#stupidly long + forked = VERY good smell

[thegreatestheaver]

refs of a ton of chars i drew for myself because i'm tired of hunting in my photos for each and every character. If I missed nyanyone it’s cos I don’t plan to draw them ever.

close ups under cut

honestly unsure how well the quailty of these is gonna be but fuck it we ball

i like to think that J is so incredibly tall but she leans back/down on her legs so much that you cant tell until she gets #serious

dizzy sweep btw theyre so silly to me. lizzy helps brush out doll's huge mass of hair

alice murder drones. you agree! doll obviously didn't get her mother's height genes.

cyn got them fucked up pawbs :( dw she fixed them herself later on. solver bullshit u know how it goes

totally normal human being. flesha takes up like most the page im not cropping her. ok hopefully the quality of these isnt murdered. feel free to use my colors if youd like. idgaf

[madamechrissy]

Dirty Little Secret

ꕥ Pairings: Toji Fushiguro x Fem Reader

ꕥ Warnings-MDNI-explicit sexual content, dirty talk, Toji calls reader 'doll, ma, slut (Toji and Doll just work lol) Age gap- reader is 21, Toji is 39. - This chapter- Loss of virginity, cunnilingus, blow jobs, rough oral sex, overstimulation, face slapping.- Reader's virginity leaves the chat

ꕥ Word Count- 7,422

ꕥ Summary- Toji Fushiguro is your dad Shiu's best friend for years. You've known him most your life. You come home for spring break to relax, and who pops up at the fucking doorstep? Toji. He's nasty, annoying, perverted and... Sexy. Hot. Built. And makes you think, maybe your first time shouldn't be with some college boy? But with this buff dude who can tie a cherry stem with his tongue and a scar on his damn lip. You just gotta hope your dad doesn't find out.

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

“Morning, Princess.” Your dad greets you as you yawn, walking out to the kitchen, following the scent of pancakes and bacon. You smile as you see Mei is there along with Toji, but when your eyes hit him?

Pussy throbs.

Jesus christ.

He grins, then licks that scar, crossing his arms and looking ridiculously attractive in nothing but a pair of gray sweats. You can see the outline of him, see his perfect, ridiculously toned body. Everything about him makes you damn near drool, and you’re stuck there staring for a moment.

“You good, doll?” Toji drawls out those words, and you shake it off, glaring. He smirks.

“I’m fine, old man. Morning Mei, morning dad!”

“Why do I get the angry little greeting? Mean little brat.” You just shove at his stupidly hard body, coming to hug your dad then. He kisses your head, smiling.

“She’s feisty, is all.” Shiu says, and you stick your tongue out at Toji then, making him ruffle your hair.

“Angry little elf.”

“Elf, really!”

Shiu and Mei are laughing, then your Dad makes you a plate. “Thanks, Dad, ugh looks so yummy.”

You sit down, and unfortunately Toji sits next to you, and god if you can’t just smell his scent… all masculine and a little sweaty, but it’s hitting some spot in your ovaries that hurts. You throb around nothing, uncomfortable, as you try to focus, pouring syrup on your pancakes then.

“Hey, darling, I brought a bikini that should fit.” Mei says then, nibbling on a bite elegantly. She was so elegant and you’re… what, an elf? Fucking Toji.

“Oh my god, lifesaver. Thank you Mei!” She grins, tossing her silky braids back over her shoulders.

“Of course, love. I put it up in the bathroom. Your dad brought up wanting to do a beach day.” 

“That sounds fun! For sure.”

“Kiddo can’t swim though. She may get swept away.” You kick Toji under the table, and he winces, scowling. “What!”

“It’s a shallow beach mostly, she’ll be fine.” Shiu takes a bite, leaning closer to Mei then, and they seem very familiar.

Huh.

It’s kind of nice, since your mother hasn’t been around and Shiu had been so upset for so long about it.

Toji’s big fucking hand is now resting on your thigh under the table, and you hesitate, pausing forking another bite in your mouth, staring at him. He’s nibbling on a piece of bacon, smirking at you, brushing a thumb down your soft inner thigh, making you look around nervously.

His touch hits you stupidly hard, tummy clenching with desire already waving over you. It’s hidden under the tablecloth, but it feels so wrong, well more wrong than it already was. You struggle to keep any composure as he slides up more, acting so casual, leaning a little closer to you, whispering in your ear.

“So hot between them thighs, doll. All f’me?” You glare, and thank God Mei and Shiu were talking loudly, heading back into the kitchen.

“Shut up, wanna get caught?” He slides his hand up even more, until his hand cups your pussy over your shorts, and he exhales, those dark green eyes glazing over with desire.

“You want it, don’t ya?” You shake your head, so he laughs a bit, quietly, then rubs you there. You close your legs, but it doesn’t help, when he’s slid your shorts to the side and rubs you between your lips. You inhale sharply, looking at him with wide eyes, shaking your head, and he just grins.

“Stop it, Toji, the fuck...” He’s grinning wider, finding your clit and rubbing in a little circle with that calloused finger, all while you try to keep it together, growing flushed and overheated.

“So wet f’me too, mmm.” You take a deep breath, trying to calm down as you chew the mouthful of food, and you lean back, pressing your back into the chair, trying to get away from his hand.

But Toji just slides chair closer, his thumb pressing harder on your clit now, and a thick finger sliding in your soppy little cunt. Your dad and Mei are still in the kitchen, and thankfully they’re playing music, but you’re acutely aware of them, your heart racing at the risk of being caught.

Toji seems unfazed completely, amused in fact, his eyes never leaving your face as he expertly plays with you, the tension building up, making you throb around him, soaking his hand. “Toji, I’m gonna...” You bite down on your bottom lip, trying to keep your voice low, but you’re so close you can’t take it, and you have no clue how to keep quiet.

“Act all shy and innocent, like a good girl.” He whispers, his finger swirling around your clit, pressing harder when you try to pull away. “But I know you’re a little slut f’me, aren’t ya? You like it.” You shake your head, and he just chuckles softly. “Lyin little brat, just admit it. Ya want me to break that perfect pussy.”

“Shh!” You glare then, and he slides another finger, you pray no one hears your cunt literally squishing, your cunt is so slick you can’t take how good it feels, him stretching you out. Your eyes flutter shut and you tremble as you hold the cup of coffee to your lips, struggling to act composed.

“Wanna cum on this cock, don’t ya?” You just glare, but then he’s knuckles deep, and you tremble, slick wetness non stop as your walls close around his hand.

“Then go fuck me in the bathroom, all talk and won’t do it.” You hiss, and he grins, shaking his head.

“First time, nah. I’ll have you in your little bed for that. All your plushies watchin while ya try not to scream too loud.” The thoughts kill you, the anticipation, his fingers, and you’re struggling not to make any noise, as you’re closer, closer, then he’s yanked his hand, and you gasp, nearly falling off the chair.

He’s sucking on your fingers, swirling that lewd tongue around them and moaning softly, eyes shutting for a moment.

You’re done .

You can’t take it.

“You just…”

“Aw, doll, ya wanted me to get ya off? In front of your dad? What a lil slut.” You glare, standing then on trembling legs.

“I’m gonna go get ready for the beach you all!” You say loudly, and they smile, waving over at you.

“I’ll go get ready too.” You curse inwardly, glaring behind your shoulder at the annoying presence that was Toji. He’s following you up the stairs grinning, grabbing your ass and making you smack at him.

“If we’re not fucking stop, can’t handle anymore, ugh!” You hiss the words under your breath, and he’s grinning down at you, brushing back his black hair and yanking you against him in the hallway.

“Such a lil baby, can’t handle some edging?”

“No, I can’t. It hurts.”

“Aw, poor lil thing.” He pouts at you, and you glare, smacking him, then his mouth is wide open, you run then.

“Oh shit, oh shit!”

He’s shoved you in your room then, smacking you back, and you glare up at him, breathless, then you smack him again, and he moans, gripping you by the throat and pressing up. You struggle, but then you just enjoy it, enjoy him choking you, owning you, so big and strong. His teeth are bared, and he’s right against your lips, your breath hot on your lips.

“Ya fuckin gonna learn a lesson slapping me like that. Lucky you’re so pretty or I’d be really pissed. As it turns out…” He watches as your eyes glaze over, as he spins you then, releasing your throat. “Really got me hard, doll.”

“You’re a freak, ugh.” You grumble, but when he yanks your shorts down and smacks the hell out of your ass, making it sting, you’re wetter now. You bite back the urge to moan, as he’s got his hand in your hair, gripping hard as he presses your face against the wall, then he’s smacked you again, harder.

“Freak huh? Well seems like you’re drippin fuckin wet from… this.” He smacks you again, then runs the back of his fingers on your slick cunt, you whine, wiggling, you want more . “You're the freak here, aren’t ya?”

“Shut up, old man.” He smacks you again, the air stinging the whelp. “Toji, my bikini!”

“Fine. Don't fuckin try that again, damn brat.” He tilts your chin to look at him, pressing his hard body against your back.

“Just fuck me. Please.” You wiggle your ass against him, and he hisses, gripping you tight.

“I want time with you, the first time can hurt. I don't want it to be… bad for ya or anything.” You pause at that, turning and looking up at him, and you damn near melt. He's so oddly considerate? Caring? And you can feel how much he wants you.

“When will we have time though? Without…”

“Just kiss me. I… like it.” Is Toji blushing!?

You sigh and tip toe, and for a moment this strong, creepy ass of a man is vulnerable, youthful… fucking so attractive too. You run your hand along his undercut, and he exhales, kissing you then, his lips drinking in your sighs. He picks you up higher, and you're just dangling off the floor, he holds you like you're some doll.

Doll huh.

He's trembling ever so slightly as he holds you, and you pull back, surprised, at his blown out pupils. “I've never liked kissing so much. It's really… fuckin weird.”

You snort at that, sighing. “I did at least have kissing experience if nothing else.”

“Don't wanna hear about anyone kissing ya. Ever.” You blink at that, confused, then tense when you hear your dad and Mei in the hall.

“Shit.” You mutter quietly, and he just shushes you with a finger to his lips until they pass.

“Go get in that bikini doll.” He grips your ass, kissing you one more time. “I'll leave after you. Let me know the coast is clear.”

Soon you're getting in your bikini, wincing at how soaked your shorts had become. Toji was literally some tease!? And caring somewhat!?

Bum Toji, asshole Toji, hoe Toji, he… cared enough to not have your first time be rushed and shitty.

You do like him.

Fuck…

***

Mei’s bikini fit much better, dark blue and hitting mid waist, so thankfully your tits and ass weren’t hanging out. You throw on a little black cover up, grab your sunblock and shades, putting your sandals on. Your legs? Still weak and trembling from Toji’s endless fucking teasing.

You head out front, and your dad and Mei are already in the car, and when you walk out, they honk the horn, waving at you. Toji is leaning against the car, his eyes on you, and you feel his gaze like a brand on your skin, he’s just in trunks and an open black kimono top. You tremble as you look at his body, tanned skin already glistening with sweat.

You walk over, trying to play it cool and ignore him like you do, but he opens the door for you, winking. Toji opened a door, huh?

“Ready for the beach, doll?”

“Yes, let’s go!” You climb in the back of your dad’s sports car, which was tiny and had the tops down. You and Toji were shoved in the back, far too close to each other, as Toji’s legs are spread wide, his arms too, one of them right behind your head, and his strong thigh was pressed on yours.

“No Hello Kitty huh.” You stick your tongue out, and he smirks, one of his fingers brushing up under your knitted cover up, sliding up and down your spine.

“Gotta manspread, Toji?” He snorts, and your dad peeks at you in the rearview, a little serious look for a moment.

“Toji, stop manspreading, leave her some room.” Mei says, and you smile thankfully, as he grimaces, adjusting his big ass body a bit.

“She’s tiny, she don’t need much room.” They all laugh, and you just roll your eyes at him.

“I need some room, big oaf!”

“You’re mad you’re like elf size.”

“Let’s put on music, cover up the bickering.” Shiu says, amusedly, and he pops on a rock song, which Mei sings, throwing her arms up in the air. Shiu keeps peeking over at her.

“Your dad’s got it bad, huh?” Toji murmurs in your ear. You nod, leaning closer and ignoring how good Toji’s body feels, so strong and warm.

“She’s so beautiful, isn’t she? Like elegant.” He hums a bit at that, and his hand is on your back again, splaying the entirety of it with how big he is. You push down the thrumming desire you feel.

“She’s pretty, sure, not my type.”

“What is your type, Toji Fushiguro?” You tilt your head, looking at him behind your dark shades, which luckily cover your eyes right now. He looks down at you then, a little more serious than usual.

“Never been with my type.”

“How… is it your type then?”

“They’re not the kind of women that fuck me is all. Usually I don’t hit on women that are my type. Because it would be… serious.”

“And serious isn’t your thing, huh?”

“Not after…” He tenses, and sighs. “I had one girl I was serious about, Megumi’s mom. When she died, I dunno… just fucked around and meant nothing.” You can hear how serious this is, and you touch his hand for a moment.

“You don’t have to talk about that right now. I’m sorry.” He rubs his finger on the backs of your knuckles for a moment, then backs off.

“It’s fine kiddo.” Luckily the music is loud and the wind is in everyone’s ears, but you feel how tense he is.

“Am I your… type?” You speak quietly, and he sighs as he studies you carefully, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“You’re the type I don’t hit on, yeah.”

“Then why…”

“Because you make me dumb, doll.” At that you feel your tummy clench, your pulse racing, at how he looks at you in that moment, before he eases away some, looking out the open window, as if to end the talk.

The rest of the drive to the beach is awkward, and you’re thankful when you finally arrive. The waves crash against the shore, and the smell of saltwater and sunlight fills the air, the pretty white sand is on your feet, peaceful and hot. You grab your towel and one of the coolers and start heading towards the water, thoughts raging in your mind.

Everyone gets set up, and Toji sets to making you a drink in your big pink tumbler, surprising you. Mei and Shiu are sipping their drinks and lounging under the big umbrella, Shiu is rubbing sunblock on mei and you and Toji look on with amusement, as he does a very thorough job.

“I made you vodka with that cherry stuff.” Toji gruffs, and you smile at him, taking it thankfully.

“Thank you! Yum.” You let the flavor hit your tongue, and then set it down, taking off your cover up, and feel his dark eyes lewdly glaring at your body.

“It looks pretty on you, love.” Mei says with a wink, looking at Toji with a bit of a knowing smirk. “Toji, get your jaw off the floor.”

You flush, and Shiu snorts at that, looking up at the two of you. “It’s because I’ve only seen her in Hello Kitty. Looks too grown up. Weird.”

“Uh-huh sure, old man.” You flip him off and run off with your tumbler, as Shiu and Mei seemingly joke with Toji. He yells at you.

“Sunblock, brat.”

“I’m fine!”

“You’ll burn.” You grumble, coming and handing him the sunblock then, and he rubs it in his big hands, slathering you up. “You always used to burn, don’t you remember?”

“That was forever ago. I’m not a little kid.”

“Uh-huh.” Toji keeps his strokes quick, as you’re right in front of your dad, acting every bit some caring ‘godfather’ or something, but the way he presses?

Fuck.

“There, now you’re good.” You take another sip, looking at where Mei and Shiu are lounged talking, then up to Toji’s stupidly handsome face.

“Imma dip my feet in.”

“Okay sweetie!” Shiu says with a smile, taking a sip of his beer, and Toji? Follows you. Because of course he does.

“Could you be anymore obvious?” You whisper when you’re out in the water, sitting down and letting the water lap all over your thighs. He smirks, sitting right next to you and sipping his beer.

“Obvious, huh? That I wanna rub every inch of that body?”

“Shush.” You’re blushing, sipping your drink.

“I’ll be vanilla first round. Then you’re in for it.” You look at him, jaw slack in shock at his brazen words. “That mouth wide open, wanna shove my cock in it.”

“Shut up, perv!” You glare, standing then and going more into the water, and he stands, following you. You tense when he touches your hip under the water, freaking out, eyes wide. “Toji!”

“No one can see, doll. Or would ya wanna be seen?” You scowl, smacking off his hand, but it simply grips your ass instead, and you try to bite back your moan.

“No I don’t wanna be seen by my damn dad. That would fuck your relationship up you know.”

“Yeah… I know.” He sighs, looking down at you and grabbing your face as he does, squishing your damn cheeks. “I’d ruin anything for a chance at you.”

“You make no sense! Stop.” You turn away again, and he pulls your ass against him with his free hand, facing you towards the sun, water waving around your bodies, cooling your overheaded skin.

“Saw ya and lost my shit when you opened that door. Cute as fuck in your silly pajamas.” You exhale, as his hand slides around, finding you right where you’re aching for him, moaning when he feels how hot you are. “Nipples poking out that top, perky fucking tits swaying as you walk.”

“Toji…” Your protest is weak and pathetic. His words got to you.

“Think I didn’t wanna fuck ya on your eighteenth birthday party too? Already so gorgeous it made me stupid.”

“What? No…”

“Yeah, doll, and you look at me too. Don’t you? Haven’t you always?” You let your head fall back, out in the ocean shoulders deep, goosebumps rising on your breasts, as he slides his finger under your bikini bottom.

“You think I had a crush on you?” He laughs, breath tickling your ear, you tremble at it. You all are very far out and could barely be seen, but still it scares you, that his calloused finger is circling your little clit, that your ass is pressed against him.

“I know ya did, doll. Your eyes eat me up. Looking down my body… down to my cock.” You’re so overheated you can’t breathe, his cock is hard on your back.

“You’re always wearing grey sweats, man whore.” He snorts, nibbling your ear then sliding down your puffy clit, making you cry out softly.

“Admit it, brat.”

“Yes I had a crush on you, ugh. Since I was little. Stupid.” He moans, thick finger going up and down between your soaking lips, already oversensitive, you grip his wrist and arch up and down.

“Desperate for it doll, ain’t ya? For my cock in ya. Did you want me to be your first baby?”

“Shut up.” You say it weak, a breath more than anything. His chest rumbles with laughter. “Conceited shithead.”

“That mouth… can’t wait to-” He shoves a finger in you, making you gasp in pleasure, soaking him. “Ha- shut that mouth up. Fuck ya till you don’t know shit anymore.”

“Shut up. Bet you won’t.”

“We’ll see tonight doll.” He shoves his finger up and down inside your little gummy entrance, hitting that spot, you get dizzy, legs spreading for more, then he slides his fingers out, and you turn, scowling.

“Tease, you’re a tease Toji.” He grins, sliding a hand up to grab your ass again, pushing you against him, so that you’re against his thigh, and his cock is hard against your soft tummy. You gulp.

“Could cum right now just lookin at this pretty face.” He tilts your chin up. “Think I haven’t jacked it to your pictures online?”

“You-creep-ugh!” But it turns you on?

Fuck.

“You post sexy on that Insta thing.” You roll your eyes.

“Instagram? Old man.”

“Old, huh?” You nod, and hiss when he’s shoving his thigh against you, bringing your ass on it. You can’t stop your moan, head falling back, hand desperately gripping the handle of your tumbler.

“Mmm… you’re an old pervert.”

“Am I…”

“Mmnnh. Yep.” He pushes that strong thigh up, and moans.

“You’re so hot f’me, so fuckin desperate. Begging for my cock when you’re this fucking gorgeous?”

“Toji…” You trail off, then you back off as you see Mei and Shiu are in the water, even if they were far out. “We… too much here.”

“I wanna kiss you so fuckin bad, pretty lips make me so hard.” He’s staring at you with such desire his pupils are dilated, making his eyes look black. You struggle to calm yourself, sipping your drink and backing off.

“Wanna kiss me so bad?” He glares, narrowing his eyes, then just gives you a little nod, before you both act ‘normal’ whatever that even was.

***

You just took a shower after the beach, and come down out back to see Toji grilling, and Mei Mei is snuggling on Shiu. They turn when they look at you, and clearly they’re tipsy, while Toji’s eyes slide up and down you in the little dress you’d put on, a little blue sundress.

“Staying the night, Mei?” You ask, coming up to her, and she grins.

“I may, I have drank a lot.”

“No worries! If you need anything tell me.”

“Thank you darling.” She pats your cheek, and Shiu has puppy dog eyes, you wrap an arm around him.

“You like her huh?” You whisper, and he hushes you.

“She’ll hear!” You grin.

“You’re so childish dad.” You shove at him, and he laughs, then you go walk up to Toji, for a moment touching his back then thinking better, but he tensed from just that contact, exhaling.

“You’re so good at grilling.”

“I’m a whole daddy huh.” He winks and you giggle, you can’t help it, before flushing a bit. “Can’t wait to hear you scream it doll.”

“Shh!” You pinch him now and he just grins wide down at you.

“That sundress… fuck, ma.”

“What about it?” Your arm is against his, bare, his is so hot, sweaty, fucking strong…

“Wanna shove it up and bury my face in your pussy.” You’re backing up, you can’t breathe, thinking about it, about… “You want it doll, don’t ya?”

You ignore him, busying yourself, doing anything to avoid it, to avoid the wetness trickling out of your cunt and sticking to your inner thighs. “You’re full of it, huh?”

“You’re gonna be full of this cock, doll.”

***

Mei and your dad have made some excuse to hang out in his room, as if they needed to explain themselves, and you’re cleaning up the dishes while Toji is taking a shower. You can scarcely concentrate, your mind running a million miles a minute, of the pervy asshole, your dad’s best friend, that wouldn’t stop… being sexy?

Ugh.

Suddenly, hands are on your hips, and you jump up, nearly screaming, but a hand comes to your mouth, and Toji’s against you, pressing you against the sink, hard body hot and damp from the shower still. You tense, struggling to breathe, and he eases his hand off, tilting your chin so you look at him, his inky black hair is falling over his forehead, eyes bright as they take you in.

“Shh, doll.” He whispers, sliding his arms around you, one hand lifting up your dress, sliding up to your little lacy panties, pressing up and rubbing you on them. “Fuckin hot f’me, already?”

“Shut up.” He laughs, breathy, tickling your lips, squishing your cheeks and making your lips purse.

“I need these gone.” You tense, then he’s shoved them down your legs, kicking them off your bare feet, kissing the tops of them before sliding up your leg, and your knees lock, you almost fall over as you feel his hands parting your thighs.

“T-Toji… here?” You whisper, he laughs, standing then and you turn to watch him shoving your thong in the pockets of his sweats. “Wha-?”

He’s picking you up before you can speak, and he’s got you up on the kitchen counter, cold marble making you shiver against him, spreading your thighs and shoving the material of your dress up your thighs. He looks at you hungrily, kissing sloppy up your legs, licking trails hot and sticky, and your hands go into his damp hair, hips bucking up.

“That’s it, be my lil slut, doll. Yank that hair and put me there.” You should hate that talk, but no, you love it, and you do, you shove his face against your soaked little pussy, right on the counter, when anyone could walk out and see. “Mmmh, so fuckin yummy.”

“Toji!” You whisper, crying out and shoving a hand on your face, as he’s licking up your cunt then, hungry, and looking at you with those dark forest eyes, hungry as he sucks on your clit. You’re gushing all over, and he’s slurping you up, until you’re close so fast it’s stupid, body tense.

He hums on your clit, and you start cumming, shoving his face up for more, that stubble against your lips driving you nuts, you’re grinding on him, fucking shameless, and you’re soaked now, all down his face. He’s slurping it up, moaning, big hands grabbing your ass and shoving even deeper, until his tongue is deep inside your entrance.

You’re throbbing around it, as he laps up your essence, so hungry for you it makes you even more turned on, and you’re biting back a scream, head slamming back against the cabinet with a thud. He’s relentless against you, tongue fucking you as his fingers slide in, stretching your delicate skin.

“That’s it doll, fuckin pulsing all around my fingers. Nasty lil slut f’me.” You whimper, helpless, as he leans his head up, groaning and spitting on your pussy, licking your cum off his lips and grinning, watching the saliva slip down your lips.

“Please, please…” You’re whimpering, and he laughs softly, spreading his spit all around your already soaked lips, nipping on your clit then, you jerk at it. “Please…”

“Please what, doll? Fuckin can’t hear ya.” You take a shaky breath, as he scissors you with his thick fingers, bringing you close again, the pressure hitting so hard you can’t take it.

“Fuck you Toji.” He scowls, as you glare, then he grabs you, dropping you to your knees on the floor and holding you by your throat, tight as fuck, you can barely breathe when he’s got his sweats down.

“Runnin that mouth. Let me shut it the fuck up.” Suddenly he’s shoving his thick cock in your throat, and you moan softly around it, he hisses, his other hand yanking you by your ponytail. “Lemme fuck that little throat.”

“Ngh!” You’re drooling all over his cock, as he’s choking you, you can’t even breathe.

“Remember the taps?” He whispers, you nod, tapping, then he’s fucking your throat so mean , so nasty, grunting as his tip thickens, bullying its way until you’re swallowing all of his cock.

Your feel lightheaded, just when he lets your throat go, and you try to breathe through your nose, until he holds it close, bottoming out in your throat and moaning, you wiggle, unable to breathe at all now. He’s fucking your throat quicker, harder, and you can’t even grasp his thighs to tap, nearly blacking out, gasping and crying, tapping him finally.

“Fuck, doll…” He releases you immediately, and you hold your throat, tears streaming down your face, he helps you  up, caressing your face. “You’re so fuckin gorgeous with these tears, ya know that?”

You manage to shake you head, throat killing you, trying to come to, and he frowns then.

“Too much?” You manage to shake your head, and he exhales, kissing you then, tasting himself, as you taste yourself, moaning into his mouth. He picks you up, and you cling to him eagerly. “You did so fuckin good f’me, doll.”

“I did?” He nods, moaning and kissing you deeply, the praise making you even wetter as you come to, sucking in air greedy.

“Best fuckin blow job I’ve had.” He’s carrying you then, out of the damn kitchen you all had been precariously fucking around in, and finally you’re in your room, and he’s locking it quietly, carrying you to your bed. He leans up, yanking your dress up and off you. “Perfect fuckin body.”

“Toji… you don’t have to say those things. I wanna fuck you already.” He glares, big hand on your throat again, already sore, you wriggle in his hold, eyes wide.

“I don’t say shit I don’t mean, I ain’t gassin you up. Your body’s so fucking sexy to me. Every inch. Got it?” You feel tears again, this time from how he looks at you, so hungry for you, so intense. “I’ll kiss every inch of you.”

“T-Toji… mmm…” He releases your throat, kissing down your throat, and you cry out softly, hands gripping his thick shoulders. “That’s sweet?”

He laughs darkly, tickling your neck, as his hand slides between your bare thighs, rubbing up and down your glistening pussy. “Sweet, me? Ya lost too much oxygen, there, doll.”

“Shush. It is sweet… mmm!” He smacks you cunt, making it sting, and then rubs his fingers side to side on your clit.

“I’m just telling you the truth. Perfect face. Perfect tits. Curves so soft… thighs that squeeze the fuck outta me. Tight little cunt. Fuck, I even like your little feet.” You giggle at that, as he sucks on a nipple, making you even wetter on his hand.

“Thank you, Toji. I love your body too. It’s perfect.” You run your hands down his strong back, and he pauses, looking up at you, for a moment, intense.

“Course ya do, doll. Ya want that big cock don’t ya?” You nod, reaching down now, feeling him hot and hard in your hand. He groans, yanking your hand up then, pressing your wrists up with his tight grip.

“Please, Toji. I want it. Please.” You arch your ass up, and he tenses, grip tight as he kisses up between your breasts, licking a line between them.

“Ya sure you’re ready, pretty doll?” You nod, and he exhales, positioning himself at your entrance, looking at you, hair falling, you ache to brush it back. “Vanilla, remember?”

You giggle at that, shaking your head. “I don’t see Toji Fushiguro fucking vanilla. It doesn’t compute.” You lean your hips up, as he presses, teasing your soaking entrance, rubbing it up and down against your clit until you’re wriggling.

“Just the first time, doll.” He lets your wrists go, and you think wildly, just what are you doing, begging to lose your virginity from Toji? In your childhood room? And yeah, your plushies are judging you. But… “Hang on to me.”

You tentatively grip his shoulders, and he kisses you, softer than he has before, and you fall into it, fuck it feels good…

Then he thrusts inside you, so thick, hard, long… you can’t hold in your cry of pain when he breaks past that last little barrier of resistance you had. You feel like you’re burning, this insane pressure in you too much, you’re sobbing against his lips, and he groans, grabbing your face and pausing, looking down at you.

“Doll, you okay?” You manage a nod, but you can’t breathe, blinding pain when he eases back and pushes in, further how was he deeper!? He bites his lower lip, eyes shutting for a moment. “You’re too tight, fuck… relax baby.”

“Can’t… t’much.” You whisper out, and he pulls out again, shoving in again, and now it didn’t sting, but you were so full , it felt so…

“Look at me, baby.” You manage to focus on his face, tense with concentration, he slides a hand down between you both, lifting one of your legs over his arm and using the other to toy with your clit. “Focus on it for a minute… fuck you’re too tight… please fuckin loosen up.”

“I don’t know how , virgin, duh!” He grits his teeth, resting his forehead on you, breaths on your lips, and your nails dig into his arms. “Toji…”

“Focus on your clit baby. Please, fuck.” You shut your eyes, trying to focus on where he’s overstimulating your clit, and then you start to relax, as he exhales, pulling back again, then thrusting all the way in, bottoming out against your cervix. He’s so thick, stretching you, as you get wetter with his play.

It starts to feel…

“Toji! Mmm…” You lift your hips experimentally, and open your eyes to see him studying you so intently, eyes drinking you in, two fingers swirling your clit now.

“Better, doll?” You nod, and he breathes out, kissing you deeply, pushing in again, lifting your leg up more. “Perfect pussy. Perfect. Ready?”

You inhale sharply. “Yeah, I think?” He starts thrusting with a rhythm now, fucking into you, and it feels so good, the stretch and him hitting spots you never knew were there. You start moaning, and he covers your mouth with his hand.

“Quiet doll. Can’t have company in here.” You flush at his grin, then he leans his head back, groaning softly. “F-fuckk… so fucking…”

He shoves two fingers in your mouth now,, and you eagerly suck on them, while he starts railing you now, so deep, hips snapping as he overtakes everything. He’s sweating above you, dripping from his body onto yours, getting up on his knees and yanking you down hard on his cock then, you scream around his fingers, drooling as pressure builds in your core.

“That’s it doll. Cum on daddy’s cock.” Your eyes roll back, as he realeases your mouth, slamming his against yours, pressing your thighs up high so he’s abusing your cervix, the hair above his cock grinding against your aching clit. “Say it, doll, say it.”

“Mmm.. you’re… fuck… Daddy. ” He growls, shoving deep and pressing your thighs against your breasts, and you’re cumming so hard you can’t handle, he quickly throws a hand on your mouth to cover your screams.

“Cum all over daddy’s cock, lil’ slut. Good girl.” You’re squirting wetness all around his thick cock, and his pupils are blown out in your dark little room, then he’s fucking you harder, deeper, the bed springs creaking with the force, and the headboard starts smacking on the wall.

“Ngh!” You’re drooling all over, your cunt around his cock throbbing, and he hisses at the sensation, holding the headboard now, tall and domineering with his big body on you, caressing your lips then.

“Fuckin gorgeous little girl. Keep cumming for daddy.” You nod, eagerly, as he uses the new angle to hit some spot in your walls that make you cum again, you grit your teeth not to scream. “Gorgeous when you cum on my cock. Again, doll, you can do it again.”

You feel like you’ll die, like you cant breathe, but as he keeps fucking you, you get close again, as one of his hands slides up and squeezes your breast, smacking it lightly, leaning back down over you. Every muscle in his body is bunched up, tense, as he rolls his hips and shoves that cock against your cervix, pressing against it so hard you wriggle uncontrollably.

“Toji… s’good…”

“Daddy.” He smacks your other tit now, and you hiss. “Say Daddy, fuckin brat. Do it.”

“You’re freaky-ah!”

“Am-ha-I freaky? I’m being gentle, fuckin brat.” He leans down, hands both on your face now, looking down as he pushes in deep and doesn’t move, making you fall apart under him. “Want me to choke ya again? Like a lil slut?”

“Choke me daddy .” He exhales, desire clear in his eyes, his lips parted, and he wraps that big hand on your throat again, squeezing the sides, so good as you feel your head fuzzy.

“Gonna fuck you hard, doll. Got it?” You nod, against his grip, then he starts fucking you mean, thrusts smacking loud in the room, and your cunt is so wet. “Hear that lil cunt, squelching? Fuckin slutty cunt.”

“Unh…” You’re gasping, as you see glitter and stars, as Toji wrecks the pussy he’d just taken for the first time, merciless, and you’re cumming again.

“Can’t help yourself, cumming all over Daddy’s cock? You fuckin love this, perfect slit f’me.” You eat up his nasty words, as your vision gets blurred, and you’re cumming all over him. “Fuck… doll .”

He pauses, easing his grip, your cunt gushes wetness everywhere, down your thighs, down his stomach, and you can hear how wet you are, as he fucks easier and easier in your little pussy. He slows some, grabbing you everywhere, your waist, your hips, your face, until he’s laying on you, his weight so heavy, hot hard body on your soft one.

“Fuckin in love with this pussy.” He whispers, and you tremble, tears of pain and pleasure in your eyes when he pulls you on his cock. “I’m never lettin it go.”

“Toji…” He smacks you lightly, and you moan, arching your back. “Daddy…”

“Good girl.” He’s kissing you, rolling thrusts hitting that spot over and over, so wet you’re slippery now. “Perfect little slut. Perfect little pussy.” He pauses, exhaling and then glaring down at you, gripping you bruising, his cock twitching in you. “Fuck.. Imma cum. Where…”

“Um, on me? I… dunno… where…” He smiles a bit, slowing more, a little gentle almost, so different than what he’d been doing.

“Kiss me, doll.” You’re surprised, blinking, but your wrap your arms around his neck, tongue sliding into his mouth, as he grips you tight, rhythm jerky now. “Cum one more time f’me, like a good girl.”

“Yes, Daddy.” You are unironically calling him that. It’s hot too?

Fuck.

You cum one last time, and he’s groaning quietly, brows drawn together, and he pulls back then, you feel him jerking his cock, and sticky white ropes paint your overheated skin. He keeps cumming too, all over your soft tummy, your ribs, between your breasts, and he’s kissing you now, oddly affectionate, you fall into his kisses, sighing into his lips.

“That pussy? I’ve never fucked anything close to it.” You tremble at his words, eyes mirroring your desire.

“Really? But… you’ve fucked a lot yeah?”

He licks his scar, smirking then. “Yeah, fucked a lot. Never felt anything like ya cummin on my cock. Gets so tight…” He eases back, looking down your body, then he pauses a bit. “I go too rough doll?”

“No, when you started going harder I was ready. Just at first…” You look down too, shoving your thighs closed, blushing furiously. “Oh… I’m sorry…”

“Sorry for what, it’s natural.” He brushes your hair back softly. “Let me run to the bathroom, I’ll clean ya up.”

You just nod, laying your head back and the room is nearly spinning, as you stare up at your ceiling, still adorned with those glow and the dark stars from middle school. You try to calm your breathing down, as your cunt is aching, burning… and you struggle not to get that blood between your thighs on your bed.

He’s back quickly, shutting the door silently, and he wipes you between your thighs with a washcloth, as your legs close in embarrassment.

“Hey, look at me doll.” You have no choice, he’s got one hand on your face, forcing you too. “It’s just the first time. Don’t be embarrassed with me.”

You nod a bit, as he finishes cleaning you up, then cleans your tummy and waist carefully, kissing down where he does. He’s then back between your thighs, and you hiss as his tongue flicks up your slit again.

“Toji… what…”

“I hurt her a bit. Apologizing.” You giggle then, shaking your head, brushing his inky black hair back.

“You don’t have to. I liked it. A lot.”

He peeks up at you, planting a loud kiss on your pussy. “Let me and her talk, I wasn’t inviting you to our conversation.”

You roll your eyes with another laugh, that turns into a gasp, as he spreads your thighs, licking your sore lips, your swollen clit. “Toji… don’t have to…”

“I don’t have to do shit doll. Want to.” He’s watching you as he licks you, pressing on your tummy then, flicking his tongue so fast on your clit you can’t stand it. “Let me taste you on my mouth all night, doll, fuckin taste like candy ma.”

“Fuck you’re hot… damn it… Toji can’t cum again, t’much! Mmm!” He’s relentless with oddly gently flicks, hands cupping your breasts as he’s lapping you up, twisting your nipples an dpinching them. Your legs shake, and you grip your blankets in tight fists.

“One more time f’me. Got me drunk on this fuckin pussy, doll, don’t ya?” You have no clue what he really means, but when he moans on your clit, you do cum again, and he drinks you up. No other word, you hear him sucking it all up, leaving you weak, exhausted.

He kisses up your body, god you’re not even functioning anymore, until he’s caressing your face, not squeezing it like usual.

“Did it hurt, baby?” He’s oddly caring as he asks.

“Only at the start, then it was… good.” He laughs as he watches you turn bright pink. “It was better than good. Fucking amazing?”

“Good, I didn’t want it to hurt but…”

“You’re huge.”

“You’re tiny.”

You both say it at the same time, then you’re flushed again, as he runs a thumb down your lip, popping it between them for a moment.

“Don’t want you to regret it.” You blink back tears, shaking your head, cupping his face then, thumb running down his scar.

“No, Toji, not at all. I’m glad it was you. As stupid, wreckless, outright wrong as it all is, it felt really right.”

He gulps, kissing you again. “Makin me stupid with that cunt.”

“You make me stupid.”

“Yeah?” You nod, and then he sighs, looking at the clock. “Wish I could sleep next to…”

You both pause at that. You look up at him curiously.

“It’s just fun, yeah?” You ask softly, and he nods.

“Yeah, just fun. Teaching ya how to be a lil slut f’me.” You nod, but then when he kisses you again… “Wanna sleep with ya so I can fuck ya in your sleep.”

“Uh-huh, bet you do.” You tease him, and could swear you see his face redden just a bit, but it’s dark, right?

“Rest up doll, not going easy on ya again.” Your eyes widen.

“Easy on me!?”

“Yeah, not happening again.” He pops a kiss on your forehead, contradicting his words. “Gonna rail that perfect cunt so hard, wreck it for anyone.”

“Toji what the…”

He kisses you deeply, tongue sweeping your mouth, swirling around your tongue. “Love these pretty lips.”

“Toji…”

“Gotta go.” He leaves you, but he covers you first with a blanket, glaring as you look at him. “It’s cold in here.”

He turns and pulls up his sweats, carefully heading to your door. “Hey… Toji?” You whisper, and he turns, his usually cocky face disoriented. You pull your blanket up a  bit and sit. “Good… Night.” You can’t figure out what you wanted to say. Your brain is fried by his cock.

“Night, doll.” He heads out, and you suddenly feel alone, in your little room, and you still feel him, taste him, smell him, all over you.

Toji Fushiguro just took your virginity.

And next time he’s not going easy on you.

Your mind races because…

Maybe he has ruined you already.

Chapter 5

Ch on A03:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57496135/chapters/146903041

[ofstormsandsaints]

❤ - voice

✮ - sleeping habits

✍ - writing style

For both of them!

questions are from this post if anyone else wants to participate

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞

in this post, I theorised how his (singing and talking) voice would sound like - as a choir kid, he kept some pretty good singing reflexes after all. But overall, Marion's voice is rather mellow and warm, close to Reiji's deep modulated tone but more French and -oh surprise- less snooty.

𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬

listen, he has a fucking alarm programmed and attached directly onto his brain. No seriously, he could have spent the worst week of his existence; long hours of training, even longer hours of studying, the weather is shit, his sisters fight, mercury is in retrograde, he stupidly accepts every and any mission given to him, spends the night away out in town, hunting or partying like Armageddon was near but all in all, he will always, always wake up between 6:45 and 7:10am. Like??? what kind of superpower is that?? You can imagine his sleeping schedule is an obscene mess. And this bitch doesn't even have really bad eye bags. Give him a good resting night or two and he'll be fresh and ready to live life to the fullest with a perfect smile. how dare he.

But yeah, back to his sleeping habits. Very simple: he is sound asleep when laying on his right side, an arm tugged under his pillow, topless most of the time (maybe he'll wear a cotton tee on cold nights), wearing a dark blue short that is probably the softest piece of fabric in his closet (he's been using for years the same softener that gives a fresh, subtle scent of lilac and pear to his clothes). Always tries to aerate the room before going to sleep, even in winter. The colder, the better.

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞

Marion should have been left-handed but his dad never allowed him to use the 'Devil's hand' - he was taught (forced) to learn how to write with his right hand. He actually was quite precocious and knew how to read and write basic words before he even started school.

But whenever he would reach for a pencil, a brush or a fork with his 'wrong' hand, his dad is here to slap it away and then stand next to him, sternly judging if his son kept on obeying - thus his current handwriting : it is not that bad, but you easily understand that now, Marion's writing style is all about effectiveness and quickness. Writing is a nuisance, he just wants to be done with it.

Careless letters, hurried yet nonchalant airy loops, one time well spaced, another tighter, depending on his mood, his pen sometimes barely touches the paper and he will not take the time to correct it if the word is wrongly used or barely decipherable. Being out of school for such a long time didn't help either - it in fact worsened the problem making it very tough for him to properly take the time to write a proper paper and not a rubbish mess.

The only time when his ambidexterity shows is when he's painting - only painting though, he sketches with his right hand.

𝐙𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐚

𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞

Hauntingly clear and powerful.

Zorya has a very stable ambitus and a considerable amplitude - her voice is an instrument for her. She plays the silvery charming tones and the lower intimidating notes alike. It is a voice for assemblies and intimacy.

Posed and mastered. She never needs to shout.

The voice of a leader and a teacher. Somehow low, there is a strange, celestial coldness to it. thrummed consonants, purred syllables. an omen hides behind her every words.

Ending sentences in hushed tones, her breath carries an uncanny wisdom.

(please, don't ask for a voice claim, I already know I'd hate doing research on that)

𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬

She is an extreme light sleeper. The faintest sound, touch or smell can wake her up. A theatrical queen who adores sleeping in silk, linen, or even completely naked to be honest.

Zorya has a spasmodic sleeping schedule :

two hours of sleep. wakes up. has a walk and looks at the stars' journey. back to bed with a book and an herbal tea. a bit of sleep. rises anew (with the sun even if it is different in the demon world). works a few hours. sleeps again. repeat.

Even though she adapted it over the years, Zorya is still disciplined on a certain routine; especially regarding beauty and health care, shadow work and spirituality. Whether it'd be oiling, combing and braiding her hair, rearranging her ointments, channelling her magic - using joss, taking care of her physic garden, cleaning her stones and jewellery and blades while chanting in a forgotten tongue, she's mostly alone. She has the time.

Sleeps on her side or on her back. Never on her stomach. After so many years, the scar still hurts oftentimes.

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞

If her voice carries a large amount of power - dear heavens, you don't want to know what her hands can create.

Friendly advice ('tis for you Marion): never, ever try to open one of her books without her permission.

In fact, Zorya could have never learnt how to write in the first place. Oral tradition was predominant at her time - even among the old demonic races. But her mother taught her how to read and write as she knew it'd be useful in the future: the highest spheres of power were always the ones holding this knowledge after all.

Naturally left-handed which was convenient because for a long time, the official language of the demon realm was in a right-to-left script (like in Hebrew or in most Arabic languages). But she obviously adapted over the time. - The writing system evolved mostly during the second era of Founders' hegemony. With the rise and establishment of clans in determined territories. A national sentiment grew in spite of their allegiance to the First Bloods and they all developed their own dialect, declined from the high demonic alphabet. The centralisation of knowledge spread beyond the Founders' territories and knew its fastest assimilation in the Vampire Clan first (thanks to Karlheinz's former friendship with Giesbach and Krone), then the Adlers, Viboras and finally the Wolves.

Zorya mostly remembers the sibylline curves and sharp lines of the northern dialect and nowadays, her handwriting looks like if Cyrillic and runic alphabets had a fancy child.

[charnelhouse]

slow down you're doing fine

Pairing: Will Miller x F!Reader Words: 2.2K Warnings: Car Sex. PTSD. Drinking.  Summary: Will and you take a trip.  A/N: Title from Billy Joel’s Vienna. For the lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog​ Writer Wednesday.

“You wanna get out of here?”

“Yes.”

**

It’s one of those nights. The kind where you stay up until the birds sing. The kind where you drink way too much cheap vodka with the boys and spend hours playing cards. Benny is passed out in the bed of his truck. Santi and Frankie are both practically curled around each other on the pull-out couch in the living room.

Will and you are still awake. You’ve got his oversized zip-up on over your sundress, your ratty little boots and smeared make-up. They’d started partying at 3 in the afternoon yesterday. Just for fun. Just because none of them had any responsibilities this weekend and it seemed like a good idea.

Your bare ass is wet from morning dew. Your skin is feverish against the damp air as you slowly sober. Will knocks his knees against yours as they stare out at the fields of long-grass. The twilight - the sapphire sheen to the sky. The blend of amethyst. Purple chrysanthemum. The new sun lingers - birthing gradual and rosy above the horizon. 

Will scrubs his hand across his face and you give him a sidelong glance. He is stupidly handsome. His stubble and blonde beard and flaxen hair and clear-water eyes that can veer from pissed to kind to sweet. 

“What a night,” he remarks dryly, flicking grass off your naked leg. 

You smile. “Now - I just have a headache.”

“I guarantee you that Benny’s gonna have a worse one.”

“He drank like sixteen whiteclaws.”

Will screws his face up in disgust as he sits back on his elbows. It’s dawn-chill - the kind that makes your teeth chatter - the kind that you start to notice once the alcohol wears off. You tug his zip-up closer, press your nose into its comfort - its Will Miller smell. Sagebrush. Orange. Clove oil. His fingers glide over yours - knuckle sliding up your wrist as his gaze burns across your cheek. There’s so much weight between them. There are so many unsaid things.

This whole night had been spent circling each other - suggestive tongues and heated stares.

“You want to get food?” he finally propositions.

“Fuck yes.”

**

They blend well into the crowd at the 24-hour diner. The sun hasn’t fully lurched itself across the streets. It’s still dark enough to pretend that it’s only midnight and they have hours to sleep.

You’re swamped in Will’s jacket as you fork syrup-soaked pancakes into your mouth. 

“You want some?” you offer and Will shakes his head. 

“I only like pancakes with butter.”

“You fucking weirdo.”

Will’s foot grazes across your calf. Your ass is squeaking over the vinyl booth. They swallow mouthfuls of black, bitter coffee. You rub your knuckles across your eye - feel the dry, fleck of mascara.

They’re functioning on no sleep and too much liquor and it's like everything comes to you very slowly. A fog gathering across your eyesight and only Will keeps you tethered in place with his sneaker. 

“I think I dated that waitress,” Will mumbles as he ducks his head, poking his fork into some greasy hash browns. 

“How would you not know, Miller?”

He takes a long sip of coffee before smacking his lips.

“Well - I think I dated her back in high school. She looks familiar.”

You roll your eyes. “You’ve fucked most of this town.”

He sputters, his coffee spilling across the formica. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies, offended. He grabs a fistful of napkins and tries to blot the pooling brown liquid.

You spear a sad-looking strawberry before maneuvering it in front of Will’s face in tiny, accusatory circles. “Will - I literally was here - with you - during your twenties. You took home girls every night we went out.”

He scowls - sinking into the bright red booth. It’s torn in places - insides puffing out.

He surveys you for a moment, crossing his thick arms across his chest. He darts the tip of his tongue over his full lower lip as he keeps his eyes on you - burying you right there in this fluorescent-drenched diner. He looks thoughtful - lovely - too good looking in this stark space.

He leans forward, voice dropping to something low and gravelly.

“That’s only because I couldn’t have you.”

***

They don’t go home. They pay the bill and when they get outside, Will taps his knuckles across the hood of his car and asks:

“You wanna get out of here?”

You know what he means - what he’s thinking. You were always terribly good at reading him as long as it wasn’t about you. Let’s take a break - let’s just fucking have a time.

That’s only because I couldn’t have you.

“Yeah,” you grin - as the morning wind ruffles the skirt of your dress. “I want to.”

**

They stop at a gas station to buy cheap phone chargers. Water bottles. Beef jerky and $10 plastic sunglasses. Red Bulls. Advil. Peanuts.

They drive all the way to Saguaro National Park because you tell him you want to see the cacti. You want to see the bunches of them stretched across the sand-valley floor of Tucson. 

“Did you know that they can live longer than 200 years?” you announce as you scroll through your phone. “And grow to almost 50 feet high!”

“Had no idea,” Will replies in a serious voice - probably just to humor you.

“They’re called the kings of the Sonoran Desert.”

“Are they now?”

You nod enthusiastically before snatching his phone to play your music. You want Cream. You want The Killers. You want Led Zep. Britney Spears. A hurricane of genre that will no doubt make Will shake his head in disapproval, but never deny you.

The heat rolls off the black river of the highway. The sky is cornflower blue - so vivid that it hurts to stare at directly. Wisps of clouds. Mountains patched in rock and greenery. Red-clay landforms that spring up like monoliths - like ancient pyramids of the West. It forces you to think about the years that have passed to build them.  The thousands and millions of years that were needed to spring these from the ground and carve them through. 

When did the ocean pull so far away from the valleys and the deserts to rest beside the beach?

All of it concluding with your own somber thoughts of mortality and where the fuck you’re going and when the fuck you’re gonna settle down, plant your roots and grow? You wonder what Will had thought about overseas when his life flashed before his eyes on a daily basis.

You don’t ask. 

***

Billy Joel hums through the car’s speakers - the jingle of piano keys and Vienna and all of it making the air golden - forcing you to stare at Will and feel your heart throb in your chest.

“What was your favorite thing to listen to?”

He already knows what you’re referring to, but he still asks: “When?”

“When you were over there.”

There. There. There. 

It sits vast and flooded between them - tangled in mystery and sharp, bloody violence and black, blurred etches of an opaque enemy. Gnashing jaws. An invisible flag. All you recieve are the tiny details Will gives you or what the others mention when they’re drunk. Usually during the times when it’s just the four of them and you in the safety of Santi’s yard with too much alcohol to loosen their tongues. Benny and Santi who share a little more than Will. Frankie who shares nothing.

“Third Eye Blind,” he answers, before adding. “Guns N’ Roses.” 

“Good answer.”

He winks, reaching across the gear shift and threading his fingers through yours - dwarfing your hand and Jesus Christ - how did this get so romantic?

That’s only because I couldn’t have you.

***

It’s inevitable you suppose. 

They’re in deep - just talking - about all their shit - laying out the wreckage of their histories across Will’s dashboard. You notice a shift in his expression, an almost burning irritation. His fists clench around the steering heel as something choked flies out of his mouth and then he’s swerving off the road. He parks the car at a rest stop - it’s deserted aside from a grey-building for bathrooms and some metal trash cans. You’re almost certain this is exactly how people get fucking murdered in horror movies.

Will shuts the car off before he turns to you.

“Are we going to do this?” he asks - impatient - burdened. “Because I can’t just keep sitting here while you’re - “

So you kiss him.

You kiss him rough and wet, your tongue sliding against his as he tangles a hand into your hair and drags you flush against him. The gear shift is poking into your ribs as he pulls half your body over the console. 

It’s a good kiss - the kiss you had expected. The scrape of his beard across your chin - the right amount of pressure as he licks into your mouth. He groans and it rumbles from his throat - his lips so insistent as he holds you closer - as he nearly devours you whole.

There had been a time when Will was a heartbreaker. Not on purpose. Not to be cruel. He just had so many fucking demons; his head was cluttered with migraines and nightmares and ugly memories. He couldn’t watch fireworks - he couldn’t see movies that involved blood spray or cracked bones. You had seen him cry once - and it had been because he was sick of feeling so messed up - so broken - and what the fuck is wrong with me?

Nothing, Will. Nothing. Jesus - you’re fine. You’re golden. This takes time.

You knew you couldn’t touch him then - let him fuck you then - because it would end as all of his affairs did. He used sex as a release - relationships to fill the lingering void that rotted slow and quiet in his belly. 

You kept him at arm’s length. You told him plain.

Friends, first, huh?

Pinkie promise?

You’re such a fucking kid. 

It’s why you love me. 

Yeah - I suppose. 

**

“Fuck, Will,” you gasp as he plants his feet and arches his hips beneath you. He’s so deep. You think that if you stroked the skin above your cunt, you would feel the nudge of his cock. 

He’s got his jeans around his ankles - his shirt tossed somewhere on the floor. The bodice of your sundress is pulled under your tits and each jolt of his hips - pushes your nipples against his hungry tongue. He grips the nape of your neck, another broad hand wrapped around your shoulder for leverage. It’s a push. He shoves you down while raising his hips - his pace unforgiving - the warm, wet slap of skin and his thick cock moving inside you.

“I knew it,” he mutters - as he licks your collarbone - the pulse of your throat. “I fucking knew it would be this good. You’d be this fucking tight and sweet.”

You skate your palms across his chest - enjoying the way his muscles bunch and flex as he thrusts into you so brutally that it knocks the crown of your head into the roof of his car. You don’t care - can’t care - and a little pain was always painted in your love especially with Will.

He takes you with short, fast strokes. He slips his tongue over the pads of his fingers and moves them over your clit. It’s just enough friction to send you into your climax - to make you pant - and moan - and tuck your nose into Will’s shorn hair as you tremble against his rolling hips.

“C’mon, baby,” he croons. “Just a little more - let me fill you up.”

Oh - right. Your brain is short-circuiting but you lean back so Will can adjust his angle - so he can spear up as your walls flutter and clench.

He tilts his chin to see where you’re joined. You follow his gaze - nearly breaking at the sight of your pale pink sundress rucked up over your stomach and Will’s glistening cock disappearing inside your spread folds.

And his face - the expression - it’s so intense and hungry and alight with something both intimate and almost grateful. 

Relieved. 

“Fuck,” he hisses - strained and near-desperate. “You don’t - it feels so good.”

It does - your lower muscles fully cramping and bearing down as he fucks up into you - as he practically molds the channel of your cunt to fit him easy. 

He grips your jaw to kiss you open-mouthed - to breathe hot air against your lips as his hips stutter. There’s sweat pooling between them and Will can’t keep touching you as he fully bites your throat - your shoulder - before dropping his head to draw your nipple into his mouth. 

“C’mon, Will,” you whine. “I want to feel you cum.”

He lifts his head - the flash of that old-smug smile - the kind he used to get into girl’s panties at bars. But here - it is clear and vibrant and meant for you.

“You want it?” he asks - ragged and hoarse. Dark silk. “Yeah?”

Yeah.

He arches an eyebrow before he goes for it. His pace is unforgiving - each snap of his hips punching the breath from your lungs and making you scream into the meat of his shoulder. 

He curls an arm around your waist and notches his nose into your throat as his thrusts grow sloppy. You feel him give - feel him spurt inside you as he growls heavily into the damp skin of your chest. He presses soft, chaste kisses across your brow - the underside of your arm - the swell of your breast.

You can’t see much outside the car.  A lot of brown and yellow and streaks of sand. The peak of blue through the dust. The interior is splashed with sex - the smell of flesh and spit and the muddled salt between joints. Will softens inside you and still you don’t want to disentangle yourself from his lap. You want more. You want this in full, flying colors. You want the sensation from him again and again until he has split you and spread you and ruined you for anyone else.

“Gimme a sec,” he grunts, as he reaches over your hip to grab a water bottle. He slaps your ass affectionately. “I’ll be ready to go again.”

You suppose the both of you have some time to make up.

You shift and his cooling spend drips out of you. This car is fucked and the boys would no doubt need a few more details about their whereabouts since all Will had texted them was we’re going out for a while.

But - that’s for later - for reality - for when they have to actually tell the other what they want and how it’ll work and do we want to plant our roots? Do we want to grow? 

You wiggle against him - smiling as he nuzzles his face against your cheek. You grab his phone so you can replay Vienna. 

[saintshigaraki]

won’t you give me your cruelest smile

↳ DARK ACADEMIA TSUKISHIMA KEI 

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

word count: 1.4k

excerpt: 

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” He sounds far too pleased for your liking.

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.”

a/n: @yamagucji​​ said dark academia tsukki and my brain quite literally short circuited 

tags: enemies-ish to lovers (more like academic rivals to lovers), tsukki being an annoyingly smart condescending history major, reader goes through the five stages of grief when they realize they might actually li- 🤢 like him, a reference to the classic ‘ooooh you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid’ 

If there is a single, minuscule, barely visible silver lining in having Tsukishima as a partner for your quarter project it is that, without a doubt, he is smart. 

You have to admit, begrudgingly, that his intellect borders on genius-level which is something you use as silent proof to attest to your working theory that there is in fact, no god, or at the very least not a kind one, because if there was they wouldn’t be blessing gremlins like the one sitting across from you with a gift like that. 

He’s quiet now (after about an hour of telling you all the ways your interpretation was oh so very wrong) and content to stare at you lazily, his eyes half-lidded and filled with his specific brand of cruel amusement that leaves you wanting to do nothing more than smack his black-rimmed glasses right off his smug face. 

You take a deep breath and try desperately to quell the utterly unique type of rage he elicits in you, although as always, nothing you do ever quite manages to bring your boiling blood to a simmer. 

He’s twirling his expensive black pen between his stupidly long fingers. Every once in a while the light catches on the onyx stone of his pinky ring which somehow manages to flash directly in your eyes every time. He notices, of course. He notices everything. Which makes you think he’s doing it on purpose just to be an ass.

Which, admittedly, is perfectly in line with everything else he does so, you come to the frustrating conclusion that he most definitely is doing it on purpose. 

“You’re embarrassingly easy to rile up,” he says, interrupting your silent seething, his voice deep and smooth and absolutely dripping with condescending satisfaction. 

Your eyes flash up from the book you’d been only barely processing just to be met with his own golden-brown ones. He’s smirking down at you, of course. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear any other sort of expression. 

You want nothing more than to glare at him but that would just be proving his point so instead, you snap your book shut. It rings out loudly in the empty library. 

“It’s late. Let’s start this backup tomorrow.”

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” he sounds far too pleased for your liking. 

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.” 

He tilts his head back, exposing his long neck, and laughs. It’s so deep you feel it in your own chest. You just barely manage to suppress a shiver, which thank fuck, because he would’ve most definitely noticed it and you don’t think you’d be able to live that down. 

You make your way towards the front doors but not before he manages to slip on his wool coat and catch up to you, with ease of course, his long legs have become your number one enemy over the quarter because he always, always, catches up with you when you try to speed walk away from him. 

The autumn chill immediately settles into your bones, your skin prickles unpleasantly. You can see your breath in the night air. A shitty end to a shit day. 

You both head down the cobbled street in strangely comfortable silence. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he radiates and you’re silently thankful for it. 

You get to the fork in the path where he takes his way back to his dorm and you take yours but instead of peeling off left like he usually does he sticks to your side. 

You stop immediately and eye him up warily. “What are you doing?”

He rolls his eyes. “Asking idiotic questions doesn’t really suit you, you know.” 

You say nothing, content to narrow your eyes. 

He rolls his eyes again and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m walking you home, try not to be a brat about it.” 

“You never walk me home,” you point out, suspiciously. 

“You are rather good at pointing out the very obvious, aren’t you?” and before you can respond he already had turned on his heels and started walking. You have to half jog to catch up. 

You watch him out of the corner of your eye with the intent of trying to read his motive but you get stuck on the fact that his cheeks are flushed rather prettily from the cold. 

“You sure do love to stare, don’t you?” he asks rather conversationally. 

You’ve never wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole more in your entire life. Your cheeks burn hot even in the frigid cold. 

He notices. Of course he does. What does Tsukishima Kei not notice?

“No need to be embarrassed,” he needles cruelly. “Denial can be a brutal beast.”

You only barely manage to stop yourself from asking what exactly he means by that, what exactly he thinks you’re in denial about. 

But you know he wants nothing more than for you to ask so you take a sweet sort of satisfaction in not questioning him further, at least on that front. 

The rest of the walk back to your dorm is spent in less comfortable silence than before. There’s an odd sort of tension in the air, like a rope pulled so tight you can physically feel it starting to fray, getting ready to snap.

It comes to a head when, after getting to your building, instead of immediately going inside you find yourself looking down and shuffling your feet.

You know you should thank him, even if you didn’t ask him to walk you home. You guys never worked this late, you’d lost track of time (it’s scarily easy to lose track of time when arguing with Tsukishima) and you know it was nice of him to walk you home when he’d have to double back another 15 minutes in the freezing cold to get to his place. 

You know you should thank him. It’s the reasonable, polite thing to do. But it’s just so fucking hard to be reasonable and polite when Tsukishima Kei and his galaxy-sized ego are involved. No one in your entire life has been able to get under your skin as he has. It’s like he was perfectly crafted to be your own personal headache. 

You brave a glance up at him and find that he’s standing very, very close and staring, rather intensely, at you. A curiously amused gleam in his eye. 

Your mind stutters and then stops completely, going painfully blank. 

He’s so stupidly pretty. 

His skin is flawless, you’ve never once seen him with even a single pimple, his hair is the nicest pale-blond you’ve ever seen and it falls in perfect tufts against his forehead, but it’s his eyes that always make you shift from foot to foot. They’re such a unique shade of golden-brown, and now, shrouded in the dark and mere inches away from your own face, you’d swear on your life they were practically glowing.

“You’ve got something on your mind?” he asks, his tone anything but sweet. He’s so close you can smell the warm spice of his cologne and the ever-clinging scent of ancient books that seems to follow him wherever he goes. 

“I-” but you can’t seem to put together a coherent sentence. You don’t think you’ve ever hated someone so much in your life. 

Somehow, he’s managed to push in even closer. “You know what I think?”

No, you want to say, and I don’t want to know. Your heart is beating far too fast and you can’t explain why. 

(You know exactly why)

“I think you want to kiss me.”

And just like that the rope snaps and you’re viciously tugging him down by the collar of his too-nice coat so you can smash your lips against his. 

The kiss is brutal. Far too mean with too much teeth. At one point you taste the sting of iron and you can’t tell if the blood is his or yours. 

He backs you up against a wall without breaking the kiss. When he bites at your lip, no doubt cutting it open, you grab a fist full of his hair and tug cruelly and his responding groan tastes so sweet on your tongue. 

He doesn’t pull away until your lungs are screaming for air. 

He’s inches away from you, pupils blown wide, lips swollen (and a little bloody), and his hair is a mess. It’s the most out of sorts you’ve ever seen him. 

If you thought he was pretty before, he’s absolutely beautiful now. 

His smirk widens into a full blown smile and you understand now why he doesn’t show it often. It shows too many teeth, it’s downright wolfish. Predatory, even. 

You don’t really have time to think on it though before he pulls you into another bruising kiss. 

have some dark academia tsukishima headcanons while you’re here

he is without a doubt the most pretentious asshole you will ever meet and and you will HATE yourself for eventually finding him weirdly charming in any capacity

he is, of course, a history major which. if you have ever met pretentious male history majors you will know that this means he is a literal walking, talking, annoyingly tall headache

interrupts professors constantly. does it like he’s getting paid. will argue and argue and argue with them without that dumb condescending smirk ever, ever managing to slip off his face

(the worst part is, he’s honestly probably making a good point most of the time. but you’d quite literally rather die than admit that to him)

he is always walking around campus lazily flipping through leather bound books so old they’re cracked precariously at their spines, all on different ancient civilizations. you’d think that’d mean he’d be running into people but the student body collectively parts like the red sea for him which sets your teeth on edge.

he’s unbelievably arrogant and the worst part is its not baseless like you find yourself so desperately wishing it was

he IS smart, wickedly so. disgustingly, cruelly intelligent and he will use it to pick you apart piece by piece while that stupid fucking smirk stays glued on his face.

(you start to seriously question whether or not he’s even human because how can anyone keep the same, perfectly calculated expression for that long?)

always looks like he stepped straight out of some dark alternate universe vogue photoshoot with his constant rotation of black turtlenecks, long coats, and oxford loafers all tied together by the same 5 rings he’s never seen without, two of which are set with hefty onyx stones

you will be unlucky enough to be paired up with him for a project that will take all quarter long and multiple meet ups a week. when your professor announced your partner, you genuinely consider dropping the class and when you find out you wouldn’t be able to drop the class without switching majors, you genuinely consider switching majors

you don’t. and by the end of the quarter you’re really starting to question whether that was a good thing or not

[soramei]

Intentional - Part 2

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Landing your first real job at JYPE was something short of a miracle. You were prepared to face the new struggles of this elusive career whilst moving to a new country, however, nothing could have prepared you for him. Will stolen glances, secret touches, and hushed nights spent in the recording room ever be enough for the both of you?

Genre: idol!bang chan au, forbidden relationship, coworkers to eventual lovers, slow burn

Warnings: none right now, eventual smut,

Word Count: 5.2k

Masterlist

A/N: o my god i did not expect so many people to have read the first part… even if only one person reads im still happy :D anyways heres the second part (i swear bang chan wont just be a side character later on hhahaha)

The insistent beeping of the alarm on your phone was what first woke you up from your dazed sleep. Your head still pounded from the night before, and frankly, you were ready to get fired for an extra five minutes of sleep. Tapping the ‘cancel’ button on your phone, you flipped over head down on your pillow to find the beautiful dreamland you were in. However, after just five more minutes, the triggering beeping of your backup alarm took you out of your slumber again, this time really waking you up. 

You trudge towards your bathroom, still dreading the day, on your way to take a shower. Thankfully, the steam from the warm shower combined with the fragrant smell of your conditioner slightly woke you up and dampened the aching in your head. 

Being drastically more awake than before, you made your way over to your kitchen to prepare breakfast. You opened the fridge, mind blank, just staring at the empty shelves. I seriously need to do some grocery shopping, you thought before grabbing an egg. 

You struggled to turn on the stove, not knowing which knob correlated to which burner. Turning a random one, you flinched when an excessive amount of fire appeared. However, after an embarrassingly long amount of time, you finally figured out the stove. Why are there still gas range stoves when electrical stoves exist? You wondered. 

You looked at the sad cooked egg in front of you. 

Was this really how you were going to live from now on? You cursed your whole family for spoiling you so much back home. Sure you were grateful for being able to live with your family for twenty three years, but the consequences of your mother making a fuss when you tried to cook for yourself was really showing now. 

You were about to dig into your lonely meal when your phone buzzed all of a sudden. Taking a quick peek at it, you saw Na-eun’s name flash up. You beamed with joy. Although you already worked up the nerve to be the first one to contact her, you were thankful she did first to break the tension. However, there was a small — microscopic even — part of you that wondered: what if that were Bang Chan?

You unlocked your phone. 

Na-eun: Hey! I know it’s kinda last minute, but do you wanna meet for breakfast?

Na-eun: There’s a café five minutes away from the building. 

Na-eun: ^-^

Smiling to yourself, you quickly typed a reply.

Y/n: Sure! My breakfast looks too sad to eat… 

Y/n: ^-^

In a flash, you stuffed your egg into a plastic tupperware container and put it in the empty fridge before booking it out your door, making sure to carefully enter the passcode to lock it before running to the staircase. You almost tripped over the stairs going down as you tried to sprint and text Na-eun at the same time. Checking the maps app on your phone, you told her how long it would take for you to arrive at the café. 

Na-eun: Do you mind if I bring my roommate? She keeps complaining about how boring it is at home haha.... 

Na-eun: She’s really nice though! ^^;

You happily agreed since you weren’t in the position to turn down another potential friend. Already two potential friends? You were so excited. 

There was a bounce in your steps as you made your way down to the subway. Scanning your card, you made your way to the big group of people on the platform and waited for your train. Taking the subway was so new, yet refreshing. There was something exciting about seeing a brand new set of people board the cart every stop, it was almost like refreshing your Instagram feed over and over again. 

After just a couple minutes more of waiting, your subway came. You naturally found your way in by shuffling along with the flock of people and found a good place to stand. 

You surveyed your cart. Some high school students, a few elderly, and many many businesspeople dressed in attire very similar to you. They all seemed to be busy on their cellular devices, so you quickly pulled yours out as well, eager to blend in. Your little Tamagotchi friend was happy to see you. 

The sound of the automated woman’s voice was what drew you out of your concentration, as she announced that the subway would be stopping at your destination next. When the subway stopped, the sea of people rushed out in a big tidal wave and you just went along with the flow. 

The map posted on a big pillar in the station was difficult to read at first, but after embarrassingly asking a station officer, you were confident you knew where you were going. The station was big with many interwoven hallways, each connecting to a different location. It had a couple shops and convenience stores located along the sides where students running late could buy some bread or tired businesspeople could inject their early morning dose of caffeine. 

You weaved your way through the long halls, confident that you could remember how you got out the right exit yesterday. Finally, after passing by many familiar stores and signs, you eventually made it above ground at the right exit. It was a cloudy September morning, the wind flew past you at just the right speed to elicit a slight shiver. You curse yourself for not bringing a jacket in your rush to the café. The streets were busy with cars zooming by, but it was nowhere near as congested as the subway traffic.

You started following your phone’s GPS to the marked location, and after a couple minutes, you spot the café. You immediately recognized it as a chain café as you’ve seen a few more of these scattered around the city as you got around. This one, however, appeared to be larger than the others (presumably because it was near so many big name companies) as it had three floors in total. 

You texted Na-eun, telling her you’ve arrived. She let you know that they were both in one of the booths on the second floor, so you decided to order before heading up. Walking over to the cashier, you scanned their massive menu, trying to find what you were looking for.

“One mango juice, please.” You politely ordered. “And also a slice of the red velvet cake.”  

After you had paid, you waited patiently, hands folded in front of you for your food. Because it wasn’t busy in the morning, it wasn’t that long until one of the baristas handed your food to you on a tiny plastic tray and you started making your way up. You reached the top floor and scanned your eyes around the room to find a familiar face. 

“Y/n!” Na-eun waved.

You waved back and made your way over. She was in the booth, and there was another girl sitting beside her. 

“Y/n, this is my roommate Yoojin.” She smiled at you and made a gesture towards the smaller girl sitting beside her. She was a fluffy haired girl. Her appearance was puppy-like, with her wide eyes and a large smile that was almost too big for her face. 

“Hi Yoojin.” You said as you sat down. 

“Hi Y/n! Na-eun told me about you yesterday. It seems like you have similar jobs.” She looked back at you with wide eyes. “But I think you got luckier because you actually get to interact with the idols.” 

“I think both of us are lucky to even be working there,” you chuckled, “plus, I don’t actually get to be working directly with the artists. I could only wish.” You joked. 

“Still extremely lucky, Na-eun told me she saw Bang Chan and Felix from Stray Kids at your building’s cafeteria yesterday.” Her hair bounced. “Finally, now I can say I’ve indirectly met famous people.” 

You and Na-eun both laughed. Although Yoojin looked the same age as you, there was something about the way she acted that just seemed so precious and innocent — like a little sister. How old was she anyway?

“Yoojin’s younger than me by a few years,” Na-eun said as if she read your thoughts, “She graduated university a year early. Top of her programming class. She knows everything about technology; one time, I stupidly forgot the passcode to my P.O. box and she cracked it for me in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Stop it.” Yoojin whined, looking down and playfully hitting Na-eun on the shoulder. “I told you before that I don’t like it when you talk about me. Let’s talk about Y/n instead. Na-eun told me you’re not from here, what do you do at JYPE then?” 

“I’m an assistant to help market some of the artists in China.” You leaned in a bit. “Actually, to be honest, I’m working on a secret project and Bang Chan from Stray Kids is technically part of the team.” 

Both Yoojin and Na-eun’s eyes widened. “No way, you’re so lucky.” Yoojin said. “Why can’t you have a job like that?” She poked at Na-eun.

“Get your own job first,” Na-eun smirked, “then we can talk about mine.”  

“Hey! I do have a job.” Yoojin clenched her jaw, looking at her plate and avoiding eye contact.

“I’m not sure if talking to people online all day counts as a job.” 

“Whatever.” Yoojin swirled her fork on her plate, stabbing at a piece of her cake. The scraping of metal on ceramic made all of you wince. 

“Anyways,” you started, trying to change the atmosphere, “did anybody watch the first episode of that new drama?” 

The two girls seemed to have a mood switch, looking relieved to start a new conversation. They gladly added their input and opinions on the new drama, talking about both the plot and the actors. Time passed by twice as fast as the three of you sat at the booth talking about the most random things. However, it was soon time to go to work for both you and Na-eun. 

“Hey, before you leave, could I get your number?” Yoojin asked. “We should hang out again sometime.”  

You gladly typed your contact into her phone, excited to hang out with Yoojin again. She was so full of energy, it reminded you of your university days. Not to mention that fluffy curly hair. It was so cute. 

You and Na-eun both made it out of the café and walked side-by-side over to your building before parting ways at the elevator corridor. It was a miracle that you managed to arrive at your cubicle in time, without getting lost. There was a pile of papers on your desk; they were the files you worked on yesterday. You remember that yesterday Manager Chen marked some improvements that could be made to the papers, but you checked your email just to be sure. 

Hello Y/n,

I put the documents from yesterday on your desk for some final edits. I’ve also added a few more. Could you finish them all by the end of the day?

Best, 

Manager Chen

You flipped through the stack of documents, and sure enough, there were about five more letters that needed to be worked on. Feeling determined, you gritted your teeth, got out your pen, and started to do your job. 

There were more corrections to make than what you expected, plus, you wanted to make sure your work was perfect this time. You skipped a trip to the cafeteria for lunch and ate something from the vending machine at your desk instead. You tried your best to work diligently, but because of your inexperience, it was taking longer than expected. You lost track of time as the hours passed by. 

“Your team is working hard today, Manager Chen.” A voice came from across the room. You looked up from your stack of documents to see Manager Kim walking over towards Manager Chen, who was standing casually outside her office doors. 

“What can I say, I keep them busy.” She replied. “Are you heading home now?” 

“Yes, and so should you.” Manaker Kim stopped at your cubicle, putting a hand on the wall. It was cat-like the way he looked at you. “Y/n, you’re working hard. Are you going home now? I’ll give you a ride.” 

You couldn’t head home now, not with the amount of work you still had with the new letters Manager Chen added to the pile. “Thank you for the offer, Manager Kim, but I’ll stay later today. I need to finish this work by today.” 

“Let her be, Manager Kim, you know how new employees are.” Manager Chen nagged and crossed her arms. “Come, I’ll walk you to the parking lot.” 

You bowed at both your managers and stretched your back before getting back to your work. The black lines of both languages started to blur into one as you strained your eyes to hold a tighter focus on the documents. It wasn’t until two more gruesome hours later when you finished your work. You did a long deserved stretch of the arms and checked the clock for the time, praying that it wasn’t too late. Thankfully, with the time being only eight, it wasn’t that dark out. You took a quick peek at your phone to check your notifications before leaving the office. 

There were only two texts sent fifteen minutes ago. Both from Bang Chan. 

Your chest tightened when you unlocked your phone. 

Bang Chan: Hey, I know it’s a bit late, but I have some ideas for the project and I was thinking we could meet up to discuss them

Bang Chan: Only if you want that is…

Your brain was in jumbles as you thought of what to text back. There were a couple staff that wrote you emails about their ideas for the project, but none of them asked to meet in person. And now, the first person who asked you to have a meeting in person was Bang Chan. Whom you rode back to your apartment drunk with. On your first day at work. And now you missed his work-related text by fifteen minutes. However, even though it was late, you still felt like you needed to take his ideas in. After all, like Manager Chen said, you know how new employees are. 

Y/n: Hi, sorry my reply is late… Are you still free? 

You anxiously stared at the blue-lit screen of your phone, jumping in and out of the text app waiting for a reply. After less than a minute, you saw the little dots at the bottom which indicated that he was typing. It disappeared for a moment, only to come back less than a second later. Your thumbs started unconsciously fiddling with one another in front of your phone screen as you waited for what felt like eternity. 

Bang Chan: It’s alright haha 

Bang Chan: There’s a cafe about 5 minutes from our building, wanna meet there? 

You immediately knew which café he was talking about as you conveniently hung out with Na-eun there this morning. You texted Bang Chan back, letting him know that you would be there as soon as possible. You grabbed your bag, along with your trusty pen and notebook,  before leaving your desk for the elevators. The elevator ride was unusually fast as it was already well past working hours for most people.  

Once you were out of the building, you made your way down the familiar sidewalk, passing by the familiar street shops as you felt the bite of the wind against your face. The sky was becoming dim as the sun made its descent, but the illumination coming from the streetlamps helped guide you there. After five minutes of a brisk walk, you saw the familiar sign of the café. You also saw a familiar person standing outside the door, dressed in all black, with his head down looking at his phone. 

You tried to make your footsteps slightly louder the closer you got to him in order to make your presence known. It seemed to have worked, as Bang Chan heard you and turned his head up. He immediately gave you a boyish grin, putting his phone in the pocket of his hoodie and pulling his face mask down to his chin. 

“Hey,” You waved awkwardly, “did I make you wait long?”

“Not at all.” Bang Chan said as he held open the door, “Let’s go in, it’s pretty chilly today.” 

You thanked him and walked inside. You both made your way to the cashier and looked up at the menu, deciding on what to buy. 

“I think I’ll get an iced americano.” Bang Chan said. “Are you getting anything?”

“Hmm. I might get the mango juice.” You decided and lined up behind Bang Chan, waiting for him to order first. 

Bang Chan walked up to the waiting barista. “Hello, I’ll get an iced americano please.” A second passed. “Also a mango juice.” 

Your eyes widened as you silently tried to stop him from buying your drink, feeling embarrassed that Bang Chan — who was essentially your coworker — was buying your drink. He didn’t seem to notice your quiet protests, as he pulled his card out of his wallet and quickly tapped it on the pin pad. After he was done paying, he turned around and tucked his card back in his wallet, giving you a smug grin. 

“I’ll pay you back later.” You insisted, embarrassed once again that he was doing something for you. 

“Of course, of course.” He casually replied and stood beside you with his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “I’ll wait for our drinks. You can go find a table.” 

You nodded and left to find a table on the first floor. Surprisingly, there were more people there at night than when you were there in the morning. Some people had their textbooks out to study, some were quietly enjoying a book. Some were on dates. 

Finally, after weaving through many fully filled tables, you found an empty one near the table. You sat down, taking out your pen and notebook to prepare for Bang Chan’s ideas. Not long after, you saw Bang Chan walking around, turning his head left and right to look for you. You caught his eye as you waved at him to come over. He strolled over and put the tray of drinks down on the table, placing yours beside your notebook. 

“So,” You took a sip of your delicious mango juice, “do you wanna get started now?” 

“Sure.” His usually friendly face turned serious. It seemed like he took his work seriously. “So I was thinking, we need to film some content to start promoting our debut right? How about we film content for the Mid-Autumn Festival? It falls on the same day as Chuseok, so we can use this as a small promotion for our debut.” 

You nodded in agreement. Although this idea would be a little last minute to carry out, it was a great opportunity to promote their group in order to gain more popularity before their debut in China. “This is a great idea Bang Chan,” You hurriedly jotted down everything he said, “did you have more to add on?”  

