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goddessofroyalty · 4 months ago

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Prompt for Zaun Family, if we already have Naph can we have Amaranthine as Jayvik’s daughter? Months or a year later they discover Viktor is pregnant again this time with a daughter and the reactions of the rest of the family. Please

Tags: omegaverse, mpreg

I’ve realised I forgot to include an Isha-focused scene (she’s mentioned/included in others). Will have to write it before I cross-post on AO3 but want to post this tonight before I go back to work and get snowed under for a week again.

This is another one of those where scenes end jarring because I kind of ran out of what I wanted to write in them. But also it’s meant to be a lot of short-sharp moments so hopefully it still works.

Relevant grandparent names to Naph: Vander – Grandpa; Ximena – Gramdma; Silco - Granddam

--------------

“Has Mylo said anything to you about possibly being pregnant?” The fact Silco has a question for him is hardly surprising to Viktor. While they both work in Piltover the most out of the family Silco doesn’t typically suggest they have lunch together in his office unless there was something he wanted to discuss.

“No.” The idea of it somewhat terrifies Viktor if he is being honest. He might logically know his siblings, except for Isha, are either nearly or over 20, but the idea of any of them having a child does not feel right. Nor would Viktor know what to do if any of them came to him to discuss it. Even with Naph now 3 and parenting starting to feel a bit more natural for him and Jayce.

Silco gives a contemplating hum.

“Jinx would have come to me if it were her,” Silco says, more to himself than Viktor. “And I know Mylo is fooling around with that alpha waitress of Vander’s try as he might to hide it.”

“And what makes you think one of them might be pregnant?”

“I found a test in the bin after you visited last,” Silco says. “I, thankfully, no longer have that concern anymore. And would have known it if were mine anyway.”

“Ah. Of course.” Viktor knows exactly where the test came from seeing he had taken it while visiting his family so Jayce wouldn’t possibly find it. He hadn’t considered his nosy paranoid Dam would likely be on high alert for something like that with two omega children still under his roof.

Not that Viktor is going to own up to it. Better to put off the awkward conversation a bit longer.

Silco levels him with a look.

“Why did you take a pregnancy test Viktor?”

Shit.

“I- ah- think you know.” He had been feeling off in a way that reminded him of when he was pregnant with Naph so he had taken one as a precaution. He hadn’t expected it to come back positive.

Silco curses.

“You said you were done after Naph,” he hisses, voice quiet as if they might be overheard in his office.

“I was.” Even before Naph was conceived Viktor had planned to only have one. And even that was because he couldn’t stop thinking about what a child made from him and Jayce would be like. “It was, eh, not intentional.”

“So you are pregnant?” Silco asks. By the time he would have found the test the results would have been unreliable.

“Yes.” If he tried to lie Silco would have just made him take another one. “And I have not told Jayce yet so you will not say anything to him.”

It’s not that Viktor thinks Jayce will be unhappy about the news. No, he will be excited. Viktor just needs to process it a bit more himself before he does. As much as he loves Naph and will love this one as well, pregnancy comes with a cost to his work’s progress and it is better he work through accepting that fact so Jayce’s excitement is not met with bitterness.

“I won’t,” Silco promises, because he has no problems with keeping secrets from one's mate. “But are you truly doing this again? You hated being pregnant.”

“So did you. And yet you had four of us.” Viktor definitively isn’t looking forward to the coming months but he would be well supported between Jayce and their families. And Naph had proven that Silco had been right when he said they were worth the effort to make.

---------------

“We need to talk,” Viktor says after Naph is settled and asleep for the night and Jayce feels his heart plumet.

He had noticed how Viktor had watched him put their son bed without really helping. An odd expression on his face as he leaned on his crutch braced against the doorframe. Jayce had tried not to think too much into it – even with all the years and a pup into their relationship there were still parts of Viktor that were a mystery to Jayce. Ones he hoped to learn for many years to come.

“Yeah, sure.” Jayce forces his panic down as he follows Viktor to the main living room and sits across from him the couch. Holding his hands in his lap to hide his panic.

“I, ah, have something to tell you,” Viktor says. And the panic runs right up Jayce’s spine.

“Are you dying?” Jayce asks before he can think. The idea of losing Viktor and the life they had together a terrifying and overpowering thought.

“What? No. Or, well, no more than I normally am,” Viktor says because he loves to remind Jayce that he will not live to an old age. “No, Jayce, I’m pregnant.”

“Oh!” It’s better news than Viktor’s health taking a sudden dive. Much better news even if Jayce had been perfectly completely happy with them only having Naph. “We’re having another baby?”

“Yes. That is generally how pregnancies end. Although, I suppose I may miscarry,” Viktor says with a twist of his head as if he is discussing the possibility of the weather changing from the forecast. “Hopefully that does not happen though. If I am going to endure another pregnancy I would like to get another child out of it.”

“How are you feeling?” Jayce hadn’t forgotten how miserable Viktor had been for most of his pregnancy with Naph. Nor how much work it had been for Viktor to bring him into the world.

“Tired mostly,” Viktor says. “And a little queasy but I have not vomited yet.”

“Okay.” Not much different to when he was first pregnant with Naph. Hopefully it wouldn’t be any worse than that one. “We’ll make an appointment with the doctor to see if there’s anything we need to think about that’s different this time. And we probably need to think about moving into a bigger place. And-”

“Jayce,” Viktor says, cutting Jayce’s continuing to plan off. His expression caution. “Are you happy with the news?”

“Yes! Of course!” On reflection he had kind of skipped over his excitement in his relief at the news not being bad. Reaching out he takes Viktor’s hands in his own. “I am so excited about us having another baby Vik. But I know it’s not easy on you and I still don’t know how to make it up to you or make it any easier.”

It had been a thought that had occupied his mind through the entire previous pregnancy. Trying to think of anything he could make or do that would ease the burden on Viktor’s body. Anything more than just be by his side as he suffered.

“You did a good job last time, so just that again if you could,” Viktor says. “Just one more time though. There will not be another after this.”

“Of course.” Even though Viktor said that with Naph as well Jayce still believes him. Two is more than enough for them.

----------------------

“We have something to tell you,” Viktor says to Naph in the morning as their son sits up on Jayce’s lap at the table having breakfast. There is a proper chair for him but Jayce is a pushover and always lets him sit in his lap instead.

“Tell me!” Naph says, looking up between them. His impatience at things inherited from both sides according to all three of his grandparents.

“You’re going to be a big brother soon,” Jayce tells their son, squeezing him in a tight hug.

“Eh- in over half a year’s time,” Viktor corrects. The pregnancy still fairly early. “You will be four when your little sibling arrives.”

“Where are they now?” Naph asks, because he is their child in endless curiosity as well.

“In your dam’s belly,” Jayce says and Naph eyes immediately hone in on Viktor’s stomach. “They have to grow a bit before you can meet them.”

“Your belly doesn’t look any different,” Naph says.

“It will, “Viktor promises him. “I will look very different when they are ready to be born.”

“Okay. Then can I play with them like Isha?”

“Not right away. But you will be able to teach them things like Isha teaches you.” The age gap between them will be similar.

That seems to satisfy Naph’s current curiosity. The usual morning routine being easily returned to.

---------------------

There’s a knock at the door to the lab and before Viktor can look up from his work Naph is yelling for his grandpa. Small footsteps echoing as he races to the door.

“There’s my favorite grandson!” Vander says, swinging the boy up into his arms as soon as Naph reaches him. Settling him against his hip with well-practiced ease as Viktor finishes his work to a place he can walk away from it and come over. “Where’s your dad?”

“Jayce had a meeting.” And Viktor felt perfectly comfortable sending him on his way to it while Viktor stayed in the lab with Naph despite Jayce’s many attempts to get an excuse for him not to have to go to the meeting and instead stay in the lab as well.

“Then how about you go play with your toys while I talk to your Dam and then after we all go get ice-cream?” Vander asks Naph which of course is met with joyful agreement from the child as Viktor mourns a naptime lost to sugar rush.

“Must you bribe my child?” Viktor asks, leaning on his crutch, as Naph runs off to do as he’s instructed.

“I’m his grandpa – it's called spoiling when I do it,” Vander says as he pulls Viktor into a hug. “Your dam said you’d have something to talk to me about?”

“Did he tell you what?” Viktor doesn’t know if he would prefer his dam did or not.

“No, he didn’t - he’s good at keeping things to himself when he wants to.”

Viktor well knows. His childhood had been spent asking Vander things if he knew his parents were trying to keep something from him because Silco would never tell.

“What’s happening Vik?” Vander asks, taking Viktor’s silence as worry.

“Nothing bad,” Viktor promises. “Just that you will be having another grandchild soon. I’m pregnant.”

“I take it this wasn’t planned?” Vander asks as he squeezes Viktor tighter against him.

“Not exactly, no,” Viktor admits freely. His parents can hardly judge for that. “But we are not in a bad position to have another.”

They were comfortably wealthy from Hextech and Viktor’s health was holding steady for the time being.

“No, you’re not,” Vander agrees with the odd tone he gets when he’s thinking about how Viktor and his siblings grew up. He gives Viktor one final squeeze before pulling away. “And how’s Jayce taking it?”

“He’s excited. It feels less scary the second time.” So many of the unknowns feel a bit more known. And they’ve already successfully done it once.

“Don’t drop your guard – the second born will give you different challenges to your first,” Vander advises.

“Don’t you mean the third-born?” By all accounts Claggor was the easiest of Viktor’s siblings and Mylo the one who really brought trouble.

“Claggor might have been easier than Mylo but he was still different to raise to you,” Vander says. “He could run for one. And couldn’t be entertained for hours by letting tinker around Benzo’s shop.”

Viktor gives a hum as he heads back to his work. There’s a bit further he would like it to be before an ice-cream break.

“What do you think of being a big brother soon?” Vander asks as he goes to entertain Naph while they wait. Sitting across from his grandson on the floor despite the crack of his knees as he gets down.

“I’ll be a good one,” Naph says, sounding slightly couched from how much Jayce and Viktor had already started talking him up to it. “And I’ll be extra helpful while dam’s pregnant.”

“I’m sure you will be,” Vander says, ruffling the boy’s hair. “You’re gonna’ be the best big brother, aren’t you? And good big brothers deserve ice-cream.”

“Yeah!” Naph cheers. “I want ice-cream.”

Vander laughs as if he hadn’t put the idea into the boy’s head. And Viktor can only grumble about his son being spoilt by his grandparents as he finishes up so they can go get ice-cream.

--------------

“I can’t believe you were hiding the fact you were knocked up from us!” Jinx says after just showing up to Viktor and Jayce’s lab and making herself at home in one of the corners.

It’s moments like this that Viktor misses the days his siblings weren’t allowed in Piltover.

“I was not hiding it,” Viktor argues. “I just hadn’t told you yet.”

Jinx snorts.

“Same thing,” say says, coming over to drape herself over his back. “Didn’t think you’d be one to have a brood – always too busy for us with your work and your experiments.”

“Two is hardly a brood,” Viktor says as he tries to bat her off.

“Sure, but how long until two become three and three become four and four become six,” Jinx says as she flits around the room before stopping dead and gasping. “You could be having twins.”

“No. No twins. It is not twins.” They can’t actually know that for sure until he’s far enough along for a scan. But one is more than enough for his body to handle.

“Twins would be cute though. You could dress them up in little matching outfits. And it’s one less pregnancy in having your little tribe.”

“I am not having twins. And we are stopping after this.” Viktor had already starting looking into sterilization options to ensure that fact.

“You really can be no fun you know,” Jinx says with a pout on her face even as she fiddles with one of the pieces they’ve been working on.

------------------

“Gross!”

If Mylo had of known the bathroom was already occupied by his brother puking his guts up, he would have gone to the one in the bar instead. At least there the scent of puke was only lingering.

“Thank you for the commentary, Mylo,” Viktor says, tone frosty as he glares at Mylo between hurls. Completely unjustified in Mylo’s opinion seeing how it's not an inaccurate summary of the sight.

The alpha of his shoots Mylo a nervous smile where he’s crouched next to Viktor. One hand rubbing along Mylo’s brother’s back as the other holds a glass of water for him.

Mylo leans against the doorframe as Viktor rests his head against the toilet. Breakfast apparently finished being brought up.

“Are they really worth all this?” Mylo had watched Silco go through the same when he was pregnant with Isha and of course Viktor with Naph. As cool as Isha and Naph are now he’s still not sure it’s worth it, especially with how at first, they’re just blobs that cry and shit.

“Right now, I am not sure,” Viktor says, accepting the cup from Jayce, swishing a mouthful of water before spitting int into the toilet. “But ask me again after they are born and I have seen Jayce hold them. It may be a different answer.”

Mylo snorts at it. For all his brother's independence and leaving home to go to the fancy academy in Piltover when he was a teenager, he and his alpha sure seem attached to each other.

“Yeah, well, tell me if there’s anything I can do or whatever,” Mylo says despite being pretty sure it isn’t anything.

“Thank you, Mylo.”

----------------

“You’re starting to get big again Vik,” Claggor can’t help but point out as his older brother slowly and carefully makes his way to the booth in the bar they currently have dinner at when he is visiting so his back can be better supported.

Viktor’s small enough he can still easily slide into the booth despite his now stomach now well protruding from pregnancy.

“Yes, the doctors have already started strongly recommending I resign myself to bedrest for the remainder,” Viktor says as he rests his crutch against the side of the booth and settles his weight against the back of it.

“Right,” Claggor says for lack of knowing how else to respond. “Can I get you anything?”

“Soda, if you could,” Viktor says with a wince. His hand coming to massage at his stomach.

“’course.” The benefit of having dinner in the bar is it makes it easy to get nearly any drink they could want.

Viktor gives a small smile when Claggor puts the glass in front of him. Taking a small sip as Claggor sits across from him.

“Do you know what you’re having yet?” It was around the point Viktor started to look big that they announced they were having a boy with Naph.

“A girl,” Viktor answers.

“That’s exciting right?” Something different than they had with Naph.

“Eh,” Viktor says with a twist of his head. “It does not change much really. I suppose we will use more of Isha’s old clothes than we did with Naph.”

“That’s fair I guess.” It hadn’t exactly been that big of a deal when Isha was born a girl. Other than the general surprise with the other three of them being boys and everyone having just assumed she would be one as well as a result.

------------------

“Vi, I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Don’t worry cupcake,” Vi says as she continues to fiddle with the base of Jayce and Viktor’s living room window trying to unlock it from outside. “Vik will be glad to have company while he’s stuck in bed again from the baby. And Jayce asked us to check in on him to make sure he had lunch.”

“But won’t it be alarming to have someone breaking into his house?” It would be alarming for Cait and she isn’t currently so heavily pregnant the doctors had suggested she stay in bed all day.

“Not at all,” Vi says grinning as the latch of the window clicks open and she lifts it up climbing through. Leaving Caitlyn no choice but to follow her. “This way he doesn’t have to get up to open the door.”

“No. Instead I have to get up to see who is breaking into my house,” Viktor’s voice responds from the dark living room The lights flickering on to reveal him in the doorway to his bedroom, wearing one of Jayce’s shirts and leaning heavily on his cane. The strain of the weight of his stomach clear. “You could have at least told me you were coming Violet. I would have gotten dressed.”

His eyes flicker to Caitlyn when she awkwardly finishes climbing through as well.

“And that I would be entertaining guests.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Vi says, going over to wrap her arm around Viktor’s middle so he can brace against her as well as his crutch. “We’re here to entertain you. So, let’s get you back to bed.”

Viktor grumbles something Caitlyn doesn’t understand but lets Vi lead him back to his bedroom.

“Coming cupcake?” Vi asks.

“Vi I’m not sure-” Cait starts because she isn’t going to just go into their bedroom.

“It’s fine Cait,” Viktor says. “It is not as if I can join you in the living room so you may as well join me here.”

Cait faulters for another moment because it still feels like an overstep before following.

Vi helps Viktor back into the bed that is covered with notebooks and crayon drawings. Caitlyn catching one as it goes to fall off.

“Naph has been keeping me company,” Viktor explains when she hands it back to him.

“That’s sweet of him,” Caitlyn says, bringing the desk chair over to sit beside the bed as Vi settles next to her brother in it, moving the papers around to make room. “You must be nearly due now.”

“Another month,” Viktor says, rearranging the papers Vi moved. “Assuming I make it to term again.”

Jayce had mentioned the doctors being worried about that. But Caitlyn isn’t sure how to respond so lets Vi direct the conversation into a different route.

------------------

Naph holds grandma’s hand tightly as they walk into the hospital. She had been sleeping over with him the last two nights while his parents went to the hospital to have his little sister. She said they could go visit them and his new sister now so long as he was very good and listened to what the adults tell him.

Grandpa meets them at the entry. Ruffling Naph’s hair and he talks quietly to grandma.

“You ready to meet your new sister?” Grandpa asks, picking Naph up to sit on his hip.

“Yes!” Of course he is. He’s waited so long while they grew in dam’s belly.

“He wouldn’t stop talking about it all last night,” Grandma says and grandpa laughs at it, his chest rumbling where Naph is held against it.

Grandpa carries him through the hospital halls, grandma following behind. Naph only put down once they reach one of the doors as grandpa knocks on it.

“Just us,” he calls before opening it. All of Naph’s aunts and uncles gathered around the edges where dam sits up in bed with granddam and dad around him. The three of them all look tired but Naph can’t see where his baby sister is.

“Where is she?” he asks when dad comes over to hug grandma.

“You gotta’ be a little patient Naph,” Aunt Vi says after dad hugs him as well and tells him that he’s officially a big brother now. “Come sit down yeah.”

“But I want to see my little sister!” Naph protests. Because he’s waited so long for her!

“You will, you just gotta’ sit down first,” Uncle Claggor says, guiding Naph over to the couch in the room where Isha is sitting. Picking him up to put him next to her while grandma goes and talks to dam and granddam.

Dam hands over something to grandma and Naph cranes his neck because he’s pretty sure that’s his sister. But all he can see is a blanket.

Dad sits next to him as grandma walks around the room for a minute before finally coming over. She bends over so Naph can see a tiny face peeking out of the blankets.

“Is that her?”

“Yes, that’s your little sister Naph,” dad says, an arm wrapped around Naph’s shoulders. “Do you want to hold her?”

“Yes!”

“You gotta’ be very careful Naph,” Aunt Jinx tells him, leaning over from behind the couch to look at his new sister as well.

“I will be,” Naph promises, holding up his arms to take his sister.

“No, keep your hands in your lap,” dad says, taking hold of Naph’s arms to pull them back to his side. Grandma slowly handing the baby over to him once he has. “And you have to support her head.”

Isha’s suddenly got her hand under Naph’s baby sister’s head. Giving him a pointed look when he looks over to her and he adjust his arm so it’s where her hand it.

“There you go,” grandma says drawing her hands away and looking down at him with a proud smile. “You’re doing great.”

“What do you think Naph?” dad asks, his hands still wrapped around Naph.

“She’s very pink.” The adults all laugh but it’s true! His little sister is more pink than anyone he’s ever seen before.

“It will settle down in a couple days,” dad tells him.

“Okay.” Naph figures his parents know more about little babies than he does. “What’s her name?”

“Amaranthine.”

“Ama- Amar- why did you give her a hard name?” Naph was much easier to say than Ama-ran-tine.

The adults laugh again and Naph puffs his cheeks out because that hardly seems fair when they gave his sister a stilly long name.

“I told them she should have a Zaun name like yours,” granddam says, because he at least sees sense.

“You can call her Amara for the time being,” dad says, pressing a kiss to Naph’s hair. “You’re going to help us look after her right?”

“Yes.” He was her big brother after all and that’s what big brothers did.

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nescaveckwriter · 1 year ago

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Hey, lovely! 🥰

So I'll put the request here too to make it easier for you to answer: can I request a fic from you where Dean falls asleep on Y/N's shoulder when they're hanging out with her family like that dream I told you about 🥹 something sweet and fluffy, and maybe she'll later tease Dean, but just a little 😆🤭

Love you and thank you! 🤍☀️

❤️. Awww @k-slla 🐞... I really hope this is what you had in mind, Oh goodness 🤭 its such a cute request 🥰 and I love you too 💕... Also I'm going to tag @artyandink for my first post on the #Jensenathon and then @anyfandomgoesbingo for my fist square ('Game Night, will be in bold') 🤭🥰 hopefully y'all like this . 🥰🤭🐞

Warnings: I'm going to say 18+ only ya know just for precaution 😅 but honestly there's none, just fluffy and sweetness.

Words: 1015

A little fun !! 🤭❤️❤️

He's hand runs over his freckled face, it's been a rough couple of days, he's been struggling more to sleep, than in a while, everything weighing so heavily on his shoulders, so when I came running towards him, big smile plastered on my face, almost excitedly jumping up and down, like a two year old, "Dean! Babe?" His green eyes stare into mine, and I feel butterflies swirling around again, "Sweetheart? Don't you seem all excited!"

Laughing "I am, it's been awhile since we had a fun time" giving him a Bambi-like glaze "so, my parents invited us to Game night, please can we go?"

He couldn't keep the smile from tugging at the corners of his perfect plum lips, "That sounds like fun sweetheart"

"Really?" I yelped.

He pulls me into one of those breath stopping hugs, tugging his head into the crook of my neck , the hot air of his breath tickling against my skin , while he whispers "your the only bit of light in this world you know that?" I just hugged him back, unsure how to reply, the emotion welling up in my eyes, so instead of saying a single word, I held him tight, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, just lightly running my fingers, in his hair. I'm not sure how long we held each other in that heartfelt embrace but without saying a single word, it spoke of love, trust, peace, maybe the only sense of peace we had in our lives.

Blasting the radio loudly, playing Dean's favourite Led Zeppelin songs, on the drive over to my parents house, we got out, in a quite cheerful mood, well I could still see the heaviness in those emerald green orbs of his, but I made a quick promise to myself that, I'll do anything in my power, to make sure he has a little fun and relaxes a bit. So without further due, I grabbed his hand, which in return he held the beer and some of the snacks. We rang the doorbell and got welcomed as if we were long lost. We walked in and the living room, spoke of fun with the board games all stacked up, there was wine, and beer, finger foods, it spelled laughter and fun.

As the night got started and we were teamed up together we laughed and shared stories throughout the games. When Dean ate all the pie and some other snacks, me and my mom went into the kitchen, to get some more snacks. When she smiled looked at me and said, "Sweetie,you look so happy are you?"

My eyes glistened, "Mom! I'm not happy, I'm overjoyed, I simply adore Dean, I love him more than anything in this world" soft tears rolled down my mom's cheeks, "Sweetie I'm so happy for you, he looks like a good man" I nod, "He is mom, he has his problems but when it comes to me, he treats me like a queen". And with that we walked back to where Dean and the rest of my family were sitting. He gave me that smirk, of his, the one that made my knees weak, and I smile back, he pats the seat next to him, and I gladly obliged, he placed a sweet kiss on my cheek, I placed my hand on his thigh, giving him a slight squeeze, after my father cleared his throat he said we should maybe play a card game, and so we started.

The rest of the night was filled with laughter, an accusation of cheating every now and again, but it was all playful, and light hearted fun, and as the night went on, everyone taking turns, when it came to Dean's turn, I felt his head resting on my shoulder, and when I looked down, I saw his eyes were closed, the man fell asleep in the middle of room filled with people. I didn't have the heart to wake him up, or even stir a little, so I took the beer out of his hand, and the left over cards and sat it down with mine, mouthing to my parents that we are done playing for the night so I just watched them play further on, until one for one got up and either went home or to bed, leaving me and Dean in the living room, his head still on my shoulder. It didn't take long for my eyelids to fall close, my head gently rested against him.

The night turned into early morning sunrays lighting up the room, my eyes fluttering open only to be met by his forest green orbs, his voice gruffly "Sweetheart when.. what... How?" Smiling, I look at him, my own voice a little croaky from the sleep, "No! Apparently we're so boring and not good company at all, you fell asleep while we were playing cards"

Dean looked shocked and ashamed "Sweetheart it's not that, it's, I'm so sorry okay, I don't..." I pressed a finger on his lips , "Shhh, babe I'm joking, I know you were tired" A smile tugs at his plum lips, "really you had to make me feel bad didn't you?" Shrugging my shoulders, chuckling a bit "I couldn't help myself, sorry my love" he looks at me as if he's looking into soul, "I love you, you know that right?" Nodding about to answer but before I could, he's lips crashed against mine in a searing kiss, his fingers tangled in my hair, I couldn't hold the small moan escaping my lips, the grin on Dean's lips was unmistakable, he shifted slightly, gently guiding me to lay on the couch, I giggled, whispering "My parents'' pressing his finger against my lips, "shhh sweetheart, we don't want to wake them up do we?" with that he captures my lips in a passionate kiss, after a little while, he pulls back, hoarsely whispers "I like game night!" planting yet another kiss, in that moment I knew, I Will always love this green eyed man, even if he falls asleep mid family events.

