone screen. There he was. Van McCann. A deadly assassin currently topping the most-wanted list in several countries. I'd been tracking him for months now and it was safe to say that it had become more of an obsession than a work assignment. He moved like a shadow from place to place, leaving a string of deaths behind him, a cold-hearted killing machine capable of unspeakable things. I studied the photo that I'd been sent. It was a shot of Van slipping into the back of a taxi, furtively glancing around, fleeing the scene of yet another grisly murder. It was unusual that someone had got close enough to manage to capture the image. My team were closing in on him though. I just had to wait for him to make a slip-up and then I'd pounce. He'd be mine.

I pictured stealthily sneaking up on him, placing the barrel of my gun against his temple, our eyes meeting as he finally met his match in me. This was a scene I played in my head often and I felt the familiar warm spark ignite down low in my body at the thought of coming face to face with my nemesis and the triumph I'd feel. But the problem was my thoughts always took an unexpected turn. As my fantasies often had a way of leading me down dark paths, my mind was soon full of imagining the feeling of Van's hands gripping my throat whilst he forced me down on to my knees...

Five minutes later I was grasping the bed sheets with one hand whilst the other worked on my clit, images running through my head of Van's ice cold stare burning into me whilst he held me down and took what he wanted from me.

"Fuck..." I groaned as I reached my climax, instantly filled with a sickly kind of disgust for letting my mind stray into this twisted dream yet again.

I needed to get my head straight. No more fantasising about this guy who'd probably end my life with no more regret than swatting a fly. No more messy hook-ups in hotel bars trying to fill this aching void in my life. I knew what I needed to do. Find Van and bring him to justice.

Come on Lyla... you can do it. You've just got to focus...

“Heavy night last night Lyla?" My colleague Jason smirked at me as I chugged the black coffee in one go despite it scorching my mouth.

I groaned, rubbing my eyes as if that would somehow clear the grogginess in my head. "Just had a few drinks that's all..."

"Hmm... more than a few by the looks of things!" Jason chuckled and I just scowled at him.

The worst part of my job was these indescribably boring stake-outs. It wasn't all international travel and detective work. Of course, like any job there were downsides. Like sharing a car for hours on end with one of my insufferable colleagues. Van was rumoured to be staying at one of a number of swanky hotels in the city, and I'd definitely drawn the short straw being paired with Jason to watch this particular one on Park Lane. My colleagues had argued that it was highly unlikely than Van would be staying here, bold as brass in one of the most expensive hotels in the city, but I wasn't so sure. It would be just like him to taunt the team like that, living it up in the lap of luxury whilst we all scrabbled round, looking for clues as to his next move. A blatant two fingers up at the system that so far was, in reality, no nearer to bringing him down even though it felt like we were closing in on him more and more each day. To be honest I was convinced that he was orchestrating that too, making these tiny mistakes on purpose, leaving the proverbial trail of breadcrumbs just so he could lure one of us in.

And then what?

I shuddered as I flicked through the latest crime scene photos from a few days previously. A prominent politician who'd been rumoured to be colluding with a nefarious group of gangsters had been found slumped over his office desk, gutted like a fish with his entrails in his lap. I quickly slipped the photos back into the folder, bile threatening to rise in my throat.

"You didn't pick up some poor unsuspecting bloke last night again did you?" Jason's mocking tone cut into my thoughts.

"Get fucked!" I retorted, looking out the window so he couldn't see the flush that had risen to my cheeks.

"You did, didn't you!" He really didn't know when to let up.

"Since when has my sex-life been any of your fucking business Jason?" I growled.

"Well," he replied, adopting a smug tone. "It might not be any of my business but certain senior people are starting to talk... they reckon you're losing your touch, getting distracted."

That comment really hit me where it hurt. Of course I knew deep down that it was true. I'd always been so focussed but since I'd been tracking Van it was like I was losing myself. There was an ache inside me that couldn't be soothed. If I wasn't thinking about him I was looking for a substitute to quell my desire, but nothing could come close. What the fuck was wrong with me?