“We could make several episodes of this content. I was thinking we could camp in the mountains and maybe cook some food, make mooncakes.” 

“All of this is really good, we have three weeks until the actual Mid-Autumn Festival. If I rush this idea to Manager Chen, we could have one week to plan it, and two weeks to film and produce it.” You beamed, glad that you could be involved in a potential big production. 

You and Bang Chan kept discussing his idea for content, and as time passed, your conversation turned more casual as it eventually evolved into topics unrelated to work.

“So, why are you having coffee this late anyway?” You tipped your chin towards his glass. 

“There’s this part of a song I’m working on that I just can’t get perfect,” Bang Chan noticeably clenched his jaw, “I wanna figure it out before I leave.” 

“Do you usually stay up late to work?” You asked. 

“I can’t sleep anyways, so I might as well work.” 

“Insomnia?” You questioned. He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his coffee. A few seconds of silence passed. “You know, my mom made me pack some of her special tea before leaving. She said it was for jet lag, which is weird because there’s only a time difference of an hour here.” You rambled. 

“Oh?” Bang Chan tipped his head. 

“I could give you some tomorrow.” You said. Your eyes wandered everywhere except to him. “If you want.” 

“Really, you’d do that?” His eyes widened as he stirred his coffee with his straw. 

It may have been your subconscious need to make friends, or just the fact that you mom gave you so much tea for your non-existent jet lag, but you gladly offered your mom’s solve-all remedy. “Of course, anything for a friend.” 

He blinked a couple times. He stopped stirring his coffee. “Thanks.” He looked at you with a slight grin. 

“Plus, this way I can pay you back.” You teased. 

“Okay, fair enough.” He chuckled. A dimple appeared on his cheek as his smile widened. “But seriously, you don’t need to worry about paying me back for anything next time.” 

Next time? You wondered. Of course he would have more ideas for his own group. You wanted to roll your eyes at yourself. It seemed like, despite his easy-going personality, that he cared a lot about not only his job, but the boys he worked with. His work ethic inspired you and made you want to work just as hard as he did. Except you definitely couldn’t stay up as late as he did. 

The two of you kept up the back and forth that was established, talking about whatever came to mind, with a few sprinklings of work-related conversations throughout. You talked about your first day impressions and how well you were adjusting to life in a new country, and he retaliated by sharing his own experiences of moving across the world. You were so enraptured by your riveting conversations that you easily lost track of time. It wasn’t until you had already spent minutes playing around with your straw in the empty glass that you finally remembered how late it was.

“It’s kinda late, I think I should get going now.” You said as you checked your phone for the time. 

“Are you taking the subway?” He asked as he started gathering the empty glasses. “It’s pretty dark now — I could walk you there.”

“It’s alright. I don’t wanna take time from your work” You said, gathering your notebook and pen. 

“It’s no problem, really, it’s just a five minute walk.” He stood up with the tray of empty glasses in one hand and pulled up his face mask with the other.

The two of you left the café and walked the short distance to the subway stairs.  There, you parted ways and you started your trek home. Taking the subway at night was vastly different from morning; the morning rush was filled with rows and rows of busy people, whereas the night train had a completely different feeling to it. There were actually available seats, to begin with. You found an empty seat and took out your phone to kill time. You checked your missed notifications.

Yoojin: Hi Y/n!! ^-~ Today was so fun, we should go again sometime! 

You smiled at the little text from Yoojin, visioning her wide smile stretch across her face. Texting a quick reply back, you were about to put your phone back down when another notification popped up. 

Unknown: Stay away from him. This is a warning.  

A flash of panic rushed through your body making your chest tighten. Your heart was coming out of your chest, the beating was so hard you could hear it even in the running subway. Completely fixated on the bright white of your phone, your eyes strained from the light. Adrenaline filled your blood, and in the spur of the moment, you quickly blocked the number and deleted the text chain. It had to just be a prank text, after all, you have gotten pranked through text multiple times before in your past. 

You put your phone down slowly, turning your head to survey your subway cart for any suspicious acting people. There was only a grandma with her cane and a few middle school girls comparing their new lip tints. Your thumbs naturally started fiddling with each other. Your eyebrows knit together as you clutched your bag tight to your body for the rest of the subway ride. 

The walk back to your apartment was done carefully. You chose the side of the sidewalk with more light as you kept your senses open, trying to remember the face of every person that walked past you. Although it was more likely than not that the text was just a prank, you were still somebody living alone with very few connections in a new country. Your legs quickened at the thought and you hurried your way back.

Arriving at your apartment door, you carefully entered your lock combination and slammed your door shut, double checking that it was locked. Your home was dark, with only the moon casting long shadows on your furniture. You quickly switched your light on. You tried to put this text to the back of your mind as you got ready to sleep, but it loomed, feeling like a shadow cast by the moon. The shadow in your mind stayed as you closed your eyes, waiting for your sleep to chase it away. 

The next morning, you woke up to the obnoxious beeping of your alarm. You sleepily sat up, getting ready to perform your familiar morning routine. Everything felt like routine, so monotonous that the text from last night was completely forgotten. You opened the fridge and ate your suspicious egg from yesterday morning. 

Before leaving, you suddenly remembered to bring your mom’s magical tea. You rummaged through the cupboards until you found the ridiculous packaging your mom insisted on using. 

The route to work was already starting to feel familiar as you mindlessly made your way from your quaint apartment all the way to the opulent blue building. You entered the office and sat at your desk, checking for new emails. After nothing of immediate importance came up, you got out your notebook and started to type up your notes from yesterday. 

You were in a trance. The repetitive task of reading and typing completely hypnotised you as hours passed by without you even noticing. What broke you out of your trance, however, was the voice of your boss. 

“Bang Chan.” Manager Chen called out. You looked up from your monitor and peeked up from your cubicle to see the familiar hair of a certain man you knew. Assuming he was here for a meeting with Manager Chen, you went back to your hypnotising work. The walls of your cubicle were too high for him to see you anyways — something about eliminating distractions to maximise work efficiency. 

You hit ‘enter’ on your keyboard to start a new paragraph when all of a sudden, you spotted an object appear on your desk from the corner of your eye. 

A bottle of mango juice. 

Quickly turning your head around, you were met with Bang Chan’s back. He was already making strides towards Manager Chen, but something about the sway of his broad shoulders and the way his right hand stretched open told you that it was him who gave you this little bottle of happiness. You unscrewed the lid and took a sip before getting back to work.  

Thankfully, the gift you received was enough sugar content to keep you working efficiently for the rest of the day. You had finished all your work and could hopefully pitch Manager Chen the idea by tomorrow. You found your mom’s tea in your bag while gathering your stuff, remembering your promise to Bang Chan. 

Y/n: Hey, I have my mom’s tea — I could give it to you right now?

There was a reply almost immediately. 

Bang Chan: Sure ^^ I’m in a practice room on floor X right now, I’ll wait by the elevators. 

You made your way over to the elevators and tapped your nails on the package of tea whilst silently waiting for an elevator to arrive. The silence, however, was promptly cut off as your phone started to ring. It was from Yoojin. She probably wants to hang out soon, you thought as you happily answered right away. 

“Y/n!” Yoojin yelled into the phone, she sounded worried. 

“Yoojin, is there something wrong?” You frowned, concerned for the girl. 

“I-I was in the parking lot near your building, a-and I fell down the stairs.” She sniffed. “I think I sprained my ankle or something — I can’t stand up. It hurts so much.” 

“Oh god, Yoojin, do you want me to come help?” You were in the elevator by now, already pressing the button for the main floor. 

“If you’re not far, I don’t want to trouble you.” You heard sounds of her wincing. 

“It’s no trouble Yoojin,” You exclaimed, “your ankle is much more important now. I’ll be right there.” 

“Thank you Y/n.” You heard her sniff again through the phone. 

You bolted out of the elevator as soon as it reached the main floor, stuffing your forgotten package in your bag. Ignoring the looks of confusion of the people you sprinted past, you located the parking lot building as soon as you left the main doors of the JYPE building. Your chest burned and your breaths were heavy. 

You were worried for Yoojin. She seemed like such a sweet girl that it pained you to even imagine her hurt in any sort of way. With her fluffy hair and wide eyes, it made you feel like you were helping an injured puppy. 

Your legs felt like concrete after a while of running, but you finally made it to the parking lot building. Entering the parking lot, you looked for any sign of a staircase where Yoojin said she fell on. There were none. 

“Excuse me, where are the stairs to this parking lot?” You asked the parking lot attendant, assuming it was just hidden somewhere. 

“There are no stairs here,” He said, “if you want to get to the second floor, there is an elevator over there.” He pointed to the other side of the lot. 

You thanked the man and ran to the elevator, hoping Yoojin wasn’t too hurt by now. You’ve experienced injuries like these before whilst playing sports back home, they hurt like hell. Your breathing was staggered by the time you reached the elevator, however, you didn’t give up and kept looking around trying to find the girl. There was nobody. You were about to call Yoojin again just to make sure you were in the correct place, but a voice interrupted you. 

“Y/n.” 

It was Manager Kim.

[imtryingmybeskar]

Chapter Six of In Time. 5.5k words. 18+ only. Discussions of sex and sexuality abound.

Pero's incongruous words

C 1200 - kitchen, besides, unlike, boot, fellow, C1300 - clear (of sight), vanish, soldier, few, cold, desire, early 13C - chatter (as in gossip), early 14C - willing, mid 14C - honourable, although, late 14C - bawdy

Taglist: @mishasminion360

We are now beginning to see Pero adopt words that are more modern to him, but not necessarily to us. For example "news", as in tidings is from the early 15C. I'm not going to list all of these because obviously, the longer Pero stays the more his speech will adapt. Hence the shorter word lists! But can I just say the words jest (specifically to mean joke) and joke are 16th century and 17th century respectively and man is it hard to find an old English replacement!

Also *SPOILER ALERT* I had the "Dental Plan/Lisa needs braces" Simpsons thing going through my head a LOT this chapter. Except it was Pero needs glasses.

The blaring insistence of your alarm startled you from sleep and you blearily groped around for your phone on your bedside table to switch it off.

"Morning, Pero," you mumbled sleepily. "Did you-" But Pero wasn't next to you. You put your hand out to feel where his body had been lying and it was barely warm anymore. "Pero?" you called stupidly as you sat up. He wasn't in the room, but a waft of what smelt decidedly like breakfast suddenly drifted past your nose. A panic briefly seized you that he was using the kitchen unattended, and you had put your slippers on and stumbled your way to the door before you paused. The smoke alarm hadn't gone off. He had been a soldier for a long time, and therefore was good at following instructions. And as he had reminded you yesterday, he wasn't a child. You had to let him do things for himself. You used the bathroom and smoothed your hair down so it wasn't quite so manic around your head before heading downstairs.

The delay, in retrospect, might have been a mistake.

The kitchen was...a sight. Just about every kitchen utensil you possessed was laid out across the counter tops, some used and some not. All of the windows were open, the breeze blowing through not entirely enough to mask the departing smell of burning. Eggshells were discarded here and there across the counters, and a couple had even ended up on the floor. There was bacon beginning to sizzle in the frying pan and Pero was hard at work beating what looked like a full dozen eggs in your cake mixing bowl with a palette knife that you also used for baking. He grinned happily when he saw you, and any mild annoyance you might have felt at the mess melted away at the sight.

"Good morn," he greeted you. "I wished to make you your morning meal in thanks for your kindness." His eyes seemed to suddenly catch on the chaos radiating from his person and his eyes lingered on it briefly before coming back to you. "I shall make your kitchen clean once more when we have ate," he added hurriedly.

"Thank you," you said, not quite able to mask the relief in your voice that you wouldn't have to clean the mess. "What are you making?" you added. "It smells good."

Your praise lit up his face again. "A thing I came across on my travels and liked very much. I hope you will like it also."

You picked the whisk up from the counter and gave it to him. "Try this," you urged gently. "You might find it easier to work the eggs this way." He threw the palette knife into the sink, where it joined a host of other knives, forks, spoons and bowls that had not been there when you went to bed, and he took the whisk from you, beaming even more broadly when the egg began to behave more as he wanted it. "I never took you for a chef, Pero," you commented.

"Chef?"

"A cook."

"I learn many a thing on my travels," he replied. "Do you have the grains of paradise?"

"The what?"

"It is a spice, used much in France. Or-" he caught himself "-was used."

You shook your head in bafflement. "That's an excellent name, but I have never heard of it before."

He nodded. "O..K...do you have any mace?"

"Mace?!"

"Yes, mace." At your confused look, he added. "Perhaps it is called something different now."

You brought out your phone and did a quick search. "Ahhh," you said, finally comprehending. "Part of nutmeg?"

"Yes," he said, eyeing your phone cautiously. "The little box told you this?"

"Yes, but we'll talk about that later, I promise. I don't think I have any nutmeg, I am sorry. I thought you were asking me for a different thing. Mace now is also a name of a weapon that police use."

"Police?"

"Uh...we'll talk about that later too. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

You provided him with salt, fresh parsley, chives, chilli powder and black pepper, the latter of which he was especially delighted that you had so much of. He had already chopped onions and tomatoes and added those too. After you had helped him with these, he politely shooed you out of your kitchen. "I wish to make you this myself, coneja," he said, as the bacon on the stove spat oil so hard out of the pan that you thought it might set fire to the tea towel on the side. As you made to point it out to him, he shook his head and pointed out of the kitchen. You held your hands up in defeat and left, sitting on the edge of your couch in a state of definite trepidation that you would hear a crash, or a scream, or something go up in flames at any moment.

Pero emerged twenty minutes later with plates laden with what looked very much like a frittata, perfectly cooked and golden with the bacon, tomato, onions and herbs peeking from the middle of it. He looked at you anxiously as you took the first bite, and while you had been prepared to eat it politely whatever it tasted like, you were overwhelmed by how truly delicious it was. "Thank you, Pero. This is amazing!" you sighed happily, and he visibly relaxed.

"I am glad that you like it. There is more within. I tried at first to make what you did yesterday. But I did burn the bread. That..." He muttered under his breath in Spanish as he tried to remember the correct word. "That...machine...that cooks the bread lies. You put it on a small number and it does not cook. You put it to the next number and it is black!"

You giggled. "Welcome to the twenty first century. We can go to the moon, but we still can't make a toaster that toasts perfectly!" At your words Pero's mouth had fallen open, his eyes were wide and his eyebrows were almost lost in his hair line. "Oh," you said. "Yes. Um. People landed on the moon. No one lives there or anything, but people have been. Its not like visiting the next town. I'll never get to go. You need lots of training and stuff. But its happened."

"The moon?" he choked. "Th-the moon-" He seemed to lose the ability to complete his sentence and instead waved vaguely in an upward direction.

You nodded. "During your stay, we will go to London if you want to. Obviously it is very different from your time. But some things survive. The keep that William the First built is still there. Expanded, but still standing. And there are lots of museums - places where people can go to learn about different things. There is one about Science and it has a real piece of the moon in there. You can't touch it, but you can look."

As you had been speaking, his gaze had gone from slightly incredulous astonishment to keen restlessness. "We can go this day?" he asked eagerly. You shook your head and his face fell.

"I'm sorry Pero, but I have to work today. But I'm due some holiday and I'll ask if I can take it. We can go soon, I promise."

"What is the work you do?" he asked.

"Its about shipping. Sending things to other countries. Its not that interesting. But it will be a good opportunity to tell you about the internet..."

The discussion about the internet went more smoothly and quickly than you had anticipated, largely because Pero seemed bizarrely uninterested in it beyond fascination at the concept. You showed him how to use search engines, bringing up news stories and weather forecasts for him, to which he asked why he would need to worry about the weather when your house was always warm and dry. You showed him some social media sites and briefly explained how they worked, emphasising that he should absolutely not engage with people online until he knew a little more about it all. He had looked baffled and grumpily asked why he should want to speak to people that he didn't know on the other side of the world. You also explained to him about scammers and the importance of not clicking any links that he came across. To that he had asked why you seemed so keen on the internet if it was so full of hazards, to which you didn't really have a satisfactory answer beyond telling him it was fun (at which answer he gave you another dubious look). Instead you moved on to-

"Clothes, Pero. We are going to buy you some new clothes and shoes. Give me a second..." The tape measure was finally located in a random drawer in the kitchen and Pero stood acceptably still while you measured him. Once you had all the information you needed, you took him through several websites trying to get him to choose some pieces he liked, an endeavour which sadly failed before it had ever got going.

"I care not how I look to others," he informed you, stiffly. "And besides," he added in a more gentle tone, "I shall not be here eternal, coneja. I give me over to what you think best." And with that he wandered off to the kitchen to clear up the breakfast mess, leaving you with a slightly sad feeling with his lack of engagement with what you were trying to do. Within half an hour you had ordered him some jeans, more jogging bottoms, t shirts, a couple of actual shirts, socks and underwear and some trainers. Just before you sat down to begin work, you dug out some books for him and tried to provide him with a range of works throughout time - The Canterbury Tales, some collected Shakespeare, Frankenstein, Wuthering Heights and A Tale of Two Cities. He took the books with great care and veneration when you presented them to him and thanked you solemnly before seating himself on your sofa and beginning to peruse them.

As you settled down and began your work, he settled on Chaucer to begin with, having apparently listened to your advice that it might be the closest to the written English he was already accustomed to. The movement of him in your peripheral vision kept distracting you, and you couldn't help but notice that he was bringing the book very close to his face as he tried to read.

"Um...are you alright, Pero?"

He shook his head in evident annoyance. "The words on the page. They are small. And not clear. They dance away from my eyes."

"Huh." You sat next to him, grabbed a magazine from your table and asked him to read the name of it. He did so easily. You grabbed another, with smaller font and stood further away, repeating the experiment. This time, he struggled. "Pero, I think you need glasses." His brow knit in confusion. "Give me a second." Your own glasses were in a case in your bag. You had used your contact lenses the previous evening, having assumed the glasses would be somewhat incongruous in Pero's time. You showed them to him and then put them on. He so nearly got away with it. But you saw the distinct wobble that passed over his lips and when you raised your eyebrow in question, he cracked and burst out laughing - a sound that was still very unfamiliar to you.

"What are these things?" he gasped. "They make you look so unlike yourself, coneja! And-" He moved his head in front of you side to side, the better to see. "They make parts of your face look strange and small when I move like this. How...what..."

"Alright, alright," you said, slightly stung by his laughter and benign mocking. "Put them on." You offered them to him.

"Me?! Oh no, I think not-"

"They might help you read the words better," you said gently. He looked at you uncertainly and with a degree of suspicion, but after a few seconds took them and wore them as you had. His brow furrowed again and he stared around the room, the movements of his head jerky and bird-like.

"I...this...This is so strange," he muttered. "They make some things clearer and others less so. What are they? What do they mean?"

"They mean that we should probably get you to the opticians. And a doctor in general, to be honest."

"Optisseen? Doctor?"

"Ummm a healer? To give you medicine?" His face cleared and he chuckled again.

"But I am hale and have no hurt. I need no...doctor."

"Medicine has moved on too, Pero. Your time is still all about the four humours, right? But remember what I said about germs?"

"Yes. But I am still not sure I believe that there are small living things all around that we cannot see and that make us sick. This doctor. Does he do battle with these...germs?"

"In a way. But my point is that sometimes you don't know you're sick until someone looks over you. Its called a checkup. Its good to do." He was still looking at you with overt cynicism so you added, "There's a reason that lots of people live to be a hundred or more now. Our medicine. And our understanding of sickness."

"I am not sure I would wish to live to be one hundred if it means I need to wear these," he harrumphed, taking the glasses from his face and handing them back to you. "Can we not simply be, coneja?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." he paused and seemed to gather his thoughts. "I mean that since I am here one thing must always follow from some other thing. I must take my boots off so I can then come in your house. I must look at the weather on your little box before I go out. I must visit a doctor before I can read your books. Can you not just do a thing and it is done? Without another thing that must be done?"

"I...don't really know how to answer that. I'm just trying to help. Make you more comfortable. But you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. Except taking your boots off. I'm not having chicken shit and mud in my carpet."

He huffed a laugh and nodded his understanding. "Go back to your work, coneja. I will look more upon these words. Please leave these things, these...glasses. I will use them if needs be."

Pero was quiet for the rest of the morning, barring the few occasions he asked you questions about the literature in front of him. You answered as best you could, but once you started to come up short, you handed him your phone again. "This is partly what the internet is for," you told him. "Imagine the biggest library in the world. You can look anything up from here." He grudgingly took it from you, initially holding it as if it might explode at any minute. When you had seen that he could use it independently, you left him to it again, losing yourself for a while in a particularly tricky order. When you resurfaced, you looked over at Pero and your heart plummeted at the expression on his face.

"Pero? What's wrong?" you asked as you stood from your place at the table, intending to come and sit next to him.

"No...no. Stay there." His voice sounded hoarse, sickly, a little high pitched.

"Okay. But tell me, please?"

"I...you...this box. It is...I just..." His voice trailed off again and you finally noticed his strange positioning on the couch. Almost as if he was trying to hide himself from you. As colour began to suffuse his cheeks, you were suddenly struck with a terrible thought.

"Pero. What did you type into the box?" He couldn't meet your gaze. His lips were pressed tightly together, as if he were afraid of what might come out if he opened his mouth. You took a guess. "Pero. Did you see naked people?"

His eyes immediately shot to you accusingly. "You said that people were not shameless in this time. This...this is not shameless?!"

You sighed. "To be fair, I thought I'd have longer than this before I'd have to explain. I guess I should have known better. But come on. People draw pictures and write about sex in your time, don't they? It's just a...logical step from that. People still make babies the same way they always did. We just have more choices about it now. And a lot of people are more open now too. And some people like to watch stuff like that. Just out of interest, what did you type in?" Your tone was breezier than you felt and you were inwardly hoping that the poor man hadn't seen anything too out there or distressing. He dropped his gaze again and muttered something that you didn't catch and when you asked him to repeat it, he huffed and visibly steeled himself before replying.

"I saw a bird in your garden. In Spanish it is alionin. I wished to know what the name was in English."

"Okay so...oh. Oh Pero." You clamped your lips together in an attempt to stop the juvenile grin that was threatening to spill across your face. "That wouldn't be some sort of tit would it?" Pero seemed to have finally got control of himself. He murmured something again as he handed you your phone before stalking off to the kitchen, the only word of which you caught was "shameless." "Okay well, we'll just use the internet together from now on, yeah?" you called after him, and had to stifle your giggle at the grouchy and indistinct mutterings that met your suggestion.

The rest of the day passed much more smoothly. Pero read some more, and then insisted on watching Murder She Wrote while you ate a lunch of ham salad together. He screwed his face up at some of the vegetables, saying that they tasted wrong to him. You supposed that even after washing them, perhaps a scent of the plastic they had been wrapped in or the pesticides that had covered them while they were grown lingered. Even if you bought exclusively organic and expensive food while he stayed with you, you suspected you would have the same problem. After explaining this to him, he pondered and then waved your concerns away.

"I am your guest, coneja. I will take what you give. I did not mean to be unthankful and I apologise."

"You don't need to apologise. I'm more concerned about you. Your body isn't used to these chemicals. What if I damage you in some way?"

"You said it yourself, people live long here. These...chemicals. I am sure they will not cause too much harm in the little time I am here." He changed the subject quickly afterward and you found yourself with a lingering sadness in your chest that he seemed so focused on getting back to his time. You supposed you couldn't blame him. It was his home and he was bound to miss it, no matter how adeptly he seemed to be adjusting to modern life. You had no doubt that you would be desperate to get back to here if you were stuck there. "So...coneja," he said with curiosity in his voice. "Where did you put my clothes? Did they vanish into the hole in your kitchen?"

Your eyes grew wide. "I totally forgot about them Pero, I'm sorry. Well, come with me and see how washing happens now." You showed him the washing tablets and he prodded them in a vaguely mistrustful sort of way, muttering about the strange blue liquid within. When the washing machine started up he flinched, and then peered with fascination through the fish bowl of the window. Once the water began moving around and he could see the clothes mixing with the soap he let out a laugh and plonked himself down cross legged in front of it. "You...you want to watch the washing?" you asked him. He nodded, not taking his eyes off the show in front of him. "Okay. Have fun. I have to get back to work. Just a warning. It gets kind of loud and shaky toward the end. Don't be scared, its supposed to." He nodded again and you departed back to your work laptop, smiling to yourself at his choice of entertainment.

He inhaled with gusto over the washing basket once the cycle had finished and the damp clothes were taken out of the machine. "This smell. It is strange. But nice. Do you have a machine that makes them dry too?"

"The same machine does it. But since its sunny and nice, I prefer to hang them outside to dry. It uses less energy."

"Energy?"

"We can discuss climate change if you want, but it will take a while. Just trust me when I say that the last two hundred and fifty years haven't been kind to the planet and people are trying their best to help it out." He still looked slightly baffled, but didn't question further anything you had said and instead assisted you to hang his heavy woollen clothes on the line in your garden. As he worked, you surreptitiously looked at him out of the corner of your eye. Now that he was in the sun properly, you could see how his skin glowed golden, making his hair and his eyes look even darker than before. The white t shirt accentuated his tan as well, and also the muscles of his broad shoulders and biceps. But then he turned to talk to you and the light hit his eyes fully, turning them hues of amber and ochre and reminding you of the Tiger's eye gemstone. You exhaled a short, surprised breath at how beautiful you found them. It didn't escape his notice.

"Are you well, coneja?" he asked, concerned. "Your breath is quick. Are you warm?"

"Yes, a little. But I'm okay. What were you saying before?"

"Just that I wonder what you do to make merry in this time. You have your TV. And little box with the...inntoonet. And many, many things to read. What other things might there be?"

You eyed him, appraisingly, your eyes narrowing as you did so. "Tell me Pero," you enquired, "how often did you go to the local inn?"

You walked towards the pub for ten minutes before it became too much for him. After you had finished work for the day, you had changed your clothes and given Pero a different, slightly smaller t shirt to wear, but you had nothing that would fit his legs aside from the same jogging bottoms and he only had his own boots to wear on his feet. As you left the house, a motorbike went tearing up the road and the noise and speed of it made his eyes widen in fright and surprise. It was also the first time he had actually seen cars moving that weren't on a screen and he eyed the exhaust coming from them with disgust. Some passed by with heavy bass booming from their speakers, and he trepidatiously put his hand over his chest at the sensation of feeling it within him. Another plane passed overhead too, and you were struck by how noisy your life was when you really paid attention to it. Apparently, Pero felt the same.

"Coneja," he said in a small voice. "I think I wish to go back for now. It is...a lot for me."

"I understand. We'll try for the pub another day. Er...the inn. For now, I think I have some wine if you would like some?"

He did. And once you had shared a bottle over a dinner of spaghetti Bolognese that he helped you to make, you began to feel a little fuzzy and warm and giggly. So of course, a second bottle was also found and opened and poured into your glasses as you sat facing each other on the sofa, your legs curled up under you and his stretched out on your coffee table.

"Rioja!" he exclaimed when he saw the label. "A Spanish wine?"

You nodded. "Very popular. We have wines from all over the world, but this one is one of my favourites."

"And mine," he smiled and you clinked your glass gently against his.

"Cheers, Pero!" He looked at you blankly. "It's what people say now when they celebrate and drink. Its called a toast. You say cheers and touch your glasses together and then drink." He followed your steps as you laid them out and then shook his head.

"Why do we do this?"

"Its just kind of a celebration? Of drinking with other people? Honestly, now I think about it properly it is a bit weird. I'm not sure why we do it!" A companionable silence fell briefly. Then Pero spoke again, his voice casual and conversational.

"So...do you watch the naked people on your inntoonet?" You choked on your wine so badly that Pero had to slap you on the back and bring you a glass of water to calm you down. Once you had gulped the water you sat hoping that your near death experience might have distracted him from expecting an answer to his question, but he looked at you with his eyebrow raised, clearly wanting you to talk.

"Pero its...um...that's not something you ask people. Its not something that is talked about openly."

"But you said people are more open about such things now."

"Yes, but..." You floundered for the right explanation while Pero watched you patiently. "A lot of people do watch. And everyone knows that a lot of people do. But most people don't admit to it, or talk about it. Its still seen as something private. But there are a lot more ways to...um...experience...stuff." You could feel the blush creeping into your cheeks under his gaze and you cursed yourself for it.

"There, you blush again like a maid," he said, not unkindly. "But you are not a maid?"

"No. But that's also not something you go around asking people, just so you know!" He seemed to ignore your last comment.

"Nor are you married."

"No. Its not expected any more, and women in some countries have more control over when and how they have children. You can be more free when you can control that. And it's not shameful here to have a child without being married to the father either. Basically, people can have more sex purely for the pleasure of it. You don't have to be married. Or even in a relationship. You can choose now." The wine had made you a little too talkative and you began to question the wisdom of the second bottle now that you could hear the edge of slurring in your words.

"So...this girl-friend you spoke of?"

"We were together in that way, yes."

Pero drew back from you slightly, his brow knitted. "You are open about this too?"

"In this country, yes. Though some people still think its wrong. And in some countries you can be killed for being...we call it being gay."

He nodded. "Men with men is a very great crime in my time. Women with women...it is not talked about so much. But on my travels, I met such a woman once. They believed her to have a sickness. A disease of her womb that made her behave this way."

"And what do you believe?"

He huffed a breath through his nose. "I have not thought much on it. I do not wish to lie with a man. That is as far as my thoughts go."

"You have to be prepared to see people together in that way here. Holding hands, kissing...that's what I mean by more open. And believe me, my womb is disease-free." You gave him a small smile to soften your words.

"So would you marry? A woman I mean. Take a wife?" He grinned widely at the notion.

"I could if I wanted. Men can have husbands, women can have wives." Pero's mouth fell open in surprise at the serious answer to what he had clearly thought a ridiculous question. "I...haven't decided if marriage is for me. To a man or a woman."

He frowned. "A man?"

"I like both, Pero," you said gently, and his eyes grew a little wider at this new revelation. "You had to have seen some things on your travels," you said. "You went all over the world, surely there were many different people-"

"You must understand that these things were not chattered of in such a way," he interrupted. "A woman swells with child, you know what has happened between her and her husband. Men and women in their cups have bawdy words with each other. Otherwise, no. When I was with my fellow soldiers, some were honourable and some were not. Sometimes there were willing women, sometimes whores, and some waited for their wives." His voice cracked on the last word and he stood a little clumsily and moved to the patio doors to look out over your garden.

Frowning at his odd behaviour, and with the wine making you bolder than you would ordinarily be, you pressed him gently. "Do...did...do you have a wife, Pero-"

Before the sentence was out of your mouth, he was talking over you. "I do not wish to speak of these things any longer." His voice was so firm and with a tone of such finality that you immediately acquiesced and changed the subject entirely.

"Would you like to sit outside for a bit? Its a clear night. I can get my binoculars out and I can show you the moon up close?" He whipped around to you, curiosity in his eyes. "They're like the glasses, but they make things look bigger and closer. Come on, lets take the wine outside."

His amazement and clear joy at seeing the moon magnified was beautiful to behold. It was still mostly full, so you pointed out the craters and looked up the names of the ones you couldn't remember. Then you brought a star map app up on your phone and pointed out the few bright stars and planets in the sky that could be seen to him. He looked at you a little pityingly at this.

"You need your box to tell you what stars are where? Coneja, I have found my way by the stars for many a year. How else do you know where you are in the dark? Although-" he paused and looked up again. "There are so few left here. Where did they all go to?"

"They are still there, and much the same as in your time I think. But our electricity and lights are brighter than the stars and drown them out. Its called light pollution. But we can go somewhere darker to see them one night if you would like?"

He bestowed a softly beautiful smile upon you that crinkled his eyes to deep black nothing. "I should like that very much, little coneja. My thanks to you." He drained the last of his wine, stood, and held out a hand to you. "Come, it grows cold. And yet I have a desire for more of that cold sweetness! That is, if you have any more?"

"I not only have more, I have another flavour for you to try!"

"This is welcome news indeed! Though I do not see how it could be better than the last!"

"This one has brownies in it. I think you'll enjoy yourself."

As you were talking, you entered the house and closed the doors and curtains behind you. Pero continued to chat happily about the ice cream as he progressed eagerly toward the kitchen and his frozen delights, but you couldn't shake the vague sense of unease and sorrow that had settled in the bottom of your heart at his clear distress over speaking about the wife that he may or may not have had back in his time, nor could your curiosity be doused so easily. You followed him into the warmth and light of your kitchen, attempting to clear your mind of the subject for the time being.

Next Chapter

[kinnards]

been here all along [fic]

Or; there are traces of Buck all over the Diaz household. 1.8 k

Read on ao3

The coffee maker beeps in the kitchen, the sound carrying all the way into the bedroom the second after Eddie turns off his alarm. A cool breeze comes in through the window Eddie left open last night by mistake, and in the couple steps it takes to go from the bed to the door, Eddie has picked up at least six different clothing items, not even all his, from the floor and the chair in the corner that soon gets tossed into the laundry basket. He stops briefly by Christopher’s room to make sure his son is awake (he’s not, and a cranky five more minutes is heard from under the covers) before going into the bathroom to start his own morning routine.

The bright, red firetruck print that greets him has never failed to make him smile, not once ever since one particular Thursday, maybe two years ago now, when Christopher and Buck spent a couple of hours in the mall looking for a birthday present for one of Chris’s friends but bought a very much not needed set of shower curtains instead, along with matching firetruck soap dispenser and cup. They even have little firefighters painted in the tiny plastic windows, and Christopher might be almost twelve now, but the day he gets tired of his Buck’s gift is yet to come.

A month into the school year, the Diaz family’s mornings have looked mostly the same every day, and this fine Monday proves not to be the exception, as Eddie finds out a few minutes later. A certain blond man is still asleep on Eddie’s couch, and instead of doing his workout, Christopher is sprawled on top of him, snoring lightly. Buck’s legs are twisted in an awkward angle to fit in the couch and one of his hands brushes the fluffy carpet beneath the sofa (the one he picked in an attempt to convince Eddie that his house needed personality), the other holding onto Chris, whose face is completely smushed against the other’s shoulder. Bright blue crutches that Chris has started to grow out of lay in a disorganized pile next to them.

(If Eddie’s heart beats a little bit faster- if his hands itch to hold them too and join the sleepy pile, well. They don’t need to know.)

“Alright, sleepy heads, school starts in an hour! Get up!”

-

Eddie owns a perfectly functional coffee maker, a classic machine with only one button and no special features, that makes his coffee the same way every day, and has done so for almost five years without signs of obsolescence. He’s a simple man with simple tastes, but Eddie’s perfect, simple coffee maker, is currently collecting dust inside a box in the attic.

A steaming cup of coffee, however, is waiting for him on the counter when he steps into the kitchen, complete with milk foam, a shot of caramel, and two sugars: the product of the stupidly expensive machine Buck and Chris had plotted to get him, with all the smart features and Starbucks level settings that Eddie did not need. Using the machine is extremely complicated, too, so once Eddie found out how to input the settings for his drink of choice, he stopped allowing anyone to mess with it. Eddie drinks the sweet concoction religiously every morning, without a fault.

He sips on his sugar bomb slowly as Buck cooks breakfast, eggs, and sausages with toast, fruit salad, and a cup of warm milk for the only kid in the house. The sound of the sizzling pan and the knife hitting the cutting board fills the room along with the smell of homemade breakfast, something that screams of home and family, uninterrupted until Christopher shows up fresh from the shower and in clean clothes, with his restless morning energy and promptly sets to chatting their ears off. Buck keeps the conversation alive and gets the boy to help with mixing the fruit salad while he recounts the last episode of their favorite cartoon they had seen together the previous night. Buck makes surprised sounds at the right times, throwing a few "No way! Tell me more!" for good measure, even though Eddie’s pretty sure he remembers the episode perfectly as he asks the right questions to launch Christopher off in another direction at least three times.

Eddie finishes his coffee, leaves the cup in the sink, and turns to the cupboard to start setting the table.

Three days before school started, Christopher told Eddie that he’s big enough to use big people knives and after a long phone call with his son’s Occupational Therapist, and another with his own therapist, they had gone to the store to get him a cutlery set that could allow him more independence while still on the safer side, and Buck had found the perfect one: the knife has a blunt tip and slightly serrated edge, and a round plastic handle decorated with tiny green and blue dinosaurs.

“Daddy, don’t forget the dinosaurs, please,” Christopher asks politely, just like every day, because he refuses to eat with any other fork or knife. Luckily the set came with six of each, so everyone can use them during breakfast as Christopher prefers.

“Yeah, and don’t forget the big spoon for the fruit salad,” Buck chips in, pointedly looking at Eddie. Clearly, he still hasn’t let go of the last few times he has forgotten the big spoon for the fruit salad. In less than five minutes, they’re seated around the table eating, Christopher’s feet kicking excitedly against Eddie’s when they congratulate him for the A he got in his latest science assignment.

Both his son and best friend clear their plates first, smiles on their faces accompanied by crinkled eyes as they laugh. Eddie has to scold Chris on talking with his mouth full only once- a new record, and Buck only twice, tapping him on the hand with the spoon, reminding him to lead by example and not be a terrible influence on the kid. Buck mumbles a sheepish sorry every time, ducking his head in embarrassment, and Eddie just rolls his eyes and shoots him a fond look. He watches them, joins the laughter when Buck teases him, or when Christopher tells a story from school, warmth filling him up from the inside out.

Soon enough, the time’s up and Christopher goes to brush his teeth and get ready to leave while Eddie and Buck load the dishwasher and wipe the countertops, barely any words exchanged as they move around the kitchen. Eddie checks the calendar by the fridge, next to Christopher’s old artwork and the polaroids held up by fruit magnets. PT at 11 am, Frank’s at 3 pm, reads in the bold block letters of Buck’s handwriting, under Eddie’s own scribble of C’s swimming lessons at 3.30 pm. Eddie makes a face at the overlapping schedule, chews on the inside of his cheek. He’s too late to ask Carla to take Christopher for him, as he gave her the week off a few days ago so she could go to DC for a certification. The last few therapy sessions had been at noon, but PT was pushed up to eleven and so his entire schedule was unexpectedly messed up, and Eddie will have to run from the clinic to Christopher’s school and then take him to the pool, but he’s not cleared to drive yet so he has to account for cab ride expenses and a whole new timeframe now, too. God, he should have gotten this figured out yesterday.

Back in El Paso, when Eddie had worked three jobs, he had once forgotten to pick Christopher up at school because his shift ran longer than usual, his phone died and the teachers were unable to reach him at the construction site. His parents had been called instead, being the second emergency contacts, and they had stared him down later at night while they told him all the reasons he was a bad dad and Christopher should live with them. Don’t drag him down with you, Eddie.

A hand lands on his healthy shoulder, right next to the base of his neck, and Eddie looks away from the calendar to meet a pair of bright blue eyes next to him. Buck watches him for a second before opening his mouth, careful.

“Hey, Eds, I noticed today looks a bit tight and I was thinking I could ask Bobby to let me out for an hour so I can go pick Chris up and drive him to his lessons, or maybe ask Maddie if I’m on a call,” he says, and the knots in his throat slowly start to dissolve, as he stares up to his friend’s calm face. His shoulders slowly start to relax, the injured one pulses with pain. The warmth of Buck's fingers makes the little hairs on his nape stand up as he swipes his thumb twice over the patch of uncovered skin in a comforting gesture.

“Yeah, thanks, man,” Eddie chokes out.

Buck smiles, and it’s all it takes. The fog lifts.