@jackles010378 @winchesterwild78 @angelbabyyy99 @cevansbaby-dove @bookishtheaterlover7 @cutedisneygrl

#any fandom #dean winchester fanfiction #jensenathon #nescveckwriter #dean winchester x reader #jensen ackles x reader #spotify

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felinisnoctis · 3 months ago

Text

Petras Prime

Produced in collaboration with @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan and @sleepyfan-blog . Petras meets the chaos primaris trio. Much fun is had.

Warnings: Blood, combat, Petras being Petras

Tags @kit-williams @sleepyfan-blog @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @egrets-not-regrets @nightshade-victorian @legionsofthehungry

Chaos or not, Cedric needed to warn the newcomers of the danger they were in. Fortunately, as an apothecary, it was easy enough for him to find a reason to visit. Felix looked up at him as he entered.

“Hello there, apothecary I am not allowed to kidnap on pain of an angry death guard. Are you here to check on your work?”

Cedric took a deep breath before delivering his message. “There is a suspected Primaris Killer on Ancient Terra. He is a loyalist Black Templar Chaplain by the name of Petras. He is currently visiting this city with his warband. I don't know if the rest of his warband are potentially also murderous. Also no, I have not told the firstborn marines. Why would they care?”

Felix thought this information over for a moment. “Ah, so you brought it to someone with a mutual interest, instead. You're smart for a loyalist.”

Cedric narrows his eyes at the backhanded compliment. “Your companions are injured. Petras is several hundred years old. I would advise caution.”

Felix smiled at him. With his helmet off he looked pretty normal, other than the mark of Chaos Undivided neatly burned into his scalp. “Duly noted, apothecary.”

Cedric nods, still tense “Those of us who have been on Ancient Terra have yet to confront him due to logistical issues.” Those primarily being his argument with Ramiel as to who should be bait. The young Justicar insisted it should be him, but Cedric strongly disagreed. Ramiel had been killed by the bastard once already, and he would rather not risk it. Ramiel had argued as he was Petras’s Apprentice- of which they have heard other Firstborn Black Templars talk about Petras talking about occasionally- that his reaction to Ramiel would not be able to be hidden.

“There are ways to conceal ourselves from his sight, should it be needed.” Felix didn’t seem inclined to explain what those were.

“Among the Loyalist Primaris, we do not have the ability to do that. Not without possibly risking the life of the one who is bait. We've been arguing over who should be bait, as none of us wishes to risk the others.” Cedric answers earnestly.

“Well, thank you for the warning, in any case, Apothecary Cedric. Rest assured my companions and I will take due precautions around this individual.” Felix looked almost shark-like in his response.

Cedric nods “Good. This is my vox-number, should you wish for my help, or would like to talk.” He offers the other a small piece of paper with his vox number on it. He has no love for Chaos of any kind, but Felix and his brothers are also Primaris… And if Petras is from when Cedric suspects he is… There is no way the bastard Chaplain wouldn't seek out Chaos Primaris to kill, rules and treaties be damned.

Felix took the vox number and nodded. He voxed a quick message over <And this is mine if you wish to chat more. I will ensure my brothers are suitably warned of the risks on Ancient Terra.> Out loud he added “An extra bag or two of blood for our brother would help. For the road.”

“Of course. I can get together a couple of extra blood bags,” Cedric says with a nod, sending a message to inventory. “Anything else?” Over text he wrote <I mean it. Getting kitted out on Ancient Terra can get complicated if you don't have a permanent base.>

A few minutes later Jophiel comes by with four bags of blood and a cheerful whistling tune, “Some of the bags of blood- still edible, but almost too old to be used for transfusion.”

He hands off the bags of blood to Cedric, glancing at Felix a little, his wings tucked against his back and only twitching a little as he sees the Chaos Marine- his scent, mutated by Chaos- but still Primaris, has his hearts plummeting to his stomach.

“Hello cousin,” Jophiel says, mahogany brown eyes flashing a little as he assesses the Primaris Marine, “Make sure to call us for trade- Ancient Terra is rather resource-starved without having allies in place. But- I’m a Loyalist- so who cares what I say, right? See you soon again. Dodge the hidden strike, Loud- but wily, age not yet dulled senses. Time’s flow ebbs in his hands.”

“.. What?” Cedric says to Jophiel confused. “Are you saying?”

“What?” Jophiel says in response, tilting his head a little.

“You just said some random nonsense at my patient Jophie,” Cedric says, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. He loves his witch-y brothers but they can be very odd at times.

“I said something to him?” Jophiel says confused, “oooh. My head.”

“Did you hit it recently?” Cedric says dragging the younger Primaris Marine to somewhere to sit.

“No!”Jophiel protested, “I think I blabbered a vision thing, but I don’t remember what I said.”

“It was… not very clear.” Cedric says.

“When are you going to be done with Felix?” Jophiel asks.

“How do you know his name?” Cedric asks.

“I ‘unno,” Jophiel says with a shrug, “he looks like a Felix to me.”

“Why did you ask when I was going to be done with my patient?” Cedric asks.

“Oh- Claude is uh…” Jophiel looked at Felix and looked away, “Claude’s gotten hit by the Curse of the Bat again.”

“Ah,” Cedric swore in his head, “I’ll get to him in a minute or two.” The young apothecary swiftly finished his tasks before going off to tend to Claude.

The young Librarian had curled into a small, dark space, wedging himself tightly, and was mumbling quietly. The witch-fire is crackling in his eyes and he’s twitching a little bit some sparks twisting along his form a little bit.

All bad signs. Claude hadn't needed to hide while suffering from one of his visions in months, not after he'd been adopted by Anrir and was getting proper training in the witchy-ways of the Eighth by Karlslor. Claude startled at his approach, dark eyes unseeing the world around him.

“Easy, Claude. It's just me.” Cedric murmured soothingly as he waited for the other to respond.

“Ced… Cedric?” Claude called out, reaching towards him blindly.

“Yes, Claude, it's me, Cedric.” The young apothecary confirmed patiently.

“Good. Here. Safe.” He sighed, stumbling over to Cedric and leaning into him.

Cedric wrapped his arms around Claude's more slender frame, supporting the swaying psyker. “Easy there. I'm going to bring you to Karlsor, alright? And he can help you sort through the vision, okay?”

“Sounds good to me.” Claude managed out weakly.

It did not take long for Cedric to find and carefully hand over Claude to his mentor on Ancient Terra, explaining the situation as best as he could.

He then returned to base, putting together several emergency kits. The young apothecary stashed them in secure hiding spots near areas of the city where Astartes liked to frequent. Cedric was unsure where the possible fight between The Bastard and the trio of Chaos Primaris was to take place, but hopefully, if they did get hurt, he would be able to respond in time.

Meanwhile, Felix had a whispered conversation with Batsy and Mic. Batsy still needed to not stress his legs too much, but that shouldn’t be an issue with how he fought. Mic was more injured, but he’d always been the best shot of the group anyway, especially with his augmetics. And they’d need to make sure that Batsy was well topped off on blood so he could use his powers.

He also conveyed Jophiel’s strange words to Batsy. The chaos psyker would almost certainly be the best to deal with his loyalist cousin’s vision.

Petras had finished doing some Chaplain-specific duties at the local Imperial Fist and Salamander run Loyalist base near Gannet Point. He had informed his Crusade that he’d been gone for a few hours.

He had not quite been truthful about how long he’d be attending his Chaplain duties at the base, he also needed to get some more of the… Excessive Delights that the bastard of a Chaotic Slanneshi Emperor’s child made for him.

He had gotten his order of chocolates- and had ugh, been forced to talk to that damned annoying Apothecary Hura- who ran some tests on him- some blood tests and toxicology reports.

He was a bit short and irritable, but it made sense, damned Chaos Bastards thinking they were so high and mighty. Feh. He did their stupid little tests and did fill out the dumbfuck questionnaires that the Apothecary insisted that he fill out.

When he initially refused to do the questionnaires, Apothecary Hura smiled at him and told him that, until he got all of this busy work of medical stuff done, he won’t be able to get his Excessive chocolates until he does.

He begrudgingly filled it out. Some of the questions were behavioral in nature, others were utterly bizarre and quite frankly, almost insulting at the implications that he might be corrupting into being a Chaos marine. Which he isn’t. He’s a True Son of Dorn, a Loyalist. It’s just that one bruise isn’t healing as fast as he thinks it should, and it’s starting to darken in some parts, and take the shape of a plant, almost, a thorny, flowering plant. But that’s just ridiculous and he doesn’t write that down. As that is none of Hura’s business to know.

Petras pops one of the chocolates into his mouth and he sighs, the delicious bitter-sweet notes of the chocolate melt on his tongue as he tucks the rest of the bag of Excessive Delights into one of the tactical pouches on his armor he continues to walk on.

Sometime later, Petras spotted something in the distance - likely another abomination, from the way the bulky marine moved. Alone, this time. As he got closer he could see the chaos markings on the marine’s armor. So one of the primaris had finally shown their true colors. He prepared the attack, getting as close as he could to the apparently unaware abomination before charging in to attack.

Meanwhile, Batsy and Mic hid in the shadows, Batsy’s psychic powers keeping them hidden. Of course it only worked so long as they held perfectly still and didn’t make a sound. Which was very hard as the effort made his fangs ache with blood thirst.

“DISGUSTING ABOMINATION IN THE NAME OF THE GOD EMPEROR I SHALL CLEANSE YOU FROM HOLY TERRA!” Petras bellows at the Chaos Abomination, vindication fills him, seeing this one reveal his true, disgusting, putrid colors.

Felix drew the chainsword at his hip as Petras started yelling. “Yes yes I'm an abomination, thank you for the compliment.” Chainsword gears revved as he pulled a bolt pistol as well, leveling it at Petra's chest.

Petras flicks his wrist, using his off hand to activate his tempormortis. The bubble encapsulates all three of his foes- not that he knows about the other two yet. It makes their movements incredibly slow so he’s easily able to dodge both his sword and bolt pistol as he smirks at the Chaos Abomination.

From the shadows, behind Batsy’s psychic veil, Mic lined up a shot, various implants and secondary cogitators rapidly tracking and analyzing Petras’s movements. He aims at the weak spot in the armor underneath Petras’s sword arm and fires a single bolt-carbine shell, hoping to catch the chaplain off guard and even the odds. Just as his shot is about to strike, Batsy takes off into the air, shadows dropping away to the sound of opening wings.

Petras grunts at the pain and the feeling of a bullet piercing through his armor and he staggers and snarls, lashing out with his weapon and looking around, “What foul treachery is this?!”

Petras hooks his tempermortis to his belt and switches his sword to his other hand and vox calls his Crusade, “Foul Chaos Traitors are attacking me! Backup requested- I’m sending you my coordinates-!”

He fights Felix and dodges Batsy’s first couple of swooping attacks. It helps that Batsy gets hit by the effects of the Tempermortis. Petras is counting down the seconds until the time dilation field turns off.

Felix taunts him in response, although his words are slowed by the field. “Vox is jammed, they can’t hear you. You’ll have to deal with us abominations all by yourself.” His chainsword slashed the air again, not so much trying to wound as attempting to fend Petras off. He still suffers a nasty wound across his belly as Petras’s power claw bites through his armor.

“You damned heretical chaos witches!” He spits back enraged.

Petras focuses his attention on Felix and the bat-abomination and manages to use his electrified power claw to pierce through one of Batsy’s wings and grabs it and with a brutal flick of his wrist breaks one of his wings at the joint before trying to cut off his head. Batsy in turn ducks under the wrist as he lands, bringing a massive force axe up towards Petras’s body even as pain shoots through his injured leg. The psy-weapon rings off his armor as Felix aims another series of bolt shells towards the back of Petras’s legs, hoping to take advantage of his inability to face both sides at once.

He swears and dodges, while his eyes scan both of his opponents as he also tries to seek out where the Sniper is as well. He avoids the disgusting pox-ridden Nurglite and the other chaos abomination, whose allegiance is less certain.

“Foul Abominations, Kneel and repent, and die for your sins,” Petras barks out, “And the God Emperor, will then Forgive you.”

“But Apothecary Hura says I’m not supposed to use my leg for a while!” Batsy whined back, favoring his leg and compensating for it with his uninjured wing. More bolt shells sang by Petras’s head as Mic fired from his spot behind a large rock nearby. Batsy swung his axe again and again, hoping to beat Petras back with the sheer force, while Felix sought a weak spot in his armor to plunge his chainsword into.

One of Petras’s eyes twitches, “Of course you abominations know that fucking pain in the ass blighted, grotesque Apothecary. Ugh. Fucking Chaos!” Right as he was distracted he felt something smack into his hip and stick there.

He tries to pull it off and toss it at one of the Chaos Abominations, “Fuck off, and damnation to you all!” It sticks to his fingers, costing him a precious few milliseconds. Which was all the time the shaped charge needed to go off. “Damn you to the Eternal hellfire of the God Emperor!”

The explosion staggers Petras enough that he collapses. Between his armor and his own superhuman healing factor, he should recover. Except the blows didn’t stop, smashing into his limbs to shatter them one by one, then shatter them again before moving into his chest. Carefully avoiding any blow that would be immediately fatal.

“May you suffer a thousand times over!” Petras snarls, as he tries to fight- continue to attack them, but his limbs betray him, his flesh which sings of pain, refuses to move. His eyes glare at them with Fire of the God Emperor as he continues to spit insults at him until he passes out.

It’s a bitter mockery of the times when he’s beaten Primaris, until they have fallen, and then continued to keep striking them while they were down. No Mercy, No Fear, no quarter given. If he survives this… He will make sure they pay for this.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry #space marine husbandry sentience #chaos triad #oc: cedric #OC: Petras #OC: Jophiel

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meownotgood · 10 months ago

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let us live, if we must die. / chapter three: eclipse

You are a witch, and since the purging of all magic, you've been forced to live a life of solitude and secrecy. Your destiny was always beyond your control — until, by a pure twist of fate, you unknowingly fell for the kingdom's only prince.

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pairing: prince!aki x witch!reader

word count: 15.3k

tags: fantasy au, royalty au, reader is fem, reader has many Thoughts, hurt / comfort, aki comforting reader, angst, but don't worry they're figuring things out

notes: thank you for patiently waiting for this chapter, I hope you enjoy it!! the next chapter will be long as well, so I appreciate your patience again... love you and appreciate you

masterlist read on ao3 join the taglist here!

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You always knew Aki was royalty.

In the time since you first hid away in this forest, you've learned to take necessary precautions. You track the whereabouts of demons each time you go out, drawing them away with spells, and watching for fresh footprints. You learned to attune yourself completely to the magic circle you created, to be sure you'll catch the faint waves of an unfamiliar aura the moment it enters.

Spells can summon certain books from a handful of easy to find materials, and those books can then be used to summon more. Your mother's grimoires, the few you managed to take with you when you fled the city, became your gateway into a world you'd never once known.

Deciphering magical tomes takes patience. It's a lengthy process, but it's worth it. You've learned the means to make valuable potions, and you've mastered spells that could save your life: invisibility, hypnosis, spell-shields. With so much time on your hands, and with the unbound freedom to do so, you have no reason to ever stop honing your magic.

You can always learn more, you can always be safer. You must be prepared for every situation, and you need to take all outcomes into account. No-one can be trusted; no-one but yourself. In the moment of truth, you can't afford to make any mistakes. You need to be ready. For anything, and everyone.

And so, when an inexplicable, elven, injured stranger comes knocking — and promptly passes out — at your door, the first damn thing you're going to do is check all his pockets.

It doesn't take the wisdom of a thousand year old wizard to know he was from the city. The kingdom is the only notable settlement for miles. There's small towns here and there. Farmland you'll pass if you're making your way to the gates. No offense to him — to Aki, right, you still need to learn his name — but he doesn't seem like a farm boy. Or an adventurer. Or royalty, for that matter.

You couldn't have known. Obviously, he'd be from the city, but royalty? An alleged demon-hunter and a man of royalty, how does that make any sense?

Staring up at the shadow-filled ceiling of your bedroom, you pull your blanket up to your chin, and rub your pained temple with two fingers. You can't seem to get comfortable, no matter how much you've been tossing and turning in your bed. The living room has been silent. Aki is probably asleep now. Your mind can't seem to stop racing, either, and perhaps that's why you can't catch any sleep.

The clothes he showed up in were simple. Racking your brain and snuggling into your bed, you bring yourself back to the moment you met him. You recall the discomfort in his expression, the crimson on his palm. The way moonlight framed him with dark hues and fuzzy edges.

You don't know enough about jewelry to be able to tell if the earrings on his pointed ears are the expensive sort. They're simple, black, and made with smooth metal. You remember seeing a gemstone you couldn't recognize, delicately placed in the center of a hanging star. Now that you're thinking about it, they could be worth more than your life, if you're unlucky. Or maybe they're worth nothing, you suppose. Just the sort of imitations they sell for substantial mark-ups at early morning markets.

After the mysterious stranger passed out on your doorstep, you dragged him inside and out of the rain. You didn't have a choice in the matter at the time, really. He was already limp and Gods, was he heavy. Setting up the cot and plopping him onto it was the true challenge.

Miraculously, you found no other major injuries once you inspected him. And thankfully, most of the plant life you collected that day is perfect for healing.

Thankfully for him, at least. You weren't exactly thrilled to spend your entire stock on someone else. You'll have to put your plans to practice potion-making on hold, you suppose. In any case, he came at just the right time. Thank the Gods for that.

The gash on his side was as dire as you thought. It was a jagged, clearly painful slice, no doubt made by the trained swipe of a demon's talons, and enough to make you wince when you removed his shirt to examine it. Demons usually aim for the throat, whenever possible. Aki is lucky he managed to throw one of them off its aim.

You tended to the wound quickly, cleaning it with fresh water, and salving it with herbs. Finally, you wrapped his torso in makeshift bandages, tearing off parts of your cape when you began to run out.

You rinsed his shirt, scrubbing what stains you could out of the fabric. Upon further inspection, you noticed his hands were covered in scrapes. His fingers are long and thin. Pretty, almost. His palms were calloused, rough to the touch. Dried blood was caked into his skin. Carefully, you scrubbed the blood from his palms and his knuckles, while you tried to keep your gaze from drifting up to his face. A pointless endeavor, in the end.

His hair fanned out around him, still slightly-damp. His brows were pinched as he slept. Warm firelight danced softly over his features: a sharp jaw, a straight nose, messy bangs. You forced yourself to look away, your face growing hot. You can't get distracted. Before he wakes, you have more important things you need to take care of.

Once you were all finished patching him up, you leant close to make sure he was still sleeping; his chest rose and fell steadily, he exhaled in slow, calm breaths. Then, you proceeded to rummage through what he had on him. If you couldn't pick his brain yet, your best shot at discerning who he is or what he's after would be to search his belongings — and that you did.

His pants had no pockets on the back, but two in the front. The left pocket was empty, save for one silver coin. Money means nothing to you, and so you returned it, right where it was. A promise to get out of your hair eventually was the only payment you needed.

The other pocket, however, did carry something. Something very, very terrible.

In the right pocket of his trousers, you found a small, gold medallion. It was smooth, circular, with a sparkling blue gem in the middle — reminiscent of the sea, and the color of his eyes. Intricate engravings surrounded the stone: runic text you couldn't quite make out in the low light, and the sun, the moon. Along with a winged dragon, curled around the empty space.

Your heart sank so deep in your chest you just about let it drown, and that's when you knew you were absolutely doomed.

This is the kingdom's symbol, the kingdom's royal crest. Commoners and knights are allowed to carry similar motifs, but only someone of great importance would have a medallion with this stone, and these exact symbols.

Sapphires are only meant to be worn by descendants of royal families. They're priceless. Imitations can rarely capture their luster, although creating them is punishable with prison time — and Gods, with the way this gem sparkles when you hold it close to the fire, your head is practically spinning.

You hold the medallion in shaky, unsure hands, unable to tear your gaze away. The room begins to twirl around you, and the gem inside shimmers, with a depth unlike anything you've ever seen. As though worlds upon universes are hidden inside it. Your throat feels as dry as a desert, and your heart won't stop hammering. You glance up. None the wiser, the man you've saved is still sleeping peacefully, his features soft, and his lips parted slightly as he lets go of faint, steady breaths.

Oh, you've really done it this time. Could you have crossed paths with anyone worse?

Perhaps he's a thief. He could have stolen the medallion, snatched it right out of the pockets of some oblivious royal advisor, and now he's hiding out here to avoid getting caught. As much as you want to believe that, as much as you want to imagine you don't have a man of importance in your cottage right now, that conclusion hardly makes sense.

This man, a thief? And one skilled enough to steal a royal medallion, of all things? With the way Aki came stumbling into your magic circle and onto your doorstep, you doubt he'd know subtlety if he was hit over the head with it.

He doesn't talk like how you imagined royalty would — Granted, how does a royal person talk? You always imagined some sort of overly flowery, fancy speech. Like the kind in the books you've read, about places and tales you'd much rather escape to.

Aki. You've never heard a name quite like his before. Just a few syllables, just a few letters. Kings and princes and squires usually have much fancier names, don't they? The knight in the book you've been reading is named Heinrich Vincent, and the princess is called Miss Edith Violet. Perhaps only the most important people have important names. Or perhaps, those books are just as you assumed they were: fairytales, and nothing more.

Aki is someone special then, he must be. That's your assumption — it's the only assumption you can come to, despite how the very thought makes your chest ache. He's probably a royal guard, someone with a bit of fighting experience, who thought he could stand a chance against a forest full of devils. Maybe he's some duke's distant cousin. He could be a mere knight, accepted as royalty after he became a princess' suitor.

Honestly, he could be anything, for all you care. Your magic is what caused him to nearly die out there. It was your spell, your doing that drew the demons together. You, heralding demons with your magic, like you're one of the archmages the history books warn about.

Your magic. Damn it all. The predicament you've found yourself in is so much worse than you ever could have imagined.

As the night stretched on and the rain battered your cottage, your more present problem helped to keep your worries at bay. You kept busy, preparing his medicine, and tending to the roaring fireplace. He mumbled in his sleep, occasionally. It wasn't really anything of note, merely fragmented sentences that barely made sense. Mumbled swears and slurred, barely-there apologies to no-one in particular.

When the man awakened, you held your resolve. You ignored the skip in your heart when his soft eyes met yours. You kept your unpracticed voice from wavering, and didn't shy away from any conversations.

It's been a very long time since you've heard someone else talk, especially this much. Those knights from ages ago only spared you a moment and a handful of words. Your own voice is comfortable, a melody your ears would gladly be wrapped in. You hate this, though. You despise the way you sound when your tone is threatening to wobble. The lump in your throat is all his fault; you can't think when he's speaking to you, can't focus on anything but the firelight as it flickers over his face.

And Aki's voice is smooth. Ridiculously smooth. He sounds assured when he speaks, his tone deep, words careful. You can't help but be hung onto everything he says to you, your spine tingling and your heart racing. It's strange, to hear a voice besides your own for once, and to have someone else filling the empty space in your quiet little cottage.

Aki's voice holds the ocean, every word plunging you into deeper depths, until he has warm waves rolling gently over your shoulders. Heat and exhilaration engulf you whole at the simplest of sentiments. Thinking to yourself, you toss and turn again, your worn, wooden bed creaking slightly from your movement. Even now, you can't help but think of him. You picture his voice, quiet and calm. You imagine the soft smiles he gave you, and your veins surge with a feeling you can't possibly describe.

You could listen to him speak forever. But Aki and forever are two luxuries you aren't afforded.

If he ever discovers who you are or what you've done, you won't even get a trial. He would hate you. You could never be allies, not with the secrets you hold. Not when he is royal, and you are a witch.

A man with such important ties to the kingdom, royalty or not, could make your fate whatever he wished. They'd schedule your execution for the very next morning, surely. The sooner you're disposed of, the better it is for the land. Hundreds would crowd the square to gawk at the witch a nobleman captured. Your poor mother would be frowning upon you from the heavens, as she watched her only child suffer her same fate.