"I think you'll find I'm still the best there is in my field," I snapped. "And whoever I sleep with has absolutely nothing to do with my work."

Jason huffed, bringing the binoculars up to his eyes and squinting through them. I snatched them from him, adjusting the focus, scanning the alley that ran from the back of the hotel. Nothing.

That's when I felt the hand on my thigh. I lowered the binoculars, looking at Jason in disbelief. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

He had a lascivious smile on his lips as he spoke. "You know if you're just looking for no-strings attached sex then I'm your guy..."

The slap I delivered to Jason's face landed with a satisfying cracking noise and his head whipped back against the passenger window.

"And if you're looking for someone to remove your cock and shove it up your arse then I'm your girl!" I snarled, outraged.

Jason whimpered, holding his hands up. "Okay... okay... I'm sorry. It was just a joke..."

"Fucks sake..." I grumbled, again bringing the binoculars up to my eyes, catching a glimpse of a tall figure clad all in black striding towards the alley.

"It's him!" I shouted, reaching for the door handle, shooting out on to the street before Jason even had time to react. Within a second I was at the entrance to the alley, just in time to see the figure rounding the corner.

My heart pumping the adrenaline around my body, I took off in pursuit, trying to move as stealthily as I could so as not to alert my target. In contrast I could hear Jason's heavy steps slapping on the pavement behind me.

"Be quiet!" I hissed as I came to a stop at a junction where the alley forked off in different directions.

I motioned for Jason to take the right-hand path, drawing my gun and pressing my back up to the wall. Jason crept away, his gun out in front of him, advancing down the alleyway slowly. I watched him until he was out of sight, cold tendrils of uneasiness squirming in my gut, causing my hesitance.

Come on Lyla... pull yourself together! He'll get away!

I chanted the words of encouragement to myself in my head, slowly sliding my back against the brickwork, gun held upright close to my body, my ears pricked to pick up the slightest sound.

That's when I heard it, so quiet it was almost imperceptible. Quiet breathing, long, drawn out inhales and exhales. I sucked in my own breath, holding it, my whole body tensed and coiled for action. I was at the edge of a wall, the alleyway lying beyond. In my mind's eye I pictured the scene on the other side of the wall. Van mirroring my stance, back flush against the wall, gun cocked like mine. Or maybe a knife...  I swallowed hard, trying to clear the crime scene photos from my head, focussing on my next move. I slowly peeled myself away from the wall, placing my feet carefully so as not to make a sound, wincing at the sound my gun made as I released the safety catch.

Move Lyla... fucking move! My mind blared at me.

And I did. I stepped out purposefully, swinging my body round, arms outstretched and locked, gun in front.

Straight into the path of a cold-hearted killer...

[noforkingclue]

By Any Means Chapter 19 (Malcolm Bright x reader)

By Any Means tag list: @shadowluna25

Prodigal Son tag list: @queenoffandom08, @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky, @stilestotherescue

Malcolm Bright tag list: @v0id-sp1rit, @fansformentalydistroyedmen

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

It had been a week.

A whole week since you had seen or heard from Malcolm Bright.

Not that you were keeping track or anything.

Nope.

Certainly not.

You shifted the strap of your bag as you headed up the steps towards the lecture of the day. However you were unable to go into your building. You let out a frustrated groan as you tried to push your way through the crowd. You were already in enough debt, you were going to be damned if you missed one of your few lectures because of a demonstration.

“What the fuck?” you said when you finally managed to push your way to the front

“Haven’t you heard?” someone said next to you, “there’s been a murder.”

“A… murder?”

“Ooh yes,” they looked over at you, a grin of their face, “pretty gory from what I’ve heard. Apparently someone got beheaded.”

“No,” the person on your other side shook his head, “disembowelled. That’s what I’m hearing.”