“Sure, I’ll text you in case I can’t make it so you can let the school know Mads is going to get him,” Buck continues, but he’s not touching Eddie anymore. Eddie takes a small step back, fidgets with the dishrag he still had in his hands as Buck starts to make his way to the living room, picking up his jacket, “you get to pick him up after, and already I left you guys some leftover stew for tonight's dinner in the fridge," Eddie keeps his eyes on Buck while he talks, takes a few steps closer to his friend, but not close enough. "I have a sixteen-hour today, so you tell Christopher goodnight for me, alright?”

“Of course,” his voice is too tight, and it must show because Buck bites his lip and reaches out his hand again, but doesn’t touch. At that moment Christopher burst back into the living room and yells out as if Buck isn’t right there to hear him.

“I’m ready, Buck!”

With a last smile, Buck turns to the door, putting on his shoes quickly and pulling his bag out of the hallway closet. Eddie leans down to place a smooch on his son’s cheek, which makes him laugh, and throw his head back with a loud “Bye, dad!” in his ear.

“Alright buddy, let’s go, let’s go!” Buck exclaims and Christopher bolts out the door, followed by his Buck, and Eddie stays at the threshold until he can’t see the Jeep past the corner of the street.

It’s barely eight o’clock and he still has chores to get done before PT, but Eddie just drops facefirst into the heap of blankets on top of the couch, drowning in the smell of his family and he aches for the picture he saw earlier that morning, sleep falling slowly over him like another blanket. A short nap is calling his name from the dream world, and the last thing he sees before going under is his pillbox for the pain meds next to a bottle of water, a pink post-it note stuck on the tag, big bold letters were carefully written on it. I know you forget but please take these before leaving home! xx. Buck.

Eddie falls.

[falsegoodnight]

this is part two of my december fic rec! this list encompasses the fics i’ve read from the 18th to the 28th!! it’s also my birthday today which makes it even more special! i can think of no better way to spend today than spreading positivity! :)

you can find part one of this month here

✰ there’s happiness because of you by @hadestyles | NR | 1k - (so soft, tender, and beautiful!! rori’s writing amazes me always! and this was written for my birthday because they’re an angel <3)

Thursday mornings have always been their favourite.

✰ and it gets colder and colder by @hadestyles | E | 2K - (another rori fic!! once again, beautiful prose! made me feel emotional!)

Harry wants to take care of Louis. Things take a turn.

✰ make my wish come true by @soldouthaz | M | 3k - (drabble from this series) (so cute, lovely, soft, amazing!!! made my heart so happy! this is also dedicated to me which :’) sarah angel chant)

The taste of Christmas cookies fresh out of the oven and peppermint hot chocolate is still heavy on his tongue. Harry’s sweater provides some warmth and it still smells of him from before he left for his internship two weeks ago, but it’s nowhere near the feeling of his arms wrapped around him. Louis shivers despite the blankets.

✰ spirit meets the bones by @hadestyles​ | E | 3k - (i had to edit to add this because rori wrote another beautiful little fic for me :’) beautiful prose, beautiful emotions, so so so beautiful, gosh. pure poetry!)

The action shouldn’t fill his eyes with tears but it does. These small gestures mean the world to him. A steady reminder that Harry does notice all the tiny, seemingly insignificant details that make Louis him.

✰ 29 Blows by @quelquesetoiles | E | 4k - (super hot but also so cute!! love the concept of the birthday tradition in this one!!!)

For over a decade now, Harry has had his little tradition. It wouldn't be a Louis Tomlinson birthday without his best friend finding new, ingenious ways to make his life more difficult.

It's cute, it's funny, it's theirs, until Harry takes it a step too far on Louis' 29th birthday.

✰ calm me down (before i sleep) by @erodiansunflower | E | 7k - (a pwp and super hot, but also super cute??)

Prompt 24: Harry is a sex shop owner that has a crush on Louis, the shy customer who flirts with him while buying cute buttplugs, lace panties, and collars. One day, Louis asked Harry to help him put on a corset (they end up fucking in the dressing room). Things escalate quickly from there, so they start seeing each other seriously while trying other sex stuff.

✰ You’re Never Alone With a Moon This Bright by @helloamhere | T | 8k - (part one of this series) (WOW this was incredible and i am ENTRANCED! this author is an all-time favorite and idk why it took me so long to get to this series but i’m here now!! and loving it!!)

Louis was a monster. But sometimes, even monsters get a Christmas.

✰ Be a Good Girl For Me by @sincetheywere16and18 | E | 9k - (really hot and cute!!!)

Based on this prompt: “AU where Harry is Louis’ older brother’s best friend. He catches Louis dancing around his room in panties and blackmails him, saying that louis has to do anything he says or else he’ll tell Louis’ family that he wears girly underwear. Secretly soft for him, Harry gives him easy tasks and uses the whole thing to spend more time with Louis. Eventually, the orders begin to escalate and Harry teases Lou about his secret, making Louis shy and embarrassed. Louis loves the attention though, and forms a crush on his brother’s best friend. Lots of feminization, secret relationship, and enemies to lovers. Thank you!”

✰ it’s hard to fight naked by @loustarlight | E | 11k - (LOVED this so much!!! a big fan of enemies/flatmates to lovers especially when there’s a walk-in involved!!)

Louis leaves dirty socks on the couch, Zayn does assignments while he's high, and Harry is hopelessly crushing on his roommate.

✰ Sweet Scary Creatures by @specklelouis | M | 13k - (jurassic park au!! so cute and fun!!! loved louis’ character growth in this in particular!)

They stare into each other's eyes for a while until Louis remembers this is too intimate and looks at Harry’s hands on his thigh. It spans a big portion of his thigh and Louis has always been insecure about how thick he is, so he loves that Harry has huge, dustbin hands that hold him and makes him feel smaller, safer.

✰ hereafter (ad infinitum) by @larryent | M | 13k - (this was absolutely beautiful!! the writing was incredible, the contrast between the old timeline and new one impeccable, and the letters!!! love them!! and vampire harry is always a win!)

"A legacy is every life you’ve touched. And you’ve touched mine twice."

On the coast of San Francisco in 2024 is when Harry falls in love all over again.

✰ Believe Me When I Say You Have It All by @helloamhere | T | 20k - (part two of this series) (loved this even more than it’s predecessor. not to be dramatic, but i’d die for the louis and harry in this series. this whole world has my heart)

Harry had never faced anything in this forest that had actually succeeded in scaring him. Louis was no exception.

✰ Yours to Lose by @loulicate-recs | M | 26k - (so cute and soft and sweet!!! louis and harry were both angels and IAN <3 little cutie!!! so proud of you hanis!)

Louis always gets distracted with his mummy duty and he eventually catches Harry's attention.

✰ But It’s Useless by @thinlinez | E | 26k - (this put such a big smile on my face!! so cute and lovely!! louis was a relatable and adorable menace and harry was a smitten idiot but they both got there in the end!!)

Omega Louis would never guess that he would be trying to hack into Alpha Harry's Wifi. That is until everything changes when he tries to get to know his enemy.

✰ Stuck On You by Writewhatiwant | E | 34k - (so so sweet! loved the aspect of stickers in this fic and how louis found joy in them!! really loved how both louis and harry (especially harry) grew throughout this story and how they found peace at the end!)

Louis’ life revolves around his stickers. Harry’s life revolves around his job. The universe has decided their worlds should revolve around each other.

✰ smoke between your teeth by @soldouthaz | E | 37k - (i think everyone knows how much i adore sarah and her fics but this one just might be a new favorite! loved all the psych stuff, the pining, the rom-com worthy confession <3 brilliant!)

Louis tries to stop his addiction to cigarettes and discovers he's been addicted to Harry for much, much longer.

✰ Your Life Worth Walking on a Bright Morning by @helloamhere | T | 38k - (part three of this series) (it just keeps getting better and better <3 so comforting and consistent and beautiful!)

For all its complexity, Louis sometimes reminded himself, life could always be simplified into a series of forks in the road. Even overwhelmingly big things were survivable when you broke them down to their choice. One path or the other, left or right.

✰ On The Edge by @zanniscaramouche | E | 47k - (so crazy good!! zanni is always amazing me!! loved the ice skating, the hockey, the misunderstandings, the multi-faced and beautiful characters and relationships - all so perfect!)

Figure skating is as vital to Louis’ identity as his DNA, so when his skates go missing right before the last Olympics of his career there may be a meltdown only vanilla bath salts can fix. Well, that and the stupidly charming hockey player he met on the plane.

Harry’s too old to be the wonder kid and too young to be taken seriously in the NHL. As an alternate thrown in at the last second, he fights to prove himself on the national team at the largest sporting event known to man. Or he will, once he gets off this flight and can focus on something other than the fussy figure skater and his stunningly blue eyes.

A baggage mix-up skews both of their perfectly laid plans for gold, forcing the two to work together as the clock clicks towards the minute they’re expected to shine on centre ice.

✰ made for lovin’ you by @cuddlerlouis | E | 53k - (loved this so much!! touch depri/accidental bonds are my favorite and this was no exception!!! the characterizations, the tension, the misunderstandings, the tenderness, the fluff!!! so good!)

A quick, horny decision ruins Louis’ summer plans, but may also lead to unexpected discoveries. Featuring the road trip of dreams, misunderstandings, and a bit of fate.

✰ social cues by @outropeace | E | 56k - (so fucking good!! the slow burn in this was impeccable!!! pair it with friends with benefits, mutual pining, angst, misunderstandings... amazing <3)

To Harry, Louis was becoming as tangible and essential as music in his life. He still was a mystery but at the same time, he was one of the most real things Harry had. He just hoped he could live up to the image Louis probably had in his mind of him.

He could play the part, after all, what was published of him wasn’t as detached from reality. He didn’t think of himself as a rockstar cliche, although he couldn't deny he did sleep around, partied a lot, and did some drugs. But then again, wasn’t that what the majority of his friends back in his hometown were doing at college?

Harry wanted to impress Louis, he didn’t want to disappoint or leave his expectations unfulfilled, so he’d give him the full rockstar experience.

It was a very simple plan, what could possibly go wrong?

✰ dripping like spider milk by @raspberryoatss | E | 64k - (pip amazing me with her talent? a common occurrence. this was so wonderfully written and so well done!! loved the characterizations, the dynamic, the angst, the miscommunication, the pining, the HUMOR!!! it was all so amazing!!)

When he sees the alpha, his brown hair curling around the top of his neck and his broad back that’s filled out over the past couple of years, Louis freezes for a moment. The alpha turns around, Louis’ surprised expression mirrored on his own for a fraction of a second before he schools it into a big, yet shy grin and a wave of his huge hand. With his nostrils flared, Louis knows that he can smell him, too.

They never hired alphas, except for—

“Harry.”

✰ a taste of freedom and sweetened passion by @tomlinvelvetfics | M | 74k - (okay technically haven’t finished reading this one yet but i want to get this up early and i already know this is amazing because it’s LATE and she’s incredible!!! and, i mean, anne of green gables?? abo?? best birthday gift ever!! will be spending the day reading this in bliss <3)

“Are you mad?” he explodes, throwing his hands up, groaning. “I was so, so close to reaching my goal, and your stupid, stalking ass had to creep up on me, hm?”

Harry is trying to keep his laughter in, walking closer to him, eyes soft. He doesn’t like the way those eyes make him feel, an odd, dangerous mix of nervous and flustered, so he bends down to pick up the books, raising an eyebrow when Harry growls in protest.

“I wanted to pick them up for you,” the alpha pouts, and Louis glares at him, getting into position and lowering the pile of yellowed pages over the top of his head.

“I’m a functional human being, thank you very much,” he grits out as he begins to walk and mentally count the amount of steps he takes. One, two, three, for heaven’s sake Harry fuck off!, four, five. He doesn’t let himself be distracted as the alpha walks along with him despite the slow pace, green eyes focused on him in a way that would, in any other cases, compelled him to throw a book in the alpha’s face.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t do it and certainly doesn’t want to think about the reason, whatever it might be.

If you read any of these lovely fics, remember to leave kudos and comment to show your appreciation!

*if i made any errors, please let me know :)

enjoy!

[goldenraeofsun]

Remember Me, Honeybee

Part I

Two hours into the farmers market, and Dean’s had enough. Even the gorgeous day outside, sunlight streaming down from a cloudless sky, does nothing for him.

Next to him in their produce stall, Sam rearranges their vegetable display with all the intensity of Bobby Fischer facing off against the Soviets. He adjusts an eggplant a few inches to the left, eyes it critically, and moves it back where it was.

Yesterday, Dean got sunburned from too many hours in the sun harvesting. But before he could even think about a shower, a visitor pounded on their door because some neighbor ratted them out to local Fish and Wildlife. So on top of dealing with a peeling forehead and an aching back, Dean had to take care of Ms. Rosen nearly breaking and entering to get at Sam or his watercress - she wasn’t really clear on which was her priority.

Sam, the cowardly sasquatch, bolted the moment her car tires pulled up to their farm.

It took an hour to get Ms. Rosen to leave. First, Dean had to show her Sam’s pet watercress plants at the edge of their property. According to Ms. Rosen, they’re an invasive species, which Sam could’ve mentioned to Dean at some point. Then, Ms. Rosen explained the $150 fine - all the while heavily implying she could dock a few bucks if left alone in a room with Sam.

Dean forked over the money. Sam’s virtue got to live to see another day.

At least Becky gave Dean plenty of blackmail material. If Sam pisses him off one more time, guess who’s getting Sam’s phone number faxed straight to her field office?

Dean was looking forward to sharing the whole story with Cas when they pulled up to the farmer’s market that morning. But his favorite beekeeper, potter, and candlestick maker is notably absent again.

As Hannah steps away from her stall to replenish her display, Dean seizes his chance. “Be right back,” he calls to Sam as he darts out behind their table.

When she catches sight of him, Hannah turns her back to lift a crate of soaps that would’ve left Dean sore for days. Goddamn angel strength.

“I may be a dumb human,” Dean starts, “but even I know that angels don’t get sick.” His voice drips with disdain. “Where’s Cas? The real reason, this time. Not that BS you fed me last week.”

Hannah sighs, her normally refined tawny wings fluttering in barely-concealed agitation. “He’s… indisposed.”

Dean folds his arms over his chest. “Cas has been here, rain or shine, every market for two whole friggin’ years. Is he,” he forces out the words, dread trickling down his spine, “dying or something?”

“No.” Hannah shakes her head. “He’s not mortally ill. He’s just indisposed.”

Dean gawks at her. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You have customers,” Hannah says shortly.

Dean waves off a soccer mom armed with a bushel of kale and a hungry leer. “Sam’s handling the orders.” He points at the line in front of Sam, and the lady walks off in a huff.

“Is that right?” Hannah asks innocently once Dean’s attention darts back to her.

“Cut the crap,” Dean says sharply. “Why hasn’t Cas shown for the past two weeks? The real reason. None of that indisposed bullshit.”

Hannah sighs. “You’re keeping me from my own customers.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “So you’d better talk fast.”

Hannah makes a face like she smelled Sam’s post-Chipotle farts. “Castiel was cursed.”

“What?”

“Keep it down,” Hannah hisses, leaning in. “He - well, it’s a long story. Our cousin, an archangel, cursed him.”

“For fuck’s sake, why?”

Hannah’s lips purse. “Gabriel has been very hard to contact for the details. He apparently thought Castiel was moping too loudly or too frequently. ”

“Moping?” Dean echoes, his brow furrowing. “Cas always seemed fine to me.”

Hannah shrugs. “Ask Gabriel. Now, if you don’t mind,” she lifts her nose into the air, wings straightening, “I have customers.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean retreats to his vegetable stand, his head swimming.

Dean never saw himself as a farmer until his health nut little brother decided to ditch his high-paying (and stressful) lawyer job to play Green Acres, and Dean, naturally, followed since there was no goddamn way Sam knew his way around a tractor. Sam was more likely to mow down his own gigantor foot than move a clod of dirt. Luckily, to Dean, an engine’s an engine.

At the farmers market, Sam’s booth was placed next to Cas’s. On their first day, Cas walked over with a complimentary jar of honey. He was stilted and awkward, sure, but he was also the first one to welcome them into the fold.

Lost in thoughts and worries about Cas, Dean almost gives a customer a twenty dollar bill instead of a one, blanks on when their summer squash will be in season, and accidentally rings up asparagus as broccoli.

“Look,” Sam says after apologizing for Dean’s latest mistake, “why don’t you head back and check on the tomatoes? It’s winding down here.”

Dean dubiously eyes the hubbub of people browsing vegetables.

Sam gives him a light shove towards their truck. “Just go. I know you don’t want to be here, anyway.”

Dean grimaces. “It’s that obvious?”

“To everyone and their grandmother,” Sam says under his breath.

Asparagus Man at the front of the line nods gravely.

“Thanks,” Dean says sourly to both of them.

“Go check on Cas,” Sam says as he gestures for the next customer to step up to the register. “Swing by and pick me up in a few hours.”

* * *

At the foot of the unpaved driveway up to Cas’s house, Dean cuts the engine. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, debating with himself. Cas might not want visitors.

But Dean brought pie.

Homemade, of course. And if it was supposed to celebrate Sam’s birthday tomorrow, what Cas doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Sam likes cake better, anyway, because he’s a freak.

Dean grabs the pie, shoves open the door, and strides up the dirt road to Cas’s house before he can talk himself out of it for good.

This is what you do for sick friends, anyway. Charlie drove all the way up to the city with chicken noodle soup, Settlers of Catan, and prime gossip on Benny’s on-and-off-again thing with Andrea when Dean had the flu a few years ago.

Dean is just being a good friend. It’s not weird.

He knocks on Cas’s cobalt blue door, his heart beating double-time behind his ribs as the seconds wear on with no answer.

Dean dawdles on Cas’s welcome mat. He tries again. Cas’s house isn’t exactly small, with its pottery studio in the basement and wax room in the back. Cas might be in his nest, on the can, or in his garden by the hives. Hell, with this mysterious curse, Cas might not be home at all - but stuck in some angel hospital being poked and prodded by docs. He probably should have squeezed Hannah for more details.

The door opens as Dean contemplates, for the hundredth time, bailing with his tail between his legs.

“Hello?” Cas says, peering curiously at Dean.

“Cas,” Dean says, relieved. From one cursory look, Cas seems normal. His hair’s fucked up, of course. His dark wings are equally unkempt, feathers sticking out every which way. All typical Cas.

Cas blinks. His mouth opens, closes, and opens again. But no sound comes out.

“You’re up,” Dean says stupidly. Of course Cas is up, or he wouldn’t have been able to answer the damn door. Dean shifts his weight to his other foot. “Hannah mentioned you’d, uh, been cursed,” he says awkwardly.

Cas relaxes a fraction. “Ah, yes, I was.”

Dean gives Cas another once-over. “I just found out this morning, so I thought I’d stop by. Bring pie." He holds up the pie as evidence. "See how you are. But you look good.”

Cas squints at him, his head tilting. “Thank you?” he asks like he had a half-dozen responses in his head and chose that one at random.

“No prob.”

Cas’s gaze darts down to the pie in Dean’s hands for the first time. “Would you like to come in?”

Dean grins. “Yeah,” he says, stepping inside. “I’ll take this to the kitchen. I’m starving. Do you wanna eat it now?”

Cas gestures him forward. “This way.”

Dean throws him a funny look but follows him to the kitchen he’s been in about a hundred times before - for Cas’s annual Spring Equinox party, for a handful of dinners with other farmers in the area, for water breaks in between weeding Cas’s bee-friendly garden.

Afternoon sunlight from the beautiful day outside streams through the large windows that overlook the back porch and garden. It illuminates the kitchen table, absolutely covered with what looks like all of Cas’s beekeeping books.

Dean clears enough space for pie and strides over to the drawer for the baking utensils, saying over his shoulder, “I hope you’re hungry.”

When Cas doesn’t answer, Dean hastily turns back around - only to find himself practically nose-to-nose with Cas.

Dean takes an instinctive step backwards, his ass smacking the drawer closed again. “Dude,” he says in a strangled voice. His heart pounds in his chest at the close proximity and intense look in Cas’s eye. “We talked about this. Personal space.”

Cas retreats, his brow furrowing. “My apologies,” he mumbles. “I must have misread the situation.”

“I - yeah - I guess,” Dean stutters as he grabs plates and stacks two forks on top.

Cas falls heavily into a seat at the kitchen table. Silently, he moves enough books around for them to sit and eat.

Dean eyes the haphazard piles as he takes his own seat. “D’you have a problem with one of the hives or something?”

Cas shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he says, his brow furrowing. “But it’s hard to tell.”

Dean snorts as he cuts them both slices. “I thought you knew everything about bees.”

Cas shoots him a dour look. “I did,” he says pointedly.

“Did?”

Cas fusses with a pamphlet on colony collapse. “I’m trying to catch up, but there is a lot of information to learn.”

Dean frowns. “Catch up to what?”

“To where I was,” Cas says, head tilting.

Dean sets the pie server down to focus on Cas, since he’s not making any goddamn sense. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Cas looks at him like Dean’s the one who lost his mind. “I don’t remember how to take care of them.” After a beat, he clarifies, “The bees. I’ve spent the better part of two weeks relearning how to maintain the hives, harvest honey, check if there is enough honey to harvest...” he drifts off, looking more than a little lost.

Dean blinks. “That’s the curse?” He grimaces as he forks off a generous corner of pie. “Dick move on Gabriel’s part. That’s your goddamn livelihood.”

Cas tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “He didn’t just make me forget the bees.”

Dean chews at Cas thoughtfully. “What else? Please tell me you forgot that time with the goat and a hooker.”

Cas stares at him. “I don’t remember anything.”

Dean’s next bite of pie freezes halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean anything?” he demands.

“I didn’t think it needed explaining,” Cas says waspishly, as all the pieces finally fall into place for Dean. “I thought Hannah told you about it.” His feathers rustle against the back of his chair.

“Hannah only said you were cursed!” Dean flails, “Not that you have goddamned amnesia. Do you know what pie is? Do you know who I am?”

Cas blinks, a little taken aback by Dean’s reaction. “I retain my general knowledge. I know what pie is,” he says. “I don’t remember eating it, but I know it is meat or fruit wrapped in pastry.”

“Oh my god.”

Cas’s gaze falls to the uneaten pie in front of him. “And, no, I don’t know who you are.”

Dean blinks, all the blood draining from his face. He forces out, “You’re serious.”

“I’d hardly joke with a stranger,” Cas says frankly.

Dean lets his fork drop back to the plate with a clatter.

Cas peers at him curiously. “The curse erased all my personal memories, but I was assuming we were friends, is this right? You know your way around my house, and Hannah wouldn’t have divulged my condition to just anyone.”

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly, “we’re friends. I - my brother and me, we have a stand next to yours at the farmer’s market.”

“Oh,” Cas says. “Work colleagues, then.”

Dean snorts. “A little more than that.”

Cas bites his lip. “But you told me to respect your personal space. If we were -”

“Woah!” Dean cuts in before Memento can come up with any more bright ideas, “We’re close friends, alright?” he says before Cas can get another word out, “But not… like that.”

Dean doesn’t even know if Cas goes for humans. Most angels don’t. Cas never mentioned any romantic partners, and Dean never pressed. Better to keep that box locked up tight. Cas never shied away from giving his opinion to Dean or anyone else. He’s the most blunt, sincere person Dean knows - angel or human.

If he felt anything for Dean - the barest speck of more-than-friendly feelings, he’d have said something.

“Oh,” Cas says, and, behind him, his wings droop the smallest fraction.

Dean scans the table and pushes Cas’s worn copy of The How-To-Do-It Book of Bee-Keeping by Richard Taylor his way. “Test me.”

“What?”

Dean shovels more pie into his mouth. “As’ me anyfin’,” he mumbles.

Bemused, Cas opens the book to a random page. “How do you use a bee escape?” he reads aloud.

“Do you know what they are?” At Cas’s headshake, Dean holds his fingers about three inches apart, “They’re little plastic doodads with little bee-sized holes in the middle. You slide ‘em in the hive right before you’re about to harvest. Once they’re fitted, you smoke out the bees, one comb at a time. Once they’re out of the way, you can scrape off the honey.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Do you also keep bees?”

Dean can’t help his loud laugh. “God no,” he says as he closes his mouth around another bite of pie. “I’m just a farmer. But I’ve helped you out a few times.”

At least twice a month since Dean moved to this corner of semi-rural America, but who’s counting. Honey is only harvested once a year, but Cas can always use an extra set of hands in his garden. Or around the house. Dean’s worked off more than one argument with Sam by kneading clay in Cas’s pottery studio basement.

“So you know all this from me,” Cas says dubiously.

“Sure do,” Dean says, smacking his lips as he debates another slice of Cas’s get-well-soon pie. “You’re a good teacher, and once you get on a roll about the bees, it’s kinda hard to shut you up.”

“Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” Dean says as he cuts himself another (smallish) slice. “I look hot in a beekeeper suit, anyway.”

Cas frowns, confused. “Do most humans find baggy coveralls and heavy veils sexually appealing?”

Dean snorts. “That was a joke.”

Dean doesn’t mention that he finds the beekeeper getup hot as hell as long as it’s Cas wearing it.

It’s just - Cas doesn’t usually bother with the veil since he likes to have a full range of vision when caring for his bees. Dean once let a whole comb drop on his foot at the sight of Cas bent over, wholly concentrated on the hive, a barely-there smile hidden in the corners of his mouth. His blue eyes were luminous in the bright sunlight, and every few seconds he would lick his lips, probably to wipe away the beads of sweat gathering on his upper lip.

“Oh,” Cas says, a faint blush touching his cheeks. His gaze drops to his plate, and his wings sag behind him.

Dean mentally kicks himself. Cas might still have all a whole encyclopedia shoved in his brain, but jokes will fly right over his head like so many of Cas’s precious bees. Since Dean started hanging around, he had been getting better with the jokes and references, but Total Recall Cas got that goddamn factory reset, so Dean has to cool it for now.

“Forget it,” he tells Cas. “I’m an asshole.”

Cas squints across the table at him. “You are not.”

“Huh?”

Cas carefully spears off a bit of pie. “You came by to check on me, offer me food,” he slips his fork into his mouth, eyes closing as he savors the tart cherries and buttery pastry, “stay and talk.”

“I, mean, yeah,” Dean says, wrongfooted, “we’re friends. ‘S the least I could do.”

Cas has another bite. “This is really good.”

“Thanks,” Dean says before he crams the rest of his slice into his mouth. He studies Cas as they both eat, an uncomfortable foreboding settling deep in his stomach. Now he sees it, how Cas doesn’t look at him with any familiarity. It’s more like, to Cas, Dean is some fucked up jigsaw puzzle slash zoo animal. Eventually, Dean has to ask, “Are you going to get your memories back?”

Cas shakes his head, his expression hardening. “I’m not sure.”

Dean’s mouth falls open. “Are you serious?” He braces both elbows on the table. “But you were cursed - there’s gotta be a way to break it. That’s how curses work, right?”

Cas exhales a slow sigh. “Gabriel did say there was a way to break it.”

“And you haven’t yet?” Dean demands, almost offended on Cas’s - his Cas’s - behalf. “You’re okay forgetting your whole life?”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Are you insane?” he hisses, his feathers puffing up like an angry cat. “Of course I am not ‘okay,’” he says, air quotes and all, which Dean hasn’t seen since he told Cas they were lame. (He felt bad about it for a week afterward and gave Cas a free apology pumpkin. First of the season.)

“I am able to navigate the outside world as well as a human toddler,” Cas continues heatedly. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do for the past two weeks?”

Dean huffs an impatient breath. “What have you tried so far?”

Cas grimaces. “Gabriel said it could be broken like all curses could be broken.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“I have no clue,” Cas says frankly. “I spent a week in Heaven’s archives and libraries. The most common way to break curses is by consuming a stone taken from the stomach of a goat -”

Dean makes a gagging noise.

“-or bathing in the blood of a virgin at the new moon.”

“Not any less gross,” Dean says emphatically. “Where the hell are you going to get virgin blood? Are they talking about, like, a whole virgin? Or does born again count?”

Cas shakes his head. “The new moon was four days ago.”

Dean frowns. “Did you have to do the blood thing?”

From the look on Cas’s face, Dean isn’t going to make him watch Carrie anytime soon.

“So I went to more obscure magic,” Cas continues. “I tried bathing in a natural source of water. And then I ran a bath and filled it with salt, since salt repels evil.”

“All I’m hearing is lots of bathing so far.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I lit sage in every room and burned three types of wood. I wore an evil eye bracelet. I sprinkled consecrated water blended with honey over the threshold.”

“No dice?”

Cas throws him a baleful look. “I have ants now.”

Dean snorts. “Well that sucks,” he says, since what else can you say when your best friend swaps all his memories for a Bug's Life?

Cas sighs. “From my notes and research, I can’t leave the hives completely unattended, so I’ve spent the past few days trying to figure out how not to kill them,” he says, gesturing to the rest of the kitchen table. “Once I’ve determined if the bees will survive on their own, I can look back into the curse.”

Dean purses his lips. “Have you prayed to Gabriel? Tried to convince him to take it back?”

“Every day since it happened,” Cas says, his face somber.

“Alright,” Dean says, grabbing Cas’s empty plate, “I can’t help with the curse stuff since I save the teen witch adventures for Sabrina. I can help with the bees, though, if you want.” He gets to his feet and dumps the plates in the sink.

Once his back is turned, he frowns as he thinks his words over. Who knows if this Cas actually wants him around? This Cas doesn’t know him from Adam.

To the dishes Dean says, “The next beekeeper is a few towns over. I could give him a call for you, if you’d rather have him. Cain’s mostly retired, so he’d probably have the time to show you the ropes.”

“Is Cain an angel?”

Dean laughs over the splashing water. “No, he’s a crotchety old bastard who would rather live with bees than people. You get along.” He sets the rinsed plates out to dry and faces Cas. “I’m sure you have his number in your phone too, come to think of it.”

Cas meets Dean’s cautious gaze with his usual soul-searing stare. “I wouldn’t mind if you helped me. Maybe I could call Cain if there are any advanced problems we can’t figure out together.”

Dean smiles. “Sounds like a plan.” He jerks his head towards the backyard. “You wanna get suited up?”

“Now?” Cas asks, alarmed.

“No time like the present,” Dean says as he walks out of the kitchen without waiting for Cas to follow. “Come on, we’re wasting daylight.”

* * *

Cas stares at his beekeeper suit, hanging in its usual place on his screened back porch, next to his gardening gloves.

“You okay?” Dean asks. “You’ve got a spare in your shed, so I’ll grab it on the way.”

Cas picks up the suit like it’s about to bite him.

“’S a good thing I’m here,” Dean says as Cas slowly unzips the front. “It’s always a bitch to get your wings covered.”

Cas’s wings slump. “I have a feeling this is going to be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Hey,” Dean says, taking a step forward, “no, it’s your bees. You love them.”

Cas frowns. “But I don’t remember how.”

Dean grins. “Then you’re a lucky son of a bitch who gets to fall in love with something all over again.” He sighs wistfully. “What I wouldn’t give to erase Star Wars from my brain and watch it again for the first time.”

“What is Star Wars?”

“A trilogy of movies from the 70s and 80s,” Dean says, his smile widening.

Cas nods. “I’ll have to rewatch them, then.”

“Damn right,” Dean says. “I gave you the DVDs for my birthday last year, so they should be around here somewhere.”

“For your birthday?” Cas asks, eyebrows rising. “Isn’t gift-giving normally the other way around?”

Dean shrugs. “But I’d been bugging you to watch ‘em with me for years. Trust me, it was an awesome birthday.”

Cas opens his mouth like he’s not sure where to poke holes in Dean’s story first, so Dean reaches for the wing covers. “I think we should do the hard part first.”

“You’re currently the expert,” Cas says as he sets the suit aside.

Dean frowns as he takes in Cas’s black wings, reflecting muted tones of magenta, purple, cobalt, and green. Normally, Cas rocks the sex wing look - a few feathers askew here and there like someone raked their fingers through them - but now his wings look more like Cas stuck his alulas in an electrical socket.

Without thinking, Dean says, “It’s gonna be hard to get them in the wing covers. They’re a little messed up, dude.” As Cas’s face falls, Dean adds quickly, “Nothing a little grooming can’t fix.”

Cas flushes. “I haven’t been able to reach my whole wingspan on my own. Hannah offered-” he breaks off, his gaze skittering around to settle just over Dean’s left shoulder. “But I don’t know her, not really, so I was uncomfortable accepting.”

Dean takes a step back. “I mean, you don’t need to do it. I’ll have to touch a couple feathers to get these on you, if you’re okay with that.”

Cas swallows. “No, you’re right. My wings are a mess.”

Dean’s fingers practically tingle with the urge to reach out and smooth down the closest feathers, but he shoves his free hand deep into his pocket instead.

“Can you help me?” Cas asks.

Dean quietly dies inside.

Cas’s wings flutter in anticipation, and Dean is so, so weak.

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly as he drops the wing cover and approaches Cas’s back. “You sure, man? I - I’ve never done this before.”

Cas turns his head. “Never?”

Dean clenches his hands into fists. Don’t touch. Not until he says so. Dean can keep his goddamn hands to himself. Cas deserves that much.

“Do you want me to walk you through it?” Cas asks softly. “I know how, since it’s only personal memories about my life that seem to have been affected.”

“Ah,” Dean hesitates, a hundred and one wing kink porn videos flashing through his head like popup ads. “No,” he coughs, “I know the mechanics.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”

Dean fidgets in place. “‘S like picking beans, right? Don’t pull on them too hard. They’ll come off if they want to come off. Make sure nothing is sticking out at weird angles.”

Cas makes a face. “Did you just compare my wings to legumes?”

“Maybe?” Dean says defensively. “Look, I know vegetables, and I know what your wings are supposed to look like. What else do you want from me?”

Cas’s mouth opens, but no words come out. With a sigh, he faces forward, presenting his wings for Dean.

Dean inhales a deep breath. Christ, his hands are goddamn shaking. Get a fucking grip, Winchester. He lightly touches the base of Cas’s left wing.

Cas shivers, the feathers rippling.

Dean yanks his hand back.

“Sorry,” Cas says sheepishly. “You took me by surprise. Please continue.”

Gently, Dean grazes the base of the wing again. The feathers rustle like under a moderate breeze, but Cas doesn’t tell him to stop, so Dean keeps going. He feels along the surface of Cas’s wings, most of the feathers slipping, glossy smooth, under his fingertips - until he catches the first snag. Nerves rocketing up to eleven, Dean tugs lightly on the first feather out of place.

Cas sucks in a breath.

It comes loose, and Dean has a fleeting, stupid thought to steal it for himself. But he lets it flutter to the floor.

Dean soldiers on, biting his lip as he tries to keep himself from grabbing handfuls of feathers and burying his face in Cas’s wings. Meticulously, painstakingly, he combs through the mess. As he moves closer to the second joint, Cas’s feathers, which had been subtly shifting the whole time, stiffen.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Cas nods, stilted. “Please continue,” he says, his voice rough.

Dean frowns. If Cas is uncomfortable and doesn’t want to tell him, Dean’s not going to be the asshole who turns a blind eye to the signs. He withdraws his hands, and Cas’s wings -

They flare out, seeking Dean’s touch.

Without thinking, Dean blurts an astounded, “Dude.”

“Apologies,” Cas says, and, from this angle, Dean has primetime viewing of the back of Cas’ traffic light-red neck. His wings retreat to fold stiff as a board behind Cas’s back.

“Hey, no,” Dean says as he lays a hand along Cas’s wing, petting it gently. “I just wanted to check in with you.” He grins lopsidedly, not that Cas can see him. “Communication is important.”

Cas coughs. “Indeed,” he says, and his voice still sounds off. “Please continue. I,” he breaks off, turning a little in place so Dean can see half of his face, “I was enjoying it.”

“Good,” Dean says with a little too much enthusiasm. “I - uh, me too.”

Cas blinks. “You were?” He frowns. “Grooming is… boring. A chore.”

“Not for humans,” Dean says as he picks up where he left off. “We don’t have big fancy wings to lug around everywhere. They’re-”

“What?” Cas waits, clearly expecting an answer.

Dean sighs. “Cool,” he supplies lamely. “Your wings are cool.”

Dean can’t see Cas’s face with his back turned, but his wings fluff up ever so slightly, so Dean counts it as a win. “I’m glad you think so,” Cas says quietly.

“’Course,” Dean says, easy as pie. He pulls on another feather, and, when it doesn’t come out, tucks it back into its proper place, “I’ve never seen an angel with wings like yours. Malachi’s got dark grey ones, and I thought they were your shade of black, but they’re not. Plus, he’s an asshole.”

Cas chuckles. “I don’t see how him being an asshole has anything to do with his wing color.”

“No, but, if you ever run into him - an angel with dark grey wings - now you know.”

“So you’re only looking out for me.”

“You don’t know this yet,” Dean tells him conspiratorially, “but I’m awesome.”

“Yes, I’m beginning to see that for myself.”

Thank God Cas can’t see Dean’s face. Equally embarrassed and pleased, Dean rambles, “You should also watch out for Metatron - the white-winged dude who runs the thrift shop down the road. He’s been angling to set up shop at the farmers market for fucking ever even though he has a storefront for all his crap. Whoever said white wings meant purity was full of shit because Metatron’s a douche.”

Cas laughs, and Dean nearly slumps over in relief.

He can still make Cas laugh.

“Hannah, she’s okay,” Dean continues as he combs through the rest of Cas’s secondaries and coverts before he gets to the primaries, large and built for flight, and completely within Cas’s reach to groom himself. “But her partner, Duma, hates you for some reason, so I’d steer clear of her.”

Cas’s wings dip a few inches. “It doesn’t sound like I’m on good terms with many angels.”

Dean lightly runs his palm over Cas’s flight feathers - while he’s back here, he might as well. “I guess not,” he admits because Cas is right, “but they’ve all got massive sticks up their asses, so you’re better off.”

“They’re family.”

“They’re dicks,” Dean corrects. “Come on, you’re goddamn cursed with amnesia , and not one is here helping you out? Dick move for dick angels,” he finishes.

“Hannah visited.”

“Like I said, Hannah’s okay,” Dean says as he straightens up.

“At least you’re here,” Cas points out.

“Yeah,” Dean says bitterly as he brushes out bits of fluffy down near the base of Cas other wing, “After two weeks.”

“You said you didn’t know.”

“I should’ve.”

“How?” Cas asks, sounding baffled.

Dean scoffs as he cards his fingers through the shorter feathers near the bone of Cas’s wing, “You didn’t show at the farmers market. You always show.”

“But-”

Dean shakes his head. “I should’ve known something was up.” He yanks a little too hard on a feather, and the brittle shaft breaks between his thumb and pointer finger. Dean lets it fall to the floor in disgust. “But Hannah said you were sick, and I didn’t know if you were the type who wanted company or everyone to stay the hell away. And then I talked to Sammy, and he said angels don’t really get sick like we do.” He exhales a slow breath, consciously holding himself back from tearing any more feathers out. Cas doesn’t deserve that, especially after all the shit he’s dealing with.

“We do get sick,” Cas says, his voice breaking through Dean’s morose reminiscing of the past week, “But never with the type of illnesses that can be treated outside of Heaven.”

“That’s what Sammy told me,” Dean says heavily.

“You were worried?”

Dean pokes him in the muscular part of the wing. “Of course I was worried.”

Cas’s head tilts, but not enough that Dean can make out his expression. “Because we’re friends.”

Dean swallows. “Yeah,” he says quietly, “because we’re friends.” He tugs on a few more feathers, and one comes loose. He holds it between his fingers for a beat, rubbing his thumb along the vane. With a sigh, he moves onto Cas’s other flight feathers. He gives them a few long strokes, unable to help his smile as he feels at the power, the potential, all hidden in Cas’s wings. But, eventually, he has to straighten up.

“All done,” he says with forced cheer as Cas turns around to face him.