Even as your eyes met those of your executioner, your hands tied behind your back with your wrists rubbed raw from the rope, and your head rested over a thick piece of wood, you wouldn't fight back. None of them would see an ounce of your magic, for better, or for worse. It would die with you, and everything would be your fault. You should have been more careful. Less kind.

Would Aki want to dispose of you himself? Could he be the one to bring his blade down on your neck? Would his normally-gentle expression be contorted in disgust, guilt, or conviction, as he whispered a deathly quiet I'm sorry to you, before his hands tightened on the hilt?

You aren't sure, nor do you want to know. If he ever proves dangerous, in order to survive, you would have to take matters into your own hands. He seems to trust you now, but if you became enemies, if you were ever forced to —

Aki's soft, slight smile drifts through your mind right then. In your dark bedroom, you can't help but groan, and cover your face with your hands.

No, you couldn't, you wouldn't. And it isn't just because it's him. It isn't simply because Aki is inexplicably kind and intriguing and the first person to speak with you in years. When you imagine him discovering the truth, learning who you are and deciding he hates you, a metaphorical knife twists into your gut. You'd rather he just take you to the kingdom and have you dealt with there, because even with your life on the line, you know you couldn't hurt him.

This man could very well lead you to your end. So why, why did you tell him to stay?

Death has always scared you, always haunted you. You've heard the stories they tell of mages, tales painting them as wicked beings who crush those who stand in their way under their feet. You want to be better. Pin you as soft, weak, or everything in between, you hardly care. Magic was meant to help, not harm. One day, perhaps far after your lifetime, magic and death won't walk hand in hand. One day, you hope you might be free.

And Aki — he would have died without you, you're sure of it. He might not be an adventurer, but you can buy that he's an experienced fighter. His body is covered in scars, in slashes left by devil claws or teeth. His palms are rough and calloused, which would make sense if he often wields a sword. He claimed to be a devil hunter, and when he spoke, the clearest sense of desperation present in his voice, you couldn't help but believe him.

You are a mage. A terrible, less than human blight, according to those in the kingdom. And Aki might be royalty. If you ever wound up following him to the city like he offered, you could be punished for even laying a single finger on him.

But were you just supposed to let him perish?

When you stood frozen in place at your door, clutching your heart as thunder broke through the night sky above, you were reminded of the kingdom. Of the death you witnessed there: the deaths of strangers, your acquaintances, your family. Your mind whirled with the image of the man you saw through the door's peephole. Chest heaving, blood dripping over his fingers; dull crimson, like the blade of an executioner's sword.

You've seen the way one looks when light is slipping from their eyes, with no hope left of clinging onto it. You imagined the sapphire spark to Aki's eyes fading into nothingness; crushed, and crumpling. Right then, your mind must have made itself up.

Aki doesn't deserve to die. Royalty be damned, he doesn't deserve to be eaten by those demons, left behind in an endless forest, afraid and alone. Trusting him here might wind up as the worst, most regrettable decision you've ever made. And yet, he has already trusted you with his life, hasn't he?

Your heart just needs to take the first, fatal step. Perhaps you need to let yourself trust.

Fucking hell. You need to stop your incessant thinking and let yourself sleep, that's what. Honestly, you've never felt this stressed in your entire life. How in the world are you supposed to handle this? Handle him?

He won't discover you're a mage, you'll make certain of that. You can't afford to be naive, no matter how you might be feeling. It doesn't matter how fast your heart is pounding right now as you lie in bed, sleepless, unable to keep your steady stream of thoughts from flowing back to him. Simply put, it's your fault he's in this mess in the first place — and you're going to be the one to fix it.

With a few small adjustments, you can make sure all of the magical items in your cottage are properly hidden away. You could heal him faster, if you were allowed to use magic. A potion would have him feeling better in no time, a healing spell could seal his wound almost immediately. Though, obviously, you'll have to work with the old ways for now. You'll need to make sure you're waking up early tomorrow to gather the necessary materials.

His wound will need to be tended to frequently, to keep it from getting infected. You'll prepare a concoction of herbs for him to take twice a day, and that'll help to keep his energy up. Rest will be important too, of course. There's plenty of normal, boring books strewn around your cottage, if he needs something to put him to sleep. As long as everything goes to plan, he should be fine to leave in a couple of days.

Right. Just a few days, and he'll be gone. The stranger you met by chance, who you saved on purpose, will fade into the forest until he becomes a fuzzy, unimportant blip in your memory.

Somehow, the thought doesn't fill you with the relief you would've expected.

In your cupboard, you still have some white-hazel left. Normally, the small, thin-petaled flowers don't grow during this time of year. You've decided to start keeping some extras as of late, just in case. White-hazel makes the mind foggy. The dried petals have to be sealed carefully in a jar, because the smell alone can get into your head. You would use small batches of it to ward away demons, before your distraction spells were perfected.

You doubt you'll ever be able to forget him. However, with a potent enough dosage, if you gave Aki some of those petals, you could erase every memory he has of you.

You'll allow him to stay, just long enough so he can recover. Once he's healthy, you'll send him on his way with a filled flask — a potion, infused with a hint of your magic. He'd only need to take a sip or two. Then, everything up until the moment he entered the forest would be lost. He wouldn't remember you, or your cottage, or the pain the demons brought upon him. It's better this way, really.

In the meantime, you must avoid growing closer to him. Revealing even the smallest of details could put you at risk, before you have the chance to make good on your plan. He doesn't have to know your name. Nor anything about you.

Aki is nothing more than a stranger, an unlucky coincidence, an empty promise. Ultimately, he will stay that way.

When you eventually drift off to sleep, it isn't until hours later. Your heart stays tied up in knots, and you dream of nothing but a cold, shuddering darkness.

—

One thing's for sure, if Aki is a man of royal blood, he certainly doesn't act like it.

He isn't… uncouth, as a fancy nobleman might call it. Actually, he's pretty damn polite. He always keeps his space in the living room tidy. His voice is gentle when he speaks to you, dripping with a thick sense of kindness you aren't at all used to. In the few days since he first started staying with you, he's been nothing but patient and respectful.

He's kept to resting, mostly. After the first night, you managed to move all of your spellbooks and magical items to your bedroom. By the second, you had properly concealed everything behind magic that should be impossible to detect. Although you weren't about to give him a reason, you finally made sure to mention he should continue sleeping in the living room, and avoid entering your bedroom under any circumstances.

When you told him this morning, Aki didn't question it. He flashed you a slightly amused look, while he tugged on the laces of his boots to tighten them, and plainly, he answered, Of course. It's your bedroom, obviously I wouldn't go in. Do you take me as rude?

Huh. No, he's far from rude, even though you never wound up formulating a response. He doesn't complain about the bitter herbs you have him take. He barely winces or grumbles while you tend to his wound, rewrapping his bandages.

Sometimes you'd find him pacing around the living room to stretch his sore legs, but otherwise, he's been getting plenty of rest in his cot — just as you'd instructed. He's so quiet some days, if you're reading or tidying things in your bedroom, you'll tend to forget he's even there. Aki is different from what you were expecting, that's all.

He's a good sort of different, though. Maybe it's your fault, for having such silly expectations in the first place. You thought people from the kingdom — especially people of royalty — were supposed to be stuck-up, selfish, boring. Overly-posh, and with nothing interesting to talk about besides themselves.

You admired those from the castle when you were younger. You wanted to be noticed by them, or maybe you wanted to be them. Now, you can only imagine royalty as bland and heartless. They spend their days cooped up in their castles, tending to dull affairs. And for their nights, they attend such fancy dinners and parties, while the commoners in the kingdom are left to rot.

Aki serves to defy all of those expectations.

Granted, the moments you've spent together since the night you first took him in have been few and far between. He didn't seem to notice how you initially avoided him, and he didn't protest when you'd leave for the entire day to forage. He doesn't comment whenever you stow away, the door to your bedroom shut tight, while you keep to yourself for hours at a time. It's difficult to find words whenever he's near. You get choked up inside, your heart pounds in your ears like that of a frightened rabbit, and you aren't sure if it's because of the lingering fear, or perhaps the proximity.

Tending to his wound shouldn't be the event your overthinking brain makes it out to be, but Aki sits so close, closer than anyone else has ever been. You can hear the echoes of his breathing, can feel his soft and scarred skin underneath your fingertips. His muscles tense as you press gently to the sore scrape on his side.

Can he hear the quickened edge to your breathing, too? You wonder if Aki knows he's already killing you from the inside; no-one has ever trusted you like this, just as you've never trusted another. It's relieving to know your foolishness is mutual.

Your conversations while you're patching him up are pleasant, albeit brief. They're space and silence fillers. Still, it's the only time where you truly get to talk to him. Where you can exchange more than a couple of words, at least. You know you only have yourself to blame, but you don't want him to realize you know more than you're letting on. You try to keep your time together and your questions to a minimum.

Aki explains that although he's found himself in plenty of scuffles with devils before, he hasn't been wounded like this in quite a long while. Weaker devils rarely faze him, but this time, he was distracted. It'll be relieving to finally recover, he says. He wants to be able to move, to fight again. He's been growing a little stir-crazy here, apparently.

In a hurry to leave, are you? You mumbled, while you carefully pressed a damp rag to his skin, your gaze focused on the task. The fireplace crackled from beside you, warming your limbs and chasing away the cold chill of the night. You miss the kingdom that much?

I don't miss it at all. Aki answered, not missing a beat. He shivered from the coolness of the cloth, a fire-lit glow pooling over his slightly-tanned skin. I just feel like I could be more useful. I'm not accustomed to… to this. You're the first person I've ever owed my life to. The sooner I recover, the sooner I can begin finding some way to repay you.

You wanted to reassure him repayment won't be necessary. In the end, you held your tongue.

Aki continued, and with nothing else to fill the air, you listened. He's quite a good story-teller, in your opinion. As your fingers curiously felt the ridges of another deep scar on his stomach, Aki recounted the tale behind it: he was far from the city. Miles and miles, in fact. The devil he encountered was three times his size. It had a body made of bone, with a wolf-like, hollow skull, illuminated only by red eyes that shone like glowing, flickering flames.

And you defeated it? You hum in slight disbelief, a brow raised; this time, you're looking up at him, bandages held loosely in your hands. All by yourself?

Yes, all by myself, Aki answers, tone smooth and unflinching. His expression can't be read, but you swear you catch a hint of a barely-there smile on his lips.

Defeating it was the easy part, He says, pointing to the jagged scar, Save for the blow it landed right here. I followed its trail into the mountains, and by the time I tracked it down, I was utterly lost. I slept out there for three days before I finally found my way back to the closest town. I showed up exhausted, hungry, and covered in every kind of scrape and bruise you can picture.

You smooth out his bandages and secure them with a tight knot. Sounds like how we met.

Yeah. Those townspeople weren't as kind as you are, though. They fed me river snails.

Right then, you can't stop yourself from laughing. You're chuckling through your words — he sounded so damn serious — and you're gazing up at him with a rather playful grin.

Snails? You question, Did they taste disgusting?

Aki is smirking slightly, a potent spark burning in the back of his sapphire eyes. They were awful. Way worse than any medicine you could ever give me. I guess the people there thought the snails had healing properties- It took me a whole week to recover, by the way. And the inns were out of rooms, so can you guess where they had me stay?

I'm not sure. Where?

A brothel.

When you freeze, your eyes going as wide as a full moon, Aki clears his throat, and he nervously glances between you and the fireplace. It was uneventful. Very, very uneventful. Definitely nothing like what you must be imagining- sorry. We should save the rest of those stories for another day. Right?

You remember rolling your eyes, before you breathed an amused exhale, and proclaimed that yes, it certainly sounds like a stupid story, but you would like that.

The logical side of you says you probably shouldn't. Aki isn't your ally, nor could he ever be your friend. Looking forward to the few moments you spend together is pointless, when the both of you will be forced to forget them in a few day's time.

Aki's experiences are enthralling. His voice is like a damn vice, lulling you into getting lost in him. You haven't been anywhere but the kingdom many ages ago and this forest. But Aki has seen towns, oceans, and mountains. In pursuit of the devils he's set out to slay, he's been to places you could only dream of. He is a dream you cannot have, a friend you must not make.

As the days stretch on and on, and as your forgotten dreams meld with the intricate stories Aki recounts for you, those little talks seem to stick inside your mind.

If only things were different. If only you weren't you, and he wasn't what you know him to be. A man of royalty, conversing with a witch.

Darkness will always be ruined by light.

For now though, you have to focus on the present. Aki has been healing well from his injury. In only a few days, he's recovered most of his energy. Although he still needs a bit more time before he can put a true amount of strain on himself, he's fine to walk, at least. Fine to leave the cottage, as long as he isn't wandering far.

And he's well enough that he can finally join you, as you venture into the depths of the forest to search for the belongings he left behind.

—

"Do you think my bag is still out here?"

Staring down at your feet, you breathe a light tsk at that, and you kick a pebble with your next step forwards to send it skittering in front of you. "Possibly. Demons don't tend to mess with human junk. What did you have in there?"

Aki hums in thought, his brows pinching. He attempts to count by using his fingers. "I had a notebook, a pen, some ink, some gold… some clothes, I think. Nothing too important."

"If they got into your bag, maybe they'd take the coins," You answer methodically, "But otherwise, everything should be right where you left it. Keep an eye out, and let me know if anything starts looking familiar."

The bright rays of the sun warm your bare skin, shining onto your arms and shimmering over the rippling, shallow water. You've been following the river's edge for a while now, walking along the path it creates while occasionally veering closer to the forest to look around. Aki couldn't recall exactly where he was attacked; not that you can blame him. That night was dark, stormy, and either way, every tree and bush and field of grass looks exactly the same. However, he did remember hearing the babble of the river nearby. Following it gives you the best chance of finding his things, you suppose.

Today, the sky is bright blue and cloudless. Gravel crunches under your boots. The river laps at the rocks, and morning songbirds chirp from the distant trees. With your hands shoved in your pants pockets, and your gaze focused on your feet, you make sure to take careful steps over fallen logs and twisted roots. Aki keeps pace beside you, following you more than he's following the river.

His hair is half-tied up like the day you met him, showing off his delicate earrings and pointed ears. He looks much different in the sunlight. More handsome, surely, spotted rays shining through the forest's canopy to paint amber patterns across his skin. The sleeves of his tunic have been rolled up to expose his scarred forearms.

He keeps a healthy level of distance from you, not straying too far or walking too close. He's glancing between the path ahead, the forest, and sometimes to you. You're glad. If he was any closer, you doubt you'd be able to keep your thoughts clear.

Demons — or devils, as he calls them — are few in number during the early morning hours, so you made sure to leave with Aki just after dawn. By now, you likely have two or three hours at most, before the devils start appearing from their dens.

You're already halfway along the river's trail. You should be able to finish searching, and you'll have plenty of time to head back to the cottage. You'll plan to collect some herbs and mushrooms on the way back. That way, locating Aki's belongings or not, this trip won't end up a total bust.

You'll find his things though, hopefully. This side of the forest was where you placed your distraction rune.

Aki has to walk a bit slower than you. Clearly, he's trying not to let the pain still left in his side show; he doesn't wince or falter much from the pace you've set. Although you don't mind, you aren't used to having to wait for someone else to catch up. You fall into a rhythm of skipping ahead, hopping over stones, and then stopping once you get a short way in front of him. Aki gives you an entertained look when you wait, turning back to glance at him. You decide to deliberately slow down to keep yourself at his side, and you try to ignore the heat you feel budding at the back of your neck.

The sun's warmth is calming. It shines sparsely through the trees, evoking a heavy feeling in your veins when it hits your skin. If it wasn't for Aki walking so close beside you, you'd probably have fallen asleep standing up. You roll your shoulders backward, and stretch your arms to the sky. Then, you yawn, trying to blink away the fuzziness in your vision. To no avail, unfortunately.

"Tired?" Aki pipes up. You hadn't noticed he was looking at you until his voice startled you awake.

You rub your eyes, shrugging. "Kind of. But I'll be fine."

If you instead were honest with him, with yourself, you are very tired. Your head feels weighed down by thick stones, as large and cumbersome as the ones in the river bed. Your limbs feel weaker and more sluggish than usual, as though they're actively working against you. Since Aki started staying in your cottage, you haven't slept well at all. Last night, you kept tossing and turning, thinking just to think some more. Your mind won't keep steady.

You hate not knowing exactly what you're supposed to do. You hate that you can't figure him out, no matter how much you think or try to pry information from him. Your messy plan could go awry a thousand different ways because of a thousand different things and —

Aki is still staring at you. Blinking, you turn away, hoping he didn't notice you zoning out.

"You sure?" Aki asks, a brow raised. Okay, he totally noticed. "That's probably the fourth or fifth time you've yawned in the past five minutes. We can take a break, if you'd like. I wouldn't mind pushing our search back to tomorrow."

"I'm okay, really," You scoff. You kick another pebble, and watch as it flies into the river, pushed by the current for a bit before it slowly sinks to the bottom. "Let's just hurry. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we'll be safe from demons."

For a couple of moments, you both fall into silence. The only sound to echo between you is your boots crunching the gravel. But still, Aki's gaze is on you: astute and sparkling. Even though you're staring at your shoes, you can clearly see him glancing at you from the corner of your eye, his mouth pressed into a focused line. He's pondering. Was it something you said?

You didn't mess up, did you?

Aki breathes a small hmm, and he calmly concludes, "You aren't familiar with devils, are you?"

Suddenly, you're stopping in your tracks. Aki freezes beside you. His expression is unreadable as you turn to face him, giving him a particularly annoyed look.

"What makes you say that?" You retort, hardly trying to hide the bit of harshness laced through your tone. You've been fighting the stupid creatures for almost your entire life, of course you're knowledgeable about them. Knowledgeable enough, at least.

"Well, you call them demons," Aki replies, sounding indifferent. "Pretty sure my great grandparents were the last ones to call them that."

"It's the same thing." You turn back to following the river, and continue walking while you speak. "I've survived out here for as long as I have, with demons lurking in every inch of this forest. And you think I know nothing of them?"

Demons. You couldn't recall what your parents might've called them, or what those in the kingdom knew them as. During your earliest days in the forest, you remember summoning a book on, to quote the book's title: Formidable Demons and Magical Creatures. The book must have been centuries old. At the time, you didn't have enough experience to decipher it. You flipped through the pages and memorized the illustrations of "known demons", before tucking the tome away on your shelf, to be read at a later date.

Damn. You have plenty of first-hand experience, but if most of your knowledge is sourced from some dusty old book you never actually wound up finishing, maybe he's right.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it that way," He apologizes, speeding up a bit so he can continue walking beside you. "I'm not knocking how resourceful you are, it's impressive. Perhaps I should have worded it differently. You're familiar with devils, yes. But I think your perspective of them might be much different from mine."

Your eyes narrow. Thinking, you cross your arms in front of you, and your gaze drifts back to the path ahead.

"Okay, so," You start, your words a bit less assured this time, "I know demons- devils- come in multiple forms. They feed off of fear, they're always carnivores, and they can only be slain, they'll never die of old age. There. Promise you'll cut me some slack if I missed anything."

"Don't worry," Aki hums, "That was perfect. Devils grow stronger in the presence of fear. I'm sure you already know as much. They become drawn to the fear people have for them, like a moth to firelight."

When you find yourself absently glancing back towards Aki, your eyes wind up meeting his own. Holding his gaze feels soft, as though you're falling into clouds. You examine the distinct, pointed shape of his ears. His earrings shimmer once they catch the sunlight, and sway slightly with each of his steps.

"Correct me if this isn't right, but I've heard demons love elves." Your brows form the slightest pinch. "Supposedly, their blood is ripe with magic."

Aki laughs. "Those stories about elves are just tales. My blood is no more delicious than yours. And either way, even if it was true, I'd wager devils haven't done a very good job at making me their prey."

"Makes sense. I guess those creatures don't care whose blood they're spilling, as long as they can get their fix of it."

"What else do you think of them?" Aki asks, his head tilted slightly in your direction. "Of devils, I mean."

You fall silent. Cautiously, carefully, you attempt to figure out what sort of answer Aki is wanting to hear.

The oldest tales, just as old as the ones you once read about elves and kings and long-gone magical creatures, say devils were born jealous of humanity. They envied the magic humans were capable of using — and so, they sought to extinguish it. Your current understanding would tell you devils don't care for magic, or humanity, or jealousy. All they desire is destruction, for common folk and mages alike.

The relationship between humanity and devils is reciprocal. Humans and elves are the only ones capable of destroying devils, but devils need people in order to grow stronger. Devils need their fear, their torment. Weaker devils will go after whatever they're capable of hunting, but intelligent devils know how to bend people to their advantage. They excel at manipulation. And as senseless as it might seem, devils do possess plenty of things humanity does not.

You fiddle with the straps of your backpack, running your thumbs over the smooth leather and gold buckles. In response, you can only think to offer the most simple, obvious of statements.

"I think anyone who chooses to make a deal with a devil is a fool."

Aki goes quiet. Then, he grins, and breathes something of a half-laugh, half-sigh. The gentle sound does well to put you at ease.

"Yeah," He replies, "Foolish, greedy, or desperate. Or perhaps all three. Careful-"

Nearly tripping, you stop when he does. You almost walked right into a large log, where the river bends and breaks upon the mossy wood blocking its way. Aki briefly extends his hand out for you to take, but you hop over without his help, taking a large step over the log before returning your hands to your pockets.

He's making that same endearing, pondering face again.

"You've probably already heard this story, but," He begins, speaking while you both walk, "They say devils came into existence the day the elves cast their first spell. Mankind was impure. The Gods made devils our punishment for casting magic ripe with impurities. When elves first discovered healing spells, devils began to appear with the ability to heal themselves of any attack inflicted upon them. Humanity discovered fire magic. Then came devils with fire-drenched skin. Their bodies melted metal, and they scorched the ground they touched, leaving an ashen trail in their wake."

You like the way Aki tells stories. He recounts them in such a deliberate way, as though he's reading directly from one of your fairytale books. This story is grim, and certainly one you've heard before. Yet, you can't stop the smile that begins to tug at your cheeks.

"Mhmm. And then, the devils slaughtered everyone and left the world in ruin," You tease, glancing towards him playfully, your hands at your hips. "Do you enjoy scaring children with that old story?"

"Occasionally. My version of it usually ends with humanity defeating the devils, though. You know, happy endings and such."

"Right. A happy ending sounds nice. Don't want to scare them too much."

Aki hums in agreement. "We could have one- a happy ending. That story isn't over yet."

His story, or yours?

You swallow, thickly and heavily. The trees above you whisper in the slight wind, and the river babbles, flowing steadily downstream. You try to keep your focus on the path ahead of you, instead of Aki walking beside you.

"It's just a story," You assert. "Maybe magic was the source of demons a thousand odd years ago, but it hardly matters now."

Aki's mouth forms the faintest pout, and he glances down at his shoes. "I'm sure it isn't much of a surprise, but I've never actually seen magic."

"You probably never will," You answer, your voice turning somber, resolute. "People believe magic and mages to be dangerous. As long as they continue to think anyone capable of casting magic is a devil themselves, you won't even hear an utterance of the word."

"Do you agree with them?" Aki asks flippantly, a brow raised.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Do you think mages are dangerous?"

Out of everything he could have said, everything he could have possibly mentioned, why would Aki ask you such a question?

Right then, you're sure your heart must have defied gravity and reason to drop directly into your throat. You nearly choke. Your spine prickles, unease running rampant through your system. You aren't sure how you manage to come up with any words in the first place, but somehow, you decide to talk without thinking.

Your shoulders feel tense. "Obviously. Magic could be used to level a city, to mind control a king, to win any war. Or to start one, for that matter."

Aki hums. For once, his smooth, persistently calm voice grows close to getting on your nerves. "It's difficult. Magic has already done so much harm, but it could do just as much good. When I think of mages, I just see… people. People who want to survive. They aren't monsters or devils."

You stop in front of him, and he stops with you. Aki's head tilts slightly. As though he knows you want to speak, he's just waiting for it.

"You know," You're starting, brows pinched, arms crossed, "Those sorts of statements could get you strung up for heresy."

"Good thing we're far from the city then, right?"

Nearly, in a hazy mix of confusion and exhaustion and fear and admiration, you almost form a rebuttal. Your arms drop to your sides, and your hands become clenched into fists. Your lips part slightly, to say something your mind hasn't quite decided on yet, just to close at the tightening of your jaw. He's messing with you. He must be.