“Where have you heard this from?” you asked, “getting disembowelled is pretty different from beheading.”

“Oh y’know,” the man shrugged, “here and there. But if you think about it, the two aren’t too different. Both were used as part of executions.”

Another beheading. You pursed your lips in thought as the people around you started arguing but you tuned that out. However, you were dragged back out of your thoughts when you saw Malcolm exit the building. The two of you made eye contact and he gave you a small smile. You could feel your face get hot and you turned on your heel and marched away. You only managed to get a couple of steps when a strong hand curled around our arm.

“We need to interview all the witnesses,” said JT, “and now that you’re here you’re one of them.”

*

“The first I heard about this was when I came here this morning,” you said, several hours later, “believe me, if I had known another murder had taken place I wouldn’t have come.”

“We know.” Said JT

“All I know is that someone has died,” you said, “I don’t even know how they died.”

“We know.” Said Dani

“So why am I here?”

JT and Dani didn’t answer as they led you down the corridors of your university. You hesitated slightly when saw Malcolm and Gil waiting at the end of the corridor.

“You alright?” asked JT

“Yeah, there isn’t a body in there? Heard that someone got disembowelled.”

“Oh no, they wouldn’t have had time to with the time they had. Besides, the head beside the body clearly shows what the cause of death was.”

You jumped slightly and looked at the woman who appeared by your side. She gave you a big grin and held out her hand.

“Edrisa,” she said as you shook it, “and you must be y/n. I’ve heard a lot about you from Malcolm.”

“You have?”

You glanced at Malcolm who had gone slightly pink. He pointedly looked away and Edrisa glanced between you.

“Well,” she said, “he might’ve mentioned you once or twice.”

“While discussing murders?”

Edrisa grinned and nodded. You couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm which was contagious. Maybe there was someone else in this team that you liked.

“Look,” said Malcolm, diverting your attention to him, “there has been another murder and we need to know if they’re linked.”

“Surely you’ll be able to do it?” you asked

“I thought it would be best to get a second opinion.”

“Lots of paintings of beheadings,” you said, “might not be linked. Could just be some madman with an axe.”

“Didn’t say it was an axe.” Said Malcolm

“Oh yes, they used a sword instead. Axe is more common. So, what was unusual about this? Besides from the fact that someone is going around cutting people’s heads off?”

“Despite the victim being blindfolded?” Malcolm said as he took a step closer, “and wearing her nightdress.”

“Could be a sex act gone wrong. No need to kink shame Malc.”

Malcolm smiled slightly and shook his head. You rolled your eyes and said,

“What?”

“Malc.” He said with a knowing look

“-olm,” you finished quickly, “Malcolm. This is nothing to do with me. None of it is. Now let me continue with my life.”

You turned on your heel and quickly marched away. Malcolm watched you go and Edrisa looked over at Dani and JT.

“What was weird,” she said, “was the weird? Am I the only one who found that weird?”

“Nah,” said JT, “that’s usual for them.”

[carewyncromwell]

Merula 🤝 Carewyn

tw: brief mention of attempted suicide, mention of murder

It was a Monday, and the day Chiara finally deemed Carewyn well enough to leave the Hospital Wing. Carewyn's weeks-long neglect of herself after Rowan's death had brought her dangerously close to ending her own life, and Chiara had been passionate in not letting Carewyn go back to her own devices until she was sure her friend's physical and emotional health had both improved. Fortunately one thing that gave Carewyn focus was the newly formed Circle of Khanna.

Carewyn was only one of five founding members of the Circle. Ben had actually been the one to come up with the name. Bill, always Carewyn's right-hand man when it came to dealing with the Vaults, had served as de facto leader while Carewyn was recovering. The people who'd really worked to do the most recruiting, however, were the other two ringleaders, Charlie and Merula. And it was Merula who met Carewyn outside the Hospital Wing so they could talk on their way down to Potions class.

"Hello, Merula," said Carewyn.