Cas blinks a few times like he’s coming out of a trance. “Thank you,” he says gruffly.

He spreads his wings.

Dean’s breath catches in his chest, and his awe must show all over face, judging by Cas’s barely-there smirk. But, dammit, Dean’s going to enjoy the sight. Cas never puts himself on display like this, preferring to play the nerdy beekeeper in a trench coat rather than an almighty Angel of the Lord.

Cas turns his head to inspect Dean’s work. He gives an experimental flap, sweeping all the old feathers littering the floor up into the air. “Thank you, Dean,” he says sincerely. He folds his wings back, and Dean’s heart aches for something he never had in the first place.

“Don’t - don’t mention it,” Dean chokes out.

A fluffy piece of down drifts down to settle on Cas’s nose. He goes cross-eyed to keep it in view.

Dean cracks up. Grinning, he reaches up to brush away the offending bit of down.

Cas catches his arm in an iron grip, his own face oddly intense.

“Cas?”

But before Dean can finish his sentence, Cas pulls him closer and seals their mouths together.

Dean lets out a muffled (completely manly) noise of surprise against Cas’s lips before muscle memory takes over. As Dean kisses back, Cas makes a light soothing rumble in the back of his throat, his touch gentle and warm. Dean’s other hand grasps desperately at Cas’s shirt, anchoring him in place. An electric, bubbly feeling is exploding in his chest, a wild kind of joy Dean normally would tamp down, tell himself, watch out for the other shoe to drop.

Other shoes like Cas’s missing memory.

Dean freezes, and it takes him a long moment to realize Cas isn’t moving either. His grip on Dean’s arm has gone slack. Dean opens his eyes to find Cas’s eyes wide open and glowing with an electric blue light.

Fuck.

Dean’s watched his fair share of angel-on-angel porn and more than his fair share of angel-on-human porn, and kissing’s not supposed to do that.

Dean takes a stumbling step back. “Cas?” he tries.

But Cas doesn’t move. He doesn’t give any sign he heard Dean at all.

Dean falls forward, tripping over his feet. He grips Cas, hard, by the shoulders. With his heart in his throat, he gives Cas a small shake. “Cas?” he tries again, and his voice sounds alien to his own ears, loud and breathy with his panic. He shakes him harder. “Cas!”

Several agonizing seconds pass, and the light slowly dims from behind Cas’s eyes, leaving behind his normal blue.

“Dean?”

Dean’s knees nearly give out with relief. “Hey,” he says weakly, “Nice to have you back, buddy.”

Cas blinks a few times. He swallows, a strange expression coming over his face.

“You okay?” Dean demands. “What the fuck was that?”

Cas stares at him. “That was the curse breaking.”

Read Part II here!

[alphinias]

39, jiara❤️

What color do you like better?

It took Kiara the boat ride to the mainland, trying to force JJ to remain still in the seat next to her, and almost two hours wandering around the mainland county fair, probably risking her life in rides that were two screws away from collapsing underneath her for the realization to hit.

Sarah was fucking trying to set her up.

It started out when the whole thing conveniently fell on the weekend of Pope’s mathlete tournament, which he assured them he was totally okay with because fairs made him queasy anyway, and this was just the only weekend Sarah was available. It escalated into her casually suggesting Kiara wear the brand new crop top that happened to be hanging at the front of her closet while they got ready, reminiscent of how they used to share clothes during her kook year, and Kiara had accepted, hoping to further solidly this new truce between them.

And now here she was, sitting across from JJ on the ferris wheel, their knees bumping in the tiny space. The wicked grin Sarah had shot her while they climbed into the cart had finally clued her in.

She should have known Sarah Cameron wouldn’t let this go. 

She’d asked her about JJ, once everything settled down with the gold and the whole thinking two of their friends were dead thing. She’d picked up on a vibe, she said. 

Kiara had played dumb, even though she couldn’t remain totally oblivious. She almost hadn’t noticed how much things with JJ had changed, but while John B was gone, they’d clung to each other like rocks in a storm. He was the first person she looked for in a room, the one she somehow always ended up drifting towards when there was a free space on the couch. 

If she needed a little time to figure out what that meant, then well, that was her business. 

“So, what’s going on there?” Sarah had of course asked. It had taken Kiara several moments to realize she was talking about her and JJ, and several more for her to realize that she wore the same conspiratorial smile she got when Kiara had a report back about a cute guy during her kook year. 

It put Kiara on the defensive immediately. “What?”

“You and JJ.” Sarah had rolled her eyes, like duh. “He’s into you. You know that, right?”

“No, he’s not. We’re just friends. He thinks it’s funny to flirt.” 

Kiara thought she had ended the conversation then and there. She’d thrown out her best threatening look and everything, even though just friends had lost a lot of its meaning over the past year. The water was muddied, and sometimes she had the tiniest inkling that maybe JJ did like her in a very not friend way, but she wasn’t ready to clear it up just yet. She may not ever be, but that was for her to decide. 

Sarah, evidently, did not think the same way, Kiara realized, as she watched JJ bounce his knee. 

“The ring of fire was so much better,” he complained. He shifted in his seat, and she wondered if maybe the confined space was bugging him. Either that, or it was her.

The cart had been silent for the entire three cycles they’d spun thus far, which was totally on Kiara. She had been too busy ruminating on Sarah’s meddling, and JJ, although he could sometimes be oblivious, at least had the good sense not to push her buttons when she was entering a mood. 

She bopped her knee with his. At the very least, this wasn’t his fault, and it wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy spending time with him. “Yeah. Right. It's a miracle we didn’t die on that one.”

She just didn’t enjoy the fact that Sarah was looming over their time spent together, with her creepy matchmaker agenda. 

“That’s part of the excitement, Kie.”

Kiara rolled her eyes. “Just be glad we don’t have to sit with Sarah and John B on this and watch them mack,” she said, and then immediately regretted it. She tugged a stray string on her shorts, afraid there was some implication that ferris wheels should be a couple activity hanging in the air. 

JJ paused. Slowly, his lips peeled back into a suggestive smirk, and she slammed her knee into his again. 

“Don’t even go there,” she demanded, but she was unable to keep the laughter out of her voice.  A slight weight eased off her chest. 

When the ride ended, JJ wandered off to get his second helping of some sickening fair food that made Kiara sick from just looking at the grease. That boy was willing to shovel anything into his mouth.

When Sarah and John B stumbled off the ride, Kiara did her best laser glare, hoping Sarah could read her mind. The effect was totally ruined when John B stumbled between them, demanding some of JJ’s deep fried oreos. 

“Sarah,” Kiara warned, while the boys were occupied. 

Sarah played dumb. “What?”

Since she couldn’t exactly rip into her with JJ standing two feet away, Kiara went back to silently stewing. 

She couldn’t decide if Pope was in on it or not. She didn’t think John B was, judging by the little huffs of frustration Sarah let out every time he participated in anything that drug the boys away from them for any period of time.

The next such case happened when JJ’s attention snagged on a carnival game. It was some ridiculously expensive competition for who could shoot the most targets with their water gun; there was an array of impossible to win stuffed animals hanging above it that Kiara could probably get for three dollars at the local dollar store.

JJ whistled. “Oh, whittle John B. I could kick your ass at that.”

Foolishly, John B engaged, as he usually did. He shot a glance at Sarah. “Well, I don’t think so!”

Kiara stood, tapping a foot as they forked over ridiculous amounts of money to the man running the booth. She could smell the cigars off of him from where she was standing, but the boys were unbothered as they tested out their squirt guns of choice.

Sarah was equally unimpressed. “Baby. Why don’t we go in the mirror maze if we want to spend money? We can see which group makes it out first.”

If there had been any doubt about the setup scheme, it would’ve been gone. Kiara leaned forward to hiss in Sarah’s ear, “Cut it out.”

“Cut what out?” Sarah hardly even bothered to look innocent. She sent another pleading look John B’s way, and JJ mimed crying just out of her line of vision. 

John B scowled at him. There was a brief battle on his face, which male pride ultimately won. “Just- just as soon as I destroy JJ.” 

Slowly, JJ racked up points, John B cursing under his breath. It didn’t take Sarah long to grasp for another opportunity. “Hey, if you win, I want that mouse.”

John B gave a weak grin over his shoulder. “Oh- sure.”

“No way, man.” JJ flicked his hair out of his eyes. They lingered on Kiara for a moment, and then he turned back to his game. 

He won, predictably. Even more predictably, he was a sore winner, sniggering right in John B’s face. 

There was a moment of hesitation, and then JJ’s fingers were reaching for the stuffed animals. The man behind the counter scowled, but JJ had snatched two of them before he could stop him. 

JJ spun around. He held up a green sea turtle plush in one hand and a purple one in the other. Its shiny eyes on them stared back at Kiara, one of them sewn on a good two inches lower than the other, looking crooked as hell.

“Alright Kie. What color do you like better?” JJ asked, stone cold serious.  

A stupidly warm feeling bubbled in her stomach. She pointed a finger at the purple one, unable to even be annoyed at the stench of victory wafting off Sarah. 

JJ held the turtle towards her, but it was snatched out of his hands before she could reach it. “Sorry, kid. Ten more rounds for the medium size.”

Kiara left the stand with a five inch tall turtle under her arm. JJ kept glancing at it and looking down, like he was trying to hide how pleased he was. It was impossible to miss his grin, though.

She lifted the turtle up, letting the fair lights illuminate it. Suddenly, the way Sarah was looking back at them over her shoulder as she walked wasn’t so obnoxious. 

“Hm. I think I’ll call him Squirt.”

“Squirt? Like the fucking mermaid movie?” 

“No, dumbass.” Kiara elbowed him, and then she didn’t bother to move back out of his space when their arms brushed. His steps stuttered momentarily, but slowly, his grin widened.  “Finding Nemo.”

No. They didn’t have to decide exactly what was happening between them today, but Kiara very much wanted to someday. Listening to him ramble excitedly about the cyclone ride they were headed towards, she thought maybe that someday would even be a someday soon.

[liusaidh-writing]

Call it True - Chapter One

 Claire and Jamie are neighbors - though they’ve never met.  Claire, infatuated with her Scot upstairs, is more than a little certain that it’ll never happen. Is she wrong?  

Prefer to read at AO3? 

Hope you all enjoy this...I really wish I could say I’d update on a regular day weekly, but as of right now I don’t get much time to write. So please be patient!  

**I’d like to thank (profusely) @faithperry46  for being my life-saver/beta reader.  I wouldn’t/couldn’t have done this without your help!**

Here we go...

-----          

Claire chuckled to herself, hearing the vacuum come on downstairs again. Every morning, without fail, the older lady who lived downstairs turned it on...to hoover her back patio. Living on the first floor, she was granted a small back garden - one Claire was envious of. Though she didn't think she'd do much but sweep her patio with a broom.  

Claire pushed open her kitchen window and held her breath, wondering if he'd be here at his window today. Claire figured this was her favorite way to start her days: a small chat with her mysterious, yet lovely -and stupidly handsome,- neighbor, Jamie. 

Claire hid a grin when she spotted his curly auburn hair. 

"Poor woman. Shall we buy her a broom for Christmas?" He joked, greeting Claire with his unassuming smile. He gave her a wink - if it 

could be called that, seeing as he couldn't wink correctly but instead closed both eyes in a humorous attempt.  

Claire smiled properly this time, calling to him as she rested her elbows on the window sill. 

"She's going to break that thing soon enough. I'll get the dustpan if you'll get the broom?" she offered with a laugh. It was only May, but who was Claire to say it was too early to start Christmas shopping? Especially if she could do it with Jamie.

"It's a deal. We can present it to her together." Jamie smiled at her, and Claire as per usual, panicked, swatted her face with her hands while mumbling something about a bug before excusing herself. 

"I've got to run just now, but we can work out the details later. See you soon!" 

She shut her window as she heard him respond with a friendly 'Have a good day, Claire!' 

She didn't truly need to be anywhere for another half hour - her shift at the hospital started an hour from now, but she just couldn't talk to him for long. She'd get all flustered, and was terrified she'd say something completely stupid and ruin what they had. Claire had never met the man in the flesh, but she was completely enamored with him...or his face rather, since that was all she could see from her window.  

She loved his stupid wink, his big smile that nearly met his slanted eyes as he greeted her when they saw one another. She had no idea if he lived alone, but she was certain that someone that handsome had to have a girlfriend at the very least. Or a boyfriend, perhaps. He certainly had no need of anything more from her than a quick morning chat... or else it would've happened already - that's what she told herself six months into their weird connection. Her erratic schedule at the hospital kept her from seeing him every morning and explained why they'd never met in person. 

Their relationship never ventured much further than chatting about their mutual source of amusement: their elderly neighbor with the hoovering obsession. They chatted here and there about happenings in their respective days: 'You got a haircut!' She'd say, noticing his hair was slightly shorter. He'd nod, pretend to preen, and run his hands through his hair with a laugh. 

He had no idea what that did to Claire. She was sure her cheeks went pink whenever he was even slightly flirty. She'd lose the ability to concentrate, to speak, so she'd excuse herself in some clumsy way and go about her day with him swimming around in her imagination. She'd fantasize about knocking on his door, asking him for coffee, laughing over a shared joke that didn't have to do with their neighbor, Jamie kissing her dumb as his hands roamed her back for her bra strap... 

Sometimes she got carried away.

---

Claire got to work, noticing that her favorite co-worker, Lesley, was already there. Claire saw Lesley's toddler's car seat in the back, knowing it hadn't been a fun morning at her house. Lesley had a two-year-old son named Harry who Claire enjoyed, but Lesley's ex-husband Frank wasn't always in a helpful mood. So, this morning -like a lot of mornings,- the two-year-old was brought to the hospital child care center instead of staying home with his father.  

Claire sighed, shaking her head on Lesley’s behalf. Claire remembered when she’d gotten married to Frank and when she’d had her son - Lesley had thought she had it all. "But look," Claire thought, "it all fell apart at her feet shortly after it began." 

"I’m better off by myself. Only me to worry about.” It was her mantra of sorts, and Claire had convinced herself it was true. 

She got to her floor, put her stuff in her locker, and slowly shuffled to her station as she wondered what her day would bring. Lesley was there, as expected, riffling through some files as she smiled at Claire in greeting. Lesley was slightly shorter than Claire, with medium-length blonde hair Claire was sure wasn’t entirely natural. Lesley’s down-to-earth demeanor and penchant for keeping Claire grounded in reality was, unbeknownst to Claire, her saving grace during the work day, and though Lesley had had a rough go of it with Frank, she remained, for the most part upbeat - something Claire struggled with at times. Always there to lend an ear, Lesley was invaluable to Claire, and she was happy to return the favor whenever possible.

“Here you go, Lady.” Lesley said as she handed Claire a bright red folder with a name Claire couldn’t read on the side. “New admittance - a 72-year-old woman had a stroke and is in for observation.” 

Claire worked on the cardiac floor and enjoyed it... for the most part. The majority of her patients were older men and women, and she found them easy to talk to. She knew she could offer them some comfort and help during their stay.  

Grabbing the folder, she headed to her first room and started her day. 

---

Claire’s lunch left much to be desired - leftover Chinese food that had Lesley crinkling her nose. 

“How old is that, Claire?”

“I'm not sure. A few days…” 

“It doesn’t smell right.” 

Claire watched as Lesley’s mouth formed a frown. Lesley had her own lunch - a fresh salad with grilled chicken and cashews. 

“We can’t all be chefs, Lesley,” Claire said as she took a bite of her Kung Pao chicken. She made a face, struggling to swallow. Perhaps she should’ve thrown it out - but it was all she’d had to bring today.

“You live alone, Claire - you can cook all you want! I have to make my lunches once Harry has gone down for the night. After folding all of the laundry and scarfing down what’s left of dinner.” Lesley took a bite of her salad and chewed slowly as Claire shook her head. 

“I don’t know how you do it,” she said quietly, pushing her fried rice around with her fork. “I could cook, I suppose,” she continued, thinking about the ingredients in her refrigerator. Those consisted of a block of parmesan cheese, a bottle of orange juice, and a small pint of milk. “I could make...well, not much at the moment, but…” Claire, wanting to change the subject from her nonexistent domesticity, decided to bring up Jamie.

“I think he must have a girlfriend,” Claire said, deciding to throw her lunch out and buy some peanut butter crackers from the vending machine. As she fished for some coins in her purse, she continued. “I mean, he’s gorgeous...surely he’s taken. You know I have no luck, Lesley.”  

“Well, Claire,” Lesley began, sounding unsure about her next statement. “Do you...try?” 

Grabbing her crackers from the slot at the bottom of the vending machine, Claire whirled around, brows knitted and mouth in a scowl. 

“I do try,” she said, opening the crackers and stuffing one in her mouth. “I just figure he’s not worth my time,” she mumbled, spraying crumbs over her shirt. She brushed them off, shrugging. 

Lesley rolled her eyes, then set them on Claire, giving her a pitying, yet frustrated look. “You don’t know anything, Jon Snow.”

“It’s ‘You know nothing…’” Claire corrected, ignoring her comment. “Look how it worked out with Frank. You’re not exactly a great example of romance gone right.” Claire felt somewhat guilty when she saw Lesley’s face fall for a second, but the conversation was cut short by the clock. Time to get back to work.

“Just give it a go, Claire - the worst that could happen is that he is involved with someone else. You don’t know unless you ask.” Lesley gave her parting advice before they headed out of the lunchroom. 

Claire believed that the idea of knocking on his door and asking him about his relationship status was a little too much to ask of her. She’d talked to him - flirted even, and still...nothing. Nothing good could come of her asking him out, she decided. Only mortal embarrassment, and the unfortunate circumstance of having to live under someone who’d turned her down. No, thank you. 

Claire managed to push down all her thoughts about Jamie and get through her shift, and was relieved to plop down on the bus seat that would take her home.

Getting home, she eyed Jamie’s door, craning her neck in the stairwell to get a glimpse of the bright red door identical to her own, except he lived at 3C, she at 2C. 

"No sign of life," she sighed, hitching her purse and bag higher up her shoulder as she made her way to her flat. Her phone buzzed as she went in, tossing her bags on the entry table and reaching to dig into the depths of her purse for the offending object. She didn’t want to answer it, but she saw it was Lesley, so she swiped up, putting it to her ear with some trepidation.

"Please don’t ask me to babysit. Please, please," she begged silently as she heard Lesley begin to talk. She didn’t not like Harry. He was an adorable child and didn’t cause much trouble when he was here, but she had been looking forward to a much-needed day off work, and babysitting a toddler hadn’t been at the top of her agenda.

"…so anyway, I know it’s your day off,” Lesley said, and Claire groaned inwardly, covering the phone with her left hand. “But I’m just stuck, and I thought...maybe you’d help me out?” 

Claire gave a pained smile, even though Lesley couldn’t see her, rubbing her hand through her hair as she sighed. 

“Sure, Lesley, you know I will. It’s no trouble. Just drop him by in the morning.” 

Claire hung up, trying not to feel irritated by the prospect of watching a two-year-old all day. She had no plans, really, except to vegetate in front of the television, devouring Netflix true crime shows. But it sounded so good. Pizza delivery, maybe pull out her untouched bottle of whisky from some Christmas past...

"Oh well, she thought, I’ll just get through it. I’ll have another day off eventually." She thought. It then registered that she was due to work some night shifts coming up. "Oh... fun," she groaned to her empty apartment.  

Claire glanced at her ceiling when she heard footsteps upstairs. Jamie was home. What was he doing tonight, she wondered. Was his girlfriend over? Did he have a date, or was he, too, looking at an evening of solitary drinking?

Claire nearly jumped out of her skin when her doorbell rang. She shuffled to the door, warily looking through the peephole. She wasn’t in the mood for visitors. 

Puzzled, she saw a young teenager standing there holding a plastic bag, marked with a local restaurant’s logo. He wore a bright red hat, had more zits than craters on the moon, and he bore a scowl. Slowly, Claire opened the door, knowing she hadn’t ordered anything.

“Did you order this, lady?” the kid spat, holding the bag out to her, desperate to unload his delivery and get out of there. 

“Er...no...What’s the address?” 

“I don’t know, It’s smudged. I’m just...working my way around.” The kid shrugged, still holding out the bag.

“Well...I didn’t order it. Sorry. Try upstairs. Above me, perhaps? I know my neighbor just got home.” 

The kid sighed, drawing the bag away from Claire. He didn’t say anything, but slowly turned around and, swinging the bag around in a wide arc, growled as he started to make his way up the stairway. Claire waited at her door, hearing the delivery attempt upstairs. 

Hearing Jamie’s voice, she put her face in her palm, frustrated with herself. She could’ve made that delivery. She could’ve been standing in front of him now, complete with food. They could’ve eaten dinner together, watched a movie, somehow become entangled on his bed… 

Shut up, Beauchamp! 

She grabbed her phone, dialed to order a pizza, and slumped on the couch, resigned to her fate as a spinster, alone in front of Murder by Numbers for yet another evening. She folded her arms, brows knit, imagining Jamie upstairs with the girl he definitely had over. Why couldn’t she be hopelessly in love with someone at work, someone she saw every day? Someone she’d seen the bottom half of? That would make it easier. She always imagined Jamie as being about her height, but she could tell just from what she’d seen of his arms that he worked out. When he wore the sleeveless t-shirts, she always marveled at his biceps and had recurring dreams about them draped around her waist. 

She also knew he was a Scot, a transplant from somewhere north. She wondered if he ever wore a kilt because she figured she’d pay good money to see it. Oh, she was pathetic, she knew, but she didn’t care when she was alone in her thoughts. She wondered if it would do her good to get a cat. Perhaps then she wouldn’t do so much daydreaming. Surely it wasn’t healthy.

[roman-writing]

you search the mountain (4/6)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmore / Sylvanas Windrunner

Rating: M

Wordcount: 15,080

Summary: The borders of Kul Tiras are closed to all outsiders. Sylvanas, Banshee Queen, hopes to use the impending civil war in Boralus to her advantage, and thereby lure Kul Tiras to the side of the Horde. A Drust AU

Content Advisory: horror, blood, gore, typical Drustvar spooky deer shit

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

NOTES: 

I got about 10k words into this chapter before I realised I needed to split it up, otherwise it would be stupidly long. Plus I was going mad trying to scroll through my monstrously large gdoc last chapter and I didn't want to do that again. So, here you go. An early present.

Next chapter will be some big battles and then they finally smooch or something idk don't ask me 

--

This time, Sylvanas did not ask. 

“I am taking your cavalry,” she told Lucille.

For the last few days since the battle of Barrowknoll, Lucille had turned into Sylvanas’ primary point of contact among their new allies. She acted as an envoy between Sylvanas and Jaina, when the two of them would refuse to speak with one another. She had been puzzled by the abrupt change, but had not complained. 

Now, Lucille blinked at her, opened her mouth to dispute this, then thought better of it when she saw the look on Sylvanas’ face. Raising her hands as though in surrender, Lucille said, “They are yours.”

She found Hayles and the others enjoying a spot of Drustvar tea, which she had come to learn was normal tea with a healthy dose of whiskey tipped in for good measure. It was the third day since the battle of Barrowknoll, and their little army was still fortifying the town after wrenching it from the hands of the Ashvanes. Anya was there, playing dice with the cavalrymen, who had grown leery of her around cards and now insisted she use their dice. Somehow she still won nearly every round, and a few of them groaned about the luck of the dead as they handed over coins. 

When Sylvanas approached, Hayles glanced up from where he sat on a pile of bricks being used to repair the church. After their victory, he had warmed up somewhat to the Horde forces, but he was still wary of their leader. Still, he lifted his mug to her. “A good morrow, Warchief. Can I help you?”

“Gather up a scouting party, Captain. No more than thirty,” Sylvanas ordered coldly. “We are riding north.”

Hayles drained his mug then slammed it onto the ground. He wiped excess tea from his beard with the back of his hand as he stood. “Been waiting for clear orders from the Lady Waycrest. What’s the plan, then?”

“The plan is we are going scouting,” said Sylvanas.

“Aye, but we was hoping for a bigger picture. Are we wintering here?”

A number of his men were openly eavesdropping on the conversation now. Even Anya had stopped rattling around a set of dice in favour of listening. Sylvanas swept her gaze over them, then said brusquely, “Get on your horses.” 

With a shrug, Hayles pulled his gloves from where they were tucked into his belt and began tugging them over his hands. He looked over his shoulder at his men, who had not yet moved. “You heard the Lady!” he barked. “Get off your arses, you fussocks!”

Immediately, they began shuffling about, shrugging on their cuirasses over their buff coats, buckling their helms over their heads, and clasping their pistol belts around their shoulders. Hayles’ cuirass had a touch more tooling than the others and a broad white sash worn over it to denote his rank, but otherwise he appeared very plain. Anya herself had continued to favour the dark-washed cavalry buff coat she had won earlier that week, wearing it over her usual Ranger leathers, so she could still pull her hood up. Even from a short distance, she would have blended in with the rest of them without trouble. She rode at Sylvanas’ side, when the others preferred to stay a length or two behind the Queen of the Forsaken. 

“Are we looking for something in particular?” Anya asked. Somewhere along the way, she had acquired herself a living horse, one of the deep-chested smoky chargers bred in the area. 

“The enemy,” said Sylvanas, her tone curt. She did not offer any more explanation. 

Sylvanas' skeletal horse was out of place among the flesh and blood beasts of burden ridden by the cavalry. That and her armour meant she stuck out like a sore thumb, but she was long past caring. The Ashvanes by now knew who they were up against. Or if they didn't, they were fools. 

Scarcely an hour later, and they were riding north along the road to Fallhaven. They would not hope to reach it today -- not when it was another three days trek from Barrowknoll -- but there was plenty of evidence of the Ashvanes' retreat. Not even the downpour over the last few days could hide it. She would have joined the scouting expeditions sooner, if not for the rain. Until finally she could not stand staying still another second, and taken Lucille's cavalry for her own. 

They stopped every now and then to read the landscape. Hayles at one point disputed Sylvanas' tracking, claiming that the Ashvanes had clearly gone west. In response, Sylvanas had glowered at him until he sighed and fell back in line. She was not about to discount a few centuries of experience tracking game and leading armies in favour of a man who, in her culture, would barely be considered old enough to wipe his own backside. They headed east at a fork in the road towards Carver's Harbour, until midday when Sylvanas pulled back on her reins. 

She frowned down at the tracks in the ground. "They doubled back south," she murmured, pointing. 

Hayles grunted in agreement. "Not all of them, though. Just a lightly armoured company, if that." 

"On horseback, no less." Sylvanas tugged at the reins so that her skeletal horse veered off in that direction. 

Hayles followed, kicking his horse forward to trot after hers. "If we're unlucky, we'll get caught on both sides." 

Sylvanas ignored him. She urged her horse to a canter, loping ahead of the rest so that she reached the treeline first. Behind her, she could hear Hayles cursing and the sound of him drawing his weapon. The cock of a pistol clicked, echoed by dozens of others as his cavalrymen followed suit. She did not bother drawing her own bow slung at her saddle beside the matching quiver. 

Her eyes scanned the woods. They were a far cry from the dense and foggy Crimson Forest, though they were nothing at all like the woods of her homeland either. The trees here wended across the gentle slope, their trunks moss-covered and sporting growths of white fungi. She guided her horse briskly through the trees. Her ears twitched at the faintest sound -- the rustle of tack, the snort of horses behind her, the creak of branches in a stiff breeze, the chattering of birdsong, the purl of a stream narrow enough to step over. And finally the faint strains of human voices. 

Lifting her fist into the air, Sylvanas pulled back sharply on the reins. Without turning, she made a gesture and then dismounted. Anya was by her side in an instant, arrow already nocked in her bow, eyes bright and alert. 

“Four hundred paces dead south,” Anya whispered in Common for Hayles’ benefit, as he crept up beside them on foot. 

Sylvanas turned to Hayles, keeping her own voice low. “Do you know the area?”

He nodded. “Aye. There’s a small ridge by a stream just up ahead. Barely a feature, but it’s something.”

All it took was a meaningful glance from Sylvanas, and Anya vanished through the trees like a wisp of smoke. Hayles blinked at her sudden absence, trying to get a good look after where she had gone.

“Wait here,” Sylvanas told him. “Keep the horses quiet. When I give the signal, you will approach with me on foot.”

“Begging your pardon, Warchief, but that kind of defeats the purpose of bringing cavalry in the first place,” he said. “We’re not dragoons.” 

“Which is why they chose to hide in the woods rather than risk skirmishing out in the open. Now, hold your tongue.” 

He huffed, but said nothing further. His troops dismounted and tied up their horses. They drew their sabres and stuffed extra pistols into the broad sashes tied around their breastplates. Rain drizzled from the pointed brims of their lobster-tailed helmets. On horseback, they were confident and easy-going, but on foot they appeared uncertain and ungainly. They would occasionally exchange puzzled looks and shift their grips upon their swords while they waited. 

The smell of smoke drifted through the air, though Sylvanas could not make out a fire through the thicket. The Ashvane scouts had obviously set up a small temporary camp further from their main body to feed back information. The lack of movement on the part of the Waycrest and Drust forces over the last few days would have puzzled them. 

Anya returned on utterly silent feet. She ghosted through the underbrush like a shadow, stopping when she reached their position. Her hands started relaying the information she had gathered using Ranger signs, until she realised Hayles and the others wouldn’t understand anything. Picking up a stick, she drew formations on the ground and held up five fingers, then four and five more. 

Sylvanas nodded in understanding. She pointed at Anya then at a few of the cavalrymen behind them. Anya inclined her head, then motioned for a group of five cavalrymen to follow her. When one of them stepped on a fallen log, his foot snapped through the wet and rotten wood with a noise loud enough to make the birds go quiet. 

Sylvanas closed her eyes as though praying, and grit her teeth. When she opened her eyes again, the cavalryman in question was being glared at by everyone in the platoon. One of his squad mates smacked him upside the head, so that his helm tilted down over his eyes. 

“You fucking moron,” someone hissed. 

Hayles shushed them, and they fell quiet again. The man carefully pulled his foot from the log, and the little group went off, following after Anya. Sylvanas gave them a head start, counting in her head until she was satisfied. Then, she gestured to Hayles and without looking back, she crept forward on silent feet. 

Her trained ears could hear the rustle of their own approach. The cavalrymen creeping along in her wake were accustomed to scouting by roaming broad countryside and hills atop their horses in easy formations. They were not used to this. Just ahead of them, Sylvanas prowled forward until she could see the peaked rise of tents over the underbrush, until she could hear individual conversation, the crackle of campfires, and the stamp of horses’ hooves. The horses were tethered on one side of the camp, their noses stuck in their feed bags. A few of them merely flicked their fuzzy ears upon seeing the approach of the Waycrest cavalry, but raised no alarm. 

Sylvanas raised her hand in a fist again and stopped. The men behind her hid behind the trunks of trees and in the thick underbrush, lying low on their bellies and squinting beneath the rims of their helms at what awaited them ahead. Peering carefully around the trunk of a tree, Sylvanas quickly counted men. Forty-five in the camp, according to Anya, who had counted rightly. Five more on the ridge. That was nearly fifteen more than they had brought themselves. Another glance around the tree trunk, and she spied Anya and the small group of cavalrymen in position at the ridge, waiting. 

Sylvanas caught Anya’s eye. They exchanged a brief nod, and then Anya struck. Quick as a bolt, she had a knife pressed against the throat of one of the sentries. The group of men with Anya burst forward as well, pistols raised, sabres at the ready. 

Straightening, Sylvanas stepped out from her hiding spot. “Gentlemen,” she said, lifting her voice, “how good it is to see you again.” 

A cry of alarm went up, and the men in the camp leapt to their feet. They tugged their weapons free, but their helms and cuirasses were still packed away. Their Captain drew his pistol and sabre, levelling the gun at Sylvanas. It was the same young Captain Ashvane that she had seen during her reconnoitre before the battle of Barrowknoll. His eyes were dark and sombre as he took in the situation -- the men with Sylvanas, the soldiers on the ridge with his sentries at knifepoint. Anya tightened her grip in the hair of the man she held steady when he tried to struggle, drawing a line of red at his exposed throat. 

Sylvanas spread her hands open to show she held no weapon, though Hayles stepped up to stand beside her, his expression grim beneath his heavy beard. “There needn’t be violence,” she said. “Cry ‘quarter’, and I will ensure you are well looked after.” 

Captain Ashvane grinned at her over the top of his flintlock. “Shame,” he said, cocking the weapon with his thumb. “I rather like a bit of violence with my afternoon tea. And you’ve come just in time, too.” 

“We have you surrounded, boy,” said Hayles, aiming down the sights of his pistol. “Best give up and come quiet now, yeah?”

Captain Ashvane swung his arm around so that his own pistol was now pointing at Hayles. “Not a chance, old man.” 

Hayles opened his mouth to speak, but the blast of a pistol snapped through the air. Captain Ashvane’s arm recoiled, the tip of his gun emitting a gout of smoke, and Hayles staggered back, grasping his shoulder. 

All hell broke loose. The Waycrest troops opened fire, and the air was filled with the crack of gunshot and shouts. Red-coated Ashvane scouts returned volleys, only for the two sides to toss aside their one-shot pistols and fall upon one another in a clash of swords. Hayles swore and fired his pistol at Captain Ashvane, but missed. The shot went wide, hitting a tree and scattering bark on the ground. On the ridge above, Anya had drawn her blade across the throat of the soldier she had been holding at knife point. His body was slumping to the ground as he gurgled and grasped at the tide of red spurting from his neck. She was already pulling back the string of her bow and firing arrows down into the camp. 

Captain Ashvane shoved his first pistol into the wide sash at his belt, and pulled out another. He aimed it at Hayles, whose eyes went wide. Moving quickly, Sylvanas shoved Hayles to the ground, and the shot narrowly missed. The Captain drew his sword and advanced upon her, arm raised, slashing down. She danced easily out of reach, moving away from Hayles so that the Captain would follow her instead. Foolishly, he did. He swung his sword in broad strokes, and Sylvanas avoided every blow with a calm assurance that only seemed to anger him. His face grew red. He pulled his lips back from his teeth in a silent snarl. 

When one of the other Ashvane soldiers tried to attack her as well, an arrow sprouted from his back. Sylvanas did not need to even look to know that Anya had shot it. Hayles switched his sword to his good hand, and was fighting a group of Ashvanes with his own men, rallying them together for something more elevated than a mere brawl.  

The Captain did not do the same. He was content to let his superior numbers do the talking for him, leaving him free to pursue Sylvanas, who continued to elude his slashes. He was no slouch with the blade. She could tell by the familiarity with which he handled his sword. A young nobleman trained in gentlemanly pursuits used to getting his way. When he drew too close, she grabbed his wrist and tightened her grip until she could hear the crunch of bone and tendons beneath her hand. 

The Captain cried out. He tried to kick her away, but she stepped aside so that his foot hit nothing. She did not let him go. Instead she twisted his arm expertly so that he was forced to drop the weapon or risk breaking his arm as she jammed his hand into the small of his own back. He was a tall man, and strongly built. But standing behind him, she planted her foot behind his knees so that he was forced onto the ground. 

“Call them off,” Sylvanas murmured into his ear, while he jerked futilely in her grasp. “Or I will make sure you never swing a sword in your life again.” 

He continued to struggle, grunting in pain when she pushed his arm a little further up. He grappled for purchase at her leg, but could do nothing to dislodge her. She leaned in closer to speak again, when she saw a flash of silver. With his free hand, he had pulled the knife from her boot and struck blindly at her over his shoulder. 

Reeling back, Sylvanas clutched at her face. She hissed, feeling the cut at her cheek, which bled black and sluggish. Captain Ashvane was scrambling to his feet. He rounded upon her, brandishing the hunting knife given to her by her mother when she had come of age. The same knife that had been used in the ritual to summon undead ghouls from the sacred Ardfert bogs not four days past. She could feel the anger boil in her lungs, frothing white-hot and wild, welling up in her throat until she was nigh drowning in it.

Captain Ashvane’s expression changed as he watched her. Smug certainty gave way to confusion and then to fear. He took a step back, holding the knife before him like an animal backed into a corner. Some of his men did not notice. All they saw was their commander continuing to fight and break free of the enemy. Several of them moved into position around her, swords raised, while Anya continued to fire into the fray. 

Shadows coiled at Sylvanas' feet, slowly gathering around her. Rage was a living thing in the crucible of her lungs, burning like liquid fire, clawing at the backs of her teeth. With a wordless snarl, her form flickered. In a blaze of black necrotic smoke, Sylvanas swept over the Ashvane men advancing upon her, over half a dozen including the Captain. The coils of shadow billowed outward, curling around them and swallowing them whole, until the air was filled with the sound of a shriek that tore itself from her mouth, drowning out all else. The note shivered high over the treetops, sending a startled flock of birds to flight. Everyone in the camp -- friend and foe alike -- clutching at their ears. Some fell to their knees. Others cried out in agony, blood dribbling from their noses, dripping from their open mouths, choking them until they could not make a noise. 

When the boiling black fog faded, Sylvanas stood in the centre of a group of dead Ashvanes crumpled along the ground. Their bodies were contorted into foetal positions, their skin grey and clinging to their bones as though the very essence of life had been drained from them. Sylvanas' shoulders and the tips of her fingers twitched. Her face was an uncanny mask, her eyes burning like red coals through the gloom. 

Those left untouched staggered weakly to their feet. The camp had gone eerily quiet, the absence of noise in the wake of the banshee scream almost as loud as the wail itself. They were all staring. Hayles' eyes were wide and uncertain, taking in the scene before him. His beard was wet and dark with blood. Even Anya watched warily from the ridge, waiting to see what would happen. 

Breathing out a long ragged sigh, Sylvanas straightened. It took effort to animate herself again as she usually did, as though her body had forgotten what it was like to pantomime life. When she turned her gaze upon a few of the Ashvane soldiers further away from her, they took a step backwards, gripping their weapons tightly to their chests. 

"Put those down," she said, and though her voice was soft, it still echoed with the vestiges of dark power that lingered in her chest like an unspoken threat.

Immediately they threw their weapons to the ground and raised their shaking hands. She turned her attention away from them, looking instead down at the dead body of Captain Ashvane. His fingers were still curled tightly around the hilt of her hunting knife. Reaching down, Sylvanas tugged it free. She took a moment to inspect the blade and clean it on his sash, before slipping it back into its hilt nestled away in her knee high boots. 

Hayles approached her slowly, his steps tentative, as though he were approaching a wild animal that might snap his arm clean off with one bite. "Your orders, ma'am?"

"Take them prisoner, and we'll drag them back to Barrowknoll for questioning."

"Pity about the Captain," he said, glancing down at the man's corpse. "He would've had the most information." 

Something in her expression must have changed, for Hayles went very pale and said hurriedly, "Not that it's a problem, mind. I'm sure the others'll have plenty to talk about when we bring them back to camp, ma'am."

Sylvanas tried to school her features into something resembling calm, but it was difficult when her muscles did not want to react normally. Her soul twitched in her body like a man wearing an ill-fitting suit of clothes. It would take her a few hours to get used to having skin again. So, she merely nodded sharply at Hayles, then turned and began walking back in the direction of their horses. The Waycrest cavalrymen parted before her, staring as she passed. She lengthened her stride and paid them no heed.

Anya was at her side in a moment, trailing after her like a faithful shadow. She looked concerned, but said nothing. Not until they reached the horses, at least. While Sylvanas hauled herself into the saddle, Anya remained standing by the skeletal horse's side. She gazed up at her Queen, as if waiting to receive instruction.

"What is it?" Sylvanas asked. 

"Do you need me to fetch you an Apothecary, my Queen?" 

Sylvanas considered the offer for a moment before shaking her head curtly. "No."