Mages aren't people — You aren't like him, you are fundamentally different. Surely, he knows what mages truly are as well as you do. You were born with a spark in your veins and a fire at your fingertips. Humanity, and perhaps the Gods themselves are afraid of you. No-one can stomach you but yourself. Aki is but a man; a foolish, stupid mortal. And you were promised a cage.

Aki's gaze on yours appears to soften, his arms crossed loosely, his gaze flickering from the conflict on your face to your stiffened posture. Nervously rubbing your arm with your palm, you can't meet his eyes anymore; you can only look away. Your vision chooses to focus elsewhere, on anything but him. Fortunately, just beyond where Aki is standing in front of you, if you squint, you can spot something at the edge of the trees. A leather bag, partially torn open, resting in a patch of grass and tiny flowers.

"Hey, is that your stuff?"

Aki's eyes widen, before he turns to look in the direction you've started pointing towards.

"Well, shit."

—

The scene surrounding where Aki's bag lay discarded is true to what he previously described to you.

As you approach, and as Aki kneels down to gather his things, you glance around the area. You find his sword amongst the grass a foot or so away, steel separated from hilt, the blade tainted with dull blood-stains. The steel is chipped — from gradual wear or from a devil's fangs, you aren't quite sure. His bag is crumpled. A medium-sized hole has been torn into the side, certainly made from a devil's sharp teeth. For now, you slide your pack from your shoulders, and allow him to put his belongings inside.

There's no gold in his backpack, nor could he find any in the grass surrounding it, of course. There is, however, some rations, a spare tunic, a quill pen, and a notebook — still in his bag, so thankfully, the pages were kept dry from the rain.

Aki fussed over losing a jar of ink, but you assured him it wouldn't be a problem. It'd be best to head into the woods anyways, to find herbs for him and food for the both of you. Black Dragon flowers are common in this area, and when crushed up, they can be used to make ink. If either of you could find a few blossoms, you'd be glad to make some for him.

"In return," You said, as Aki rose to his feet, matching your gaze with a curious one, "See if you can find me some wood. A few branches might've fallen during the storm. I need something thick and sturdy. About this," You gesture with your hands — "Big."

"Ah." He dusts the dirt from his knees with his palms, and hands your pack back to you when you reach out for it. "For firewood?"

"No, silly. We have plenty. It's for carving."

Aki smiles, perhaps considering, or perhaps recalling the little sculptures made from wood that are strewn throughout the shelves in your cottage. "Right. Deal."

With a plan now in mind, you crammed what remained of Aki's bag into your own pack — to use for scrap material — and you ventured through the trees, and into the forest.

It's much easier to keep your mind from wandering with a task to occupy you. Gathering some mushrooms for eating and finding the flowers you mentioned doesn't take too long. Together, you and Aki head a short ways into the forest, staying careful to keep far from where the devils often make their dens. This area is relatively safe regardless, but it's still good to be on your guard. You let yourself forget about your previous conversations, while you quietly show Aki the difference between the herbs he needs and the fauna he shouldn't touch.

You don't talk much, only a few words at most, until you're busy gathering the last of what you need.

Aki comes over, a smooth piece of wood held in his hands. Rested on your knees, you grab the stems of a handful of herbs, and swiftly tug to pull their roots from the ground. You glance up at him as he leans down to hand the wood to you. The canopy of trees is much thicker here. Shadows dance across his face, his arms, his palms and his clothes — still dusted with dirt from searching through undergrowth with you.

Hardly befitting of royalty, isn't it? Isn't he?

You smile to yourself, and chase away the thought.

"Will this do?" Aki asks, turning the piece of wood over, while he runs his fingertips along its rough surface. "It's the best I've found so far."

"Mhmm, that's perfect. Thank you." You take it from him, and reach for your pack beside you, flipping it open to stuff the wood inside. There's little space left, but eventually, you're able to fit it carefully beside a few small pouches of mushrooms and herbs.

Aki stands. He hesitates, before he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck with his palm. "This… might be a stupid question. But it's still okay that I'm staying with you, right?"

"Of course it is- It's fine." You shrug, your focus kept on the foliage. With more carefulness, you gather a few of the thickest leaves. They'll be good for sealing his wound, for guiding it to fully heal. "Why? You want to leave that badly, huh?"

Aki tucks his hands into his pants pockets. "I don't want to intrude. That's all."

"I already told you, you're staying until you get better. No protests." Your tone seems to carry a familiar lilt of annoyance, but to his surprise, when you stuff a bundle of herbs into your pack and glance up at him once you're finished, your gaze is warm. You're donning the slightest, softest smile.

"And just so you know," You mutter, glancing between him and your backpack as you snap it's buckle shut, "Your company isn't unpleasant."

"Huh." Aki breathes a light-hearted huff. "Is that a compliment?"

"Partially."

Glancing away, looking towards the forest, he can't help but mimic your smile — shyly, almost. It's stupidly endearing. You hate how endearing he is.

"Your company isn't unpleasant either. I mean-" He stammers, "It's nice. I enjoy talking with you. I was thinking, if you'd like, when we get back, I could-"

Still staring into the trees just beyond you, Aki stops. An abrupt, nerve-wracking pause follows, long enough and silent enough to have your gaze flickering over him. His jaw is set. His eyes are wide, his face is slightly panicked. You swallow, freezing up. Slowly, without moving a muscle, you follow where Aki is looking — just in time to see the bushes a fair distance in front of you rustle.

The trees sway, whispering dark promises as the wind picks up, a sharp breeze gliding over your bare skin. It's probably nothing. No, it's surely nothing. The chance of a demon- a devil- traveling all the way out to this side of the forest without outside influence is slim. You know this, and yet —

You're fine. You have to convince yourself, you need to remember that no matter what, you're going to be perfectly fine. If it is a devil, the most important thing is to keep your cool. Level your head and breathe deeply, just as you've learned and practiced, like the books you read have instructed. In, and then out. You need to breathe.

It's fine. It might not detect you if you're able to stay calm. Perhaps you're panicking for no reason. You're exhausted, you're seeing things. Your weary mind is playing cruel tricks on you. The longer your stare lingers on those thick, rustling bushes and shadow-filled trees, the more your breath sharpens, the stronger your heart begins to thump — Fuck, why can't you just stay calm?

Stay calm, stay calm. This is stupid, you're acting stupid. There's nothing, there has to be nothing; no danger, no devil waiting to attack and tear the both of you in two. You won't need to defend yourself, you won't have to blow your cover. What if he already knows? With the way he brought up mages earlier, maybe he's going to run and leave you to be ambushed, maybe he planned this, maybe —

A gentle palm is placed on your shoulder, and you practically jump out of your own skin.

You whip around to look at the man you nearly forgot was even there; Aki eyes you with concern, never tearing his gaze from you as you scramble to unsteady feet. Standing close beside him, closer than you should be, you're focused on the forest again. Stress is present in your features, while an obvious shake lingers in your limbs.

"Aki-" You mumble, speaking on the edge of an anxiety-ridden whisper, "We need- Shouldn't we-"

"We're fine," Aki answers calmly, quietly. He reaches for your hand, and he grabs it softly. His palm brushes your knuckles. His fingers caress your skin as he squeezes faintly, and your heart pounds so hard it displaces your ribs. "Look."

He points, and you allow your hazy vision to come back into focus. Through the trees, approaching cautiously while hopping among the shadows, you spot the thin legs, patterned coat, and small horns of a baby Great Elk.

Aki hums, "I've never seen a baby one before." He murmurs low enough for only you to hear, in pleasant disbelief. "They never get this close. Sorry, are you-"

Suddenly, as he is turning towards you, you're pushing away, and yanking your hand away from his.

"I'm fine," You answer, taking a few steps back. At the sound of your voice, no longer hushed, the baby elk runs, scampering back into the trees. Aki watches uselessly as you retrieve your backpack and sling it over your shoulders. "Let's just go."

Your voice is unsteady. Your gaze is focused on your shoes. You clutch the front of your cape, the space closest to your heart, and you press one hand to the back of the other. Idly, your palm runs over the shape of your own knuckles, as your teeth nervously find your bottom lip.

You understand what it feels like to let fire dance in your palms, to have spell-spawned sparks flickering underneath your skin. This is far worse. The hand Aki touched feels as though it's burning.

"I'm sorry," He murmurs, "For a second, I really thought it was-"

"I said, let's go."

You're already turning, walking in a direction he'd never recall if you left him to be lost out here, and so Aki has no choice but to follow.

He sighs defeatedly. "Okay. That's alright. We can go."

As you and Aki walk back to your cottage, you make your way there with the most distance that's ever been between you.

—

"Hold still."

"Shit- Sorry. I'm trying."

Aki flinches as you carefully press a cool, damp cloth to his side. Squinting, using the dim light from the fireplace and the flickering candles to illuminate your task, you focus on cleaning what remains of his wound.

These past few days, although still a bit sore, it hasn't been bleeding much. What was once a large, gnarled gash has healed into a faint, red scrape. It probably won't leave much of a scar after all. He has your medicine to thank for his quick recovery. You weren't sure how the wound might fare after he spent the day traveling through the forest with you, but aside from a hint of discomfort, he seems relatively healthy. Still energized, even. After setting the rag aside, you grab a handful of fresh bandages, which you made from the scraps of his old, stained tunic.

"It's healed well," You comment plainly. You and Aki are sitting on the wooden floor, cross-legged, close to the fireplace. Close in proximity. The persistent heat of the fire flutters across your arms and your back, chasing away the cool night air.

Reaching into a wooden bowl, you use two fingers to smear a thick herbal mixture onto the inside of the bandages. Then, you swiftly begin to wrap them around his bare torso, taking note of the way his muscles flex.

You breathe a low, inquisitive hum. "Still seems tender, though."

"It is. A bit." Aki supports his weight with his palms, leaning back to give you more room. Firelight curves over his chest, his shoulders, his collarbones. "But I'm doing alright, thanks to you. I'm sure I'll be fully healed soon."

And soon, he'll be leaving.

You try not to think about it as you focus on the precise movements of your hands. There's far too many stressful things you still need to mull over, and now isn't the time.

Wrapping his bandages is a careful, but quick process; at this point, you're used to it. Aki keeps as motionless as he can manage while you tie the bandages off to keep them in place. You collect the wooden bowl in one hand, before promptly rising to your feet. He watches you snatch his spare tunic from where it hangs over the edge of his cot. He catches it once you toss it at him.

"I'm going to make dinner," You remark, "Stew probably, same as last time." Already, you're turning on your heels, heading into the kitchen. You set the wooden bowl aside, and Aki scrambles to pull his shirt over his head.

"Wait-"

He's rushing to come stand beside you, still straightening his tunic and fitting his arms through the sleeves, while you're plopping your backpack onto the counter. Aki reaches back, fixing his hair and pulling it from beneath his neckline. Busy focusing on opening your backpack, you give him a raised brow, a perplexed side-glance.

"Let's make it together," Aki says — and with how ridiculous his preposition sounds, with how unheard of it is to you, you can't help but laugh.

"That isn't necessary." You shrug, and turn back to your bag. You root around inside for a moment, before you find a small leather pouch, containing several bonnet-shaped mushrooms.

"I know," Aki replies; he's already reaching into your cupboards, wasting no time finding a couple of bowls and a cutting board. His mind has been made, apparently. "I want to make it with you, though. Can you teach me?"

Your eyes narrow. Your hands are shuddery as you pull the pouch open, briefly counting the mushrooms inside. Inevitably, you breathe a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping from the weight of it. Aki sets the cutting board down, his gaze flickering over you, and you dump the mushrooms out onto the counter in front of him.

"Chop these up into small pieces. Knives are in the drawer to your right."

He doesn't need to be told twice.

Silence falls upon the kitchen as you and Aki prepare dinner together, side by side. His knife — your knife — echoes rhythmically against the wooden cutting board as he carefully chops mushroom after mushroom. You grind herbs to use for seasoning with a mortar and pestle. The fireplace crackles, and your foot taps against the floor just slightly. Too slight for him to hear, and not enough to calm your nerves.

Any slight lull makes you think too much. About devils, about the kingdom. About him, and what you're going to do once he's gone. At the very least, this silence is much more comfortable, compared to the prickling stillness that befell the both of you on the way back to your cottage. You're grateful you haven't yet ruined things.

Since then, you've barely managed to regain the faintest sliver of your composure. Your heart isn't pounding anymore, thankfully, despite how close the two of you need to stand to work together in the kitchen. You designed your space for one, not for two. The stove is in the middle of the counter, and in order to reach to dump ingredients into a pot, you need to lean so close to him your arms nearly touch.

Instead, your heart aches, twisting and pulling at your chest, sending blood rushing to your fragile hands and making them shake each time you remember the way Aki touched you. He grabbed your right hand. It still feels warm, in a way. Haunted by a touch softer than a flower's thin petals. Your mind swims, your grip on the pestle faltering slightly.

Gods, you're ridiculous. A more composed version of yourself would surely be scolding you right now.

First, you let a man you hardly know into your cottage, a man who happened to be royalty, of all things. Then, you panic over nothing, getting all freaked out over a harmless baby elk. Now, you're allowing yourself to nearly lose your damned mind over such a small, inconsequential, useless touch. Over Aki's touch.

Aki, who's life exists in a universe far removed from your own. Who is going to leave, who has a few days left before he will have to forget about you. You really, seriously need to get a grip.

"I'm sorry," You mutter, breaking the silence, your voice barely loud enough to be heard. Aki stops though, glancing in your direction, making it clear that he did notice. "Normally I wouldn't get scared like that. You know, when we were in the forest. I just- I'm stressed, that's all. Or tense, I guess. And exhausted."

"I knew you were still thinking about what happened earlier," Aki concludes, reading you correctly. He scoops a handful of chopped mushrooms into his palms, and places them into the already-boiling pot on the stove. "There's no need to apologize. I must have startled you. I was… scared too, for a moment."

Aki's knife swiftly hits the cutting board as he cuts the rest of the mushrooms, and you prop your head on your palm, your fingers drumming against the counter.

He's only partially paying attention to the task at hand. His eyes continuously and not-so-subtly keep drifting away from the cutting board, and back to you. You really wish he wouldn't. Your heart is already beginning to skip again; you don't need it running and tripping over itself while you're trying to thinly cut up some parsley.

"You're going to chop your finger off."

Aki stops at your words. Your gaze is focused on your bundle of parsley and scissors, but he still looks towards you anyways, breathing a slight, playful laugh. He elegantly twirls his knife in a circle before returning it to the cutting board — only this time, he makes sure to watch what he's doing.

"I cooked for my family a few times when I was a kid," He starts, chopping a mushroom carefully and slowly. "That was ages ago, though. I think I forgot everything I once learned."

You still remember your mother's cooking lessons like she taught them to you yesterday. Keep your knives sharp. Watch the stove, try not to use too much firewood. You can add, but you can never subtract. Were those moments the last time you shared the kitchen with someone else?

It's a bit difficult to get used to. You keep expecting to have more work, you still feel surprised when you turn to see someone standing next to you. But it feels calming. A crisp, fluttering feeling you can't quite put your finger on — not that you want to, you'd rather not face it. You've decided it's nice to make dinner with him, simply sharing your space, even though you aren't doing anything too special. For the first time in what might be forever, you aren't alone.

Perhaps you should be savoring this.

"I did too," You reply, pausing the movement of your scissors for a moment. "But when I was a kid, I hated cooking. I cut my hand once, the first time I tried to peel potatoes. My mom bandaged me up. From there on out, I would cry every time she asked me to cook with her."

Aki breathes a slight hmm, and he reasons, "You were scared of getting hurt again."

"I suppose so."

"Did you ever end up cooking with her?"

"No. I remember some of what she tried to teach me, but… I mostly taught myself," You answer, briefly hesitating. "This is the first time I've tried to cook with someone else since then, I think. I like it. I like your company."

Too honest, perhaps. Your mother might have told you to keep on your toes in this situation, to avoid giving away too much information. But your heart is already beating fast, and the words have already left you before you've thought about them.

Aki glances at you, your gaze staying focused on your hands, on your work. You seem lost in thought. He finds it difficult to read the blank expression on your face.

"I understand. I think I get how you feel, honestly." His voice is smooth, calm. Drifting through you, until it sparks within your chest like a brand new star. "My mother never got the chance to teach me much. She was busy working, or busy tending to my younger brother."

"Your mom," You answer quietly, "Do you miss her?"

"Yeah. And you?"

Your jaw tenses, your teeth uncomfortably grinding together. You place the parsley into the pot, and dust your palms over the counter. "Of course. You always miss the family you've lost."

He's long since finished chopping up the remainder of mushrooms, but Aki's grip tightens on the knife, and he idly taps the tip of the blade against the firm cutting board. He hums a slight mhmm in agreement.

"My mother always said cooking was one of the most important skills one could learn," Aki continues. "I thought she'd have more time to teach me. She would tell me, 'You need to be prepared if you go off on your own, you won't always like what other people make for you.' Something like that. I'm not sure I believed her, at first."

"Uh-huh," You raise a brow. "And then you were forced to eat river snails."

Oh. Realizing your change in tone only after the fact, you look at him immediately, your nerves prickling, your skin heating up with embarrassment. Truthfully, you haven't had much practice with conversations; Aki is the first. You've said more to him in the past few days than you think you ever have.

Perhaps you should've thought more before you spoke. It's one thing to say something you might regret, it's another to raise tensions with him. He was serious, and you just made some stupid joke that sounded flat enough to be a rude comment —

But Aki smirks, he laughs wholeheartedly; the sound rings through you, tender and burning. You feel a reassuring wave travel all the way down your spine.

"Okay, I think I would've had to try those regardless," He hums, exhaling another amused huff of breath. He drops the rest of the mushrooms into the stove pot, and with nothing else to do but wait for the stew to be ready, he swiftly reaches for a rag, and begins wiping down the cutting board.

"They were supposed to make you heal faster, or not get sick- or something, I'm not sure," He continues, "They never actually did anything. Trust me, if I was cooking for myself, I wouldn't have opted to include those."

"At least you tried them," You reply, shrugging. "Now you've got a good story to tell. Besides, there's plenty of things that might look awful even though they taste pretty good."

"Truffles," Aki says through a groan, "Gods, how I refused to eat those. It drove my parents up a wall."

"What's that?"

Propping your head up with your arm once more, you glance at him, diligently looking at him up and down, giving him all of your attention. Aki smiles, and he sets down what he's holding to turn towards you fully. Matching your gaze, he rests his elbow on the edge of the counter.

"They're these shitty little black mushrooms," He says straightforwardly, and you can't help but chuckle. "Apparently, they're hard to find, so… my parents would be furious with me for wasting them. My dad, he was the one who taught us to be frugal. He made me try this chocolate. Super fancy, expensive chocolate. It was similar to the mushrooms, and my dad decided to tell me they were the same. He said, 'You know those are truffles, the mushrooms you hate, right?'"

Aki lets go of a small, breathy laugh, and he glances away as he recalls the rest of his story. "It wasn't. They're only called the same thing, but they're completely different- the chocolate, and the mushrooms. He got me to try some the next time we had them, though."

"Hm," You reply, "Did you like them?"

"Nope. I didn't finish my first bite, I spat it out."

Smirking, your gaze meets his own expectantly. "Your dad was probably mad, then."

"Definitely. But I was expecting chocolate. Those mushrooms are good, but you're supposed to savor them. They are the complete opposite of sweet."

"What's chocolate?" Your eyes squint as you think, trying to remember if the name is something you've heard before. In a book, maybe. It certainly sounds familiar. "Is that a mushroom too?"

Aki stares at you, surprised. "You've never had chocolate?"

"Nope."

"It's- damn." His hand comes to hold his chin, his brows pinch with faint frustration. "It's sort of difficult to describe. It's sweet. It melts in your mouth, if that makes sense. There's a lot of vendors who sell chocolate in the kingdom. When we get there, I'll buy you some."

Suddenly, as he seems to catch himself, Aki clears his throat. He stutters and glances away, "Er- if you wanted to go with me, that is. There's no need to make any decisions right now. It was just a suggestion."

The room grows silent. Aki's gaze flickers to check on the stove, before traveling back to you. To your eyes, to your mouth. When your gazes meet again, you find it impossible to look away, despite how much your quivering heart desperately begs you to.

Finally, you look down at your hands, and mumble hesitantly, "You'll be leaving soon." You press your thumbs together, nervously fiddling. "Right?"

"That depends," Aki answers, "When do you think I'll be healed enough?"

"Soon. Probably within the next few days, at the earliest. Your wound looks fine. You should keep resting, once you're feeling energized and no longer sore, then…"

You trail off, unable to finish your sentence. Aki doesn't fail to notice how you're no longer looking at him, your voice becoming uncertain and much quieter.

Aki takes a deep, long breath, and he speaks calmly, gently. "Whenever you tell me you're ready, I'll leave. There's no pressure to come with me, and I won't force you to make a decision. I don't have any problems with leaving alone. I'll be alright, you won't have to worry about me. Please, don't forget that."

It should be fine, to let him leave alone. You'll follow your original plan. The next time he's asleep, you'll prepare the potion to alter his memory; you could have it done by tonight, easily. If he follows your directions, he shouldn't have a problem with making his way out of the forest safely. As foolish as he is, Aki is resourceful. He wouldn't let himself get caught out again. This is what should happen, to keep the both of you safe, and apart.

So why do you feel so hurt?

For longer than necessary, you're silent. In the corner of your vision, you catch the way Aki peers at you worriedly.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his words taking you a bit off guard.

Reflexively, you nod — but oh, how he is making this so much harder. You're fine, you were fine, until you heard his soft voice check up on you. Now, you feel like a dam on the edge of bursting. He noticed, of course he would notice. You're standing close enough for him to see your little tremors, for him to hear when your breath starts to hitch. You had made up your mind about your future long before you met him, but Aki had to go and change it all.

Perhaps you hadn't realized how much it truly hurt until he'd spoken. Those are words you haven't heard before, you've never felt a sensation so suffocating. Your throat is dry, your heart is encased in thorns — but you're alright. You have to be. You have to tell him you're fine.

"I'm alright," You answer quickly with a swallow, leaving it at that.

"You sure? Your hands-" Aki murmurs, his gaze flickering down to them, and then back up. "You were doing that earlier."

Ah. You were, and you are. Both of your hands have moved to timidly clutch the front of your cape, your thumb running over the grooves on the shiny front button.

Sighing, you forcibly let your arms fall. You still can't look at him, so instead, you keep your focus on the dirty ends of your shoes. "I promise, I'm fine."

You're sure you don't sound very convincing.

The pot on the stove bubbles, the stove top's low, orange flame flickering faintly. Aki stays silent, considering his next words carefully.

"You still don't trust me," He decides, his voice quiet and assured. It's a statement more than anything; he knows you do not trust him. He knows it's a fact he cannot change. "But if there's anything- something I did, or something you want to tell me, you can. I'll listen."

As if you could ever tell him.

It'd be foolish to let him see this different side to you, regardless of how much you already trust him — more than he realizes, clearly. More than logic and everything you've learned should dictate. Unfortunately, you can no longer keep your thoughts quiet. You've got a battle raging within you, and those aching waves of stress are pulling, pushing, and growing closer and closer to drowning you underneath.

Aki can't stay. You shouldn't even entertain the thought; what the hell are you thinking? Aki is a stranger, he's dangerous. If he truly is royalty, you could be punished for ever thinking you were allowed to look at him, let alone speak to him.

The kingdom isn't as far as you'd prefer it to be. His wound is healing. You are helping him get back on his feet. You're guiding him closer to leaving, little by little.

Deep in your foolish, pounding heart, you want to believe Aki would trust you as much as you want to trust him, regardless of your best-kept secret. Yet, if anyone questioned him upon his return, if he was at all seen as suspicious, they could find out about you. His intentions wouldn't matter then. Protecting you or even himself wouldn't be an option. There's only so much he can do to bend the rules around witches. Royalty or otherwise.

You hate this. You hate that Aki could discover the truth at any moment. He could look at you differently, with less kindness and more revulsion, once he realizes he's supposed to hate you. He is fucking supposed to, to hell with thinking mages are people, those words can't be trusted, he isn't meant to be trusted. With how distracted you've been, he could kill you, if he truly wanted to. But would he?

The pit of your stomach swirls with a shadowy sense of dread and anxiety. You hate how you've become closer to him, you hate yourself for letting your guard down, even though you swore you wouldn't. Above all else, you hate how these sharp, never-ending feelings are becoming far too much.

It hurts. There's a hundred thoughts gnawing at your mind, a thousand rapid beats of your heart to keep track of, and a million pins and needles under your skin, running up along your spine with a painful, oppressive intensity.