"You look like rubbish, Cromwell," Merula said dryly.

She started down the hall beside Carewyn, her magenta eyes ran over the other girl's face critically.

"...I don't think I ever realized just how much makeup you put on every morning," she said absently.

"So says the queen of mascara," Carewyn shot back very coolly.

"I never said I didn't put on makeup," Merula huffed.

She looked a bit more pensively at Carewyn as they walked.

"It's just...I've never once seen you break out, or get chapped lips, or have a bad hair day," she said absently. "I felt like I was rooming with a bloody china doll."

"You sure didn't treat me like a china doll," Carewyn said very coolly. "Or do you frequently shut china dolls into rooms with Devil's Snare?"

"I said I was sorry about that, okay?" Merula shot back in annoyance. "What I mean is it was annoying to be around Little Miss Perfect all the time, when you're constantly having to apply bubotuber pus to your hairline."

Her lips curled up into more of a smirk.

"But looking at you like this...your eye bags really are awful."

Carewyn cocked her eyebrows. "Almost as bad as my brother's?"

Something in Merula's eyes lit up with genuine amusement. "Yeah, actually!"

She laughed. It was a kind of laugh Carewyn wasn't used to hearing out of Merula -- mocking and full of schadenfreude, sure, but not wholly mean-spirited. Maybe even a bit happy, strange as it sounded. Carewyn figured it had to be because of the mention of Jacob, and the reminder of Merula's crush on her brother made her wince a bit.

She'd be lucky if Jacob even put things together fast enough to turn her down nicely, Carewyn thought dully. However academically and magically brilliant Jacob was, he'd always been notoriously dumb when it came to dealing with people, and if there was one person he was bound to never see in any kind of a romantic light, it was Merula Snyde.

The memory of Jacob, and of how much he'd pushed her away this last year, hurt Carewyn the longer it lingered -- so, shifting her gaze to the wall, she shifted gears, becoming much more serious.

"...How are your recruiting efforts coming along?"

Merula's face instantly grew more serious too.

"Good," she said in a slightly lower voice. "Charlie's already recruited Egwu, Winger, and Barnaby...and I talked to Diego, and he's all up to giving Rakepick what-for. Apparently after what happened to Khanna, he's been blasting dummies apart on the regular."

Carewyn raised her eyebrows, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah...Ismelda overheard Sprout inviting Diego to her office for some tea and fairy cakes, after finding him on the Training Grounds with about ten ruined dummies."

"Wow..."

Carewyn's eyes fell down to the floor. She had a hard time visualizing someone as amiable and suave as Diego being so uncomposed.

"I know," said Merula. "Even when I went to go talk to him, he didn't smile at all...except a little one when I told him you were okay: he asked as soon as he saw me," she added with a rather dismissive shrug. "But well...everyone's upset, about what happened to Khanna. Ismelda too -- she asked to join up."

Carewyn was taken aback. "She did? But...why would she do that? Ismelda's never liked me."

"So? Neither have I, yet I'm still here," Merula said airily. She then grew much more serious again. "Cromwell...as much as we're not friends, we were both there, in the Forest. In the Portrait Vault too. We both saw Rakepick betray us -- we both saw her kill Khanna."

The reminder of what had happened to Rowan made Carewyn close up like a clam -- she closed her eyes and turned away, trying to shut out the flash of green and Rowan's vacant eyes from her memory. Merula pressed on regardless.

"You and I both have reason to want Rakepick to face justice...and as long as Rakepick walks free, she's a threat to all of us. Ismelda knows that just as well as we do."

Her magenta eyes drifted off toward the wall ahead of them absently as they migrated down the stairs.

"And well," she added a bit more uncomfortably under her breath as they reached the landing, "as much as Khanna was your friend...she didn't deserve this. She..." she swallowed, "...she didn't deserve to die."

Carewyn didn't answer. Her blue eyes stayed locked on the far wall. Merula waited for a moment for a response, and upon not getting one, moved on again.