Anya did not quibble. She just clasped her hand over her heart and bowed low. Then, she strode towards her own horse and climbed into the saddle. When she tried to urge the living horse towards Sylvanas however, it shied from the prospect, turning in a wide circle rather than get too close. Sylvanas pretended to not notice. 

By the time they returned to Barrowknoll, it was nearing the evening. On their ride back with prisoners in tow, it had begun to rain. Suddenly Anya’s fixation on an oiled buff coat did not seem so foolish. Sylvanas’ cloak was not nearly as effective as combating the elements in Kul Tiras. It was slower returning to camp than leaving it. The prisoners were not allowed to ride their horses. Rather, their hands were bound and they walked behind the Waycrest cavalry. Their horses were tethered individually to the Waycrest horses; it wouldn’t do to leave them behind. Horses were expensive. One could always find work for them in an army. 

Their return earned a few appreciative murmurs. Waycrest and Drust soldiers gathered round and asked questions of their friends in the cavalry as they rode into Barrowknoll. Jeers and hard looks were aimed at the Ashvane prisoners, but they were otherwise left alone before they were carted off for questioning. Hayles was approached by a Waycrest infantry Captain when he dismounted. Sylvanas eyed him sidelong as he clapped the man on the shoulder and began to speak with him boisterously. 

As if sensing her gaze upon him, Hayles turned. He caught her eye, and to his credit he did not look away. In fact, swept his helm over his heart and inclined his head towards her respectfully. Fearfully, even. 

Rather than reply, Sylvanas slid smoothly from her own saddle. She strode off, giving Anya a sharp gesture to imply that she wanted to be left alone. Anya did as commanded without question, returning, presumably, to the cavalry unit she preferred to haunt for company these days. 

Sylvanas headed towards her own quarters in Barrowknoll -- a repaired house near the Church, which itself was being used as the new headquarters. She quickened her step when she drew near the Church, knowing full well that certain unwanted parties often lingered within. Before she could make it past however, a voice called after her. 

“I see you’ve returned victorious from your little hunting expedition.” 

Going still, Sylvanas glanced over her shoulder. Katherine was walking towards her from the Church. Planks had been erected in a webwork of pathways across the muddy ground. The end of Katherine’s cane knocked against wood with every other step. 

With one last longing look towards her own private quarters only a few paces away, Sylvanas turned to face the Lord Admiral. She tucked her hands behind her back in an officious pose, trying to seem natural even when she knew she appeared stiff. “I did,” she said. 

Katherine stopped before her, and folded her hands over the top of her cane, leaning her weight upon it. She was undeterred by the rain. “Did we learn anything new?”

“Not yet.” 

Katherine cast a critical eye over her. “You look more dead than usual. Did something happen?”

“Your concern is touching,” Sylvanas drawled. “But unnecessary. I am fine”

“Hmm.” Katherine pursed her lips. 

“Unless there is something else you wished to discuss, I shall -” 

Before Sylvanas could finish speaking and try to slip away however, Katherine interrupted. “There was, actually. How good of you to ask. I was wondering when we might all have a strategy meeting. Since you and the High Thornspeaker seem to be conveniently busy whenever I try to get you both in the same room these days.” 

It was true. Any time Katherine or Lucille would try to convene a meeting to discuss their next steps, Sylvanas would find an excuse to be elsewhere. It was at least gratifying to know that Jaina was doing the same. Though she doubted it was to avoid her. Most likely it was to avoid her mother. 

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. “These are busy times, Lord Admiral.” 

“Oh, spare me the bullshit, my dear. We all know what times these are.”

Sylvanas blinked. Not at the swearing -- Katherine was prone to cursing as fluently as any sailor worth their salt -- but at the endearment. Sylvanas had heard Katherine call people ‘my dear’ only when they crossed a certain unspoken threshold. For Tatanka it was with the first cup of tea. For Anya, after their first card game. For Arthur after exactly three seconds of conversation. For Sylvanas, apparently, it took nearly seven months and a victory on the battlefield. Some had more hoops to jump through than others, it seemed. 

"I want to know what the plan is," Katherine continued with a face like cold iron. 

"Since when was this my army?" Sylvanas sneered. "Last I looked, my people and I were just a resource for you to use."

Katherine scoffed. "Like you didn't want it that way. Still -" she shifted her weight so that she could tap her cane thoughtfully against the wooden planks beneath them. "I do wonder what the High Thornspeaker promised you to get you to deploy so many troops into Drustvar."

Sylvanas thought of the treaty in her personal quarters, stashed safely away, signed and sealed. Copies of it had been distributed to Jaina as well as to Durotar, so that no party could cry foul of the agreement. "That is between myself and the High Thornspeaker."

Katherine arched an eyebrow. "Not even a hint for an old woman?"

In reply, Sylvanas merely glowered. 

"You really think you can keep your arrangement a secret?" Katherine asked. "The truth will out eventually."

"Yes," Sylvanas said. "But not today." 

"I don't see why the secrecy in the first place."

It was so tempting. She could tell her so easily. Jaina's secret hung by a thread in Sylvanas' hands, ready to be severed with a single swipe of a sentence. There was little to gain by telling Katherine, but the pure spite of the deed was almost enough to sway her.

Almost. But not quite.

Finally, Sylvanas said, "I have died for secrets in the past, Lord Admiral. You’ll not suss them out of me with conversation alone.” 

There was a bullish squaring of Katherine’s jaw that followed. Sylvanas had seen it many times before on Jaina; the two shared more mannerisms than they likely knew. 

Sighing, Katherine said, “At least tell me what the plan is for the next week? What have you and the High Thornspeaker discussed?"

Sylvanas’ face darkened. In truth, she and Jaina had not exchanged a single word over the last few days. Every time Sylvanas so much as saw her, she began walking in the other direction. Thankfully Jaina never gave chase. "Ask her yourself,” Sylvanas said. 

"I tried. She refuses to talk to me.” This time when Katherine rapped her cane against the planks, it was annoyed. “I figured you would know, seeing as you're close allies, supposedly. Though I'm having second thoughts, now."

"Then ask Lady Waycrest," Sylvanas said. She turned away and continued striding towards her lodgings. 

"I wasn't aware I was marching alongside children,” Katherine called after her before she could take more than a few steps away. 

Stopping, Sylvanas glared over her shoulder. "I'm older than you."

"Physically, perhaps. But in other ways? Evidence suggests otherwise."

Taking a few steps after her, Katherine stopped and fixed Sylvanas in place with a look sharp enough to skin a hare. "If you ask me -"

"I'm not."

"If you ask me," Katherine repeated, undeterred. "This sounds like some petty row."

When Sylvanas did not answer, Katherine clucked her tongue in an admonishing sort of way and shook her head. "Dear me. Do I really need to encourage you and the High Thornspeaker to use your words? Sit down? Have an adult conversation?"

"The same way you used your words with your husband?" Sylvanas sneered. "Yes, I can see why you ended up widowed and childless."

Katherine went still. Her eyes were like chips of ice. "You mean to shock me, throw me off my tracks and derail the conversation. But I made my peace with myself years ago."

"Clearly."

"What's more interesting is that you would compare your relationship with the High Thornspeaker to mine with my late husband." Katherine sniffed delicately at the notion. "Well, if I'd known this was a lover's quarrel, then I wouldn't have intruded. What a messy business."

Sylvanas growled, "It's not. And we are not having this conversation."

"Might I suggest leaving what goes on in the bedroom out of our military affairs?"

Again, Sylvanas turned to leave. She had scarcely stomped a few steps away, when Katherine called after her, "Kindly pull your head out of your ass. Before we all die, preferably." 

When Sylvanas did not stop this time, Katherine raised her voice, "Do you really intend to let the Ashvanes take the initiative? For such a storied military leader, I honestly expected more from you."

Sylvanas froze with her hand gripping the handle of the front door. Her grasp tightened. She could feel the wrought iron handle crumple beneath her fingers like paper. Behind her, she could hear the intermittent thump of the cane against the sodden wood walkways until Katherine stopped just behind her.

"We cannot winter here," Katherine said firmly, yet softly enough that they would not be overheard. "You know it. I know it. Lucille knows it, but only because I told the poor girl. Does your High Thornspeaker know it?"

Without turning around, Sylvanas said, "She is not 'my' High Thornspeaker."

"I don't care what or who she is," said Katherine. "What I care about is winning. If I had to play go-between for the two of you, I would. But neither of you seem very inclined to speak with me, despite my best efforts. Now, if I can condescend to try and settle this debate or quarrel or what have you, then you can eat crow and talk to that Tides-forsaken druid for five minutes. I'll settle for three minutes, even. Enough for us to agree on a plan and execute it. Have I made myself clear?"

Unclenching her fingers made the iron door handle screech slightly. Pulling her hand away, Sylvanas straightened her shoulders. She rose to her full height and turned, her movements too smooth, too mechanical. Even with a slight stoop due to her leg, Katherine still stood a few fingers taller than her, but the implacable expression on Sylvanas' face made her brow furrow. Katherine leaned back slightly, her eyes suddenly wary. 

When Sylvanas spoke, her voice was quiet; it slithered like a dark echo. “I have no intention of losing. You will have your victory, Lord Admiral. Make no mistake. But do not presume to tell me how to handle my affairs, personal or otherwise.”

Katherine scowled, but this time she did not try to stop Sylvanas as she turned to tug the door open. Walking inside, Sylvanas shut the door behind her, hearing Katherine mutter to herself, "Damn high-handed elves."

Even in the cold damp reconstructed house, there was little peace and quiet. Nathanos was bowed over a table, arranging reports and maps and ledgers in preparation for her arrival. He straightened when she faced him. 

"Anya told me what happened," he said. "She also told me that you refused an Apothecary." 

"I don't need an Apothecary. Or a mother, for that matter. So, you can drop the act," she added snidely. Crossing the sparsely furnished room, Sylvanas rounded the table and sat behind it. "What I need is the latest news from the ships sailing to our position, and the movements of the Great Fleet. If the Zandalari ships don't manage to slip Lord Stormsong's noose, those reinforcements will never arrive, and we might as well abandon this for a lost cause."

"I wish you would," Nathanos replied. “I wish I could sway you to leave.” 

She had considered it. A few times over the course of the last few days, if she were being honest with herself. Leaving Kul Tiras would have been the more sensible approach. There was no use throwing good coin after bad, as her father had been so fond of saying. And knowing when to cut one's losses was a key trait in any military leader worth their salt. Still, the idea rankled.

It was about more than thwarting the Alliance, now. This was personal. And if there was one thing Sylvanas hated, it was losing. 

Sylvanas pulled the first report Nathanos had arranged for her on the desk. Her eyes skimmed over the lines, but every now and then she would glance at him over the top of the parchment. Despite her earlier rebuke, Nathanos hovered nearby. He seemed to have no intention of leaving her alone right now. Annoyance prickled at the back of her spine, but it was tempered by a grateful flicker of feeling as well. 

She did not often use her powers. It was never pleasant -- mostly for others, but for herself also. There were no days, no minutes where she could pretend she was anything than what she had become at the hands of the Lich King, but there were certainly times that were worse than others. An Apothecary could only do so much with their potions and poultices. Her body was a mere vessel for the spirit chained within. They could but settle her corpse, urge it to be soothed for a brief respite. She generally only submitted herself to their care for the sake of others rather than herself. The Forsaken -- her Rangers included -- felt better if they believed she was properly looked after. As though the thought of her distress or loss caused them pain of their own. 

It was the threat of her absence more than anything else. What it would do to them as a people and as a society were she to no longer be there to guide them at the helm. 

The thought rose unbidden in her mind, then. Jaina's offer. Being 'cured.' The possibility of it ached. How would they see her if she lived once more? What would they do? Would she abandon them? Would she stay? Would they even want her to? 

"Is there something wrong, my Queen?"

Sylvanas lowered the report back to the desk. Others found Nathanos difficult to read, but she had never found that to be the case. His careful veil of uncaring haughtiness was the most inhuman thing about him, but his actions were his ultimate tell. He would say one thing, and then do another. Spiteful words of ridicule in one hand, and selfless acts in the other. For the longest time, even back when they had been alive, he had thought she never noticed, but she was not one to reward skill alone. One had to have the proper disposition. 

Now, he hovered, and it was anxious despite his cool tone and his perpetual lofty sneer. 

Lifting her hand to her face, Sylvanas explored the cut on her cheek with her fingertips. She could withstand blows that would kill any living person, but her body did not heal normally, not like it once did. It would take time for the necromantic powers laden upon her spirit to knit this corporeal form back together. The process was slow. The flesh was weak, but the bond between body and spirit was weaker. She could get her Val’kyr to mend her, but she did not like wasting their powers for such trivial matters. 

Finally, she said, "Bring me an Apothecary, then. If it will soothe you, Nathanos."

"It is not I who needs treatment," he said, lying to himself. Sylvanas let him. He bowed and strode out of the house. 

With a sigh, Sylvanas leaned back in her seat and waited for him to return with an Apothecary in tow. Perhaps after letting herself be fussed over for an hour or two, she could get some actual work done. 

Nathanos returned not long later with an Apothecary at his heels and -- to her surprise -- a familiar raven on his shoulder. Now that Nathanos knew about Arthur, he was tolerated rather than actively despised. Arthur had taken to ruthlessly abusing this change in status, much to Nathanos' annoyance and Sylvanas' amusement. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"He saw me getting the Apothecary, and wanted to see how this worked," Nathanos explained, shutting the door behind them. "I told him that it was not my decision to make."

With a shrug, Sylvanas rose to her feet. "He can stay, if he wants." 

"Yes," Arthur whispered triumphantly under his breath.

Since discovering what he was, she had watched his interactions with the Forsaken in a new light. Suddenly his queries about their undeath made sense. She had initially thought them to be curiosity, or him digging up information for Jaina. And perhaps there was a bit of that, to be fair. But it certainly was not the whole picture. 

The Apothecary was a mass of heavy robes. Strapped to his chest and back were darkly lacquered boxes, filled with all manner of potions and reagents. His rotting face was hidden behind a deep cowl, but his eyes gleamed golden through the dim light like candles. He limped as he walked, and even with his hunched stature he was still taller than Nathanos. When Sylvanas turned her gaze upon him, he bowed low. 

"If it would please the Dark Lady," he said in a gravelly voice. 

"It would," she murmured. 

He shuffled closer and began to disassemble the boxes upon the desk. They folded out with clever hinges, revealing a labyrinth of compartments within. While he worked, Sylvanas walked around the desk to stand before him, waiting quietly with her hands clasped behind her back. 

Candles were lit as well as incense. Soon, the room was filled with the smell of chrism and rose oil. The Apothecary took his time. He swung a thurible by its chain, walking around her and murmuring in Gutterspeak. She stood still, allowing the ritual of the process with a bored kind of familiarity. The air grew thick with smoke. When various bowls and vials and candles had been arrayed just so, the Apothecary bowed before her once again. Without needing to be told what to do, Sylvanas lifted her arms somewhat to allow him to begin disrobing her. Every piece of armour and scrap of cloth above the waist was removed and placed aside, handled with care and reverence. He even waved the thurible over her pieces of armour, muttering more incantations. 

On the other side of the room, Nathanos had turned his back for this process. Arthur on the other hand, shuffled around on Nathanos' shoulder to keep watching. That was, until Nathanos plucked one his tail feathers in admonishment.

"Ow! Hey! What was that for?"

"Keep your eyes to yourself," Nathanos growled.

"You always were an awful prude, Nathanos," said Sylvanas, watching them with some amusement. "I do not care if he watches."

There was a bit of dark grumbling at that, but Nathanos said nothing more. He maintained his own discretion, keeping his back turned, while Arthur looked on curiously. 

When her torso was fully revealed, Arthur made a whistling noise. Nathanos appeared on the brink of strangling him, but Arthur only said, "Does that still hurt?"

Sylvanas did not need to look down; she knew what he was referring to. The Val'kyr could mend many things when they reconstructed her body, but the wound made by Frostmourne was not one of them. The gash slanted across her abdomen just beneath her ribs. Along her back, the exit wound was a mirror. It had been expertly sutured back together and packed with a variety of reagents that she did not care to know more about beyond the fact that they smelled of warm myrrh and smoky incense. 

Rather than answer, Sylvanas countered, "Do your old wounds still hurt?"

"No," Arthur said.

"Well, then. There you have it." 

It was not strictly true. Sometimes, she could still feel the cold presence of that cursed blade as though it were sliding between her organs anew, splitting against her lower ribs. Those times were mercifully rare, and usually only occured when she used too much of her powers or spent too much time out of her body in nothing but spirit form. As though returning to her body reminded it of the very concept of pain. Today was not such a day. 

She lowered her arms, and the Apothecary began to unstitch the wound. He went carefully yet expertly, snipping the sutures loose and tugging them free with a pair of pliers and scissors plated in silver. Arthur craned his feathery neck to watch, trying to gain a bit more height to peek over the Apothecary kneeling at Sylvanas' feet and treating her. 

"Are there more Undead among the Drust?" Sylvanas asked. 

"There are lots of them!" Arthur said. "But not like me, no. They're mostly ghouls or restless spirits. They don't remember who they are or anything." 

The Apothecary was repacking the old injury now. His hands pressed the cavernous wound full of reagents. She did not flinch or even glance down at what he was doing. Instead she continued speaking to Arthur, "Do you have a difficult time remembering things?"

Arthur shuffled his wings. "Sometimes, yeah."

Immediately Nathanos' head twitched. Though he did not look around or speak, Sylvanas could tell he was listening very intently to the conversation now. 

"Does Jaina tell you to do things, and you seem to wake up later, not able to remember the past few days?" Sylvanas asked.

Even the Apothecary paused in his ministrations. Sylvanas glanced down at him sharply, and he returned to his task, though he too was now eavesdropping. 

Meanwhile, Arthur cocked his head in bemusement. "No?" he said, sounding confused. "I've never had anything like that happen before. The first year or so after she raised me though, I struggled with basic things. Walking and talking and stuff. I got better at it. She was very helpful."

"How?" Sylvanas tried to keep her tone light, so that Arthur would not get suspicious of this line of questioning.

"You know. She would make potions for me, and braces for my legs, and stuff. But she never could help with the wounds or anything." Arthur blinked, his eyes pale blue and filmy. A corpse's eyes. "I don't think she's very good at necromancy, to be honest. I mean, she's good at a lot of magic, but every magic user prefers some things over others. Like, I can turn into animals all day, but I'm terrible at healing people." 

Sylvanas frowned. "But if she gives you a direct order, can you disobey her?"

An incredulous caw was Arthur's answer. It sounded like a laugh. "Oh, yeah! I disobey her all the time! Why?"

The tension drained from the room. Sylvanas, Nathanos, and the Apothecary all relaxed, as though a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Sylvanas even let out a little sigh.

Bemused, Arthur looked between the three of them. "Is there something I'm missing here?"

But Sylvanas merely shook her head. "It's nothing. Nevermind." 

Arthur leaned down over Nathanos' shoulder, his tail feathers jutting up into the air for balance. "Have you ever raised anyone from the dead?" 

"I have," Sylvanas said truthfully. "Never without their permission. If you had been given the choice, would you have come back?"

For a long moment Arthur puzzled over that query. He shifted his weight back, and shuffled his tail. "I don't know," he finally said. "Maybe. It's not great, but I like it enough. And I didn't like dying. At all."

A surprised huff of laughter escaped Sylvanas then. Even Nathanos chuckled quietly. 

"No," Sylvanas mused with a faint smile, her killing blow on display. "No, I can’t say I did either." 

The rest of the procedure went forth without trouble. The Apothecary stitched her back up with a hooked needle and thread. He anointed her in oils like a god king, until she fairly gleamed. Death magic was woven heavy in the air, heavy on his fingers, as heavy as incense. By the time he worked his way to the more recent wound on her face, she already felt calmer, as though the Apothecary had sewn her soul more firmly into place. 

There was little more he could do about the cut on her cheek than stitch it together and seal it with fragrant chrism and a necrotic spell chanted from his lipless mouth, but it would help quicken the process along. 

The Apothecary helped her back into her clothes and armour, his bony fingers as deft with clasps and buttons as they were with a needle and thread. Soon she was shrugging her cloak around her shoulders, and allowing him to buckle her pauldrons into place as though he were dressing a high priest of the Light in sacred vestments of office. 

A knock came at the door. Sylvanas waved at Nathanos to answer it. When he did so, she could see a number of Forsaken soldiers clustered around outside. News of her minor scrape must have spread through the ranks like wildfire. She had to hold back a grimace. 

"Arthur," she called, gesturing for him to fly closer.

In an ungainly flap of wings, Arthur flew from Nathanos' shoulder and landed on the back of the chair behind the desk. "Yeah?"

"Change into your usual form."

After a moment's hesitation, he did so. There was a whirl of druidic magic, and he stood behind her chair looking curious but faintly uneasy by the way Sylvanas and the Apothecary were eyeing him up. When Sylvanas waved for him to approach her, Arthur rounded the table to stand before them, his pale gaze flicking between the two of them.

Tilting her head to one side, Sylvanas reached out and touched the rent flesh of his wrist. His clothes were scuffed and worn, but not in rags. They were a mark of a man who did not care for clothes, rather than a mark of neglect. His shirtsleeves had been rolled back above his elbow, revealing his hands and forearms, large portions of which had been peeled of flesh and muscle. 

"See what you can do for him," Sylvanas told the Apothecary. 

Without question, the Apothecary bowed to her, then gestured for Arthur to stand where Sylvanas had stood not moments ago. 

Arthur balked. “Oh - I don’t - I don’t know if -”

“Jaina’s speciality is not death magic. It is this man’s, however,” said Sylvanas firmly, indicating the Apothecary. “You will feel better after. I promise you.” 

Sheepish, Arthur allowed himself to be herded where the Apothecary wanted him to stand. He awkwardly held his arms out to the side, all while shooting Sylvanas a look that she could only describe as abashed.

Rolling her eyes, she turned away from him and walked towards the door. He was not so bold when it was himself being undressed in front of others. 

Humans, she thought to herself with a wry shake of her head. 

Nathanos was shutting the door once more when she reached him. “Did you tell them they could stop their worrying?” she asked.

“I did, though doubtlessly they will remain outside until they see you.”

She made a disgruntled noise.

“I also received word from Captain Hayles,” Nathanos continued. Lowering his voice, he said, “Apparently, one of the prisoners you brought back from your little scouting expedition has decided to talk.” 

Sylvanas’ ears canted up in surprise. “That was fast,” she murmured. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder back towards Arthur and the Apothecary, she said, “Do we know the High Thornspeaker’s current whereabouts?”

Arthur was not paying any attention to them. He was too busy pestering the Apothecary with rapid fire questions, which the Apothecary answered in a dusty wheezing voice. 

“The people I have assigned to watch her informed me that she vanished from camp sometime this morning,” said Nathanos. “Nobody has been able to ascertain her position since then. She has a habit of disappearing without a trace and reappearing again. I suspect portals and other translocation magics are at work, but none of the Forsaken mages I’ve designated can crack where she goes to so often.” 

Sylvanas hummed a contemplative note under her breath. “I have an inkling.” Tugging the hood of her cloak over her head, she said, “Stay here. Keep an eye on the camp while I’m away.”

Nathanos’ brows furrowed. “And where are you going?”

“Belore. You’re as bad as the others.”

“Incorrect,” he said with an affronted sniff. “I’m worse.” 

With a snort, Sylvanas reached past him to open the door. “I am going to speak with Hayles and the prisoner. And then I’m going to do something I will probably regret.”

He stepped aside to let her pass. “Which is?”

“I’m going to find the High Thornspeaker, and have a conversation.” 

  The fang was heavy in Sylvanas' hand. She weighed it in her palm, considering her next actions very carefully. Then she lifted the token by its string and said, "Take me to Jaina, please." She growled out the last word like it was a penance. 

That feeling hooked behind her gut as though latching onto her spine and pulled. In an instant blur of colour and darkness, she appeared at the entrance to Jaina's cabin. The fog had returned. A chill nipped the air. A shallow shower of snow dusted the grounds. On one side the cliffs were shrouded in white, and on the other the dark vastness of the trees seemed to vanish into the mist like the long march of time itself. As though this place were caught in a stasis, torn between the woods and the sea. 

Sylvanas tucked the fang back into her belt pouch. She stood before the front door, which had been hung with a wreath woven from blackthorn branches. The berries were dark and clustered along the wreath. Whether it was purely decorative or served some greater magical purpose, she did not know. She used studying it as an excuse to not knock on the door. Eventually, steeling herself, Sylvanas reached out a hand and rapped her knuckles against the door. 

There was no sound from within. Brows knitting together, Sylvanas leaned to one side in order to peer through one of the windows, but the glass was misted from the chill outside. It was impossible to see anything but the indistinct shape of furniture within. 

She knocked again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

Rocking back on her heels, Sylvanas tongued at the back of her teeth contemplatively. She had been so sure that Jaina would be here. Or perhaps she was, and she knew it was Sylvanas outside. Perhaps they were both avoiding each other. 

She was reaching for the door handle, when she heard a voice behind her.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Jaina said. 

Sylvanas whirled around. It wasn't everyday someone could sneak up on her. The only people who could consistently pull it off were her Rangers. And, apparently, Jaina. It was so reminiscent of their first meeting, that Sylvanas narrowed her eyes warily. 

Jaina stood behind her, wrapped in a robe. A towel was slung over her shoulder. Her feet were bare. Her hair had been undone from its usual braid so that it hung, wet, over her shoulders. It was a rare occasion to see Jaina with her scars on full display, the neckline of her robes a low-draped décolletage revealing the rope burns at her neck and the hint of a sword wound over her heart. She faintly steamed in the cool air, as though she had just stepped from a pool of hot water.

Which was, Sylvanas realised, exactly what she had done.

"I have the house warded," Jaina explained. "If you try to force your way inside...well, it's not very nice. Let's just leave it at that."

Sylvanas raised her eyebrows. "Noted." 

They looked at one another for a long moment, until Jaina cleared her throat and stepped past her. "I suppose you'll want to come inside. Unless you really were hoping to rifle through my things without my being here."

"I wanted to talk," Sylvanas said. 

"Now, I'm really worried," said Jaina dryly. 

There was a rusted old lock on the door, but Jaina used no key. She did not need to unlock the door. It opened at her touch without any trouble. Sylvanas wondered if she even locked it conventionally at all.

Jaina did not wait for her guest to follow after her; she simply stepped inside and left the door open behind her. Sylvanas removed her shoes, but hesitated to leave her weapons behind. Eventually however, she balanced the bow and quiver and knife against the outer wall of the cabin, and walked inside. 

The door shut itself softly behind her as though a draught had caught the edge. Jaina was standing before the fireplace. When Sylvanas had peered inside, there had been no light emanating from within. Now, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Jaina stood with her back to the flames and toweled her hair dry. 

The skull mask glowered at Sylvanas from its customary spot hanging on the wall. This time, the scythe-like staff was leaning against it. The runes carved into them glowed stronger when she drew near. Sylvanas moved past them both, entering further into the cabin. She made no motion to make herself comfortable. Instead, she clasped her hands behind her back as though awaiting an infantry inspection on parade. 

Jaina pulled the towel down, her hair a mess until she began raking her fingers through it. "You're very quiet for someone who came all this way to talk to me," she said. 

From this angle, the fire lit Jaina from behind so that she seemed gilded. The soft fabric of her robe was brighter at the edges, more saturated, so that her body beneath was but a silhouette. 

Tearing her gaze away, Sylvanas wandered over to the table strewn with books and scrolls and various maps. She dragged her fingertips along the ragged edge of a vellum map. “I’m sure you will have already heard that I took Captain Hayles and a few of his men for a reconnoitre this morning.”

“I did,” said Jaina. Her footsteps were soft as she crossed the room and joined Sylvanas, careful to keep the table between them.

“We caught a few prisoners. Fortunately for us, one of them decided to cooperate.”

That got Jaina’s attention. She draped the towel back over her shoulder, and asked, “And what did they say?”

“There is a feature just to the northeast of Fallhaven,” Sylvanas said. “They call it Watermill Hill.”

“I am familiar with it, yes.”

“The Ashvanes have orders to take it from the defenders, and use it as a fort to bombard the city.”  

Jaina fell silent. Her eyes dropped to the table, and she began digging up a more detailed map of Fallhaven and its surrounding countryside. She pulled out her ledgers, placing them atop the map and scowling down at the both of them. 

Finally she said softly yet vehemently, “Shit.” 

Sylvanas hummed in agreement. 

Sighing, Jaina sank down into a chair. She rubbed at her eyes, scratching at the scar on one side of her face. “I had hoped to gain control over the peninsula by taking Carver’s Harbour from the Ashvanes.” 

“It is far too late for that, now.” Reaching over, Sylvanas tapped at a section of the map between Fallhaven and Carver’s Harbour. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t make life difficult for them in the meantime. We just need to take the initiative.” 

Jaina nodded. She lowered her hands and opened her eyes. “So, we march for Fallhaven, and hope we can arrive in time to reinforce Watermill Hill. Otherwise we’ll have to take it back before they can blast through the eastern walls with artillery and create a practicable breach.” 

“And then we winter at Watermill, and harass their position at Carver’s Harbour until they wished they had never set foot in Drustvar.” 

“It’s a good plan,” Jaina admitted. “Though somewhat predictable, given the present company. I understand guerilla tactics are a favourite of yours.” 

Sylvanas gave a dismissive little wave of her hand. “We all cling to our little foibles. Mine happen to involve a penchant for shock and hit-and-run doctrine.” 

Jaina smiled, but it was a fleeting thing. Her face looked raw and recently scrubbed. She held Sylvanas’ gaze and said, “You smell like death.”

“Don’t I always?” Sylvanas drawled.

“No,” said Jaina. “Not like this. What happened?” 

Sylvanas tried to make her shrug nonchalant. “I got a little carried away during the scouting expedition.” 

Jaina looked at the cut on Sylvanas’ cheek and murmured, “I see.”

"To add insult to injury, your mother cornered me upon my return."

"Oh?" Jaina's tone was light, but she would suddenly not meet Sylvanas' eye. She fiddled with the ends of the towel slung over her shoulder, picking at stray threads, her actions uneasy, faintly apprehensive.

"She wants to call a meeting to discuss our strategy moving forward."

"Good thing we have one now, then," Jaina said, gesturing to the map of Fallhaven. 

Sylvanas caught Jaina's eye and said, "I don't think that was all she meant."

In reply, Jaina swallowed thickly. The apprehension was more than faint now. She gripped the end of the towel tightly in one fist until her knuckles were white. A flicker of fear and uncertainty flashed across her features. She did not say anything.

"The truth will out," Sylvanas said. "That was what she told me. And she's right. This war will end, and our agreement will come to light. You cannot hide forever."

Inhaling deeply, Jaina lowered her hands to her sides and said, "I know." She chewed at her lower lip for a moment before asking, "What happened with you?" 

Sylvanas frowned in quiet puzzlement.

"When you -- you know -" Jaina made a strange motion with one hand. "When you saw your family again after you had died? How did they react when they saw you like this?"

The map was suddenly incredibly interesting. Sylvanas traced circles around Watermill Hill and its surroundings, wishing beyond all else that they could return to topics of war and strategy and killing, things she was infinitely more comfortable discussing. Not this. 

"My younger sister, Vereesa, was the first to see me,” she finally said, her tone blank and matter-of-fact. “It was awful."

"What happened?"

"She hugged me," said Sylvanas.

Jaina laughed, until she realised very quickly that Sylvanas was not laughing at all.

If she thought too long and too hard, she could still feel Vereesa’s arms around her, crushing her with a warmth that scorched. It hurt to touch her. To be reminded of the heat of life she could never again share. To want to be the person her little sister remembered and idolised -- a yearning so strong it tore her up inside until she thought she could feel a blade piercing her ribs.

“Might I make a suggestion?” Sylvanas said before she could sink too deeply into that melancholic memory.

“Please,” Jaina said, sounding relieved, almost eager for any scrap of advice in this surreal situation.

Sylvanas glanced up at her sharply, and her eyes burned crimson. “Don’t wait too long. The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

A little huff escaped Jaina at that. “I think we’re well beyond that, now. She’s thought I’ve been dead for years. Since before she even became Lord Admiral. I’m sure she’s made her peace by now.”

“She hasn’t. She told me she had, but she is lying.” Sylvanas ran her hands along the back of a chair tucked beneath the desk, her thumbs counting the rings of polished wood grain. “Grief is reaching out in love and finding nothing, and then filling it with something, anything to make that void a little less yawning, a little more manageable. The longer you wait, the more disruptive your return will be.”

Firelight played faintly about the strands of Jaina’s hair. She engoldened in the dim glow. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment of silence. “For assuming what you wanted. It's just that back in Ardfert bog, I thought -”

Sylvanas shook her head curtly. “No. Stop.” 

“Sylvanas -” 

When Jaina tried to round the table, to draw closer, Sylvanas slipped further away. She used the table as an obstacle to keep them apart. “I am not here to accept your offer. And I never will.”

Jaina did not try to pursue her further. She stopped, her hands coming to rest on the desk between them, just lightly touching a space between a stack of worn, well-read books. “I still don’t understand,” Jaina said slowly. “But only because given the choice, I would leap at the chance.”

The cabin was warming up, the fire lapping at the hearth and filling the space with a pervasive roiling heat. Sylvanas wished nothing of warmth. Not now. It was too close to body temperature, and she could feel her own skin begin to react to the heat, to drink it in and hold it fast as though hungry for it. “It is not just about what I want. I have an obligation,” she said, and the words felt as though they were being scraped from her throat. “To more than just myself. I cannot be selfish. I will not be.” 

That was how it always had been. Self-sacrifice above all else. Living for others and not herself. Wishing she could be selfish, but knowing she could never do so; she would hate herself if she did. And she did not need any more reason to hate herself. Especially now.

“If there is one thing you are allowed to be selfish about, it is your own life,” Jaina said, her words chosen with care and precision.

But Sylvanas was already shaking her head, even as Jaina was speaking. “Not mine. And not yours. Not anymore. We are more than people. We are symbols and titles.”

A scowl crossed Jaina’s face, though not one of anger. “Do you allow yourself nothing?”

“You are new to your position. Relatively speaking,” Sylvanas added when Jaina opened her mouth to protest. “There is a balance you must find between personal wants and public needs. I found it long ago when Quel’Thalas demanded a military leader of my family. It is easy for you now. You want to save Drustvar. You want what is best for you people. But there will come a time, when you will do things that go against your better conscience not because you want to, but because you must.” 

“And you believe you must remain dead?” Jaina asked incredulously.

Sylvanas’ answer came without err or hesitation. “Yes.” 

With a sigh, Jaina shook her head. Again, she raked a hand through her hair, which by now had begun to dry somewhat. 

“Your relationship with your mother is a prime example,” Sylvanas began, watching her reaction. “You don’t want to reveal yourself to her, but you know you have to eventually.” 

Jaina chewed at her lower lip again. Her brows knit. Finally she relented with a nod. “Yes. I know.” 

“It is easier if you think of yourself as two different people.” Sylvanas lifted her hands, palms facing up as though weighing objects between them. “The future Lord Admiral, and Jaina Proudmoore.”

A bitter smile twisted Jaina’s lips. “It seems you need more hands, if we’re going to talk about your personae,” she said with a nod towards her. 

Sylvanas lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “When you live as long as elves do, you might need more than two, as well.”

“I will.”

At that, Sylvanas blinked. She looked at Jaina for clarification. 

“Druids live as long as elves do. Even human ones,” Jaina said. Then she grinned, amused by Sylvanas’ confusion. “It’s a perk.” 

“And here I thought the Kul Tiran nobility would be clamouring for you to conceive an Heir the moment you became Lord Admiral,” Sylvanas drawled. 

“Oh, they probably will anyway. But they’re going to be very annoyed when they find out that I’ll outlive them by a good few centuries at least.” 

“I can hear the cries of outrage from Boralus already.” 

Jaina’s grin widened, then softened. Her fingers played with the cloth belt holding her bathrobe together. “I have to say, this certainly has been a surprise.”

Sylvanas cocked her head to one side.

In answer, Jaina gestured between the two of them. “I thought this conversation was going to be far more unpleasant.”

"I can make it unpleasant, if you would prefer."

Jaina made a face. "Please, no. I thought we were doing so well."

When Sylvanas smiled, it did not reach her eyes. Her fangs glinted in the firelight. "Make no mistake. I am still very angry." Her gaze seared crimson.

Jaina made a noise at the back of her throat, something between a hum and a grunt. "I can see that. I don't suppose there's anything I can do?"

"More concessions when you become Lord Admiral wouldn't go unappreciated."

Rolling her eyes, Jaina said, "Anything that doesn't involve me whoring out my nation?"

Sylvanas tapped at her chin, pretending to think deeply on the subject. Finally she said, "No. Nothing."

With a snort of wry amusement, Jaina said, "Well, do let me know if that changes." 

"I will keep it in mind." A keen expression crossed Sylvanas' face. "I never forget when I am owed a favour." 

"Now, that is just ominous." 

"Good. It was supposed to be." 

The fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, the sky had fallen dark as night swept across the land. Glancing through a window, Jaina sighed. "I suppose I ought to make myself presentable and face the firing squad."

"I very much doubt your mother will draw a pistol on you, though I will admit that she is a difficult woman to read." 

"That's an understatement," Jaina muttered under her breath. She had begun to pick her way up the stairs, manoeuvring through the stacks of books haphazardly arranged along the steps. 

When she reached the mezzanine, she dropped the towel onto the bed and untied the belt of her robe. Sylvanas pulled the maps closer to herself to study them while she waited, but her eyes would stray up to where Jaina was getting dressed. There wasn't much to see through the pillars of the balustrade and the piles of books. Glimpses of skin and cloth here and there as Jaina pulled on a fresh set of formal robes. There was an exit scar on her back, where Gorak Tul had struck her through with a sword, right between her shoulder blade and her spine. 

A few minutes later, Jaina descended the steps, still tying the laces of fabric at her throat to hide the scars of her neck. Her cloak was draped across the back of the couch, and she shrugged it over her shoulders. The fabric rustled like the wind through dense branches. Sylvanas had long since given up the pretense of pouring over the maps, and stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs. 

"Are you ready?" 

Jaina fiddled with her loose hair for a moment, as though contemplating taking the time to braid it. Eventually though she nodded. "Yes. Let's go." 

When they reached the door however, Jaina stopped. Her hand had immediately grabbed up the sickle staff, but she hesitated at the mask. Sylvanas waited patiently a step behind for Jaina to make up her mind. 

"No," Jaina said softly to herself, turning away from the mask. Before she could take another step towards the door though, she turned back to the mask. "Or...? Well...? Hmm." She grabbed the mask. "Yes." Then almost immediately she put the mask back on its hook. "What am I thinking? No."

Sylvanas sighed. "You are worse than a cat at the door."

"All right, yes." Jaina snatched up the mask, spurred into action, and pulled the door open. Once outside she placed the antlered skull over her head, and her shoulders relaxed somewhat, as though the idea of extra layer of protection was soothing. 

Sylvanas followed, closing the door behind them. She took a moment to pull on her boots and greaves. Once she had slung her bow over her shoulders, she pulled the fang from her belt pouch, but Jaina just held out her hand instead. 

"I'll take us back," she said, hand outstretched, waiting. 

Slowly, Sylvanas tucked the token away, and reached out for Jaina's hand. Jaina clasped their fingers together. Her skin was warm and calloused. Sylvanas could feel it even through the supple leather of her gloves. 

The dark sockets of the skull's eyes glowed with pinpricks of light, and Sylvanas tensed. Jaina tightened her hold, as if she were afraid Sylvanas would wrench her hand away while the spell was still taking form. And then that familiar hook-like sensation gripped at Sylvanas' stomach and gave a mighty tug. When the world righted itself again, they were standing on the second floor rafters of the church at Barrowknoll. 