You're worried. You're scared, scared of what will happen, scared of him, and everything. Scared of losing him, as awful as it sounds. Your cottage would become so lonely. You would fall into suffocating silence once more. Aki is different from the men you met before, from the people you've learned to fear. He is someone worth keeping.

Each sensation — the stress, the longing — pushes at either side of you like two stone walls closing in. Closing and crushing and swallowing you; your hands are trembling, and Gods, you're exhausted. When was the last time you slept properly? Was your mind ever working as it should be to begin with?

And why can you never seem to stop thinking about what it felt like to have your hand in his?

In the end, it doesn't matter.

None of it matters, your attempts to hang onto yourself and your wavering composure are rendered useless. He blends out of your focus as the world grows blurry around you. You grip the front of your cape tighter, your shoulders tensing before they tremor. Your breath is short, your throat feels tight, and your thoughts are fatigued like a string pulled taut. Fragile tears are beginning to fall down your cheeks, and you can do nothing to stop them.

Aki freezes up completely, eyes wide, gaze locked on you.

"Sorry," You're babbling, shaking your head, willing the tears to stop — although you know they most certainly won't. Your chest aches, your throat hurts. Small droplets fall from your face to hit your fingers and knuckles. You're so stupid, so weak. "I just- I don't want to-"

Without an ounce of hesitation, Aki shifts closer. He's slow when he reaches out to you, giving you plenty of time to move away if you'd prefer to. You don't. Glancing down at you, his warm palm finds your cheek, his touch slight and delicate, as though he's still expecting you to flinch away. Carefully, his thumb swipes underneath your eye to catch a tear before it falls. His touch caresses you softly, far too softly. And finally, you break.

He could hurt you, he could destroy you if he knew what you truly were. Instead, the fear all melts away, because he chooses to be gentle.

Your shaking hands hold onto your cape as tight as you can manage, while your tears turn into hard sobs that shake your entire figure, and make his heart want to splinter and shatter. Aki mumbles something low under his breath, words you barely catch despite how close you both are: an earnest mixture of shh, and it's okay.

In this moment, you have never been weaker. Not since the day you first left the kingdom behind you, and began to cry, when you believed you were meant to be alone. It's been years of isolation, since then. Is it so wrong for you to know you have needed this?

For once, leaning into his touch feels right; it doesn't burn, it isn't nerve-wracking. It's everything you've ever needed — it is so much more as you press your hand to the back of his, keeping him in place so he won't pull away. You focus on the warmth of his touch, tenderness surging all around you, your heart pounding to a fierce, unsteady rhythm.

It could be wrong, it could be reckless, to believe this is the safest you've ever felt. To know that if you were to pull him close like you've been wanting, you might not be able to let go. You want to embrace him, to have someone hold you, after ages and ages of feeling nothing against your skin and at your back but the whispering wind.

Aki's arms around you would be far too overwhelming — to have him hold you tight while you breathe in the scent of firewood on his clothes, and listen to each beat of his heart, your head pressed to his chest. No, you wouldn't let go, not until you've memorized the sound. The thought alone could bring you to tears, if you weren't already breaking down in front of him, sniffling and holding onto your cape with a grip tight enough to make your fingers ache.

"I scared you earlier, didn't I?" Aki says, his voice low, as calming as it always is. His breathing is slow, and yours tries to calm down to match. "I'm sorry."

Maybe he did, but you've already forgiven him. Aki can't know the true reason why you're crying, or any of the multitude of built-up reasons. They'd be impossible to say, far too difficult to talk about. You can't tell him you might miss him if he leaves you behind, even though it's what you planned to let happen in the first place. Even though someone like you has no right to want to follow someone like him. To the kingdom, no less. You'd be shunned. Imprisoned. Or much, much worse.

Aki is kind and thoughtful, his presence alone makes you want more — your tides pulled in his direction, an ocean of uncertainty reaching up to a bright, brilliant, unreachable moon. His touch is warm light, shining through thick darkness. Your darkness, illuminated wholeheartedly.

"You're safe," He murmurs. His voice barely registers. "I wouldn't let anything hurt you."

He couldn't, he has no idea you're a terrible, filthy liar. Aki is a good man. He reminds you of those knights in your stories — unwaveringly good, no matter the danger they're presented with. And you? You are nothing more than a witch.

Thankfully, Aki doesn't need to know.

He doesn't have questions, he simply continues to brush his thumb over your cheek, tenderly and rhythmically. His touch is slight, overly gentle in an attempt to keep you comfortable, but it's more than enough to gradually help you relax. You can't recall the last time you cried like this. Nor the last time you let anyone touch you, you never planned to allow this. You can't become overtaken by emotion, holding your focus is much more important. Perhaps you needed a way to finally let go of your budding stress.

Aki seems to think so. He holds your face in his palm as you cry, never pulling away, grounding you with his presence. Ever-so patient, he stays, while you fully succumb to everything washing over you. Until the waves slowly subside, allowing you to breathe again. Your sobs begin to calm, your tears start to dry up. Your whole body tremors as you breathe a long, shaky sigh.

Still, he keeps his pretty palm on your cheek. It belongs there, you think.

"How are you feeling?" Aki says softly, after a few beats of silence. "Mad? Upset?"

At first, you don't answer. You try, although you know it's futile; your mouth opens, but your voice is weak, your throat is sore. No words come out. You're feeling a thousand things, even if you could voice them, you aren't sure where you'd start. You swallow, and to your disappointment, Aki takes his palm away from your cheek, abruptly reaching for something.

In a rush, he hurries to turn off the stove, swearing quietly under his breath. You hadn't realized how much time had passed — how long have you been crying? Long enough to make your nose stuffed and your throat sore, and enough to let the stew boil over, evidently.

Aki leaves it, for now. He reaches over you to grab your backpack, briefly putting your bodies unbelievably close. He roots around inside until he finds your flask, still half-full with fresh water, and he sets it on the counter, allowing you to move at your own pace. You sniffle, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand first, before you grab it, unscrewing the cap, taking a few sips.

You want to tell him. You want to feel his soft touch again, you want his words of reassurance, and his trust, and his kindness. How could you fear him, when Aki is tenderness incarnate? As soft as the sky, as earnest as an echo. And as necessary as it is, you're already sick of lying; you don't want to hear his voice, look him in the eyes, and know you are lying to him.

Though, you can't say a thing. Your voice is weak, your body and mind are exhausted. And so, this time, you resist.

Aki breaks the silence first. "You're allowed to be mad at me. I wouldn't blame you if you were."

"I'm not mad," You answer, screwing the cap back on the flask, setting it down on the counter right where it was. You aren't meeting his eyes, but your voice sounds clearer, less strained. "I'm okay. Just tired."

Your shoulders shrug weakly. Aki's next breath seems to shake, his arms crossing around his chest frustratedly, his gaze traveling down.

"I shouldn't-" His jaw clenches, before he lets go of an exasperated sigh. "A devil wouldn't have snuck up on us like that. We would've known- they aren't small, and they make much more noise when they're approaching. I shouldn't have worried you. If you think I should… head for the kingdom, I will. I could leave tonight."

Your throat feels dry again. "It's fine."

"No," Aki counters, his voice wavering; it never wavers, "This is my fault. To see you hurting so much, when I know that I- maybe I just-"

"Aki."

You glance up at him, and your abrupt utterance of his name forces him to meet your gaze. Your eyes are still red, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion, your cheeks damp from tears. Your expression is earnest, hiding a thousand emotions he couldn't begin to make sense of. But he wants to try.

"Don't go," You murmur, softer this time. Close to breaking once more. "I've already forgiven you. Thank you. For being here."

For showing you a kindness you aren't used to, for comforting you without asking questions. For finally making you realize that you aren't meant to be alone. You want to say his name a thousand times more.

Honestly, you aren't sure what Aki takes away from your words. He seems to hesitate, but after a moment of thought, he reaches for the bowls he'd grabbed for the two of you earlier. One for you, and one for him.

"You should get some sleep after we eat," He suggests, his tone nice and gentle, laced with concern. He places your bowl in front of you, on your side of the counter.

"Mhmm…" You nod in agreement, and search through a drawer on your left to find a wooden ladle. "My head hurts."

Completely serious, Aki replies, "Do you want me to stop talking?"

Genuine and soft, you break into a laugh — a sound he is more than glad to hear — and you smile to yourself, while you pour some stew into your bowl. It warms your palms, steam brushing against your face. When you pass the ladle to him, he's instantly caught on the faint sparkle in your gaze. Hook, line, and sinker.

"Absolutely not." You hum playfully, an eyebrow crooked. "It would be far too quiet. Besides, I like your voice."

Aki fills his own bowl, and with the warm, pleased look that encompasses his features, you swear he almost seems flustered. "I hope you aren't implying I talk too much."

"Nope. If anything, it's not enough."

You reach into a drawer to grab silverware, and Aki heads over to the dinner table. He's already sat down across from your usual seat, and once you're able to follow, you notice your chair has been pulled out for you.

Your conversations lull as the two of you eat together, once again enjoying the simple comfort of company. The warm stew soothes your throat. It has your body and your limbs relaxing, calming. You exchange a few words. Aki compliments your cooking, and you politely thank him for his help. You comment how you rarely see baby elk, they're normally so skittish. It was cute. It would be nice to see again, under different circumstances.

Everything returns to normality. The same way it always was, when words shared between him and yourself become as natural as breathing. Once again, it feels right.

The next time you speak, it's after you've stood and both rinsed your bowls, just before you're about to head into your bedroom.

Aki clears his throat. He sits on the edge of his cot, his hands placed uniformly in his lap, the fireplace's low flame flickering over the sharp angles of his face.

"Do you really want me to stay?" He asks, as he already has. Perhaps he's expecting the answer to change.

You consider, drumming your fingertips over your bedroom's door handle. Then, at last, you answer. "Is it so wrong if I do?"

"It isn't. I was thinking, actually, I… I don't think it's a good idea for me to leave," He says, glancing at you. "My wound is- it could reopen. It'd be better not to take any risks, to rest for another week or so. Or maybe two weeks. Or- I don't know. We'll see." His next words are entirely unsure, a shot in the dark, a question and a plea wrapped into one: "What do you think?"

As one would expect, he'd leave it all up to you.

Your hand grips the door knob tighter. You take a slow, gradual breath, and hope he doesn't notice your newfound reassurance.

He isn't leaving. Not yet. Thank the Gods.

"Of course," You murmur, without turning to look at him. He'd see the small smile on your face if you did. "You can stay."

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #chainsaw man x reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki x you

131 notes · View notes

jagibee · 2 years ago

Text

Call Me Luna

(Stray Kids x Reader)

Chapter 8

5,994 Words

A/N: A bit of a longer chapter as an apology for taking so long but also bc it was originally supposed to be two chapters and I just couldn’t find a good split point😭, and I did change the story title bc I got bored with Stray Pack but this is the same story and plot, and I’m sorry but my taglist is at its limit (which I didn’t even know existed?) so if I didn’t tag you on this post, it will be on the reblog!

Also, Happy Birthday to the love of my life who isn’t in this chapter nearly enough, but will be in the next chapter. Bang Chan, you have brought me a light and inspiration that I haven’t felt in a very long time and even if you have no idea who I am, you will always be the one for me🖤

Also

Nobody:

Me with the foreshadowing in this chap:

Let’s get started!

TW: references to sex, mentions of spanking (not necessarily sexual but could be interpreted that way)

…

You all settled down so that they could get through recording. Felix was sandwiched between you and Hyunjin, just as a small precaution in order to prevent any more growling. On your other side was Jisung and Seungmin sat on Hyunjin’s other side, providing extra padding against alphas. Chan and Changbin were both at the sound table and Minho was currently being recorded, so you didn’t have to worry much about them getting too close anyway, at least, not at this exact moment. Jeongin himself was settled at Felix’s feet like a trusty guard dog.

You, Chan, and Felix had all taken off your scent blockers as well, which helped to calm Innie down.

Minho was the last one recording, so everyone was a bit subdued. Changbin had paced around a bit while being sure to keep enough space between him and Jeongin. When the youngest alpha had recorded, everyone in the room held their collective breath, but he seemed to be doing fine.

Next to you, Jisung had leaned down so he was laying down on the couch with his feet splayed out in front of him, body posture indicating that he was zoning out, but one look at his eyes told you that he was paying rapt attention to what was happening in the recording box and at the table.

On your other side, Felix leaned his head against you and pulled out his phone instead of watching the older boys.

He pulled up Twitter and started scrolling through. You wanted to give him some privacy, but curiosity got the best of you. It’s not like he’s actively turning his phone away, you told yourself.

Once the word ‘caretaker’ caught your eye, you gave up the pretense and shifted even closer. The movement caused Felix to notice and he tilted his phone so you could see it more easily. “They’re sort of all over the place with the caretaker news.” He told you, deep voice soft as he tried to not interrupt the others. “Some people are really supportive of it but of course there are some people who think that either caretakers are sasaengs who manipulated the system so that you could be close to us, or that you’re going to steal our attention away from our fans.”

“Both of those statements are true, also, did I forget to mention I’m a spy from Dispatch meant to expose your secrets?”

Felix giggled and you let your eyes scan over the comments.

Maybe if y’all stanned TXT this wouldn’t have happened🤷‍♀️

tell this random weirdo to stay away from my lixie!!!!!!!

YALL IVE CONNECTED THE DOTS THE CARETAKER IS THE ONE IN FELIX’S BUBBLE POST

Reading over the last one, you bumped your shoulder lightly against Felix. “What exactly did your bubble post say?”

He frowned. “It just said ‘lunch with a new friend’ with a yellow heart emoji. It’s kind of impressive that they did actually connect the dots.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Well, at least people probably won’t recognize me out on the street just from my hand.”

Felix smiled and went back to scrolling, giggling at a semi-professional debate about what Lee Know would give up for the rest of his life between pudding or butt hunting.

Said pudding lover and butt hunter then finished recording, striding out of the recording box as Chan spun his chair to face the rest of the room. Changbin rolled his own chair across the floor until it stopped in front of Minho, who grabbed it and spun it so he could sit in Changbin’s lap. Changbin squeaked in surprise but didn’t make any signs of protest when Minho brought the younger’s arms to wrap around his waist.

“Alright,” Chan began, “I think it’s pretty much a free day from here on. I know Jisung has a vocal lesson and Hyune wants to talk to Y/N, but other than that, I’ll be in the studio and Minho is going to be going over choreography so if anyone wants to join either of us, feel free.”

“But not too free, I need a break from you degenerates sometimes.” Minho retorted from where his head lay against Changbin’s shoulder.

You missed what Chan said in response as you leaned across the back of the couch behind Felix to consult Hyunjin. “You wanted to talk to me?”

His wide eyes met yours then quickly moved to Felix’s hair as Hyunjin started twirling it nervously between his fingers. “Yeah. Chan-hyung said we should talk about my h-heat. Especially since it comes so quick after Felix’s that we might not have enough time between our heats to properly talk.”

You could hear the other members join Chan and Minho’s discussion, but your focus remained on Hyunjin. “That’s a good idea,” you murmured, “But you don’t want Chan or another member to sit in with us?”

He shook his head, glancing back at you and biting his lip. You didn’t want to push him when he was so clearly nervous so you nodded and turned back to the others.

Right next to you, Jisung was declaring that “this group is not a democracy, hyung”.

“Sungie, you are the one person in this room that has a strict schedule today.”

“Don’t you start with me, Kim Seungmin-”

“Okay, okay!” Chan raised his hands. “I think that’s enough. So, Han will go to his lesson, Jinnie and Y/N will talk, Seungmin and Felix will come to the studio with me, and Bin and Iyen will go with Lino to the dance studio. Wait.” He paused and turned to you. “Is it okay to have Innie with the two members he’ll be aggressive towards?”

You considered it for a moment. “I think it should be fine. It might actually be better, hypothetically, since Innie won’t have to deal with either of them getting too close to Felix, so I think he’ll actually be less aggressive.”

“If my aegi-alpha gets too aggressive, I’ll just give him a good spanking.”

Chan turned to Minho and stared at him, narrowing his eyes while his knuckles turned white from his grip on his chair arms.

Instead of retracting his statement or apologizing for it, Minho simply basked in the attention, leaning back against Changbin and crossing his arms with a smirk on his face.

You glanced at Jeongin to see his reaction, but he was a bit preoccupied with Felix’s fingers running through his hair. Innie’s eyes were shut as he leaned his head back in between Felix’s knees.

You felt like you were intruding on a special moment, so you looked up and your gaze met Chan’s. He had a soft smile as he glanced from you to the two boys.

He blinked as if coming out of a trance and cleared his throat. “So, everyone know where they’re going?”

“Wait, hyung!” Jisung’s hand shot up in the air like he was a student eager to be called on. “I know you told us that we can be comfortable around Y/N-noona, but exactly how comfortable is that? Like, is it the same level as we are with our managers, or our makeup noonas or what?”

Chan smiled at him and swiveled his chair to face him more directly. “Since Y/N’s job actually involves a little more… familiarity with our group, especially when it comes to our emotional and physical health, I figured that we could be a little more open with her. She knows about our relationship and everything. The company did ridiculously thorough background checks and she’s signed several NDAs, so we can be as honest with her as we want.”

Han scooted forwards until he was barely on the couch and gestured with his hand for Chan to come closer. When Chan rolled his chair over, Jisung leaned to whisper in his ear. Whatever he said caused Chan to giggle. “Yes, we can kiss in front of her.”

“Oh.” Jisung blinked twice. “Well, in that case…” He grabbed Chan’s collar, pulled him close, and planted an obnoxious, cartoon-level, lip-smacking kiss right on the alpha’s lips.

Chan sputtered and his ears burned as he pulled away. “I meant- why did- you didn’t have to kiss me now!”

“Nope.” Jisung wiped his mouth with the back of his hand theatrically. “But I enjoyed it.”

…

Once everyone had reapplied their scent blockers and straightened themselves up, you followed Hyunjin out of the recording room.

Instead of going to the small meeting room like you did with Chan and Felix, Hyunjin led you in the opposite direction you had come from.

He fidgeted with his hands as he walked you rode down the elevator. First, they fiddled with his jacket buttons, then his rings, then tapped against his thighs.

It was obvious he was nervous, but you didn’t want to make him even more so by pointing it out.

The two of you made your way into a room and you realized that it was the same small dance studio you had met Hyunjin in.

He stopped in the middle of the room and frowned at the wooden crates you had all sat on last time. “I guess we could move them so we sit across from each other, that seems the most professional,” he murmured while rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb.

Your mind blanked for a second before you refocused. “Well, this doesn’t have to be super professional. No one is grading you,” you joked. “Here, we can even chill on the floor if you want.” You brought some cushions from a stack in the corner of the room and brought them to the middle of the crates.

Hyunjin smiled at you and adjusted one of the cushions before sitting down on it.

You placed your own cushion on the ground across from him and pulled one of the crates over so you could use it as a back rest.

You sank down and Hyunjin smiled at you politely. “Where should we start, noona?”

You pulled your bag over and pulled out the file on him and his bandmates. Handing it over, you told him, “What Felix and I started with was going over the information the company gave me so that you know what I know and you can tell me if there’s anything wrong or anything big that the company doesn’t know or didn’t share with me. I don’t want to be overly nosy or creepy or anything, but as a caretaker, it’s important that I know things that relate to both your physical and mental health. Also, client confidentiality applies in my job, so I couldn’t tell your company anything even if I wanted to, unless it involves you hurting yourself or others.”

Hyunjin blinked at you wide-eyed, the file bending slightly in his tight grip. Then, his eyes narrowed and his lips pouted slightly.

You felt your own fists clenching around the straps of your bag at the sight, but you collected yourself when he started to speak.

“I thought you were hired by the company. Doesn’t that make them your client?”

Your smile widened at him. “What a smart question!” At this, you could see the corners of his mouth flicker up. “The company is my employer, but they hired me to be a caretaker for you, not for the company. If I had to be a caretaker for everyone in this entire company, I would scream.” You raised your eyebrows playfully. “Could you imagine if I went up to JYP and asked him to tell me about his sex life?” You shuddered theatrically.

Hyunjin let out a startled exhale which quickly morphed into full-on cackling. He threw his head back and clapped, leaning backwards and almost falling over which only caused him to laugh harder. You giggled along with him, relieved that the slight tension was dissolving.

Once you two managed to mostly calm down, he looked at you with his hand hovering in front of his mouth. “Oh my god. “‘“Oh my god”’”. Eugh!” He scrunched up his face and stuck his tongue out in disgust, which just set off another round of laughter for both of you.

You took some deep breaths and noticed Hyunjin doing the same. You both smiled at each other and he ducked his head as he went to pick up the file he had dropped when he started clapping.

He flipped through it and got to the page with his information. As his eyes scanned the page, his smile slowly faded.

“Not particularly possessive of my nests? The only reason I’m not possessive is because they’re my pack! My m- my band! They’re always welcome in my nests! I may not be as protective as Felix but it’s not like I would let just anyone in!”

Noticing his distress, but most notably, the lack of a distressed scent, you realized that you both still had your scent blockers on. You took yours off and allowed your calming scent to sweep the room. It wouldn’t be as potent to Hyunjin while he had his own scent blockers on, but you hoped he could sense it nonetheless.

You didn’t want to touch him without his consent, so you gently pushed the file down, away from where it covered his face, gaining his attention and making it easier for him to see you.

You smiled at him. “Hey, Hyunjin. You want to take a deep breath for me?”

He blinked at you twice before nodding and inhaling. He held it for a second before his cheeks puffed out as he exhaled.

“Good job! Now, I know that you’re probably upset since the company is making these assumptions about you based on limited information. I would be, too. But, since you aren’t exactly inviting your managers into your nests, does it really matter what they think about you?”

His eyebrows furrowed as he considered it. After a minute, he shook his head.

“No, it doesn’t matter. And the ones whose opinions you do care about know that you keep the nest open to them because you trust them and love them. I promise you, they don’t think any lesser of you because of the way you keep your nests.”

Hyunjin’s tense eyes softened around the edges. “I guess… that makes sense.”

Your voice took on a more teasing tone. “Do you not believe me? I could call Chan right now, and I’m certain that he would march on down from his studio just to tell you how wonderful your nests are. And I’m certain that your other packmates would be right behind him.”

Hyunjin smiled shyly as he traced a shape on the ground that vaguely resembled a heart. “Yeah, they would.”

You tapped on the file still in his other hand. “Now that that’s settled, is there anything else you want to tell me?”

Hyunjin put the file down on the floor and rested his hands on top of it, like he was trying to press it into the ground. He turned his head to look at the wall of mirrors next to you and you could see him swallow. His eyes flickered back to meet yours and you could see the pure vulnerability in them. “Since you’ve been so upfront and honest with all of us, I figure I should return the favor. I… In Korea, male omegas- or, just, omegas in general, I guess, are sort of taught to hide their heats? Or, not hide them exactly, but it’s not something you really talk about? Not even with other omegas. We’re pretty much taught that heats are signs of weakness or that they’re gross to talk about, so you sort of pretend that they don’t exist, even when we would get a week off of school or work.”

He paused to look down at his hands and you waited while he took a second.

“When Felix first came over, obviously there were a lot of cultural differences between Australia and Korea. He would casually mention how he was nervous about spending his heats here. Channie-hyung and Minho-hyung helped him the most, not just because they’re the oldest, but because Chan could sympathize with the change in culture and Minho… had a lot of omegan friends back in Gimpo when he was growing up. Even when Felix got used to spending his heats here, he still never really stopped talking about them. Of course he didn’t say anything when we went out in public or anything like that, but he never tried to hide it around us.” Hyunjin’s mouth curled up at the corners. “There was this one time when we were in the dressing room and he was complaining about his pre-heat cramps loud enough for all of the staff to hear. Changbinnie-hyung’s face was so red,” he snickered.

Suddenly, his face sobered up. “I really wish I had been there for him more. As the other omega in our pack, it should have been me, but at that moment, I just felt… all I felt was shame. Shame for him, for letting other people know that he had heats, shame for me, for being the other omega and being afraid that people would think that I would talk about my heat in the same way, shame for the poor staff members who had to listen to that,” Hyunjin took a deep breath. “But then, one of the coordi-noonas came up and recommended a good painkiller brand, and one of our managers told Felix that they could buy some ice cream on the way home, and I… I was so amazed. Talking about anything related to heats was supposed to be this horrible, embarrassing thing, but instead, Felix just got sympathy and support.”