"You aren't the only one who misses Khanna, Cromwell," she muttered. "I hope you're not so arrogant to assume that."

Carewyn looked up, her blue eyes very sharp. "I know that."

Rowan deserves all the love she's received. She's always deserved it.

Her expression then gained more of its composure back as she shifted her gaze ahead again to the stone wall.

"...I just...wouldn't have expected so many people would want to help me, after everything," she said lowly.

After all of the lies, all my pretending...after Rowan...

A wince pulsed through Carewyn's features as the memory of that green light from Rakepick's wand danced over her eyes again.

It was because of me that she was there...because of me that she...

Merula scoffed. "Hey, you somehow opened all the Cursed Vaults, made Prefect, and ended up Little Miss Popular without even wanting it. Things have always been easy for you..."

"'Easy?'" Carewyn said very coldly. "Are you sure you want to have my life, Merula?"

Merula faltered. Her eyes flickered down over the dark, skull-like bags under Carewyn's eyes, before she immediately shifted her gaze down to the floor.

"That's...that's not what I meant," she mumbled, her voice betraying some vulnerability despite herself.

She went very quiet.

"...I just mean that people tend to flock around you. You've always gotten people to like you -- to do things for you, without you asking them to. I mean, Orion Amari's still knocking on your door with invitations to rejoin the Quidditch team, after you only ever played in one game. Flitwick's always favored you, almost as much as Copper -- not to mention you managed to get a talented older student like Bill on your side, even while you were only a second year..."

Coming to a halt outside the Potions classroom, Merula brought a hand through her bangs to shift them out of her face.

"You've always had people willing to help you," she said a bit more stiffly. "I guess I just don't see why that's so weird to you now."

Carewyn considered Merula for a long moment. Then, glancing toward the door of the Potions classroom, she shook her head.

"...I guess it's because...I know I don't deserve it," she admitted lowly. "I'm only one person -- someone small, and weak, and powerless, in the face of something like R. And as much as I want to help, I know there's so much I can't do...that I can't control. I can't protect the people I love, and I can't even protect myself. And even if I have to fight because I have no other choice...well, those people do have a choice. They can turn around and walk away. So I suppose...it'll always be weird to me, when people want to help me."

Merula scoffed. "What, that you're a normal bloody human being like the rest of us? Play me a violin, Cromwell."

Despite saying this, though, the dark-haired Slytherin actually smirked.

"Come on -- let's get to class. When we're done, maybe you can help me coax Tulip and Tonks on-board."

"I'm not going to coax them to join," Carewyn said stubbornly. "The danger's too great for me to wax poetic about justice and friendship. If they want to join the Circle, then it will be their decision alone."

Merula sighed. "Knowing your luck, Cromwell, that approach will probably be just what's needed to get them eating out of your hand..."

Friendship Drabble Prompt!

[youvereachedthebadend]

How have things been since we last saw you guys?

"Alright, I guess," Jack says slowly, idly petting Sam in his lap like a cat. "I've been stuck here, of course, but I already feel a lot better. Now I have enough energy to be bored. Which... improvement, I guess?"

"Improvement!" Chase says encouragingly. "Honestly things have been pretty good if you asked me. Those new guys from the magician Council talked to everyone, and apparently they had no idea what Iris was doing. She was just straight-up lying to them about what was happening here, and lying to us about what the Council was saying."

Schneep shakes his head, disgusted. "I cannot believe her. But at least we haven't seen her since she disappeared."

"Yeah... there's that, at least," Chase says. "And the Council people are kind of nice."

"That is a relative term," Schneep mutters.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"They just give off that fake corporate niceness to me. Or at least the man does. What was his name again? Ah, whatever." Henrik sighs. "And then there is... him."

Jack shifts slightly. "There, uh, haven't been any... big problems. But he's... He can be a bit... hostile." He pauses, then puts on a smile. "At least that's the worst of it. I'd take mean comments over murder any day."