The roof had been reconstructed with rough-hewn lumber. Stacks of bricks and munitions were piled up all around. The space was dimly lit from candles scattered around the main floor below them, and the sound of voices floated up the nearby set of stairs. 

"Tides help me, if you don't tell me this instant, Lucille Waycrest -!"

"I don't know anything! You must believe me, Katherine. If the Warchief or the High Thornspeaker had said something to me, they would have said it to you as well. I swear it."

"You’re hiding something. You all are. Oh, don't give me that doe-eyed look! You always were a terrible liar."

"I told you, I don’t know anything!" 

"You know I was there at your birth? Your mother held my hand. Nearly squeezed it right off, if you ask me. That woman had a death grip like no other."

"Yes," Lucille sighed wearily. "I know." 

"And when Meredith fell to the Coven? Who was the first to offer you aid?"

Lucille mumbled something under her breath.

"Speak up, my dear." 

"I said: You were."

"That's right. I was. And when those fools at Corlain attempted to burn you at the stake for some far-fetched witchcraft conspiracy, who got wind of it and rallied the Marshal for a rescue attempt?" 

"You did."

"And yet you have the nerve -- the absolute gall -- to look me in the face right now, and lie to me." There was the sound of boot steps, and the faint clack of a cane against wooden floorboards. When Katherine spoke again, her voice was low but not at all soft. "I had thought I could rely upon you, the last of my family, distant though you are. But I see I am cursed to live a life of disappointment, through and through." 

“That’s not fair,” Lucille sounded like she was choking on the words, or trying to hold back a wave of tears. “You know I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. 

"You have a very poor way of showing it." 

"What am I supposed to do? Perform every action of my life as though I'm grovelling at your feet just to show how thankful I am?"

"Of course, not. You're being ridiculous."

"Don't say that! Don't you say that to me! You know I can't stand that, Kath!"

"Don't you 'Kath' me, young lady!"

As they eavesdropped, Jaina was gripping Sylvanas' hand hard enough that her fingers trembled. Sylvanas stole a quick glance at her. It was impossible to see what her expression was beneath the mask, but her back was too straight, her shoulders too rigid. 

Sylvanas squeezed her hand back, and Jaina's head jerked towards her in surprise, as though she had only just remembered that Sylvanas was present at all. But it was only to get her attention, for Sylvanas jerked her head meaningfully at the stairs, and gave Jaina a pointed look. She could hear a faint indrawn breath beneath that mask, and then Jaina let go of her hand. 

At the first creak of the floorboards beneath Jaina's feet, the two voices went silent downstairs. Sylvanas followed as Jaina descended the stairs, her own footsteps silent as a whisper. 

Lucille and Katherine were standing very close together before the large rectangular altar that had been converted into a planning table. Scrolls and scraps of notes, missives and ledgers and stacks of maps were strewn across the altar. The papers were weighed down with bits of brick and bronze lamps. Both of them appeared startled at the interruption and the idea that their conversation was being listened to. Katherine recovered more quickly, grasping the falcon head of her cane in both hands and schooling her features to their usual hard neutrality. On the other hand, Lucille’s lower lip trembled. Despite that, her gaze was sloe-eyed and unyielding. 

"Forgive the interruption," Jaina said, her voice cold beneath the horned skull. "But I thought I should step in." 

Lucille jerked her chin up and said steadily. "It's fine. We just got a bit sidetracked from a strategy discussion." 

Jaina hummed. She approached the altar, her hand reaching out to rest upon the stone surface. "Sylvanas has informed me of new developments that we all need to discuss." 

Hearing this, Katherine shot Sylvanas a look that could only be described as startled, though she tried to hide it. In return Sylvanas gave away nothing. She did not draw nearer the altar, keeping her distance, watching Jaina, waiting for what she would do. 

"I'm glad to hear you two are talking again," Katherine said carefully. Then she turned her attention upon the altar, waving Lucille and Sylvanas over to join them. "Shall we -?"

"No, not yet," Jaina said, cutting her off. Her voice was determined, but there was the barest hint of shakiness lingering beneath the surface. "You were right. There was something Lucille was keeping from you. And I think -- for all our sakes -- we ought to clear the air."

Lucille's eyes widened. She gave Jaina a panicked look. 

Jaina gave no indication that she noticed. Slowly, her hands reached up and clasped the base of the skull mask, lifting it away to reveal her face. Katherine was watching her with a bemused frown, which only deepened when Jaina set the mask atop the altar. Opening her mouth to speak, Katherine paused. She blinked. Then she went white a sheet, and her jaw slackened as the realisation visibly dawned on her. 

Katherine shook her head. “No, that’s - that’s not possible,” she breathed. “You died. They’d told me you died.”

“Yes,” Jaina said. Her hands were gripped into tight fists at her side. She held herself as though expecting to be struck.

From this angle Sylvanas could not see Jaina’s expression, but she could see Katherine's with all too much clarity. Something raw and painful shifted across Katherine’s pale face. Anger and anguish, disbelief and dread. Her hand tightened around the cane. She rapped the end of it against the ground, her jaw tight but her eyes welling up with unshed tears. “I planted a sword in the grave for you,” she rasped. “And yet here you are.” 

“Here I am,” Jaina echoed.

“If this is some trick, I swear to all that’s good, I’ll -” Katherine cut herself off with a rough swallow, breathing in heavily through her nose. 

“I’m real.” 

Katherine opened her mouth to say something, but words seemed to escape her. Hesitant, she reached out with one hand, but Jaina’s shoulders stiffened, and Katherine lowered her arm before she could touch her daughter. She had to muster up the ability to speak again. “You’ve grown very tall,” she said, a weak smile trying but failing to take shape. Her eyes flicked to Lucille and Sylvanas, and then her face hardened, her voice gaining strength. “How long have they known?”

Lucille looked like she would rather die on the spot than answer that question. Sylvanas herself kept her mouth firmly shut, letting Jaina answer. “Long enough.” 

Pain twisted Katherine’s features. “And you didn’t tell me? Why?” 

“Are you really asking me that? After what you did?” 

Katherine drew herself up to her full height, but the top of her head barely passed Jaina’s chin. “I did not want to, but I had to,” she said. “Everything I did, I did to safeguard Kul Tiras. I will not apologise for that.”

“Letting Tandred hang was all part of your plan to ‘safeguard Kul Tiras’?” Jaina asked incredulously.

“You were too young to understand,” Katherine snapped. “The political situation at the time was volatile. I did everything I could to change Daelin’s mind, to find some work around, to exile Tandred instead, but he would have none of it. And the gentry were baying for blood after the orcs had killed so many during the First and Second Wars.” 

Jaina scoffed. “Oh, great. So, dad wasn’t just a power-mad bastard. It was all because of politics. I see now why I should have come back to Boralus the moment he died. How foolish of me!”

Katherine’s face was quickly regaining its colour again. The two of them were locked in a glaring contest, tempers rising, mingling with grief and years of bitterness. They continued speaking as though they had completely forgotten anyone else was in the room. 

“That’s not what I meant!” Katherine said hotly.

“Then what did you mean? Enlighten me.”

“You should have told me! Have you never heard of a letter? ‘Dearest mum, I am alive. Love - Your daughter, Jaina.’”

“You’re unbelievable! You -!” 

As silently as she could, Sylvanas crossed the room and murmured to Lucille, “Come. Let us leave them be.”

Lucille nodded without hesitation, and the two of them slipped away. Neither Jaina nor Katherine seemed to notice. 

“I could have protected you!’

“Oh, yes, because you’ve done such a good job of that in the past!” 

“How dare you! I am the reason why you survived at all!”

“You don’t know anything about what’s happened for me to survive! Or have you already forgotten? You threw me away!”

“I did no such thing!”

Sylvanas shut the side door to the church behind her, so that the sounds of their voices were muted. Outside, the night was dark and drizzly. Most of the soldiers were camped in the fields just to the north, but some still wandered the town performing their duties. Sylvanas kept her hand firmly on the latch of the door as though afraid it might burst open at any second, while Lucille leaned against the outer wall with a ragged exhalation, staying beneath the shelter of the eaves. 

Sylvanas studied her profile, then said, “You did well. I thought you would crack immediately under questioning.” 

A soft shaky laugh escaped Lucille at that. “Thanks,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. She glanced towards the door. “Should we wait here? How long do you think they’ll be?”

Sylvanas’ only answer was a shrug. “They will take as long as they take.” 

“Then they’ll be a while. ‘Stubborn as a Proudmoore’ they say in Tiragarde Sound.” Lucille ran a hand across her brow. She pushed herself away from the wall and said, “Would you like to join me for a drink? I desperately need one.”

“I don’t drink. And alcohol is wasted on me. It does nothing.” 

“Right. Of course. My apologies.”

One of Sylvanas’ ears tilted towards the door, hearing the rising volume of the voices within. She grimaced. “On second thought, I will join you.”  

“Thank the Tides,” Lucille sighed, already gathering up her long hems so that they would not trail in the mud. 

Sylvanas followed Lucille out into the rain, the two of them making a dash towards a nearby reconstructed house. She may not be able to enjoy a drink, but it was a better proposition than staying put; she had had enough eavesdropping for one night.

  Lucille had nearly finished what remained of the flask of whiskey she kept hidden in the drawer of her work desk, and Jaina and Katherine still had not emerged from the church to the Tides. Sylvanas sat in a chair beside the fire, while Lucille nursed a glass. Conversation was halting at first, but eventually Lucille's tongue was loosened by drink. Sylvanas took the opportunity to suss out any additional helpful information about Jaina and Katherine. Most of it she already knew. Some of it however, she did not.

"I wanted to go to Jaina's burial in Boralus, but my mother forbade it," Lucille said. She had draped a blanket over her legs to ward off the cold, and her chair had been pushed nearer the fire. 

"Why would she do that?" Sylvanas asked.

Lucille sipped at the amber spirits in her glass. "In hindsight, I think it was because she had already well fallen under the influence of Gorak Tul. But it wasn't just that. There really was bad blood between the Houses back then."

"Unlike now, where you all get along swimmingly," Sylvanas drawled.

Lucille snorted a laugh into her cup. "I didn't think you would actually have a sense of humour, you know. It's kind of nice."

"I'm a woman of hidden depths." Sylvanas waved for Lucille to continue. "Now, you were saying about the Houses?"

"Yes. Well. Katherine was right back in the church, really. Terrible business, the First and Second Wars. There aren't many people in Kul Tiras to begin with. Then nearly a quarter of the entire population died fighting the orcs. We are still recovering as a society. I don't know if we ever will. Not really." Lucille cradled the glass of whiskey between her hands as though praying that it would warm her. "Derek Proudmoore, Jaina's eldest brother, was one of the people to fall. Daelin and Katherine were crushed. But he wasn't the only one. Lady Ashvane's Heir died. Her husband, too. And some of Lord Stormsong's family. Everyone was affected. Then Tandred goes off and helps those shipwrecked orcs? I know he was being kind -- he was a kind soul, if a bit of an ass at times -- but it was a scandal. Everyone wanted him to hang. My mother included. The Proudmoores nearly lost the Admiralty over it. There was talk of overthrowing them back then. My mother said theirs was a whole line of traitors. That they weren't to be trusted. And there were plenty of people who shared that sentiment. An example needed to be made."

Sylvanas hummed. "A sacrificial lamb led to the altar to appease the masses."

Tipping her glass towards Sylvanas as though in a toast, Lucille said, "Exactly that."

"Which doesn't exactly bode well for me."

"Oh, definitely not," Lucille said. Alcohol made her earnest and far too honest. "I think it would be a disaster, personally."

Sylvanas gave her a dangerous look. "How reassuring," she said in a silky warning tone.

Usually Lucille got the hint, but not when she was four glasses deep and reaching for the flask to pour herself a fifth. "The only thing that might salvage the relationship is the fact that you're not an orc. Kul Tirans tend to be a bit -- uhm -- how do I put it nicely -?"

"’Negatively predisposed towards those of orcish descent?’" Sylvanas supplied dryly.

“That works, yes.” 

“And what does this have to do with Jaina’s burial, exactly?”

“Well -” Lucille expertly balanced the glass on her knee while she screwed the top back onto the flask. For a moment Sylvanas thought the glass was going to crash to the floor, but Lucille was apparently as Kul Tiran as any, for she snatched up the glass without fail or fumble. “There wasn’t a body, obviously, but Katherine wanted a funeral anyway.”

“People often do.”

“Anyway, it was a big public event. The Lord Admiral couldn’t keep it secret that she no longer had an Heir. Before that, she’d told everyone that Jaina was living with us in seclusion at Waycrest Manor.”

“Ah,” said Sylvanas. She leaned back in her seat and crossed an ankle over her opposite knee. “Yes. I see where this is going.” 

Making an affirmative noise into her glass, Lucille finished her sip of whiskey and continued. “When my mother refused to let any member of House Waycrest attend, it was a public indictment in all but name. A show that the Lord Admiral’s power was slipping in Drustvar. And to top it all off, my dear mother was already neck-deep in her dabblings with Gorak Tul and the Coven, so of course she wanted the Lord Admiral out of her business, so she could take over Drustvar without any hassle. It was a damn mess.”

Sylvanas tilted her head to one side. “And what do you want for Drustvar?”

“Me?” Lucille blinked, as though surprised at being asked that question at all. 

“Yes, you. You are Lady Waycrest, are you not?” 

Turning her gaze to the fireplace, Lucille stared into the flickering hearth. “I want a Drustvar free from corruption and at peace with itself. I want to clear the smirch on my family’s name. And I want to follow a Lord Admiral who has a clear vision for Kul Tiras.”

“And you think Jaina will give you those things?”

“I do,” Lucille said with real conviction. 

“Even if it means aligning yourself with people like me?” Sylvanas gestured to herself. 

Lucille’s mouth opened, but before she could answer the front door swung open hard enough that it hit the wall and bounced back. Jaina stormed into the house, skull mask beneath one arm. Rain was caught in her cloak and her loose hair, droplets gleaming like stars. Her eyes were red-rimmed as though she had scrubbed recent tears from her cheeks. 

Katherine was conspicuously absent. 

“Right,” Jaina said, slamming the door shut behind her and stomping towards the fireplace to stand between their two chairs. “Well, that was awful.” 

Wordlessly, Lucille held out the glass of whiskey. To Sylvanas’ surprise, Jaina took it and slugged back its contents as easily as though it were water. 

“Welcome back,” Sylvanas said.

“Why did I listen to you?” Jaina asked, handing the glass back over to Lucille for refilling. 

“Think of it this way: you only have one surviving family member, so you’ll never have to do it again,” Sylvanas pointed out. 

“Thank the Tides,” Jaina grumbled.

Lucille handed the glass over to Jaina, filled with a good three fingers of whiskey. “Do we have a plan?”

“We have a plan.” Jaina took the glass. This time she did not immediately drain it in one gulp. Rather, she tipped it back and forth as though admiring the way the liquid slid against the interior of the glass. Then, she took a sip and said, “We march to Windmill Hill tomorrow morning to chase off the Ashvanes and wait out the winter. Or -” She craned her neck to peer out the nearest window, where the faintest sliver of dawn was creeping over the horizon. “Later today, actually. Ugh, but I need some sleep.”  

“And the Admiralty?” Sylvanas asked.

“You’re looking at the official Heir to the Admiralty and Scion of the Great Fleet. Cheers.” Jaina lifted the glass in the air, and tipped it back. What few drops remain, she cast into the fire, which spit and hissed furiously. 

Lucille and Sylvanas exchanged silent glances. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sylvanas said. 

“Yes,” Lucille agreed, though she sounded far less certain. “Congratulations, I suppose?”

In response, Jaina heaved a weary sigh. “Fuck me.”

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Slow Life (Chop and Change, Part 5.)

Series descriprion: Twenty years ago, you’ve given a promise to a boy who claimed to imprint on you. Against your will, you decided to keep it and to visit La Push just to see if anything has changed.

Part summary: The life at La Push slowly moves forward, and even your date day with Seth came along... But it did go nothing as you wished it would go.

A/N: Okay, I am not trying to make anyone look bad in here, I just think that La Pushers know a lot about vampires at that point - so they wouldn’t pressure vampire into doing something that’s not vampire-like

Also, the next part will be significantly shorter... You’ll see why.

Warning: It’s highly recommended to read the Football Time miniseries first since this contains an unlike pairing which is explained in the series, also the circumstances are given there.

Word counter: 6 K

Tagging: @nemodoren​. @missdictatorme​

Spotify playlist:  ✨ Twilight Crackheads ✨

Series masterlist: H E R E

PICTURE SOURCE

"Well, start talking. We've been betting!" - Alice cried out with laughter as most of the Cullens gathered in front of the computer screen. You and Emmett were sitting on the other side. It was fun that Alice couldn't see anything that was about to happen to you or Emmett clearly, simply because of the number of shapeshifters you've been around. On what they've been betting, you were afraid to even guess. Yet at least one of the vampires had basic decent manners - and without any surprise, it was Carlisle. Of course, it was Carlisle. - "Is Seth doing better now?" - Doctor Cullen asked from behind all of his children gathering in front of the notebook, with concern in his voice. Both you and Emmett looked at each other with nasty giggles.

"First and foremost, everyone's doing good and we have to tell you a ton of 'Hi' from the Quileutes. They were asking about you." - You started to address as an adult would, but Emmett jumped into your speech. - "She's smelling like a wet dog and also forgot her blouse at his house, so," - "Emmett! Goddamn it." - You cried out but saw as both Bella and Rosalie gave Alice ten dollars. The future-seeing vampire just smiled happily, accepting the pocked cash. - "What the hell is that about?" - You opened up your mouth and wiggled your head. - "We were betting that it will take him at least a month to get under your skin. But Seth has his ways, as I see... Ew. That sounds gross." - Bella grinned at what she had said. Any of them had seen the man grown-up; most of them remembered him as a small kid.

"And I also kicked her ass when we've been chopping wood." - Emmett said proudly, looking at you. - "Don't worry, we hadn't hurt anyone, and Sam's glad he has an entire pile of wood for the winter. Children were standing far away." - You both started talking over each other, telling the Cullens about how you're doing in Forks and mainly in La Push, telling them every small detail.

You spent almost the whole night on the facetime, the Cullens changing in front of the screen. The only one who seemed to firmly believe that Seth will find his way, other than Alice, was Edward - so they've split the cash into halves. Whether metaphorically or literally, you didn't know, but you could imagine these to empty brains cutting the banknotes in halves. Just when you were about to end the call, Alice started to talk about some wedding which was including you too much for your liking - at that moment, you decided to do the laundry and to give yourself another long bath, since Emmett could smell the wet dog from you for miles.

The other morning, it was Friday, it was nice and sunny - so you decided to spend the day in the woods, hunting You were preparing for Port Angeles and Emmett heard, that there was too many bears at Mount Rock. To be honest, you had a ton of fun while fighting the bear. As you were walking to the Cullen house, it was twilight once more, leaving the woods in a nice, violet undertone for a moment before the night covered it. It was cloudy again, so this time, there were no stars. It was beautiful nonetheless - the way the moon was lighting the clouds from the inside was magnificent. - "I'll be leaving tomorrow." - Emmett said quietly, leading the way. Even though his voice didn't carry any emotion, you could tell he was smiling. - "I suppose I'll be going on my own, huh?" - At that, he sneakily looked at you.

"Unfortunately." - You agreed, but really, it could be heard that he's happy for you. And you were happy as well. It was still a mystery to you. How could the man look past your walls as fast as he did? Sure, he was very intuitive and notice when it came to you, but this was still scarily fast. But yeah, you liked him. And at that point, it was only slightly upsetting you. You only cared about Seth being alive and well. Maybe the imprinting was both-sided after all? Because the more time you spent with him, the more you appreciated him and cared for him. Soon, there won't be any alarm triggered in your head. - "Can I have at least one wish before I leave?" - He stopped and put his big palm on your shoulder. - "We'll see."

"I want to be your best man." - He smiled, watching a variety of emotions going through your face in the space of a minute. - "Fuck you." - Was all you could say before you took the lead yourself, walking to the house.

It was strange, the whole 'trying to look good for someone' thing. It was the first day in the centuries you've spent in front of the wardrobe, which you were allowed to use all you wanted, choosing what you'll wear. In the end, you didn't want to look too suspicious for the others in Port Angeles to notice, so you just chose a simple outfit.

Emmett left early in the morning, leaving you all alone in the Cullen residence - which was there for you as long as you'd need it. The closer you got to the evening, the more nervous you were. What on earth you were nervous about? Seth was all over the place for you since the time he first laid his eyes on you and you still were nervous because you didn't want to say something bad, look bad, stare all the time or do something to make him angry. He was important to you. As stupidly as it sounded, he found his way around you in a week. It couldn't be called 'loving', not just yet, but you did think about him as of your date.

Around six in the evening, you were there to pick him up. There was still enough time for you to have dinner before choosing some movie. Yet when you stopped the engine, you've noticed something different about him. - "Where did you leave your hair?" - You wondered, coming closer so you could touch him. Sure, he kept the hair long enough for some curls waving at the top of his hair, which were still falling into his forehead; but the long, black hair was gone. - "I need to keep it short because of the shifting. It gets annoying when you drag your fur on the soil." - Seth smiled and pulled out the flower he was hiding out of sight.

It was a rose, red as blood. Ironic, but still poetic. - "It's one of the flowers that are preserved. It should age slower." - He whispered when you just stood there, quietly watching the flower. He almost didn't notice a swift movement of your forearm that hugged his side, dragging him closer. It was a moment so quick and full of force that for a moment, Seth could barely breathe. Damn, you were a strong one. - "It's beautiful." - With a small smile, you kissed him on the edge of his jaw. - "Uh, seems like a have to get over the smell again." - You mumbled, ruining the romantic moment for good.

"Last time, you seemed to be doing good." - Seth rose his eyebrows and watched you opening the window in the kitchen, about which you already knew that can be opened with little force. Quickly, you put the rose into an empty vase before sliding back to Seth, closing the window behind. - "Hm." - He furrowed and put both his hands on his sides. - "What?" - "I might get as well rid of the door since you seem to be thinking it's useless." - This genuinely made you smile as he bumped his elbow to your shoulder, kissing the top of your head.

"Back to the previous topic. I was doing good because I spent more than twenty-four hours inside your bed, where your smell is the most intense." - "But you've been shopping?" - Seth answered with confusion, following you to the car. - "Who said I've been breathing there? I couldn't smell other smells, because I would have a hard time getting used to you when I'd get back." - The man looked at you for a second - his lips formed a straight line. So, just the way he did, you stood in the open door to your car with a smile.

"When I look at you, I see a funny, beautiful, and caring woman. But then I remember that you're a vampire and you, vampires, do a ton of weird stuff." - "What are you talking about? I'm not weird. Also, you change into a big fluffy dog, and?" - With that, Seth leaned his elbows into the top of the car and looked you in the eyes as he started to count on his fingers. - "You sit and stare without moving for hours, you never use the door or ask permission to enter a house, you just stop breathing for an unlimited amount of time... But this is what makes you fun. I like that you're weird. Normal isn't something for me, I think." - And with that, another kind smile spread all over Seth's face. Dear Lord, he was handsome and the shorter hair, even if long waves were your favorite without a question, was suiting him in away.

"As you mentioned the wolf thing... You know how you said my smell provokes your nose?" - Seth asked after a moment as you drove to Port Angeles. He noticed that you drive fast, not as fast as the Cullens, but you still were stepping over the speed limit. Yet, most likely, you weren't about to receive a fine - since Charlie had still a very strong connection to the Forks PD and if everything will go well, you will be Charlie's daughter-in-law one day. Yet your madman driving style was making him furrow at times. - "Yeah, it's just how it is." - You answered his question, quickly gazing at the man. - "I'll need to change for a day, maybe two. It's getting hard for me not to shift in your presence." - "Oh."

It almost came across as if you were... Not disappointed, just confused. Yeah, sure, you understood his natural need to change, but you forgot that he might be changing more just because you'll be around. Sure, you were irritated by the smell as well - but you still weren't changing into a huge dog. Yet Seth just needed to do that and he'll continue with needing it. - "Do you think we'll be able to figure it out, someday? You know, how to... Prolong it or something? I don't know how that works." - The way you shrugged your shoulders was extremely telling - it almost seemed that you're worried for Seth. What if he doesn't like to shift into a wolf? What if he'd like to stop one day? What would this mean for you?

But just because Seth wasn't a mind reader, he didn't understand what this was about. So, he just told you what was on his mind. - "It took you one day to get used to the smell, right?" - "I still felt it. It just got less intense, but it wasn't that bad anymore." - "I think I can do something similar. I just need time to get used to you being around just like you do. Naturally, you're a vampire, so even I wouldn't ever hurt you, my body still tells me that I need to change as soon as I can. Now, I'll need to change every two or three days to stay cool when I'm with you, but maybe after a year or two, I'll last a week or a month. We don't know that." - With that, the man put his palm on yours, which was holding the shift lever. - "What if you won't want to do it anymore? What then?" - The hand was making you nervous, but to be honest, you were interested in the answer more than in some damn hand holding yours. But Seth's grin gave you a slight help before you tried to guess. - "For a reason, there's no way in the world you'd stop with it, huh?" - You guessed, but Seth's grin gave it all away. It wasn't even a joke.

"I need to explain to you what's imprinting about again, don't I. The thing is - you're immortal. You're a vampire, you won't age, you won't die of sickness, you won't be any less beautiful than you're now. And if you don't age, what should make me wanna age?" - Seth asked you, and even though it was a rhetorical question, you still stopped at the aging thing. - "Shifters don't age at all? I thought that maybe, you're just getting old slower or something like that." - This was news to you, but it was good ones. - "No. Not a day since we start shifting. I guess you'll be stuck with me." - Suddenly, you moved his hand back, now having a big, bright smile.

"Keep that hand on your lap, sir, I'm still a strong, single lady." - Quickly, you placed a peck on his knuckles before you removed his palm from the lever because it was making you nervous.. - "And you'll stay strong. Just not single." - Seth muttered out under his breath. And though you should pretend that you didn't hear that, you smiled at the remark. It was fast, it was sudden, unexpected, but probably it was just the thing you needed in your life. Someone to share it with. And Seth, with both his kind personality and sometimes sassy sense of humor, seemed like a good person to choose.

He was like a ray of damn sunshine - the brightest you've met until that day. And if the imprinting meant that have found your soulmate which whom you were about to spend the rest of your damn days, if this wasn't any different from human/shifter imprinting, this ray was about to shine through each of your days.

Being on a date with him, an official one, about which you were so nervous, was kind of magical in the end. Seth told you to which restaurant in Port Angeles you should drive to - you had about an hour and a half to eat something before the last movie would be projected. About which you seemed untypically nervous - but Seth was more confused about something different. - "What did you just do?" - The man asked unbelievably and leaned his elbows to the desk of the table. You were sitting at a small table in the corner of the room, there was a basket with small pieces of bread in the middle of the table along with a lit-up candle. - "I think it's obvious when we're in a restaurant?" - It was a nonchalant response as you leaned closer to him as well, smiling into his surprised expression. - "You've just ordered food." - "Yeah, because we are sitting in a damn restaurant." - Seth furrowed even more after hearing those words, thinking about what you were saying. - "You don't have to pretend that you're eating normal food... For me. You know that right?" - It wasn't supposed to hurt you at all, Seth just didn't understand why you were making yourself do something you didn't want to. He didn't want you to do stuff that was unnatural just for the sake of it.

But it did hurt your feelings in some way. If Seth wouldn't stop at you ordering dinner, you wouldn't even flinch. You'd eat everything they would serve you, without stopping to think about it. You'll throw it up later, of course, but you wanted Seth to feel more human in your presence. - "Okay." - You said simply, having a saddened grin on your face. When Seth realized you maybe were trying to make him feel natural, he leaned over the table to catch your hand. - "I'm a big boy, I'll eat your food." - "Stop that, you'll be sick. I just let it lay on the table." - "Oh, you don't know what you're in for, do you?" - Seth's face lit up with a flirty smile as he gently put his lips on your knuckles. - "Miss, you need to learn how to cook, because my stomach doesn't have an end. Every shifter is like that." - There was a small while when Seth looked away from you he was lost in his memories there. - "Just after I started shifting, Sam took us to Emily almost every damn day. And the woman cooked baked and prepared hoards, tons of food every time she heard we were about to visit. Any food ever remained after us. We're like damn animals." - With that, he took both your palm to both of his. He was so much warmer, softer, and bigger than your palms almost lost as he gently held them.

"And I can promise you that whatever you'll cook, even if it will be some experiment or if it just won't work out, I'll eat it." - Hearing those words was so sweet. Seth was ready for the first few months, years most likely. There was a lot for you to learn about, especially when you couldn't taste normal human food and smelled it very subjectively. Cooking as a whole will be hard as hell for you and Seth could already tell that you'll be sticking your arms to pots and catch hot pans to your palms, yet he was willing to eat all of it. He trusted you not to poison him. Which made you smile back with shining eyes. - "It'll take some time before I learn how Emily bakes her muffins." - You answered with a smile and quickly squeezed his palms with yours, not letting go of them.

There was something else making Seth furrow. Without a doubt, the vampire transformation appeared to make you the apex predator for humans. It could be the smell, he could smell something flowery under the rotten tomatoes, it could be the way you spoke, moved, thought... But it was most likely your appearance that made a lot of the men in the restaurant stare at you shamelessly. For him, there was anyone prettier than you - to describe you, he wasn't able to use words. But he could see the stares, he was able to guess the thoughts they had... And it was very unsettling.

"Stop paying them attention, come on." - You smiled and put your palms back on your lap, leaning your back into the chair as the waitress put both the plates on the table. Her eyebrows rose when she noticed there wasn't any place on your side of the table and your boyfriend was seemingly ready to eat both the plates. - "Lasagne?" - She asked nervously, pretty sure that it were you, who ordered this particular food. Without looking up from Seth's face, you almost whispered. - "Both are his." - "But..." - The woman took in a short breath, watching you sitting there with your palms in your lap. - "He's hungry. Give him both the servings." - This time, you rose your eyes to her. For a moment, she couldn't catch her breath - she was barely one year old when Cullens had left, which meant that she couldn't meet any vampires. This was her first time seeing someone so breathtakingly beautiful and charming. Without further opposition, she put both plates in front of Seth and left the table, suddenly being all sweaty and weirdly nervous.

"You didn't have to do that. The poor girl would give me the meal anyway." - Seth mumbled, watching both the plates to decide which he would eat first. The lasagna looked delicious, but the pasta he ordered did look good too. - "I didn't do anything." - Oh. Okay. Maybe you didn't have this effect on Seth, because he realized a fairly long time ago that you were not only beautiful but mesmerizing as well. Maybe you didn't do this to him because the imprinting made him fall in love either way, without using your vampire charm on him. - "Okay." - Seth ended the topic, diving right into the lasagna.

You were doing it again. There you were, leaning your back into the chair below, without any sign of movement or breathing. The eyes in a color of caramel were stuck at him and him only, he didn't even know if you have blinked. This time, however, you watched him devour the food at almost a fascinating speed, having a small smile on your face. Then he drank both glasses of wine, straightening when he was done with the food.

Just when you thought you're going to see a movie, Seth stopped you. - "What are you doing? We have less than twenty minutes." - "Do you want to go see a human movie. Come on, we both know you're not interested in any stuff like that." - This had hurt you once more. Why was he like that? Was it so hard for him to believe that you're interested in having a normal human date? - "I have something better for you. It's just as fun, I swear." - The man said with a smile and put his hand in front of you, wiggling his fingers as he waited for the keys from your car. - "Do you think I can't act like a damn human for an evening? What's your point? First, you don't let me eat my damn food, and now, you... Seth, why are you doing this to me?" - This date was starting to be a disaster. At least from your point of view. Although you had a feeling that Seth doesn't see you as humanlike, his smile widened even more. - "This is just as human. And as I said, more fun. Don't you trust me?" - With a charming smile, the man wiggled his fingers again. It wasn't making you happy to give him the keys, but you did so nonetheless.

Your eyes were throwing knives, daggers, and bolts of lightning when you realized he's driving to the First Beach located under the cliff he took you a week ago. Oh wow. You couldn't wait to spend time with the girls who quite obviously didn't like you.

Yet when he opened the door for you, like the gentleman he was, you were curious when you realized the voices were male. Sure, there were the girls who didn't like you at all, but there were more boys you weren't quite able to recognize. They weren't at Sam's grill party, these were a lot younger. - "Time to meet the rest of the family." - Seth told you quietly while grasping your palm in his, making sure you won't wiggle out. Damn, you had to say that he was stronger than any human being you encountered before. Sure, there was this thing about Seth not being entirely human, yet your body wasn't resisting as he dragged you along. - "Are you gonna tell the stories again?" - You asked a moment after that, watching the boys with your eyes opened wide. - "No. This is a party in the La Push style, baby." - Seth flirted back, turning back to look at the people present. These boys were barely in their twenties, you realized, just like the girls. Yes, there was one man with curly hair and you suspected that a huge man who was turning his back at you was Paul, but... And then it hit you.

A new generation of the shifters. Of course. The kids Jake and Seth were responsible for. You weren't entirely sure that most of them had shifted yet, but you didn't suspect so - some of them had long, wavy black hair just like Seth had until that afternoon. Which, as he told you, wasn't handy for a shifter.

"Look who made it!" - One of the boys cried out suddenly, making you stiffen under Seth's force. - "It's okay." - As if he knew something you didn't. - "If you're worried that you'll be the one who makes them shift, trust me, these boys know Emmett and Esme. Nothing happened until now." - Seth put a palm on his heart, swearing on his dignity and honor. Sure, this wasn't what you were worried about, but go ahead, you mumbled under your breath and let him drag along.

A group of boys gathered around you and you'd swear that each of them was staring at you. Because they were. Yet not because you'd be a vampire, no - rather because they'd heard so much about you already that they were sure you're a myth rather than being real. All of them had to say... Seth wasn't making up a single thing about your beauty. Damn, you felt like a museum exposition.

"You're the vampire girl." - One of them said. - "Great to see you finally together." - Another finished. - "At least Seth won't be sighing all the time." - The third one chimed in. At that moment, Seth wanted to drag you away - yet just because you started to be interested in the conversation, you stiffened every muscle in your body and smiled at the boys, listening to what they had to say. Uh, you could tell it was about to get spicy just because Seth groaned and looked away from you. - "Is it Saturday?" - The first boy sighed, and the one who chimed and put his palm over his forehead. - "No, it's just Friday." - "Damn, the date's so far away." - "What will I wear? Should I cut my hair, yeah, I'll cut it." - They'd continue if Paul and the other older man wouldn't stop them. Just then, you realized that you were chuckling the whole time.

"Let them be, young men. You'll have the whole evening to make fun of Seth." - Paul patted one of the boys' shoulders while going for a hug with you at the same time. - "Nice to see you again, Y/N. Ignore them, we're not that uncultivated, I swear." - "The man hung his arm around your shoulder, leading you to the campfire. - "I would offer you some meat or a drink, but..." - "Don't worry about that." - With a small smile, you dismissed, sitting one of the logs, mainly because Paul pushed you to sit there. The second man with dimples in his faces and curly black hair sat down next to you, looking into the fire. They were just slightly older than Seth, so you figured out that they've stopped shifting at the same time as Seth and Sam did, but Seth was younger than them and he started shifting just before you rolled to La Push.

Said 'boyfriend' of yours was chatting with the other boys, joking and laughing; not that you couldn't hear them, you just concentrated on Paul and the second man. Of course, as could be expected, soon the girls started to stare at you with wrath in their eyes. You could understand. Seth was handsome and older, which could wake up something inside a young girl who knew Seth as the single teacher from La Push. And now, you just stormed in and tore down, maybe even claimed, most of his attention. Yet Ellie waved at you with a bright smile, letting you know that there's still someone who likes you.

"This kind mister here is sir Quil Ateara the fifth." - Paul pointed at Quil, who offered you a handshake. - "We've met, didn't we?" - You wondered. Quil was seemingly surprised that you could recall meeting him twenty years ago. - "There was a lot of us. It's nice that you remember me." - "Your face hasn't changed a bit, I swear. In fact, I, as an immortal being, can say that's impressive." - You smiled back at Quil. - "Well, you look exactly the same as I remember you. Except you're not cursing in every direction."

"That's what can Emmett do to me." - With that, you smiled at the fire. Although you didn't consume normal human alcohol, you asked Paul to give you a red cup with some. Yes, you were about to awkwardly hold it in your palm the whole time, but you seemed to be more human that way. - "So, how do you like it here? Paul told me that you were visiting Sam on Sunday's grill party at the Uleys, right?" - Quil seemed to be so nice. You really like this guy. - "It was great. Emily tried to cook with me... This didn't go the way she expected..." - At that, Quil started to laugh out loud, making you sure that he had already heard the story about the vampire girl sticking her whole arm into the pot. Yet although this made him laugh from the bottom of his belly, he didn't change the subject to the said story.

"People are lovely here. I was worried that I might not fit in." - "If you didn't hear about that, we already had made our truce with vampires." - Paul muttered and sat down next to Quil, leaving place for Seth next to you. - "No. It's just that... I've been living alone for quite some time. Century... Or two." - The two men started to laugh suddenly. - "Only a vampire can say this with a serious face. A century..." - "Or two." - Pual finished after Quil and now, when you get the joke, you started to laugh as well.

Suddenly, a beautiful woman appeared out of nowhere with a guitar in her palms. She was pretty, very pretty. First, she smiled at Quil, kissed him, and then she offered you a palm. - "My name's Claire. I'm Quil's wife." - She muttered and naturally, she stopped at your skin being ice-cold. Like almost everyone else, she immediately knew who you were. Quickly, you moved from Quil to let her sit down and sipped a bit of the beer. Each of them stared at you for a moment. - "What?" - You asked. - "Never seen a vampire gulping down on a beer. How does that work?" - Paul asked with a serious furrow. - "I have my ways. Jesus, you people can't get over a vampire acting humanlike." - There was an irritated sigh at the end.

"Where's Rachel? I thought she'll be here." - At that point, Paul and Claire started to chatter, leaving you out. Thankfully, Seth finally broke out of the chain of young men. Seth, thinking he'll freak you out, suddenly put both his palms on your shoulders. At the same time, he lowered his head and put his lips on the cup. You decided you'll work with him and tilted the cup enough for him to drink from it. - "Hey man." - Seth handshakes Quil and sat down next to you, hugging your back with his palm. Naturally, you leaned your shoulder to his chest, smiling without realizing. Rachel and Paul grinned at each other, noticing how good this was looking for Seth.

As soon as the ray of sunshine joined in on the conversation, he took your cup out of your palm and thanked for it - along with a small kiss on your temple - and soon after that, he devoured a whole grilled chicken cutlet. Damn, they had the appetite for real, didn't they? As it was at the meeting at Uley's, these people were amazing as well. And wow, Claire was rocking that guitar. She also had a beautiful voice to start with, making you listen to the songs with unerring melancholy. - "Will you, my dearest friend?" - Seth asked suddenly, looking at Claire. - "Anytime you ask, sir." - She answered with a giggle.

"And you, ma'am, will you care for a dance?" - Seth picked himself almost nonchalantly, already tugging your palm. As you realized she's playing the Violet Hour, also known as the song you liked to dance to, you opened up your mouth and dragged Seth somewhere, where you had more space to dance. And as soon as you started to dance and Seth's friends started to sing, out of sync entirely, the man could understand why you dragged him so far. He could barely hear the chords, but you were moving in rhythm and led the dance. When you moved him around like a rag doll, he only started to realize how strong you, in fact, were. All the time, you were laughing. Sometimes, you whirled around, sometimes, you made him whirl around. But the most important about all of that was your forearm pushing him to meet you in half-way the whole time. - "Is this better than some movie night?" - Seth mumbled when the La Pushers yelled the last chorus in the back. After a moment, you nodded.