Hyunjin looked back up at you and stared deep into your eyes. “I know that I don’t like to talk about my heats, even after seeing that and being with Felix all this time, but I know that you’re here to help me and my pack, so I’m going to do my best to not be ashamed anymore.”

You took Hyunjin’s hands in yours. “Thank you so much for telling me. I really-”

You were suddenly interrupted by his stomach doing its best impression of a whale song. His eyes widened before he hid his face in his hands. “Talk about embarrassing and shameful. I guess we forgot to eat lunch.”

You cackled and stroked his shoulder in what you hoped was a soothing way. “Well,” you giggled, “should we get some now? I’m pretty hungry, too, now that you mention it.”

Hyunjin’s hands slid from his face as he looked back up at you. “Hmm. I’m kind of craving something sweet.” He turned until he was lying on the floor with his face turned towards the ceiling.

As you scooted over to lay down beside him, he sat up and stared at you with his eyes lit up. “I have a genius idea! Have you tried any good Korean snacks since you moved here, noona?”

You thought back to everything that happened since you got off the plane. “Uh… not really? There were some chips or something in the hotel room but I didn’t want to spend the company money on ridiculous stuff like that.”

Hyunjin waved his hand dismissively. “Even if you did eat them, it wouldn’t really count. Expensive places always overcharge for mediocre things.” He set his hand back on the floor and turned back to you. “Do you know what this means?”

“That I need to order more of my own snacks from home before I run out?”

“No!” Hyunjin rolled his eyes, but you could see a hint of mirth in them. “Well, yes, noona, you should definitely do that. And order some for us to try. But we should raid the vending machine and have a taste testing! I even stole Binnie-hyung’s credit card this morning, so we can use that!”

You giggled at his enthusiasm for both having a taste testing and using his member’s money to pay for it. “I’m up for it if you are, but if Changbin finds out, I’m pinning everything on you. He’ll probably go easy on you, anyway.”

Hyunjin shrugged, his expression somewhere between fond and smug. “Yeah, he’ll definitely go easy on me. Especially when I tell him our pretty noona coerced me into it. He’ll understand. How am I supposed to say no to that? Anyway, we could also get some snacks to drop off at the dance studio after we’re done with our taste test, I’m sure that Changbin-hyung and Innie would be glad for a snack break.”

“I- okay.” You stuttered, trying not to fixate on the phrase “our pretty noona”. “Let’s do a taste testing. Lead the way to the vending machines.”

After reapplying your scent blocker, you both made your way down two flights of stairs and down a long hallway before you came to the vending machine. Hyunjin explained that there was one closer to the room you were in, but that this one had better snacks.

You stopped in front of the vending machine, a little surprised at how high tech it looked. You were more used to ones with sticky buttons that refused to take your dollars more often than not and that you would occasionally have to shake to free your snack. This one had a whole mini snack elevator.

“Let’s see, Innie likes these cheesy crackers, Changbin-hyung will cry if he finds out we used his credit card and didn’t get him anything, so let’s get him the barbecue chips, and this is Lino-hyung’s favorite pudding…”

You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you watched Hyunjin mutter to himself about his bandmates’ snack preferences. “You’re so considerate of your packmates,” you told him.

He blinked at you in surprise, like he had forgotten you were standing there with him. “Ah, well, it’s really more of a survival tactic. I have had one too many pudding lectures from hyung, so if I show up with the wrong one, who knows what he’ll do to me?”

Back in the studio, you spread your bounty around the two of you, like you were preparing for hibernation. The three snacks for the boys in the other dance studio were carefully set off to the side, so that neither of you would mistakenly eat them.

“So,” you started, “I know the nest thing sort of threw you off, but is there anything else you think I should know before your heat? It can be anything, things you like to avoid, your favorite things to nest with, things you like to eat,” you asked, shaking the bag of chips you were currently eating from. They were a bit different than what you were used to, but still pretty good.

Hyunjin hummed around a ring-shaped gummy. “Well, I like to do laundry before my heats and then get my members to scent my stuff. I just feel a bit icky when I’m not sure when the last time I washed something was. Felix likes to bake during his preheat, which is sort of perfect because I eat more than usual during my preheat, so I can just eat whatever he made and put in the fridge. But I don’t like eating during my actual heat. As for the stuff in my nest… I have this scarf that Seungminnie bought for me once when we visited Paris. And Lino-hyung gave me a scrunchie that he drew a bunch of Jureumis on that I like to wear on my wrist. Also, Jisungie got me a dumpling plushie that also has a hot water bag inside. I have some other things from the members, too, but those are the first things that come to mind. Most of the other stuff is pillows and blankets. Felix likes fluffier blankets in his nest, but I like the smoother, silkier ones. And I love having my members in my nests with me. Also, I have at least three fans going on at the same time because I hate how hot I get. I do react a bit… dramatically when my members accidentally move something in my nest, which sort of confuses me a bit because that really only happens during my heats.”

You quickly brought out your notebook and pen and scribbled down all the information Hyunjin had given you. As you wrote semi-legibly, you did your best to talk to him at the same time.

“Well, that’s definitely a heat-brain thing. Do you only feel anger or annoyance at your pack when they move your nest around or is it something else, too?”

Hyunjin stopped chewing and set down the bag of candy. “I guess… it does hurt a bit. At first. And then I growl or nip them or something like that.” He shrugged dismissively.

“And that hurt, could it be that your anger is sort of a way to get around it or cover it up?”

He looked up to meet your gaze and squeezed the plastic package so it crinkled. “That… it could definitely be that, I suppose. I think… my brain is sort of telling me that my packmates are changing my nest because they don’t like the way I arranged it.”

You nodded and set down your notebook. “Well, I know that no matter what I say, during your heat, your omega is still likely going to react like that because you don’t have the same level of brain processing power as you do when you aren’t in heat, but maybe, hopefully, you’ll feel less guilty about it afterwards. Hyunjin, you know that your members love your nests. They don’t want to move it or change it, and from what they’ve told me, they always try to move carefully so that they don’t offend you. They also understand that you’re protective of your nests and that you react, as you put it, dramatically. They know that that can be a risk to stepping into your nest, but I am sure that it’s worth it to them. Even if they get nipped or growled at, they made the choice to enter your nest and they obviously think that it was worth it if they come back again and again.”

Hyunjin watched you with wide eyes before his face broke out into a soft smile. “Yeah, I suppose that makes sense. Plus, Lino-hyung bites the others enough that they should be able to deal with me if I bite them once or twice during my heat, even if I bite them a bit harder than he does.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes and leaned backwards until he was lying down. “I can’t believe I’m in a relationship with those losers.”

You smiled at him, glad that he could go from serious topics to more light-hearted ones. You grabbed another candy bag and a question formed in your brain.

“What exactly does the company know about your relationship?” You asked, tearing open the packet, this one with cartoon purple lizards advertising how “de-liz-cious” the gummies were.

Hyunjin hummed, popping a chocolate-covered cracker into his mouth. Once he chewed and swallowed it, he passed the bag to you.

“The company knows that we help each other through our heats and ruts, that’s why they had you sign a bunch of NDAs,” he told you, “but they don’t exactly know about the actual relationship between us. They know Hannie and Lino-hyung go out together, but they don’t know they’re actually going out together. They know Binnie-hyung flirts with me, but they don’t know that I flirt back when the cameras are off. They know that Chan-hyung and Felix sleep together a lot but they don’t know that they sleep together a lot.” He paused. “And I mean a lot. Honestly, most of the time, sleeping seems to be the last thing on their minds. Horny losers.” He shook his head fondly before refocusing. “The company tells us to play things up for the camera a bit for fan service, but what they don’t know is that we’re actually toning it down.” He finished with a smirk.

You grinned. “Wow. So they don’t know you’re in a relationship at all?”

“Nope. Just our families and some of our friends know. And now you, noona.” Hyunjin rolled over and stretched his arms out. “I guess we are pretty affectionate towards each other around our staff, but I think the whole 8-members thing actually throws them off. Poly packs aren’t as common as they used to be, so it probably hasn’t even occurred to them. They likely assume that some of us are together, just in couples, but they’ve never asked us outright, I think they’re fine with acting ignorant as long as we don’t let them or the public know anything.”

You had collected all of the empty snack bags and were about to throw them away while Hyunjin stretched his arms above his head. “So, is there anything else you want to tell me? I feel like we covered a lot, but just let me know if there’s something else.”

Hyunjin had moved on to stretching his back but paused to smile at you and shake his head. “No, I think we talked about everything we needed to, noona.”

“Okay.” You collected your notebook and bag before shoving the extra snacks in there as well. “Do you think now is a good time to interrupt the dance practice?”

Hyunjin stood up gracefully and sighed. “It’s always a good time to interrupt dance practice. I think Changbin-hyung and Innie will be eternally grateful to you.”

“Not you?” You questioned. “You picked out the snacks and it was your idea.”

He waved his hand dismissively as you made your way out of the dance studio and into the elevator. “They’ll be grateful for about five minutes until they conveniently forget it. Or they’ll ask me why I didn’t come and save them earlier.”

The elevator ride was silent, but much more comfortable than when the two of you had been in the same elevator earlier. You stepped out into the hallway, following Hyunjin until he came to a door on the right.

He peeked in through the window and smiled before gently opening the door.

The song and dance they were doing weren’t as intense as some of their other tracks and routines, it was a B-side they recorded earlier that day, and were still dancing to the guide version, but you could see that they were putting in the exact same amount of effort, no matter what the tempo or sound quality was. Their moves were soft, almost floaty, but they were still very deliberate and precise.

You saw Minho’s eyes glance at you and Hyunjin in the mirror from where he was at the front of the formation, but he gave no other acknowledgment of your presence.

I.N and Changbin also noticed you, but they were less smooth about it. Changbin faltered in his movements and Innie fell behind rhythm.

“Yah, finish up the song, brats. Then we can take a break.”

At Lee Know’s words, the other two seemed to come alive, dancing with more energy than before. The song wasn’t much longer, and their positioning for the ending pose almost made you laugh out loud. Of course, the dance was meant to be for eight members, and there were quite a few missing, so there was Minho and Innie posed together on one side of the studio and Changbin all alone on the other side. Evidently Hyunjin shared the same thoughts as you, but didn’t keep quiet about laughing, even as you two clapped politely.

“Oh, my Binnie-hyung, are you lonely over there?” Hyunjin teased.

Changbin unfroze from his pose to flop down on the wood floor, all splayed out and breathing heavily, but focused on Hyunjin. In a high-pitched voice, he called out, “Yah, Hyunjin, I’m always lonely when I’m away from you!” He wriggled on the floor in a way that you guessed was supposed to be cute, but his obvious lack of energy made it seem more like a fish flopping around on land.

Hyunjin giggled and walked over to Changbin, squatting and grabbing the alpha’s outstretched hand as he murmured something you couldn’t hear.

Innie had flopped down as well, almost mirroring Changbin as he took deep breaths. Minho had walked over to turn the music off, and then sat on the couch with a water bottle.

Seeing that he was mostly okay, you turned back to I.N. “Hey, little alpha. Do you want me to bring you your water bottle?”

Jeongin let out a loud groan that echoed around the studio. “Oh my gosh, noona, you are seriously my new favorite person. Yes, please. It’s the green one.”

You walked over to the wooden counter and retrieved the green water bottle. You spotted a blue and pink water bottle next to it and, deducing that it was Changbin’s, you handed it to Hyunjin to give it to Changbin before you headed back over to I.N.

You squatted next to him just as a loud groan pierced the air. “Y/N! You are welcome to stay with our group for the rest of our lives! I’m going to produce a song about you and sing it at every single concert and award show!”

You smirked at Changbin’s words as Innie thanked you for his water. “Just for brining you your water bottle? At least wait until you see what Hyunjin and I brought in my bag for you.”

Changbin sat up like he was possessed. “What do you have?”

You walked over to your bag and unzipped it, pulling out the barbecue chips Hyunjin had picked out. You tossed them over to Changbin, whose eyes widened as he caught them and read the label. “Yah, Y/N, how did you know I liked these?”

You shrugged as you made your way over to Minho, pudding in hand. “A certain omega packmate of yours might have told me. It was actually his idea, so make sure to thank him.”

Hyunjin had fully sat down next to Changbin, but now, Changbin tackled him onto his back and wriggled the two of them around like happy earthworms.

Minho smiled and thanked you as you handed him the pudding before peeling it open and lying down on the couch. You weren’t entirely sure how safe it was to eat the pudding like that, but he seemed confident in his abilities, like he had done this before, so you left him to it and walked over to Jeongin with the cheese crackers in hand.

Innie had been staring at the other two members, his expression one of disgust, but you could see the fondness sparkling in his eyes. “Gross,” he stated, as Changbin started kissing all over Hyunjin’s face.

“Hopefully, you’ll find this a little less gross,” you told him as you handed him the crackers.

His eyes lit up as he took the packet from you. “Thanks, noona.”

You zipped up your bag and threw it to the other side of the room. “You should be thanking Hyunjin, he picked them out for you.”

Jeongin frowned as he ripped open the snack package. “I don’t need to thank him. If anything, this is what I deserve as compensation for dealing with him.” His eyes wrinkled with his smile as he stuffed a cracker in his mouth. “Oh, thank you, noona! I’ve been extra hungry all day for some reason.”

You smiled and were about to respond when you were interrupted by Hyunjin flopping down next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. “Yes, thank you, noona. I’m really glad that you’re our caretaker. We haven’t known you for long, but I can tell that we’re going to love you.”

…

Sorry for any mistakes, I edited this and posted it in my college’s parking lot😭

Taglist:

(Bold means I can’t tag you, sorry for the inconvenience!)

@eastleighsblog

@detectivedoodle

@niaalove

@scarletrosesposts

@royal-shinigami

@peachbokkie

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@finestflora

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fangirlwriting-stories · 10 months ago

Text

Afterlife Lessons

Summary: Sam’s awareness of ghosts extended to exactly two pieces of knowledge: Danny’s parents are ghost hunters, and ghosts are dangerous and she should stay away from them.

Unfortunately, neither of these things becomes something in her favor when she and Tucker are kidnapped by a ghost and turned into ghosts themselves— or half ghosts, apparently, something clarified to them by Amity Park’s resident hero Phantom, who also promises to stick around and help them figure out their new forms and powers.

But while Sam is certainly grateful for the help, now that she’s regularly spending time with their local ghost protector, she’s noticing things about him that seem a little more familiar than they should. And also that Phantom’s strong confident hero persona might be a bit more of a facade than anyone‘s realized.

Author's Note: I did an invisobang this year! It was a ton of fun to write, and (once the art is posted), I'll post the art in each chapter it matches with! I'm gonna be posting all fifteen chapters in rapid succession, so get ready for a lot of posts from this blog! I'm going to make a masterlist in just a minute, and I'll also tag every post with the title.

Art For This Chapter: @torchturtle link

...

Sam’s awareness of ghosts extended to exactly two pieces of knowledge, and both of those things came from Danny. The first, that Danny’s parents hunted them, which he’d told them in embarrassment shortly after they met. The second she’d learned shortly before it had been revealed to everyone that ghosts did, in fact, exist— when Danny had told her ghosts are dangerous, stay away from them.

Sam had admittedly been more than a little surprised when Danny told her this. Like she’d said, he tended to be more embarrassed by his parents’ work than anything else. Granted, he’d never said outright that he didn’t believe in them, and there were a couple of times Sam had seen him taking precautions that she knew his parents had recommended. But she knew he’d just be uncomfortable if she brought it up, so she didn’t.

And then, suddenly, he was very serious in his telling of her that ghosts were dangerous, and she should avoid them at all costs. Sam hadn’t had the first clue where the shift had come from, but he’d timed it pretty well, because it was around that time that Amity Park started getting regular visits from ghosts. Luckily for them, one of those ghosts included Phantom. And while the town in general was split on him and Danny was still just as insistent in telling her and Tucker to stay away from him, Sam saw the things he did. The ghosts he fought. The people he saved. There had never been a doubt in her mind that Phantom was an ally.

She hadn’t ever really expected to count on that fact directly.

But then, she’d also never been directly targeted by a ghost before. She couldn’t think of much else this one in particular could be doing, though. The vampire-looking ghost knew her and Tucker’s names, it singled them out specifically on the way to school, and it had grabbed them and tied them up on seats in the back of a plane, of all things. That was a little difficult to misinterpret.

Tucker was still breathing very quickly across from her in his window seat, and Sam was trying to make sure that he didn’t have a panic attack, while also looking around the plane for anything they could possibly use to help themselves. She didn’t even know ghosts had planes, much less ones this… fancy. This thing looked fancier than her parents’ private jet, which made her hate it for two reasons.

“Tucker,” Sam said quietly, drawing his gaze. “You see that compartment up there labeled with a parachute?”

“No,” Tucker said immediately, looking very intently down at the floor. “No, I absolutely do not see it.”

“Tucker.”

“Sam, you are insane if you think I’m risking jumping out of a plane!”

“You’d rather get to whatever secondary location this guy is dragging us to?” Sam snapped, still keeping her voice down.

“Right, because obviously the guy who kidnapped us and is dragging us somewhere is going to leave us with perfectly made parachutes that won’t break halfway down to the ground,” Tucker snapped back, which… was actually a decent point, though Sam loathed to admit it.

“Look, do you have a better idea?” she asked instead.

“Try to escape while we’re not several miles in the air?”

“When we’ve made it wherever we’re going so this guy has a home field advantage?”

“I don’t know Sam! We don’t have a ton of options!” Tucker snapped. “I still think I’d rather be kidnapped than dead!”

“Are you sure?” Sam asked seriously, giving Tucker a look, and then jerking her head backwards toward the cockpit. “We don’t know what he wants.”

“I don’t want to die, Sam,” Tucker said desperately. “I think we have a better chance of not dying if we stay on the plane until we get wherever we’re going. Plus, you can’t even stand up to reach that compartment anyway. Let’s just… stay put.”

Sam gave a huff of irritation and a little bit of fear, but gave in to Tucker’s fairly decent points and leaned back in the plush chair.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s try and work this out, then. We’ve been flying for what, an hour now? Where do you think we’re going?”

“We’re heading north,” Tucker said, with a nod towards the window. “Based on the way the sun was rising earlier.”

“Great, so that narrows it down to a little less than half the continent,” Sam groaned. “Do you think he’s staying in the U.S.?”

“Do I think a ghost cares about a country’s borders? I have no clue if we’re going to Canada. Maybe he’ll just keep flying north and drop us in the middle of the ocean.” The second after Tucker said it, he seemed to realize what he’d said, and his face turned a little queasy. “I hope not.”

“Me too,” Sam muttered, looking out what little of the window she could see from her position, given that she couldn’t shift in the chair at all. She couldn’t see the sun anymore. She was glad Tucker had spotted it earlier, even if it didn’t give them a ton of clues as to where they were going.

They didn’t have to wonder for that much longer, however, because it wasn’t more than five minutes later before a disgustingly pleasant voice announced that they’d be beginning their descent, and that they hoped the landing was just as horrible as the takeoff had been.

Sam glared up at the ceiling as if that was where the voice was and tried to come up with a map in her head. They really hadn’t been flying for more than an hour. That wasn’t enough time to get them to Canada, was it? They couldn’t be much further than Wisconsin.

Once they got off the plane itself, they were taken towards some sort of castle that looked like something her parents could afford to build. Which might not be that far off in terms of expenses, given there was an actual runway in the back. Maybe this ghost happened to be a friend of theirs, and this was Sam’s parents’ newest way of threatening her into wearing floral print.

The ghost that had kidnapped and brought them here, however, didn’t seem super keen on answering any questions. Its only comment before it grabbed them both by the arms and dragged them towards a back door was “I hope you two had a terrible experience,” paired with a supervillain smirk so dramatic it was almost ridiculous.

He clearly was not super worried about being gentle about dragging them, if the ache forming in Sam’s wrist was any indication. But she didn’t have much time to focus on that. Instead, as soon as her feet were on the ground, she started looking around for escape strategies, but the ghost was holding their arms way too tightly for running to be an option, and she didn’t feel confident in her ability to get both her and Tucker into the forest surrounding the castle. Especially considering how far away it was. The grounds for this place weren’t small.

The castle itself was white brick, with gold roofs and absolutely covered in green flags. The door they were being dragged to looked like an entrance to a basement of some kind. Sam glanced over at Tucker to find him looking around too, but after a second he glanced at her with a helpless look on his face, meaning he hadn’t noticed anything she hadn’t.

Sam took a deep breath, and mouthed to Tucker, “On three.”

Tucker bit his lip, clearly scared, but nodded.

Sam brushed past her own fear and looked back on the door. Their smartest option would probably be to try and break for it when he had to shift his grip in order to hold on to them and go for the handle at the same time. He’d be doing that any second now, she just had to wait for—

A cold feeling swept over Sam just before she reached the door, and before she could question what that meant the ghost dragged her and Tucker right through the solid door and into the castle.

Sam blinked. Well. So much for the shifting his grip plan.

“Uh,” Sam said, looking at Tucker. “Three!”

Tucker started pulling backwards on the ghost’s arm as Sam did the same, but it didn’t even seem to phase the ghost. In fact, he looked down at them and laughed in obvious amusement.

“Oh yes, that’s sure to work. He really hasn’t ever let you near ghosts before, has he?”

Before Sam could figure out what the hell that meant, the ghost floated upwards just far enough to lift Sam and Tucker off the ground, robbing them of any force they could have attempted to use to get away.

Sam, in a last desperate attempt, leaned up to try and bite the ghost’s hand, but the ghost did the same thing to just their hands that he’d done to get them all through the door, and Sam’s teeth went right through it.

She turned to Tucker. “Okay, you have any other ideas?”

Tucker’s only response was a scared look.

They went through a couple more doors the same way as before, and then the ghost pulled them down through the floor, into some kind of lab. It looked eerily similar to the one in Danny’s basement, right down to the portal over on the wall.

“Well, I think we’ve made excellent time,” the ghost said, flying them straight over to that very portal. “Let’s set you both up.”

“Or, we could not do that?” Tucker said nervously.

“Who are you?” Sam snapped, glaring at the weird vampire ghost. If they weren’t going to escape, she might as well get as much information as possible from him.

“Oh, don’t worry about it child, I’m sure you’ll get a much better explanation from Daniel.”

Sam blinked. “Danny knows you?”

The vampire ghost didn’t reply, and instead flew over closer to the portal. Sam leaned back away from the swirling green she had no desire to go through, but before he could toss them inside, she heard a whirring sound, and the portal powered down to leave an empty mechanical tunnel. Sam glanced over to see… the same vampire ghost? There were two of them? The second one, however he was there, was pressing buttons on a box next to the portal.

A box that probably wasn’t supposed to be blinking like that.

“Uh,” Sam said, as the vampire ghost holding on to them carried them into the tunnel. “You wanna fix your box thingy?”

“No thank you, it’ll be more useful like this for now,” the second vampire ghost said, though Sam couldn’t see him anymore. “Though it’ll be quite a bit of work to fix the portal after using it for something like this.” He sighed, like their kidnapping was an inconvenience for him. “Oh well, can’t be helped.”

The second vampire ghost flew in and took Sam from the first, then carried her over to the side of the tunnel, seeming barely even to notice Sam’s struggles.

He and the other one then strapped her and Tucker to the sides of the portal, and flew off unconcerned. Sam saw the reason why a moment later, the restraints didn’t budge no matter how much she tugged on them, and she could see Tucker doing the same thing across from her.

“Regret not trying for the parachutes yet?” Sam snapped.

Tucker opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, there was a yell of “VLAD!” and a loud crash from the room outside of the portal.

Both of them turned, and in the part of the room that the portal wasn’t blocking, Sam saw Phantom shooting blasts across the room, presumably towards one of the vampire ghosts.

Tucker let out a relieved sigh. “Nope, I think we have a better shot now,” he said.

Sam couldn’t blame him. They may not have ever interacted with Phantom personally, but that didn’t mean they didn’t know what he was capable of. If Phantom was here to rescue them, they were safe.

Phantom, however, didn’t seem to realize that, because the second he turned and spotted them inside the portal, his eyes widened in surprise and what looked like fear.

…Okay, maybe they should be a little nervous?

Tucker seemed to realize the same thing, as a second later they both went back to struggling.

Phantom started right for them, but one of the vampire ghosts— Vlad, he’d said?— instead slammed into him from the side and out of their view.

Sam couldn’t see what was happening anymore, but she could easily hear them.

“Let them go, Plasmius,” Phantom snapped.

“Or you’ll what? I’m looking for specifics here, my boy.”

“Specifics? I’ll smash your teeth in, now let them go!”

There’s a loud sigh. “No, you see, that’s the kind of thing that makes me think this is necessary in the first place.”

Sam glanced across the portal at Tucker, who shrugged, looking just as lost as her.

There was the sound of an ecto blast, and then Plasmius flew across the room. Phantom started immediately for the portal again, but before he could reach it, the other vampire ghost shot a blast at him that sent him back out of view again. The second one then flew after him and reappeared a second later, holding Phantom in a tight restraint that seemed much more difficult to hold than Sam and Tucker’s had been.

Sam tugged hard on the restraints, then stopped when she felt her wrist start to strain in a way that couldn’t be good.

“For the record,” she said to Tucker. “We totally should have tried for the parachutes.”

Tucker gave her a desperate look.

“Sorry it had to be this way, child,” came Vlad’s voice from out of view, “but you really should get better at solving your problems yourself.”

Phantom looked towards Vlad, apparently long enough to not like what he saw, because then he looked wide-eyed back towards Sam and Tucker— and that was the moment Sam knew they were fucked.

Something behind them in the portal lit up, and Sam turned her head towards it in time to see a bright green light.

Phantom screamed “NO!” loud and desperate, and then Sam’s world erupted.

#danny phantom #sam manson #tucker foley #danny fenton #vlad plasmius #halfa trio au #no one knows au #invisobang #afterlife lessons #my fic

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kedsandtubesocks · 1 year ago

Text

seasons of you (year 1 - winter)

Blacksmith!Frankie Morales x F!Reader

summary: your first winter in the valley brings in a frosty breeze & a push towards a certain blacksmith

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, stardew valley AU, reader is a farmer & has a family but no physical description, shy & sweet!Frankie, major pining & yearning, friends to something more, Frankie being previously married/a bit secretive about his life, gift exchange as love language, use of nickname (Frankie calls reader “little farmer” affectionately but it’s no reflection on reader’s size), blooming romance

word count: 5.6k

a/n: we’ve arrived to Frankie’s first piece in our Stardew AU series! We’re starting ‘in the middle of things’ & it’s meant to show how slow/shy our relationship with Frankie unfolds that romance just starts rolling now, plus I needed Frankie’s story to begin this way so something else can maybe unfold in year two but that’s all I’m gonna saying lol, again couldn’t have done this without @lowlights @swiftispunk @perotovar & @burntheedges you babes are my guiding stars always and I’m eternally grateful. And to you, if you’re reading this, thank you too lovely

Snow crunches under your boots and the chilly air seeping through your coat feels different. This would be your first serious winter storm and you already sense it approaching.

Yanking open the blacksmith’s door, a wave of heat washes over and you sigh.

Thankfully Frankie’s shop is still open and you almost cry relieved.

“Sorry!” You apologize walking further towards the counter. “I know there’s five minutes left before closing, but I just wanted to swing by!”

You wanted to pick up your newly forged ax before the storm hit and of course…

You wanted to see him.

Autumn kept you so busy with the farm and the fall festival. Now you hope to see more of your favorite blacksmith.

Waiting for him, your eyes wander.

The shop, with its eternal flame flickering, holds so much personality in its walls. A military pilot flag hangs by the front. The low radio plays a soft rock ballad. A bulletin board by the side of the counter is covered in various flyers and photos. Your favorite snapshots are one of a smiling little baby girl with sweet chubby cheeks you still haven’t gotten to ask Frankie who she is. There’s another photo of a group of men in military uniform.

It’s all so familiar and welcoming now.

With all the time in the mines, you wonder if maybe your pickaxe needs work too. Sliding your backpack off, you examine your trusty tool. Worn, but not weathered, the steel speaks of the craftsmanship and skill of the blacksmith who first forged it for you.

“You waiting for that tool to do something or should I leave you two alone?”

Frankie.

You fight back a smile when his warm deep teasing voice floats in.

Frankie wasn’t this easy going with you at first. He kept his distance, was polite but rather reserved.

“He’s just shy. He was like that when I first moved in too,” Leah, your closest friend here in the valley, reassured you one night at the saloon.

Now those beautiful gem eyes of Francisco Morales blaze straight at you as he walks towards the counter. Wearing his trademark baseball cap you playfully glare at him.

“I’m just checking to see if I need to complain to my blacksmith about my pickaxe needing work.” You quip back to him.

“Oh well shit, thank god that isn’t me.” Frankie smirks and you snort at his comment.

Frankie reminds you of the flames and steel he works with. Hard working and gently intense, yet a warmth gleams beneath him and fills an entire room just like the heat from his kilns.

“You just had to come in five minutes before I closed huh?” Frankie sighs dramatically.

You think he’s teasing but guilt still strikes you quick. Rambling out apologies, you scramble to explain how it’s mainly for precaution with the storm coming.

“I can always come back later!” You urge panicking.

He chuckles, cozily deep, and you sputter to a stop.

“I kid little farmer, I kid.”

That nickname he so casually gave to you just this month sparks an electric warmth through your entire body. You weakly laugh back, not able to fully process a reply.

Frankie’s gorgeous features, his striking nose, and his warm eyes disarm you in a way that makes your knees want to fold.

He moves around the tables and workbenches to pull out your ax.

“There it is!” You happily cheer.

Frankie even playfully shows off the sleek new tool like he’s a hostess in a daytime game show and you clap appreciatively while you laugh. It surprises you how silly sometimes Frankie can be.

Moving back to the counter he places your ax onto it. Then he leans towards you and begins explaining what upgrades he did.

You should be listening, but you can’t. Not with him leaning so close to you.

You’ve had an embarrassing crush on Frankie since the first moment Mayor Lewis introduced you to him. But with how busy you’ve been settling into the valley, along with how shy and reserved Frankie is, your feelings simply have stayed crystallizing inside you.

Frankie’s diligent eyes are so focused on his work and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. How dedicated he is to his craft, how quietly passionate he is, you yearn to fall into him more.

Suddenly Frankie’s eyes flicker up and catch you staring at him. In a panic your gaze snaps down to your tool.

“Yup! Looks like it can still cut a tree! Good job, Morales.” You lamely reply and Frankie snorts.

You do sincerely thank him and even offer to get him coffee for making him stay this late.

Frankie waves you off casually. “Maybe next time, besides you gotta get home before the storm hits.”

He’s right. There's still so much you need to do before the night comes. The clatter of Frankie slowly shutting everything down for the night draws you out of your thoughts.

“Do you need any help?” You offer.

“Nah, I’m good. Plus I don’t need your pretty hands getting burned.” Frankie replies back.

Although he’s not looking at you, his sly compliment sends a spark through your body.

Scrambling to put your ax in its guard and then shoving it into your backpack, you thank Frankie again and plan to quietly leave.

“Wait!” Frankie suddenly calls out and you freeze.

“Wait, don’t head out yet. Let me walk you home.”

The chill from outside settles into the shop now that the fires are extinguished. Yet, Frankie’s words ignite a dizzying heat.

“Oh no it’s okay!” You quickly stammer out as a nervous energy spikes in you.

You know he lives besides the forge. It wouldn’t make sense for him to walk you home then have to head the way back here.

The lights from the back area turn off and Frankie already walks out towards you with his coat on.

Your eyes go wide.

“Come on.” He gently nudges you with his kind eyes and your body moves on autopilot.

Once outside the cold galvanizes you. The sky above stretches out a misty blue while the edges of evening’s midnight coloring slowly creeps in.

The entire walk back to your farm Frankie stays in step with you. The conversation is light, easy, simple talk of how his and your day went. Your heart hammers in your chest. Yet, it’s comforting to have someone beside you. He’s warm and stays close.

Now your farm stretches before you a soft welcome home. Frankie, like the gentleman he is, walks you to the door.

Appreciative, you warmly thank him and wish him a safe trip back home.

“Thanks and stay warm, little farmer.” He grins softly, kind.

After a sweet wave goodbye to him, you walk off the porch to do all the final errands before you call it a night.

“Wait, what’re you doing?” Frankie suddenly calls out and curiosity colors his voice.

You glance back and see he hasn’t moved an inch.

With an eased sleepy smile you tell him you have a few last minute things you need to do. Like check on your winter seeds, double check the coop and then make sure the pipes are covered.

“You need help?” He warmly asks concerned and sincere.

“Oh no, I’m good I promise!” You reply. If you were braver you’d joke about not wanting to hurt his pretty hands.

“Besides, you need to get home.” You firmly tell him.

It’s getting darker, not completely night out, but you feel guilty for Frankie walking out here.

So with one final sigh you give him a warm goodbye.

“Stay warm tonight, Morales.”

Frankie quietly grins back and you hope he makes it home safe. Now your focus turns to the small field and you kneel before it.

Your winter seeds aren’t ready just yet. A dread fills you wondering if they will last against the storm.

“What are you growing?”

Frankie.

You didn’t even hear his footsteps in the snow. Whipping your head up you watch Frankie lean down to squat beside you.

“You should be walking home!” You cry out surprised.

Frankie shrugs sleepily. “It’s still early, I’ll be fine.”

You make an indignant squeak that makes him chuckle. Frankie’s eyes return to the little saplings still making their way through the snow, stubbornly growing against the harsh winter.

“They’re just winter seeds.” You sigh explaining how you’ve been growing them mainly for the experience and money.

“You think they’re gonna make it?” He asks gently.

You hope so.

You’re about to get up when Frankie quickly stands above with his hand outstretched to you. Even though your hands are gloved and so are his, a flutter runs through your chest when you place your hand in his. Frankie lifts you up effortlessly and you thank him, trying to steady yourself.

“Alright, what’s next?” Frankie asks light.

“For you to go home, Morales!” You laugh.

“Well you’re walking towards the barn so…kinda doesn’t seem like you’re finished yet.” Frankie comments almost shyly as he stays walking beside you.

“I’m not, but I don’t need your help. Go home!” You urge with a weak laugh. Frankie simply shrugs.

Sliding open the coop door, warmth begs you to come inside. You’re thankful for investing in those barn heaters.

“Your chickens are so big.” Frankie admires quietly in awe at the sleeping birds.

You smile while double checking the coop. Everything seems secure and safe for whatever might come this way tonight.

Stepping back outside the cold air seems still, quiet.

“You need to head home.” You tell him sternly, more worried than ever about his walk back to town.

“What’s next?” He asks with steeled resolve in his voice with no sign of leaving.

“Go home Francisco.” You firmly urge saying his full name.

But then you catch the sight of your pipes and sigh. So you almost did forget to wrap them.

“You didn't wrap your pipes?” He sounds a bit worried.

“I thought I did earlier…” Now you’re extra grateful for double checking.

When the first snow came at the start of winter, everyone reassured you the pipes would be fine. It was during harder snow storms, blizzards, that you needed to be careful. And now one approaches fast.

Frankie follows you inside the house to grab the necessary materials.

You can’t even process him being in your home for the first time. Simply on a mission you and him work together swiftly grabbing duck tape, a ratty old towel and head to the pipes.

It’s a swift team effort. In minutes, the pipes are securely wrapped safely and snug. You and him even share a triumphant high five.

“I wish I could invite you in for a thank you hot chocolate but you need to head home now.” You press.

Frankie, with his hands in his coat pockets, shrugs easily.

“I can stay for some thank you hot coco.” He offers.

“You gotta get home before the storm hits!” You shriek.

He waves you off casually. “It’s not coming till later tonight I’ll be fine. Now come on, don’t you wanna impress me with your hot chocolate skills?”

The smirk he gives you is so boyishly charming, almost like he’s daring you to invite him in.

This side of him is rare. You’ve only seen him get this smug and cocky at the saloon during a game of darts. Now your heart flutters fast in your chest.

“Come on,” He pouts. “Think of this as a way to help keep me warm on the walk back.”

He makes a point. The panic of wanting him to make it home safe before the storm, becomes smaller against the thought of spending more time with this man.

To have this man in your home.

So with a sigh of defeat you crack. Nudging your chin towards the door, you let Frankie in.

He’s in your home now. You need to stay composed.

You do have budding feelings for him, something that’s evolved out of the simple crush you had. And having him here in your home feels like dipping your toe into the deep end of a pool before jumping in. But you shake those thoughts away.

“Your place is nice.” Frankie admires and you thank him.

It’s still small, cozy now that you’re slowly allowing yourself to fully settle into the old bones of your grandpa’s home.

You want to say more until Frankie’s stomach suddenly growls.

Looking at him with surprised eyes, he stares back with beautiful eyes the size of the full moons.

“Shit.”

You laugh at his panicked response.

“You okay with maybe staying and having a quick dinner or should I really kick you out so you can head home?” You leave the option up to him, place the ball in his court.

Frankie with the most bashful smile slides off his coat.

“Dinner sounds great, little farmer.”

Your heart floats up and gets tangled in your throat, but it’s incredible.

You have the leftover lasagna Evelyn gave you as a thank you. But you also think of the soup recipe you've been dying to make for this weather.

So you leave it up to your guest for the night.

“Soup or leftover lasagna?” You offer light.

Frankie’s eyebrows scrunched together adorable, thinking hard at the two options, and you keep back a giggle.

“Will the soup take you a while to make?” He sounds sweetly concerned.

You swear it will take less than twenty minutes.

“Soup it is.” Frankie grins and it touches his eyes.

You begin grabbing the various ingredients and hate how hyper aware you feel even in your own house.

“So what can I help with?” Frankie now slides beside you and you almost squeak in surprise.

For someone who makes so much noise when he works, you find he’s rather quiet, swift.

“You’re my guest, so don’t worry. Plus you’ve helped enough!” You shoo him away and don’t miss the way he playfully glares at you.

Conversation again unfolds effortlessly with him. Frankie talks about how Mayor Lewis was in the shop earlier bragging about you hitting a full year in the valley.

“And here I thought everyone had stopped gossiping about me.” You snort lightly and start grabbing the bowls.

It will be a full year since you moved to your grandpa’s family farm. However, you wonder when the newness of you living here will subside.

“There’s… still some gossip of course. Small town after all.” Frankie admits shyly, like a school boy admitting a secret.

“But don’t worry, I don’t let any of ‘em talk bad about you in my shop.” Frankie, endearingly sweet, adds. His words knock you breathless and you almost drop the bowls.

“I knew I could count on you, Morales.” You manage to say with a grin.

Thankfully quick, the soup turns out comforting and delicious. Frankie even gushes about how incredible it is and your ego inflates wild.

“Thanks so much for dinner.” Frankie beams with the brightness of a sun.

“Please, I’m the one who’s thankful for all your help.” You earnestly tell him.

“Plus, it’s nice to have good company for dinner.” You add.

“I understand,” Frankie nods. “Gets a bit quiet around my place too. S’nice to change it up.”

A dual sided emotion settles in you. You ache understanding but also yearn to uncover more about this beautiful and sturdy man.

Before you can dive more into this discussion, Frankie’s phone rings wild and loud. Hastily scrambling to grab it, once he discovers who’s calling his face drops for a flicker of a moment.

“Sorry little farmer, but gotta excuse myself real quick is that alright?” His voice wavers.

Of course you earnestly reassure him and even direct him to the bathroom so he can talk in private. Frankie thanks you graciously then rushes out.

The house is quiet and he didn’t fully close the bathroom door fully. So his conversation leaks out enough for you to catch it.

“Wait, so you wannna just spring this on me now?” His voice slices out sharp. You’ve never heard Frankie sound this upset.

“Yes of course I’m gonna take her. But do you know how fucking shitty this is, Diana? Did you even think about my schedule before you fucking planned this trip?” He snaps.

You’ve also never heard him curse and it snaps your snipe straight. He sighs incredibly frustrated and angered, allowing whoever is on the phone to talk.

“Oh yeah, yeah, real fucking nice. Always make me the bad guy, right?”

Then Frankie starts speaking fast and low in Spanish you can’t catch what he’s saying. His tone however feels barbed and venomous.

So many questions bubble up. You believe you heard the name ‘Diana’ but this could be a conversation about anything.

Now thinking about it, even though you’ve been here almost a full year… you don’t know much about Frankie personally and that truth sinks your heart.

Silence now settles into your home until Frankie’s footsteps echo returning down the hall.

“I’m so sorry.” Frankie’s voice jolts the air but with a deep sadness. “I think I’m gonna have to save that cup of hot chocolate for another day.”

You kind of figured. Besides, you didn’t want him to get caught in the storm.

Outside the air has chilled, but thankfully the snow hasn’t begun.

“Had a great time tonight, thanks again for having me for.” An earnest grace radiates from his words.

You’re the one who’s truly thankful for him and you repeatedly tell him that.

Unfortunately a dread hits you. You want to make sure he makes it home. Your worry must be evident on your face because Frankie’s eyes cloud with caution.

“Wait, what’s wrong?”

When you tell him, a beautiful relief melts on Frankie’s face that you almost wish you could capture.

“Oh come on, that’s easy to fix, little farmer.”

He pulls out his phone and hands it to you.

He’s asking for your number.

Your heart beats so rapidly in your ears when you type your digits in.

“I’ll message you when I get home. Promise.” His warm voice is gilded with truth.

“Stay safe okay Frankie?” You tell him and his gorgeous eyes soften.

“Yeah, will do. And you stay safe too okay, little farmer? Stay warm and if you need anything.”

He holds his phone up and playfully wiggles it, a signal to say you should call him. You smile unbearably big and stay on the porch watching him leave until he vanishes from your sight.

You keep busy so you’re not simply staring at your phone waiting for his message. You clean up the remnants of dinner and feel comforted seeing two bowls in your sink.

Then your phone chimes and you scramble.

An message from an unknown number:

[Made it home safe!]

Another message flickers in.

[Also this is Frankie btw :)]

[Hi! 🪓]

The little ax emoji he adds makes you giggle giddy over how adorable this man can be.

You add his name and contact info into your phone. It warms you better than any sip of hot chocolate could.

- ❆ -

“Why do we even gotta celebrate ice?” One of the kids, you think Vincent, shouts that as you reach the edge of the forest and you snicker.

When you heard about the festival of ice, it simply sounded like a way for the town to break up the winter days. But it also reminded you how earnest and endearing the town can be.

Your heart jumps fast spotting Frankie bundled in his cozy jacket. He stands close to Willy and the two of them talk low, completely engaged with each other.

Whatever they’re discussing seems serious, evident in Frankie’s hard frown and Willy’s unusual somber expression. You decide not to interrupt them.

The fishing game is the highlight of the festival and to no shock the town’s head fisherman wins.

“It’s rigged.” You tease Willy and his hearty laugh is contagious.

“Don’t worry, next year you’ll be puttin’ me to shame.” Willy proudly declares.

When the event concludes for the day, Frankie already walks off without saying a word to you.

You try not to think about it too much.

When you’re about to head to bed, you find a message alert on your phone.

Frankie:

[Good try with the fishing tournament today! Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you today… have a lot of stuff going on. Also Willy wins every year. Think Lewis even adds fish into his crate to make sure it happens lol you’re the real winner in my book ]

You laugh as warmth balloons rapidly in your chest.

This message feels like a true victory for the day and it carries you for the rest of the week. Especially with how hard and brisk this final season of the year is.

Everyone warned you winter would be tough, and with your greenhouse still unfixed you’re realizing how true the warning is.

The days drag and bleed together. You throw yourself into the mines trying to gather more resources but that drains you fast. So you start doing a few errands around town to break up the days.

When Frankie requests a certain amount of wood you scramble quickly to complete the errand.

Inside the blacksmith shop, the familiar warmth greets you. However when Frankie walks out, a weariness looms over him. Heavy bangs hang around his eyes even as he smiles thin.

“Hey.” His voice is weary.

“Hey.” You reply back hesitantly. “I uh…have the wood you asked for.”

“Oh shit really?” He perks up. “Thanks, little farmer.”

You beam proud knowing you managed to at least brighten his day a little.

“Wait here, let me get your payment.”

You almost want to tell him that wasn’t necessary, but Frankie scrambles for his wallet.

“So, how ya been?” He asks.

“Good.” You partially lie. “How have you been?”

“Good.” He answers quickly, however you sense a lie buried.

You weakly smile. Exhausted, Frankie barely grins back and a pang pierces through you.

“Hey… Frankie.” You begin weakly. Frankie, midway pulling out your payment, freezes and blinks towards you.

“Yeah, little farmer what’s up?”

You know this might not mean much but you want to at least tell him.

“I just…” the words get stuck in your throat but with a deep inhale you unclog them.

“You just seem tired. I appreciate how hard you work but I just hope you get some rest when you can.” You tell him earnestly. “And… if there’s anything bothering you, I just wanted you to know you can always talk to me.”

You finish and hope you didn’t overstep.

Frankie’s gemstone eyes flicker stunned and then he sighs.

For the first time, Frankie slips his very notable baseball cap off and runs a hand over his hair.

His soft hat hair, the way you get this new glimpse of Frankie, lights something within your chest. You’ve never seen him without his cap. When he slips the baseball hat back on, his eyes seem cloudy and downcast.

“Thanks little farmer, appreciate it.” He mutters with another sigh. “It’s just stupid shit with my ex wife that’s taking longer than I expected to work out.”

Frankie’s words catapult you straight out of the atmosphere and your blood runs cold.

Ex wife.

Frankie was married before.

“I shouldn’t let it bother me and I don’t wanna be that type of ex husband, but holy shit she can be so damn difficult.” He shakes his head.

This feels like you’re meeting him again for the first time. But you’re grateful he’s sharing this with you.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with this and with her being difficult.” You reply with a soft comfort.

“You’re a good guy Frankie. I hope she doesn’t make you forget that.” You add, meaning those words.

You and him might have just recently become closer, but this entire year you’ve been living in Pelican Town Frankie’s been so sincerely kind. Always being patient with you and how awful you sometimes are to your poor tools. Even just seeing his soft shy smile when you run into him has brightened your day many times.

Frankie’s eyes finally flicker to you. They search your face like he’s waiting for you to react.

His mouth opens slightly.

Then he says your name, breathes it out, and it kickstarts a wild flutter in your heart.

But the door suddenly yanks open wildly behind you, cutting him off rapidly.

Robin, the town’s ever handy carpenter, arrives with a warm welcome drawing all the attention to her. The moment flutters away with her entrance. With a fast goodbye to Frankie and a swift warm greeting to Robin, you scramble fast to leave.

“Wait I didn’t-”

You don’t even wait to hear what Frankie has to say before you’re out of the door and back into the cold winter air. With so many thoughts buzzing in your head like angry hornets you simply head to the mines.

You stay there until the dead of night and drag your body back to farm. Even with how tired you are, your mind still thinks of a certain blacksmith.

The next morning there are two letters waiting for you. One is from Lewis reminding you of the upcoming Winter Star festival. The other is from Frankie.

Your heart jumps fast.

Little farmer,

Thanks for thinking of me and wanting to look out for me. Appreciate it a lot. Also you forgot your payment yesterday, silly! Don’t work yourself too hard either. So you get some rest too, alright?

Hope you swing by again and maybe soon we’ll have time for that hot chocolate :)

He not only sent you the payment for the errand but also a sweet pack of maple bars.

An overwhelming sweetness consumes you and you wish it never leaves.

The next day you plan to make Frankie a hot chocolate to bring him in the morning. But you realize you used the last remaining bits a few nights ago when you snuggled in for a cozy reading night. You mentally kick yourself but decide a green tea will hopefully be the best second option.

The minute Frankie’s shop opens you’re there the first one inside.

“You’re here early.” Frankie greets you with crinkled smiling eyes.

“Thought I’d stop by before I head to the mines.” You reply back brightly.

“It’s not hot cocoa, but I hope it’s a nice treat.” You offer lightly while you hand him the cozy to go drink.

“You got this for me? Thanks so much.” Your heart flutters hearing how warm his voice gets.

He takes a sip and his eye brows shoot up under the cover of his hat. Oh no. Does he not like it?

“Is this green tea?” His voice jumps so excited. “I love green tea!”

His brilliant smile creates a sun bursting light in your chest and you’re a bit grateful now you ran out of hot chocolate.

- ❆ -

Gus is a full five minutes into his handmade candy cane discussion and while you adore the endearing saloon owner, you can only take so much.

The feast of the evening star still warms and eases you though. The twinkling decorations, the absolute grand festive tree, the delicious food - it’s all a cozy blanket to soak into.

So you allow dear Gus to ramble about his candy canes while you sip on your warm drink.

“So who’s your secret gift recipient?”

Frankie’s soft but playful voice catches you off guard and you almost sputter out your drink.