"Much better." - You smiled, leaving your palms to grip on his t-shirt as Seth leaned down to kiss you. The others could see you. And? You'd kiss in front of them sooner or later, wouldn't you? - "But you didn't wiggle out of the movies just yet." - A whisper left your lips as you stepped aside, slowly walking back to the logs. - "Wait. You taste... Like beer?" - Seth furrowed, catching your palm in his once again. - "And so do you. What's wrong with that?" - And with that, you dragged him back to Claire, Quill, and Paul, finishing the holy trinity of imprinters and imprintees.

It was shortly after midnight as the adults decided that what's enough is enough. Youngsters, of course, hadn't drunk any alcohol - but Seth drank for all of them without a problem. It was hard to make him walk to the car, let alone to sit his damn ass down. - "Does anyone care for a ride home?" - You cried out to the rest of the youngsters, but Paul just waved you off. - "Take him home, he had enough. Quil and I will take care of it." - The man smiled at you, waving to say his goodbye.

When you parked in front of his house, the first thing he was trying to do was open the damn window. - "Seth?" - Whispering his name to his ear asked all of the questions you didn't express out loud. With concern, you watched as he tried to dig his nails to open the window. - "You don't use the door... Soooo... I just wanna be like you." - The man leaned his head to your shoulder with a total puppy smile, making you burst out with laughter. - "But I am usually sober, I look hot and I know what I'm doing." - You mumbled, dragging him to the door. - "Yeah." - Seth said after of moment of thinking about what you've just said.

Getting him to lay in bed, well, that was another quest you spent almost ten minutes with. You tried to put some kind of pajama on him since that was what normal people do before going to bed, but this man was one persistent bastard. He didn't put a single article of clothing before climbing there, going to sleep dressed in his briefs only. It took a lot of your willpower not to roll eyes as you left the bedroom and almost walked out of the house with the rose you've got. - "Where are you going?" - It was nothing but a whisper coming out of the bedroom. Seth's head was pressed into a pillow, he had the blanket thrown over his body so badly that it uncovered everything except his ass and he was laying all over the damn bed. But with a sigh, you walked back to the bed and carefully sat down. As you were used to, your fingers started to play with his hair, moving strands from place to place. - "Home so you can sleep well tonight." - "I thought you'll be staying over." - Somewhere, Seth dug enough willpower to at lead lean into his elbow, looking at the small smile you were giving him.

"That's not how the first date is supposed to end. I'm not a light maiden, sir." - "Oh, that's not what I meant." - Seth took your palm and placed a kiss to the crevice in front of your wrist. - "Come on. Stay the night." - The man begged once more, still kissing the small, sweet spot. - "I'll stay an endless amount after this night." - You promised, kissing the back of his head. - "But you need to sleep well. We have a trip planned tomorrow." - "We do?" - Seth wondered, taken away by it. - "I found a spot you'll love. Goodnight." - For the last time, you gently palmed his jaw and leaned for a kiss; being far gone in the next second. But Seth smiled, still feeling the sweet scent of your breath on his face.

[mistymark]

the one with the Diet Coke bottle.

jung jaehyun x reader // 3.8k words // masterlist // send requests here

summary; in which jaehyun suggests they play spin the bottle, but now everyone except him is kissing his crush

warnings; fluff I guess?? idk can I say nothing? (crack in the bonus?)

requested; nO whOopS

notes; this has been in my drafts for so long and I wrote the ending today but I hate it so ill probably redo it

“Hey, y/n!” Hearing your name being called, you turned around, walking backwards as you headed in the direction of your car, wanting to go home. Jaehyun ran to catch up to you, and you spun back around to walk by his side. “How’s it going?”

You couldn't help but smile at him, his adorable dimples showing as he reached a hand up to ruffle his hair out of his eyes, the brown locks falling gracefully into place over his forehead, leaving a perfect part in the middle. You shrugged,  “Alright. I’m so exhausted, you have no idea.”

He laughed at you, his free hand reaching into his pocket, while the other held his laptop and a notebook against his hip. It angered you how good he could look doing the most basic things. He spoke his words slowly, only slightly confused, “It’s 3 in the afternoon. Long night last night?” 

“Only ‘cause I was studying,” you cocked your head at him. As you reached a fork in the pathway, you pointed to the left, “I’m going this way.” 

“Me, too,” he nodded, walking only slightly faster to match your pace. “Hey, you’re coming to my party this Friday, right?”

You furrowed your brows in thought; you had really wanted to go, but you were pretty sure you had work that night. “I’m not sure. I might have a shift. I’ll get back to you?”

You stopped in front of your car, fishing your keys from your bag, and he stood opposite you, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, “Well, hopefully I’ll see you there, then.” He nodded in farewell as he began backing away.

“Hopefully,” you grinned at him, wanting to go to the party Johnny had told you about more than ever now. 

“See you later, L/N!” He shouted from across the carpark, his hand cupped at his mouth, once he was safely standing on the edge of the road.

You waved at him, laughing so hard at the stupidly attractive boy from one of your lectures.

“So, you know about Jung Jaehyun’s party?” Johnny nudged your arm, almost causing you to spill your coffee down your front.

“Johnny!” You scolded, pushing him back, even though his coffee was safely sitting on the table. “And yeah, I’m going.”

“Me, too. His parties are legendary,” Johnny adjusted the collar of his white shirt, eyeing you over his coffee as he sipped it.

You leant forwards, poking his side, “And you should know, considering you go to all of them.”

“Never with my favourite girl,” he teased you back, batting your hand away.

Rolling your eyes, you leant back in your chair, “Tell that to the hundreds you’ve hooked up with in Jaehyun’s bathroom.”

“Tell that to the hundreds you’ve hooked up with in Jaehyun’s bathroom,” he mimicked your voice. “Maybe you should hook up in Jaehyun’s bathroom. Better yet, maybe you should just hook up with Jaehyun.”

You glared at him, “Shut up.”

“What? He thinks you’re hot.”

“Johnny! Shut up!” You felt yourself flushing a deep crimson, as you casually tried to hide your face with your hand, leaning your elbow on the table and placing your chin in your palm.

“I’ll pick you up at 8. Be ready,” he winked at you as he started gathering his things, pulling his jacket on over his shirt. Standing at the edge of the table, he drained the last of his coffee and pulled his laptop bag over his shoulder, bidding you goodbye before leaving you for his 4pm class. He waved at you from the door, his loud voice causing everyone in the café to turn and glare at him, “See ya!”

You groaned as the loud knocking continued on your door, “Y/n! I know you can hear me! Open up!”

Finishing the final adjustments to your hair and dragging your feet as you wandered to the door, you took your sweet time. Upon reaching the door, you looked out the peephole and sang out sweetly, “Who is it?”

You tried to hold back your laughter at Johnny’s distorted face, the unamused face staring at you through the fish-eye lens, “Very funny. Open the door.”

Giggling, you opened the door, holding it wide open for him to walk straight in, “I’m almost ready. Promise.”

Johnny did a quick fashion evaluation once-over and decided that, yes, you did indeed look almost ready, “This is why I said 8; I knew you’d still be getting ready at 8:30.”

“I’m just getting my shoes!” You yelled from your closet, tugging on a pair of heels before grabbing a denim jacket and tugging it on over your dress - the only protection from the harsh cold outside, with your bare legs exposed due to the dress’ short length.

Johnny seemed to think the same thing, “Are you sure you’re not going to be too cold?”

“I’ll get hot if I wear tights,” you assured him. He nodded, silently agreeing; his own jeans and light shirt perfect for the extreme temperatures both inside and outside the party. You eyed his exposed chest, the top buttons of his shirt left undone, “Are you unable to dress yourself?”

Without hesitation, he grabbed your keys from the table and opened the front door, ushering you out of your own apartment, shrugging, “Buttons are hard.”

---

You felt like you could hear the loud bass from the end of the street, a good half mile from Jaehyun’s house. You drummed your legs to the beat of the song playing in Johnny’s car, “So who’s tonight’s target?”

“No one.” He cast a sideways glance at you before continuing, “There’s a girl in my psych class... we’ve been studying together recently.”

You couldn't help yourself. “Ooooooooh! Johnny Seo actually has a crush!”

“It’s not a crush! She’s just...” he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter anyway, she can’t come tonight.” He cleared his throat as he spotted an available parking spot, “Are you right to walk from here?”

You nodded. Walking to the party from halfway down the street, you and Johnny remained silent for a moment. “I didn’t mean to pry,” you said slowly.

“It’s okay. I’ll introduce you to her one day... if everything goes well,” Johnny tried his best to avoid your gaze, shy.

You hit him on the shoulder as you approached Jaehyun’s house, “Come on, you big softie. Let’s drink until I have to stop you from calling her.”

He laughed and followed you inside, and you immediately felt yourself being swallowed by the noise and the heat, suddenly very glad you weren’t wearing tights under your dress. Before you could even get past the entryway, someone was already crashing into you. Quickly, he put his hand on your shoulder to steady both himself and you, brushing over a quick apology as he tried to get past. A second later and he was standing back in front of you, the boy’s signature grin enveloping your vision, “Y/n! Hey!”

You laughed at Mark’s clumsy behaviour, noticing his eyes that were slightly glazed over and the somehow sweet smell of alcohol that lingered on his breath, “Hey, Mark. Where you headed?”

“Getting a drink,” he slurred, looking down and grabbing your hand. “Come on, I’ll show you where they are.”

Not thinking it right to comment on his drinking habits, you trailed behind him through the house party. You searched for Johnny, who already seemed to have deserted you, easily spotting the tall boy standing by a wall with a much smaller figure, his smile blinding. Just as you tried to get a better look, wondering if that was the girl he was crushing on, they left your vision when you rounded a corner into Jaehyun’s kitchen.

A crowd of people were standing around the tables and buckets of drinks, all talking in small groups. You recognised more people than you thought, though not the boy that was currently walking up to you, his orange hair almost as bright as his smile, “Mark, we’re starting the game. Wanna play?” His eyes flickered to you as he asked, and you wondered if that meant that you were included in the invite.

Mark put his new beer down - you thought he would probably forget about it - and put his arm around your shoulders, “Yeah! This is Yuta.”

You assumed he was talking to you, though his gaze is still fixated on the newcomer, and you stuck your hand out, “I’m Y/n.”

Yuta’s eyebrows rose slightly as he shook your hand, “Oh! You’re Y/n. Cool, you should play, too.”

Before you could argue, Mark was steering you in the direction of the stairs, slurring his words only slightly as he told you about how much fun this would be. Only a little concerned you were being led to a closed-off section of the party by a drunk boy and a boy you didn't know with the promise of a ‘game’, you follow. When you get to the landing at the top of the stairs, you see a group of a few friends and strangers sitting in a circle.

“Okay, I think it’s fairly clean. Anyone who stains the carpet gets to pay for-,” Jaehyun’s eyes meet yours as he steps out of what you assume is the bathroom, an empty bottle of Diet Coke in hand. “Y/n. You came.”

You match his smile and nod, “Hey. Yuta invited me to play. What are we playing?” You settle yourself down on the floor, your legs folded beneath you. Jaehyun takes his seat opposite you in the circle. Yuta pretends to look shocked, causing Mark to let out drunk giggles.

Doyoung turns to you, rolling his eyes only slightly, “Spin the bottle.”

You laugh as a girl you hadn’t met hit his chest lightly, and the way Doyoung turns his attention on her and laughs with her made you think he was only playing with the hope of kissing her. She gave him a look, “Lighten up. It’ll be fun.”

He cringed slightly and turned his attention to Jaehyun, who was carefully placing the bottle on the carpet, “Who wants to go first?”

Yuta immediately reached for the bottle, “I’m first.”

No one else seemed to want to contest him for the first spin, so everyone watched as Yuta spun the bottle, the end pointing directly at you.

You had played this game twice and never actually been on the receiving end of the bottle spin, and your jaw dropped open when you saw it was you who had to kiss the orange-haired boy. He grinned at you and you shrugged, watching as he shuffled past Mark to sit in front of you on his knees.

“Are you cool with this?”

You had previously thought Yuta was a little drunk, if not tipsy, but seeing him up close and the genuine concern in his eyes - rather than the telltale glazed-over look you saw when people (Mark) had been drinking - made you think he was sober. You nodded, a tiny smile inching its way onto your face, “Go for it.”

That was all he needed to lean in and press his lips against yours. Not wanting to take it too far, he kept them there for a moment, unmoving, before pulling away, grinning at you as he retreated back to his seat.

You looked nervously around the circle, unsure how the others felt about you crashing their mini party and kissing Yuta in the first five minutes of you being there. Doyoung looked approvingly at Yuta, and the girl beside him grinned at you, her hand now resting on his knee. Jaehyun stared at you, offering you a lopsided smile when his eyes met yours. Everyone else seemed focused on Mark, who had grabbed the bottle, ready for his spin.

He spun it gracefully, the plastic bottle turning quickly until it slowed, landing on Mark himself. He looked at the bottle as if it had betrayed him, “What?”

Yuta spoke up, “If it lands on you, you have to pick someone sitting beside you to kiss.” He looked around Mark at you, wiggling his eyebrows.

You laughed as Mark looked between you two, weighing the options before turning to you, “You’re a lot prettier.”

He winced, a loud slap being delivered to his ass by Yuta in retaliation, a mumbled, “Fuck you. I’m pretty.” Everyone laughs at his comment.

You looked up at Mark, eyes tracing his cheekbones and beautiful eyes, both appearing soft around the edges, “Are you okay?”

He nodded, a content smile on his face, humming, “Mhmm. So okay.”

You nodded and leant forwards from where you were sitting, briefly connecting your lips before pulling away, “Okay! My turn?”

Everyone nodded as you reached for the bottle, spinning it slowly, until it stopped, pointing at the gap between two boys on the other side of the circle. Jaehyun stared at the bottle pointing in his direction, biting his lip in anticipation, while the boy beside him, someone named Taeyong, leant back on his hands, smirking at you drunkenly from the across the circle.

All eyes turned on Yuta, who shrugged, “I don’t know. Spin again?”

The bottle seemed to dislike this, and rolled slightly to the right, and everyone agreed it was closer to Taeyong and there was no need to spin again. Getting up on your knees, you crawled your way to Taeyong, stopping just in front of him. You waited for him to sit up so you could kiss him.

The boy in front of you looked at Jaehyun, unsure of himself. Confused, you stated, “It’s okay if you don’t want to do this.”

Taeyong nodded, “I think I’m gonna be sick.” Immediately, he stood up and walked to the closed door Jaehyun had come out of when you first arrived.

Taken aback, you went back to your seat, “Ouch?” Everyone laughed goodnaturedly, and you waited for Doyoung to spin. His bottle spin landed on him, and he didn’t even cast you a single glance before leaning to his left and kissing the girl beside him.

You noticed her shock, before it dissipated and she begun kissing him back, her hand finding the back of his head. Unsure of what to do, you looked for Jaehyun’s help. He seemed just as surprised as you, and spun the bottle, shrugging as he left the two to continue, as they still hadn’t pulled away.

When the bottle landed on a girl on the right side of the circle, he stood up, “I should check on the party downstairs. Anyone want anything while I’m there?” You didn’t look at the girl it had landed on, someone you didn’t recognise, but you could feel her embarrassment radiating off her like waves.

A few people started calling out drinks, and you stood up, too, “I’ll help. I should look for Johnny.”

He nodded and cocked his head in the direction of the stairs, stepping around legs and dodging people to meet you there. The party was in full swing, and the crowd of people gathered at the bottom of the stairs left no room for you to walk through.

Without thinking, Jaehyun stuck his hand out, stepping in front of you into the crowd and guiding you through behind him. You kept a tight hold on his hand, squeezing it as you ducked under someone’s elbow.

A small smile made its way onto your face when you felt him squeeze your hand back. He guided you into the kitchen to grab a handful of beers, and you quickly looked around for Johnny, who had apparently disappeared. You hoisted yourself onto the counter as Jaehyun began opening cupboards, looking for something.

“What are looking for?” You asked him, tugging at the edge of your dress, trying to pull it down as to not be too revealing.

He looked at you through the strands of hair that had fallen into his face, as he searched through a cupboard under the counter you sat on, “Mark’s cruisers. They’re the only things he’ll drink.”

You laughed, remembering the sweet smell of his breath and the way he put down the beer he had opened when you first arrived, “He’s shy about it?”

Jaehyun furrowed his brows in thought, before nodding, “He’s embarrassed, I think. He tries to drink beers with the guys, but he never finishes them.” He laughed at your expression.

“And you’re not drinking tonight?”

He shook his head, “Not tonight. Someone needs to be responsible, and considering it’s my place...”

You nodded in understanding, watching him shake his head in an effort to get the hair out of his eyes as he continued rifling through the cupboard’s contents. Without thinking, you reached over and ran your fingers through his hair, pushing his fringe out of his eyes.

He looked back up at you in surprise, before offering you a warm smile and returning his focus to Mark’s drinks, the smile still on his face as he continued searching through the cupboard.

“Do you always play spin the bottle at your parties?” You asked when there was a brief silence.

His attention still on the drinks, which he had now found at the very back, and had begun to take out the entire cupboard’s contents to get to, he answered, “No. Normally I just set it up for them, warn them about stains on the cupboard and everything.”

“But you played tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

He paused for a moment, sitting back and looking at you, his dimples showing slightly as he bit his lip, “Maybe there was someone I wanted to kiss.”

You didn’t know how to answer, the shock was probably evident on your face as you hoped it was you he was talking about. Attempting to sound casual, you leant back back on your hands, crossing one leg over the other, “So naturally you leave the game when it’s your turn.”

He raised his eyebrow and smiled at your answer, grabbing a bright pink cruiser from the back of the cupboard and repacking the other bottles, “I don’t know, I didn’t think it was very fair.”

You furrowed your brows, confused, “What do you mean?”

“Everyone else got the opportunity to kiss you,” he stood up, leaning against the counter with one hand, a smirk on his face. You thought it was cute whenever he smirked like that, only one dimple showing itself; a perfect metaphor for Jaehyun, simultaneously adorable and hot as fuck. The display of bottles on the counter were waiting patiently to be taken to their new owners upstairs. You felt your breath hitch at his words and you decided they could wait.

You grinned and held up a finger to wait, and you grabbed Jaehyun’s wrist in one hand and leant over a few bowls of pretzels and other snacks to grab what looked to be an empty bottle of beer with the other. You positioned it on the counter and spun, your gaze flickering to Jaehyun’s face briefly. He was smiling slightly, biting his lip in an attempt to hide it, but the depth of his dimples gave him away.

When the bottle stopped spinning, pointing directly at him, you whispered, “Well?”

The last thing you saw before he closed the gap between you was his smile, broad and happy as his nose brushed gently with yours. You kissed him back straight away, one hand pulling him closer and the resting on his shoulder, sliding up into his hair. It felt like you were hyperaware of his movements, every brush of his fingers, every hum against your lips, every breath got you excited and tingly. His hands were positioned on your waist, and when you pulled away for air, he gave your sides a squeeze before pulling them away, one hand running through his hair, “Well, fuck.”

You laughed, “We should take these upstairs.” You gesture to the bottles on the counter beside you, and he nods.

“Do you still want to play?”

“Not really.”

He offers his hand out to you as you slide off the counter to stand beside him, and he leans down to peck your lips again, “Good. I want to show you something.” He smiles at you before disappearing into the crowd of the hallway, and you quickly grab the leftover bottles on the counter and follow him.

BONUS:

“Jaehyun,” you stop in the doorway to his bedroom. “This is your bedroom.”

“I know this looks bad,” he laughs as he keeps walking, making his way to the window, before opening it and gingerly climbing out. He stands up and suddenly all you can see are his legs. When he bends down, his face shines through the open window, “Just trust me, okay?”

He holds out his hand through the window, and you walk over to him, allowing him to pull you through the frame and onto the roof of the porch, “Isn’t this dangerous?”

“Only this part,” he flashes you a grin as he walks over to the side of the house, where a metal ladder hangs off the side.

When you reach the roof of the house, he sits down, his face tilted up at the sky, “I come up here when I need to think. I thought you’d like it.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, an amused smile on your face, “And let me guess, you’re going to tell me you’ve never brought anyone up here.”

He turns to you, his smile a challenge, “Actually, this is where I bring all the girls I like.”

You push him slightly, and he sways as he regains his balance, “Ew! Does that mean I’m sitting in like, a hundred different girls’ butt sweat?”

He laughs, “And not your own butt sweat?”

“I’m a lady, I don't have butt sweat.”

The edges of his mouth quirk up at the corners as he leans back on his hands and turns back to the view; houses and houses and, eventually, the ocean, “I brought Taeyong up here once but, other than that, you’re the first.”

You gasp loudly, “Taeyong’s butt sweat.”

He laughs and swats at your leg, rolling his eyes, “Oh my god, stop-”

You lean over to him, your hand resting on his chest for balance as you kiss him for the third time that night, though this one lasts a lot longer than the others.

When he pulls away, his face still mere inches from yours, he whispers, and you can see the way his dimples show when he smiles even from this close, “Honestly considering telling you to shut up again so you’ll kiss me.”

You roll your eyes, your lazy smile easily matching his, “Shut up.” He crashes his lips onto yours.

[quickspinner]

MLHolidays2k19 - 20. Traditions

Part 1 - 23. Carols

Part 3 - 21. Blankets

This one ended up skating a little close to NSFW - mature, but not explicit. Nothing actually happens onscreen. I think it should be fine, but use your judgement. Also, you know, everything I learned about French traditions came from the internet, so take it with a grain of salt. The point is, Marinette goes overboard because of course she does.

Marinette had a Plan. She was now a woman on a mission for a traditional French Christmas Eve dinner. She felt bad because she knew she was blowing up Luka’s phone with all her texts, but he seemed more amused than annoyed as far as she could tell. So far, she had asked him about food sensitivities and preferences, and what he wanted to drink with dinner besides wine, if there was any type of food his family traditionally had for Christmas, and his favorite color. She was standing in the grocery store pouting at the lack of oysters when he actually texted her. 

Should I dress up? 

No, no she sent, and then changed her mind. Well Maybe a little bit? Not like, coat and tie, but maybe a button-down? I’m going to wear a dress so But it’s just us, so whatever you’re comfortable with

Luka sent back, If you’re making dinner, I can handle wearing a nice shirt.

Marinette passed the dairy aisle and her eyes lit up with an idea. She texted him, If you want, you can stay over. We can do Christmas breakfast in the morning!  

It took her about thirty seconds to realize how that sounded and quickly she added, On the couch! I didn’t mean that how it sounded. Just on the couch. Sorry! Marinette groaned and dropped her head on her arms on the handle of her grocery cart. Ugh, she was so lame.

Her phone buzzed and she was almost afraid to look at it, but finally she peeked at it through her fingers. I got it, I got it. You’re a funny girl, Marinette. I’d love breakfast if that’s really okay. I’ll pack a bag. For the couch. Promise.

She blew out a relieved breath, and added ingredients for breakfast to her cart. She winced a little at the checkout, but she was normally pretty frugal, and it was worth it for just tonight. Because she had a Plan.

A plan that turned out to be a bit more challenging than she expected, getting everything ready in her apartment’s tiny kitchen, but challenging was nothing to Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and when Luka arrived that evening, Marinette opened the door in breathless excitement, a Christmas plaid apron still over her sparkly red sweater dress. “Hi!” She beamed, and without thinking, she rose up on her toes to offer him la bise like he was an old friend. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it, bending to meet her and returning the gesture easily. He straightened and gave her his slow smile as he offered her the wine he had brought. 

“It smells amazing in here, Marinette,” Luka commented, and Marinette beamed at him. 

“I couldn’t get everything I wanted,” she said, bustling into the kitchen to start carrying plates out. “I couldn’t find any oysters, and I had to get turkey instead of goose, but I have salmon and foie gras, and the bread isn’t as good as Papa’s but I think it’s all right.” 

Her small table was covered with a deep red cloth, knotted at the ends, and three candles in mismatched but harmonizing candlesticks stood waiting to be lit. 

Luka was looking at her with unrestrained wonder as she got the matches and lit the candles. “You planned and pulled all of this off in one day? You—“ He shook his head. “You’re amazing, Marinette. I can’t believe you got up a full Réveillon just for the two of us.”

Marinette felt a little foolish, all of a sudden. “It is a bit much, isn’t it,” she admitted, twisting the hem of her apron. “I probably went overboard. I just wanted everything to be perfect.” She glanced up at the garlands she had hung around the room, and the lights that framed her windows.

Luka chuckled and gave her a soft look that made her blush. “Marinette, I could tell from the moment I met you that you’re the kind of person who puts her whole heart into everything she does. I’m just impressed you managed to do so much in so little time.”

Marinette was still embarrassed but pleased by his praise. She saw him notice her tiny tree on a side table, and smile at the small package wrapped in blue under it, with his name on it in big, enthusiastic letters. Without commenting, he took a small package from his pocket and placed it under the tree as well.

She got him the corkscrew and let him serve the (very nice) wine, and soon they were sitting down to enjoy their dinner. Marinette told him about the meals she had at home with her family as they sipped the wine and made their leisurely way through the food. Luka was as good a listener as she remembered, and he seemed interested in everything she said as she talked about the food and how it compared to her family’s normal dinner. 

“We’re not nearly so fancy as this,” Luka commented, gesturing to the table with his fork. “My mother’s not big on formality, and we’re a little limited with the just the galley for cooking. It sounds nice when you talk about it though,” he smiled. “I always figured it would be kind of stuffy, but it sounds cozy. Like this,” he gestured to the meal between them. “This is nice.” 

“It can get stuffy and boring when you have a lot of people,” Marinette admitted. “We’ve had some awful ones when there were a lot of relatives in town, but usually it’s just Mama and Papa and me, and then it’s like this. No rush, but no waiting for everyone else to finish either, and it’s all just—“ she shrugged. “Comfortable.”

“I like comfortable,” Luka agreed. “This has really been great, Marinette, truly.”

“It’s not over yet!” Marinette proclaimed, hopping up from the table and running into the kitchen. She could barely contain her excitement as she set the bûche de Noël on the table. “It might not be as good as Papa’s,” she said cheerfully, “but it was as close as I could get.”

“It looks fantastic,” Luka said, impressed. 

“Papa’s might taste a little better but even he can’t beat me for decorating.” She handed Luka the cake knife.

A short time later they both set down their forks and looked at each other in defeat.

“It’s amazing, Marinette, but I really can’t eat any more,” Luka sighed. 

“Honestly, me neither,” Marinette giggled. 

“Let me help you clean up.”

It did take quite a while to get all the leftovers packed away in the fridge. Marinette made sure to put some in a container for Luka to take home later. Fortunately Marinette’s apartment had a dishwasher, so they only had a few things left to wash by hand.

“I didn’t actually pick the apartment or most of the stuff in it,” she confessed to Luka as they stood washing up at the sink. She kept trying not to be too obvious about looking at his forearms while his sleeves were rolled up. “It was all selected and paid for by the company for as long as I’m on this assignment.”

“I’m sharing a place with two other guys from the band,” Luka said ruefully. “I’m used to living in small shared spaces, but it’s different when it’s not family. Sometimes I just need some space and quiet, and it’s a little hard to find when you’re sharing space with rock stars in New York City.”

“Well, you’re welcome to come hang out here when you need to,” Marinette said absently as she scrubbed the last dish that wouldn’t fit in the washer. “It’s almost too quiet most of the time.” 

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Luka asked admiringly. “You just have to offer help if you can.”

“I’m sorry,” Marinette said quickly, embarrassed again. “I’m a fixer. I don’t always think things through before I offer. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I know we just met—“

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” Luka interrupted. “And really, I appreciate the offer. I might take you up on it. And...I hope this comes out right.” He sighed, and Marinette was surprised to see a bit of color appear on his cheeks. “I don’t feel like we just met. You know, sometimes you meet people and you connect right away. Sometimes you meet people and no matter how long you know them, you just don’t quite vibe.” He smiled at her, a little tentatively. “It feels easy, being with you.” He gently took the dish Marinette was holding and began to dry it off while she blinked at him stupidly. “I hope that didn’t sound weird,” he muttered, shuffling his feet.

“No, it—I get what you mean. Really.” She smiled. 

“Well, now that that’s done—“ Luka set the dish on the drying rack and turned to her, with a broad grin that somehow still looked a little shy. “You want a little taste of a Couffaine Christmas?” 

Marinette giggled. “What do you have in mind?”

“Are you a good dancer?”

“Ah...no, not really.” 

“Perfect,” he said with a wink. “Where’s your music?”

It was a little embarrassing at first, dancing silly with Luka, but he joked and teased and had no problem looking ridiculous himself, and soon she was giggling too hard to be self-conscious. 

“You have pretty good taste in music,” he told her as they bopped around the room. 

“Actually credit goes to my friend Nino,” she admitted, swishing her hair and swinging her hips without a care in the world. “He put this playlist together and sent it to me to, and I quote, ‘keep you from getting too depressed at Christmas.’” She giggled. “I’m not sure that this is what he intended, but it works!”

When she began to protest that she was getting tired, Luka swept her up in a waltz hold and swirled her around the small space. His hold was gentle but strong and firm, and she relaxed into it and let him whirl her around until they were dizzy. 

“Christmas at your house seems like a lot of fun,” Marinette laughed as she leaned into him and waited for the room to stop spinning. 

“It’s not quite the same without the boat rocking and Juleka trying to trip me every few minutes,” Luka grinned, leaning on her as well as he swayed slightly on his feet. “For a Couffaine Christmas Dance Party that was pretty tame. But I think I can live without hitting the deck four or five times and getting beer spilled all over me.”

“Do you live on a boat or in a club?” Marinette teased. 

“It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes,” Luka admitted, pulling Marinette into a slow dance with him as a soft piano intro played and a female voice crooned “Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…” Marinette leaned her head on his shoulder, glad to have a breather as they swayed lightly. 

“Thank you, Marinette,” he said near her ear. “This is so much better than what I had planned. This is—this is perfect, really. Thank you for sharing Christmas with me.”

Marinette smiled and cuddled a little closer. Luka was warm and comfortable, and maybe she should have been more self-conscious about being held by someone who was practically a stranger, but...he was right, what he’d said in the kitchen. He didn’t feel like a stranger. 

“So…” Luka began, and she could hear amusement in his voice. “I do have one question.”

“Hmm?” Marinette lifted her head to look at him, and he nodded upwards. 

“Is that French good luck mistletoe or American kissing mistletoe?” He grinned. Marinette gasped for a moment and then laughed.

“I completely forgot the tradition was different here. I guess we might as well be thorough.” She rose up on her toes to peck his lips, but he lowered to meet her and somehow made it something softer and a little longer than she intended, though still little more than a quick press of lips. Still, it sent a jolt of warmth through her body that she hadn’t been expecting.

Then again, she reflected as he pulled back, she hadn’t been kissed in a long time, so maybe she should have expected it.

Luka grinned, oblivious to her suddenly wobbly knees. “Well, so much for the kissing, and I certainly feel lucky,” he chuckled. “I think we’ve got our bases covered.” He took a step back, hands sliding down her arms to take her hands. “Usually about this time we’ve all had enough party, so we’d get out our instruments and take turns playing. Can I play for you, Marinette?”

Marinette was delighted with the idea. “Yes, please! Hot chocolate?”

He shook his head. “I’m good, but feel free. I’ll get the guitar in tune and meet you on the couch.”

Marinette was actually glad for a little distance from those warm eyes and that gentle, knowing smile and those rough, strong hands, as she went to the kitchen and served herself a mug of hot chocolate. She turned down the lights, blew out the candles on the table, and flicked on the apartment’s little gas fireplace, which came to life with a faint whoosh. 

“Now that’s atmosphere,” Luka chuckled, plucking a string and adjusting the tuning peg. “I brought the acoustic because it’s more apartment friendly than my electric, and now I’m glad. It definitely goes better with the vibe tonight.” 

“I always love listening to you play at the bistro,” Marinette smiled as she sat down on the couch, tucking her feet up under her. “You play with so much passion.”

“I always love it when you come to listen,” he said, darting a look at her from under his lashes without actually looking away from the guitar. “When I play with Jagged, the audiences are huge and nobody’s there just to listen to me. I miss that connection, so I play at a couple small places like that around town. I really like it when you come because you seem so invested In the music. It’s nice to see someone enjoy it so much.”

“You...noticed me?”

He smiled, still not looking up from the guitar. “You’re hard to miss, Marinette. Now I’m only sorry I didn’t talk to you sooner, but you always seemed so engrossed in what you were doing that I didn’t want to interrupt.” He glanced at her again, and it was hard to tell in the firelight but she thought there was a little pink in his cheeks. “But with eyes like those?” He reached out and curled a finger under her chin, lifting her face to the light. “Yeah. I noticed you. Every time.” He dropped his hand quickly and strummed slowly and deliberately down the strings. “There, that sounds about right. Anything you want to hear?” 

Marinette shook her head. “Anything. You pick.” 

So Luka played, and Marinette listened, sinking more fully into the couch as the music relaxed her. 

“That was lovely,” she said when he paused. 

“That was you,” he smiled, and shrugged slightly when she turned wide eyes on him. “It’s a thing I do sometimes, just for fun. Like your sketches, only with music.”

“That’s so cool, Luka,” she said in surprise. “Can you play your mom?”

He wasn’t expecting that, plainly, but then he smiled brightly. “The electric suits her better, but I’ll give it a shot,” he said, turning back to the strings. The tune he played was lively, almost jumpy, though a little bit...hard? It had a Celtic feel to it and the rhythm rolled like the ocean.

“This one’s my sister,” he murmured, changing to a slow and almost somber tune, quiet, but rich, with a thread of mischief. When it ended Luka lifted his head and smiled at her. “Thanks for asking. Playing them actually makes them feel a little closer.” 

“I wonder what my parents would sound like,” Marinette mused aloud, turning the cup in her hands. 

“Tell me about them,” Luka said, picking a few seemingly random chords. “Let’s see what we can do together.” 

In the end Marinette brought her sketchbook over, and sat pressed to his side, turning through the sketches she had done before she left home. 

“Hang on,” Luka stopped her. “Is that me?”

“Oh,” Marinette ducked her head shyly. “Yeah, I’ve sketched you a couple of times now.”

“May I see?” he asked, and though it made her face burn, she opened the book fully. Luka put his arm across the couch behind her so he could lean closer. 

It wasn’t a cleaned up sketch and there was no color, and parts of it were indistinct. His eyes and his hands were clear, and his smile, and the rest of it was more of an impression than a picture. Marinette held her breath while Luka studied it, but he only looked up and said, “Thank you,” and let her turn back to the beginning of the book, to the pictures she’d been looking for. 

These were complete and meticulous, carefully done to help her cherish the memory of home while she was away. Her father laughing in the bakery, her mother at the register, the two of them reclining together on the couch. Their faces, lovingly rendered, her father’s squinty, happy eyes above his thick mustache, and the warmth of her mother’s smile.

Luka smiled softly. “You can really see the love in these,” he observed. “Not just their love, that’s obvious, but the way you love them. All the little details you worked to get just right.” It felt natural to lean against him, to seek his support as her heart began to ache for home again. Luka reached over and gently closed the book. “I think I can try now,” he murmured into her hair. “If you still want me to.” 

“Yes, please.” 

Luka waited for her to move off him, and then drew back to pick up his guitar again. He seemed to sit thinking for a moment, trying out different chords. Then he flashed a quick smile at her, and began to play. 

Marinette clasped her hands over her heart and squeezed her eyes closed against the tears that threatened as Luka played, first a warm, passionate, boisterous tune, and then adding in a calmer, more relaxed and level harmony. 

“What do you think?” he asked when the notes faded away. “Did we get close?”

“That was beautiful,” Marinette quavered. “It was just like them.” 

“Hey now,” Luka said, setting down the guitar and scooting closer. “It wasn’t supposed to make you sad.” He touched her face tenderly and then slipped his hand to her shoulder, applying a gentle pressure. She obeyed it, leaning on him and letting him fold her up in his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” she gasped. 

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, running his fingers through her hair. “This is why I’m here. So neither of us has to have these feelings alone.” 

“We were having such a nice time,” Marinette sniffled.

“It’s still nice,” Luka said, reaching to grab her a tissue from the end table. “It’s wonderful. Thank you for inviting me into your home and going to all this trouble. It’ll take more than a few fully justified tears to ruin any of it.”

“Can we just stay like this for a bit?”

“Of course.”

Eventually she calmed, her breathing evening out, and she moved her face out of his shirt to lay it on his shoulder. It felt so good to be held. And Luka could have been so many things, this man she’d known only for a couple of days, but he was kind and sweet and gentle and genuine and just...wonderful. She found herself staring at the opening of his collar, and just above, the hollow of his throat.

Without questioning the impulse too much, she turned her head just enough to kiss the spot. She liked the way it felt, both his warm skin against her lips and the sudden catch in his breath. She sat up a little more, nose and lips gliding up his skin until she found another soft place to kiss below his jaw. He swallowed and tilted his head slightly, which she took as permission to continue, laying soft kisses along the column of his neck. 

Luka pulled away, just far enough to see her face. He cupped her jaw and rubbed his thumb lightly against her cheek, the firelight making his eyes look dark. 

Or maybe it wasn’t the firelight, because when her lips parted to speak, he kissed her, and it was soft but firm and wanting. That warm, fizzy feeling from before came rushing back, even stronger as Luka began to brush tender fingers across her face and neck.

They exchanged slow, deep kisses, gravitating toward each other, arms slowly circling and tightening, bodies drawing closer until they were pressed as close as they could get. Luka’s hand slipped down under her thigh, tugging lightly. Marinette moved, shifting into him, allowing him to guide her knee across his lap. Her fingers slid into his hair and his hands massaged her thighs before slipping up her sides and down again. 

Her teeth scraped his lower lip and he gasped, his hips jerking up into her and she broke away with a breathless cry and for a moment they both hung, panting, undecided. 

“Marinette?” Luka prompted, voice raw. She didn’t answer, hyper aware of everywhere they were touching, the very movement of his breath enough to fuel the fire in her belly. 

“We can stop now and I can still sleep on the couch if that’s what you want,” he said softly. 

Marinette buried her face in his shoulder for a moment, gathering her courage, and then lifted it to look him in the eye. “What if that’s not what I want?”

He held her gaze for a moment, as if waiting for something, maybe giving her a chance to back out. Marinette let out a shaky breath, but didn’t look away. “I don’t want to stop. And I don’t want you to sleep on the couch.” 

“Okay,” he breathed into the barely-there space between them as he brushed his lips against hers again. 

Despite her bold words, part of her was panicking as they sank down in her bed together, because what was she thinking? At the same time it felt like the most right, most natural end to what otherwise would have been a lonely night full of tears. Though eager and near shaking with want, he was as gentle and considerate as he had been all night. It made her feel powerful and wanted and treasured and safe all at once, and when it was over, all the wanting and tension spent, the gentleness, the care for her remained, and he asked her in that same soft way if she wanted him to leave. 

“No,” she whispered, drawing him back down to her, “Stay with me. Didn’t we agree not to be alone on Christmas?” Luka relaxed back down into the bed with a sigh that sounded like relief, slipping one strong arm around her waist. She traced it lightly with her fingers as he kissed her shoulder and murmured “Joyeaux Noël, Marinette.”

She glanced up at the clock smiled, seeing it was well after midnight, and officially Christmas Day. “Joyeaux Noël, Luka.”