You caught sight of him earlier but he was busy laughing with Pierre and Caroline. Then you got caught up in greeting everyone. Now you’re thankful to finally talk to him.

“You know that’s a secret.” You playfully glare at him.

The blacksmith simply shrugs but the amusement tugging his lips makes you smile.

A beautiful flush crawls over Frankie’s face. A kaleidoscopic joy sparkles in his deep eyes. He seems better and joy fills you.

“So does that mean you’re not gonna tell me what your winter star wish is?” He asks light.

You roll your eyes, but giddiness consumes you fast.

“You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.” You surprisingly coyly reply.

Frankie snorts and his face crinkles up adorable.

“If I told ya, you probably wouldn’t even believe me.” He says casually then takes a sip of his drink.

“Wait,” you reply back. “Now you gotta tell me.”

Frankie doesn’t reply for a moment.

In the stillness of this moment, you notice how close he is. He’s leaning right beside you that you can smell the faint smoke of his work, and a crisp cologne you’ve never noticed before.

Then, you see it. His stunning amber gemstone eyes flicker to your lips.

It’s fast, happens in a breath of a moment. Your throat dries. You blame the warm food and festive atmosphere, but you ache to lean closer.

Before you can react or even wait for Frankie’s next move, Mayor Lewis claps loudly, breaking the spell.

“Time to exchange gifts everybody!” He declares.

Your body feels electric and immediately you try settling yourself down. You needed to give your gift.

Jodi, the sweet mother she is, deserves a nice sweet treat and you surprise her with a fully cooked chocolate cake. Her warm excited reaction is a treat itself.

Evelyn, ever the kind grandmother, gives you a pack of her delicious and warm cookies. You hug her tight thanking her.

The festival concludes with a gentle end and fizzles out softly. The clean up is eased, relaxed, and by the time it’s finished an unfortunately long yawn takes over you.

“Can I walk ya home, little farmer? You seem tired.”

Frankie again, so stealthy, suddenly appears out of thin air.

You squeak out a quick yes and his face melts soft.

“So a full year down huh? Hope we haven’t scared you off too badly.” Frankie offers hopeful.

It has been a year, feels like so much yet so little has been composed into your new life here in Pelican Town. You think of the dilapidated community center you’ve been keeping an eye on and working on.

You’ve taken this new journey slowly, at your own pace. You can almost hear your grandpa’s voice cheering you on saying just take it one step at a time.

“No way.” You laugh answering Frankie’s question. If anything, you’ve grown more attached to the valley than you ever imagined. You even tell Frankie this and his face lights up so beautifully it rivals the festival tree standing in the town plaza.

“Everything work out with your ex?” You ask gently and then sputter out an apology if you’ve overstepped.

Frankie chuckles. “Nah, I’m glad we can talk about it.”

That comforts you.

“And yeah, thankfully everything worked out.” Frankie grins sleepily. “I’m still really sorry you had to hear that.”

“No worries! And like what you just said, I’m glad I can be here for you. That’s what friends are for, remember?” You reassure him.

“Yeah, friends.” The way his voice hangs on the word friends gets tangled in your chest.

A quietness clouds the walk.

“So Gus tell you about homemade candy canes?” Until Frankie’s light voice breaks the silence and you laugh.

It might have been a slow start becoming friends with Frankie. But you’re glad, grateful, to finally arrive here.

Arriving at your farm you thank Frankie again.

“If it wasn’t so late I really would invite you in for that hot chocolate I’ve been promising you.” You sigh. You even begged Gus for a new pack just to be stocked up.

“Don’t worry about it. There will be another night, promise.” His words are gilded in a promise you want to treasure.

He suddenly says your name and now under the light of your porch, Frankie seems bashful as his eyes flicker around.

“I, uh, kind of have something for you.”

That takes you by surprise.

“Couldn’t give it to you earlier cause I know Mayor Lewis would’ve had my ass.” Frankie dryly snorts and then pulls out something concealed in the classic brown paper wrapping he uses at his shop.

“Happy feast of the winter star, little farmer.” He delicately hands it to you and your eyes feel as if they’re going to pop out any moment.

You cry in protest that he didn’t need to get you anything and guilt rushes in. You didn’t get him anything.

“Eh,” he shrugs. “No pasa nada.”

You’ve only caught small bits of him speaking Spanish before and now hearing him speak so casual sounds beautiful.

Unwrapping the surprise gift, you discover he got you an iridium bar and you inhale sharply.

You haven’t even been able to forge one yet. The most precious, coveted, type of metal bar and he just casually gave one to you right now.

“Francisco Morales, this is too much!” You shriek.

He laughs buoyantly and loud at your reaction.

“Trust me, it’s not. Besides, seen how hard you work. How much you do for me and the town. You deserve it.”

You don’t want to get emotional, but the tears clogging your throat say otherwise. Those tears and the bubbling emotions, gratitude and all other shades of thankfulness, overtake you. Before you can stop yourself you rush to Frankie and collide into him.

You hug him best as you can but realize what you’ve just done. You don’t even know if he’s okay with close contact like this.

Immediately Frankie wraps you in his arms and squeezes you back. He’s all encompassing, beautifully so.

Your mind, your thoughts, everything melt as you embrace him back.

“Thank you.” You earnestly tell him.

“Anytime.” Frankie whispers back.

You would never tell Frankie this… but your winter star wish came true because you couldn’t have wished for a better way to bid such a sweet farewell to this season here in the valley.

#oh I needed this today #here’s to more Stardew sweetness and magic!! if you read thank you so much blacksmith Frankie and I are giving you a stardrop #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #blacksmith!frankie morales #frankie morales x f!reader #seasons of you fic series #Frankie 🤎#pedrostories

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ravi-is-my-beloved · 11 months ago

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Bringing back a problematic character to be Buck's first boyfriend was a bold choice and unfortunately, I don't have nearly enough faith in the writers to think they thought about how it might not be a good idea to bring back said character.

I just think they thought "Ah, introducing new people as love interests clearly isn't working. Let's reintroduce a character they know and they won't catch onto said character having been racist and misogynistic for most of his previous screen time." Because how can you take one of the beloved mains of the show, put him with someone so problematic in his previous episodes, and then think there wouldn't be backlash from it?

Especially when they didn't even give him much of a redemption arc that would've satisfied most people. Two not-apologies and just having the two characters he helped his boss ostracize being friendly with him in his third episode on the show is not the most effective way to show he's changed.

Which is why I have very little doubt about the writers ever bringing up what Tommy did to Hen and Chim in the new season. Because they're clearly just trying to brush it all under the rug because there's a substantial subset fanbase in this fandom that excused Tommy's past behavior just because he's gay.

#911 abc #9 1 1 #911 show #911 tv show #911 #9 1 1 abc #911 fandom discourse #911 discourse #anti tommy kinard #anti bucktommy #using those two tags as a precaution #this is going to be the last thing i say on this subject before moving onto better things #-beloved talks

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lostwarllock · 11 months ago

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Incoherent screeching off in the distance—

below the cut is my rambling list of comparisons between sokeefe and merthur in an attempt to explain my otherworldly love for both ships to myself

Tag list:

@thatrandomlemononyourcounter1

@aspenaspenaspenaspenaspen

@cosmxc-ars3hol3

Sokeefe and merthur

Foster and Merlin:

—very powerful, have stronger abilities than those like them

—born into a destiny/role (that places an unbelievably heavy burden on their shoulders and impacts every choice they make) that correlates with their abilities

—do not/did not know their biological father

—have at least two father figures

—almost die on a daily basis

—sometimes choose to be selfish, when it comes to the one they care about, even though it may oppose their beliefs of their role

—struggle with authority figures

—tendency to suddenly run out of the room without explaining anything to anyone

—confide in their soulmate in an attempt to convince their soulmate to confide in them

—have a mentor that doesn’t really help, just presents impossible decisions that put their lives at risk but fulfill their role

—a best friend that kissed them

—in love with a blonde (lots of banter all around, but has many serious moments and conversations)

—would literally do ANYTHING for their blonde

—black cat energy

—no matter how much planning and precautions they take, or using their abilities, someone close to them manages to get hurt or die

—adopted by someone very protective, but who eventually understands that some dangers are necessary for their destiny

—at some point temporarily lost their powers

—basically immortal since they live indefinitely

—go into dangerous situations because “they have to” and it’s up to them to solve everything

—know how to keep a secret for over a decade

—the sibling of someone they are close to is evil

—fell in horse poop

—ridden a magical flying creature

—eyes that are recognizable

—in serious need of a good night’s sleep

—came from relatively poor places and moved to basically a castle

—had to leave their previous home due to their abilities

—has caused a few explosions

—known by a special name that corresponds to their powers and destiny

—left a mother back home

—generally a tired/serious/lighthearted personality but also have the incredible ability to be the sassiest being on earth and not care what an authority figure would think

—have a group of friends who try so hard to die with them/for them

—so so loving and loyal that it hurts them

—gold in their eyes

—dress pretty plain

—were treated as different/an outcast in their original home

—has committed all the felonies

—their best friend is treated poorly because of their status

—very good at escaping/sneaking around, but NOT at lying

—are the reason that a very rare magical creature could be born

—constantly worked to the bone

—have like a brown haired person but it ended up not working out

—traumatic things have happened by bodies of water

—get endlessly bullied/teased by their blonde soulmate

—never ending worry for the safety of their soulmate

—have the uncanny ability to reassure their blonde that they aren’t a horrible person through the power of their pep talks

—take any chance to disapprove of the blonde’s parent

—forehead touch their blonde soulmate after a earth-shattering moment that has been built up to for the whole series

—drink poison/something that could kill them with their blonde in the general vicinity

—started out pretty happy and young, to a point years later where they make more depressing, dangerous choices due to their rapidly decreasing amount of hope in the world

—is incredibly devastated that their blonde has to go through an inevitable, painful experience as part of their destiny, and does everything to stop it, but fails

—they wait for them to wake up

Keefe and Arthur:

—blonde (and beautiful blue eyes)

—has worn a crown on their head and sat in a throne because of their parent

—parent raises them to play a certain role, though continually states they are not ready for it, and they must learn to make the hard decisions in order to be truly prepared

—incredibly self-sacrificing and has to play the hero because somehow they think everything is their fault and it’s their responsibility to fix it, even if it was the fault of their parent

—under the false impression that they are needed to protect their soulmate who is actually doing all the protecting

—their parent went through some sort of treatment in order to have them

—their parent has murdered a few times at least

—grew up with very little love and affection from their tyrannical/oppressive parent, but it was to “make them strong” and prepare them for their role

—their father, specifically, has a cold, stony exterior but claims he loves them in a convoluted way no one could understand

—confide in their soulmate and show their true worries and fears that they would never tell anyone else

—their natural beauty makes everyone fall in love with them

—trained in order to defeat their enemies

—their father married someone akin to a troll

—had a sibling figure who turned out evil

—very emotionally aware/deep but only reveal it at certain times, so they cover it up with a confident, teasing appearance

—also almost die on a daily basis, usually in the company of their soulmate

—believes their soulmate is incredibly brave, maybe even the bravest person they’ve ever met

—will go against their parent because they know what it right

—think their soulmate is mysterious and hiding something

—show their affection for their soulmate through touch and meaningful looks

—their soulmate is very protective of them but they don’t think it’s necessary

—thought their parent was dead, but woohoo, they came back to haunt you (one literally, the other figuratively)

—they find so much joy in making the life of their soulmate miserable

—grew up with luxurious circumstances, very rich

—pretty unaware of the details of their destiny, but couldn’t care less

—tendency to make rash, reckless decisions but sometimes their soulmate talks them out of it

—loves the idea of running away

—is sunshine incarnate with an undertone of depression

—still cares about parent even though they are a horrible person (shows their undying loyalty and innocence)

—their uncanny empathy lets them know when their soulmate hasn’t smiled in the past three days, but they couldn’t notice that someone close to them was working for the enemy for a LONG time

—been drugged by/because of parent

—always knows when something is wrong with the soulmate and tries to comfort them, even when they don’t know the whole story

—always the first to defend their soulmate from accusations or talk them out of a situation

—have a blonde mother who they never truly knew

—can sometimes be so stupid, but other times they’re the smartest person in the room

—tease their soulmate about liking other people, even when that person is definitely not anyone to worry about

—no issue challenging their father

—whenever they try to sneak away or do something on their own, their soulmate is already there

—would actually die for their soulmate infinite times over, even if it’s not explicitly stated, and always attempt to take the blow for them

—their soulmate stayed with them all the while they were going through their inevitable, painful destiny that forever changed them

—got stabbed/slashed in the gut

—been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust (over and over)

—very open-minded (relative to those around them) and most would disagree with their beliefs that you should be with the one you love and not someone based on stupid rules set by tradition and authority

—has been carried by their soulmate because they were hurt

—comment on how their soulmate is worried all the time

—the last thing they see as they succumb to their destiny is their soulmate holding them in a sense as they say “stay with me”

#sokeefe #merthur #bbc merthur #sophie and keefe #sophie foster #keefe sencen #kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #bbc merlin #merlin #arthur pendragon #once and future king #crossover #merlin au #adventures of merlin #art #sketch #drawing

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fadedsweater · 4 months ago

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lmao I think I reached the tag limit on tumblr for the first time EVER and you'll never guess that it was because I was trying to hash out my thoughts on the veil staying up in da4 😂

this is why before the game came out I had narrowed things down to two potential directions the veil plot could go #option one was the veil stays up and thus the story is about healing from grief and putting down burdens#this option assumes that the veil does need to stay up #it treats the veil narratively as a new but essential part of the world #option two is the veil comes down but through a better option #in this option the story is about trusting people and finding a new better path #it assumes the veil is an artificial construct that is hostile to nature #(this is the brief version distilled into tags but like you get the picture) #As much as I really wanted option two #I knew we'd probably get option one#because actually taking the veil down would radically change the setting in dramatic ways #In this option I also assumed that the veil would eventually come down on its own anyway #thus the necessity of a better way to take it down #my main issue with option one (veil stays up) is that it doesnt contend with the harm the veil does to spirits #or the fact that the veil is inherently an artificial construct #and after the game came out and actually gave us option one (veil stays up) #turns out it also doesn't do the best job of contending with what happens next #like okay Solas is the only person keeping the Veil up #but all the Evanuris dying off is what was making it so weak #so like what's the long term plan here like how weak is the veil when it's only sustained by one person

anyway the gist of the tags that got yeeted into the void:

In Trespasser Solas tells us that his plan would basically wipe out everyone and everything, that our world would burn in the raw chaos in order for him to save his. But in Veilguard, he tells us that he created enough precautions that only a few thousand people would die (still a lot! but worth noting that at least that many people died anyway as a result of the Blight and the Evanuris escaping).

So basically, with this canon knowledge -- who's to say there wasn't a way to take down the Veil with ZERO causalities? The move from "the world burns in the raw chaos" to "a couple thousand die" is a pretty significant difference. Maybe there could have been a way to keep refining the plan, creating more precautions. Idk. Veilguard wasn't interested in exploring that.

All this to say, Solas being the sole person keeping the Veil up seems unsustainble to me (and it is weird narratively - like the point is that he ISN'T a god?). It's also like...how weak is the Veil now with one person sustaining it? How is he supposed to sustain it FOREVER? What does that narratively say about our ideas of redemption and forgiveness? I don't really have the answers but it certainly raises those questions for me.

#veilguard spoilers #da4 spoilers #da4 #veilguard #meta #veilguard critical #datv critical #long post #like I did enjoy veilguard I do love it but #there are some issues I have with how it handles some lore #anyway I'm sorry I'm not making this rebloggable because tumblr and veil discourse scares me please don't perceive me #my headcanon is that the veil comes down anyway #how is solas supposed to keep it up forever?#the ending just bought him some more time #to hash out a better plan #a plan where he learns to TRUST people to help him #thus reinforcing that he is NOT a god #and the sole responsibility of the world CANNOT and SHOULD NOT be on his shoulders #added the actual tags so my thoughts here are more complete #sweater meta #for my future reference lmao #maybe once I hash out my complete thoughts I'll make a nicer rebloggable post about it

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whereisyourstar · 3 months ago

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Thank You

Part 7 of the Stand By, Hold Back, Be Patient series

Part 6

Rating: SFW, Mature

Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: Angst, descriptions of violence, home invasions, choking, assault, blood, murder, panic attacks, mentions of sexual assault (mentions only, not described and do not happen to the reader), wound mutilation, don't hesitate to ask to tag any others I'm blanking out on

(AN: The warnings obviously give it away, but this part is heavier than the others. I toned it down a lot, but if any of those warnings sound like something you don't want to read, please message me and I'll give you the exact places to start and stop so you can read around it.)

The meeting wraps up just after midnight. For you, anyway. Due to the global nature of the somewhat shady operation your supervisors are running—there is, you think, a less than 1% chance that they're not using the site you write for to launder money somehow—meetings tend to be scheduled at strange times for the sole employee on the American east coast. This one started around ten tonight, and you've been dreading it all week for that reason. Ten isn't too incredibly late for you, but you're still subject to that deeply human psychological quirk of never being more tired than when you can't go to bed. That factor was doubled when the meeting's subject matter had been all about scheduled maintenance times for the site, the quarterly click statistics (then broken up into monthly stats, which was torture to sit through), and some vague talk about upping the possible earnings cap sometime in Q4. You made a valiant effort to stay present throughout the meeting, but sometime around the hour mark your brain started to long for the book you put down just before hopping into the call. Third in a series of romances, which is not usually your style, but the couple in this installment has you hooked—the love interest is so cartoonishly into the main character that it should be unbearable to sit through, and his "who did this to you" trope speech was objectively corny, but it's hitting so right for you regardless. Being on camera meant that you couldn't reach for the book and sneak in another chapter or two while the meeting was ongoing, but mulling over the unresolved romance between those two characters was the only thing keeping you awake as it wore on.

At least until Abby saw fit to hop into your lap and curl up there, at which point you were able to focus in while stroking your hand through her fur. If your supervisor minded, she never said anything. You did have to mute yourself when she started snoring, though. Encouraged by her noise, Heracles had started dream-yipping at your feet, and it was hard to fight your smile while they slept all over a long-winded response to a coworker's question. Another excellent reminder of just how much more bearable they make your life.

When the meeting is over and the little light by your webcam finally blinks off, you make short work of depositing Abby back to the floor and stretching a place in your upper back that's been bugging you for an hour now. The sticky note you keep over your webcam's lens is replaced—a precaution, just in case—and you find yourself with a weird amount of energy. Your body usually forces you to conk out around eleven most nights, but since you've pushed past that for the meeting, you've got something of a second wind. As you pull an arm across your chest to better get at that stiff upper back, you notice the book on the coffee table, and the opportunity presents itself so naturally. Wash your face, get into something comfortable, climb into bed, and spend however long this energy lasts knocking out the last few chapters in your book. Your sheets are newly washed and fitted on your bed already, a kindness you appreciate your earlier self for doing so much, and you know your favorite soft t-shirt is ready to be worn. Some, like your mother, could argue that your whole life out here is indulgent, but this—just the idea of curling up all cozy in bed with the book you like—sounds absolutely divine. The only thing it's missing is a cup of tea, maybe, but getting the kettle boiling is a lot more effort than you want to put in right now.

"Ready for bed?" you say to the dogs, crossing over to the table and retrieving the book. Two pairs of eyes stare back at you from the ground, tails curiously wagging. You cross your arms and smile down at them. "You're not getting second dinner, so don't even think about it."

They are thinking about it, you can tell, but for once there's something even more pressing on their minds. It's Heracles who stands and trots himself right over to the front door, looking back at you expectantly. For added effect, he pushes his paw against the wood and whines, his tail swinging back and forth like a metronome.

Ah. A small bump in the plan, but it's a necessary detour. With a nod to yourself, you toss the book back on the table and search around for your jacket—it's summer, but the nights can still get pretty cold out here. By the time you've gotten your jacket and shoes on, Abby's already joined her brother by the door, and she keeps glancing at the harnesses hanging up nearby. "We're not going far," you tell her, making your way to the small cabinet table by the door. Its cubby only holds one thing, and you take the hunting knife in its sheath and shove the entire thing into your jacket pocket. It's too late to bother with strapping it on, and besides, this will be quick. "It'll only be to pee, then it's back inside. Please don't make me run after you." You consider a threat, something like because you will not like what happens when I catch you, but you don't have that in you and you know they know it. These two have you so wrapped around their paws that it would make the dog trainer influencers that pop up on your social media feeds irate for days. But you wouldn't have it any other way, personally.

The night air is crisp and cool, a welcome reprieve after the heat of the day. It's been a slow, hazy march into June, but with the month half-over by now, you've come to appreciate the disparity between the sun being up and the sun being down. You spent more time indoors when you lived in New York, which means you never really noticed the seasons if it weren't obviously snowing, so this all feels new. Your body is still expecting hot, humid days and muggy, mosquito-filled nights—finding yourself shivering in the middle of June is kind of a fun novelty.

You plant yourself next to the treeline right in front of the house and take turns between watching Heracles and Abby sniffing around and observing the sky. It's clear tonight, and there's just enough of a moon to illuminate this front area in silvery light. Plenty of stars, though, all glittering down from their homes in the void. It reminds you to look up when Argo Navis is visible around here, if ever—Jason showed some interest in seeing it, though you're not sure you could ever confidently pick out the lines meant to connect the constellations. All the stars just look like stars to you.

At the thought of Jason, your chest constricts a little bit. You saw him just two days ago, and he stayed around for hours walking with you and the dogs in the forest, but you still…miss him. He's been active lately, spending plenty of precious time with you, and you try very hard not to think about what that means. Ever since that day at the lake, you don't look too closely at his clothes anymore. There's a reason you've been avoiding the news around Pinehurst County for weeks now. It's just—

The dogs notice it first. There's a low, rumbling growl that snaps your head back down from the sky, and your gaze slots naturally to where both Abby and Heracles are staring. Your first thought is a predator, a bear, or maybe mountain lion, but then the growl comes again and it's Abby. Her teeth are very white in the moonlight, head low, hackles raised, and that first flash of fear jolts down your spine. She's never looked like this before, not even when she was hurt and scared.

So fast you can barely track it, a figure bursts from the shadows that devour the side of your house. Upright, two legs, and running so hard that you can see the fog of their breath. That's a human, that's a person, and—at first you think they're going for the truck, but the two of you see the sliver of light coming from your not-quite-closed front door at the same time, and they angle hard to get there.

You don't think. Your legs are moving before you even know you're giving chase, and you barely hear the dogs following behind, or the way your voice cracks when you order this person to stop. All there is in the world is the image of this stranger running up to your front door, throwing it open wide, and stepping in. The flare of your indignation gives you the final push needed to run inside after them as they begin to shove the door back into place. How fucking dare someone just come in here—

But then it's just you, this person, and the sound of your locks being slammed into place. The dogs howl from outside, frantic and angry and confused, but you cannot think about them now.

The person presses their entire weight against the door and, between their panting, sighs in relief. In the low light of the room, you can plainly see all the details you need. This man isn't much taller than yourself, and his body is lean almost in spite of his obvious middle age. You can't tell what color his hair is, only that it's drenched in sweat—he's been running for a while.

And you have, with terrible efficiency, trapped yourself in with him.

Much steadier than you feel—fear and anger are taking rapid turns riding your limbic system—you say, "This is my home. You need to leave." You drop a hand into your pocket and squeeze the sheath of the hunting knife tightly, like one would a stress ball.

The man, still panting, cracks an eye open to look at you. Apparently he doesn't consider you much of a threat, because his lid slides back shut and he heaves a ginormous sigh. "Look, lady—"

You slam the heel of your palm into the wood just centimeters from his nose and the way he jerks back is satisfying. "You look. I'm not fucking asking! Get the fuck out of my house!" The yell is shrill, it lets on just how afraid you are, but you're already throwing back the first lock. You're going to wrench this fucking door open and shove him out.

An arm, sticky with sweat, hooks around your neck and drags you away. Your legs give out with the shock of it, hands flying up to pry at the arm suddenly and effectively cutting off your air, and the animal of your brain screams. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—

He's talking as he pulls you further into the room. There's so much blood rushing in your ears that you can barely hear him, much less process what he's saying, but you get the important parts. Friends and dead and wants me and I'm staying right fucking here.

You recognize, faintly, that you only vaguely assumed he ran into your house to steal from it. You knew exactly what he was running from. You know who killed this man's friends.

And some part of you, yelling over the panic, says good.

It's probably an accident, because you imagine this man has priorities other than sexually assaulting you while his friends die somewhere out in the forest, but his mouth brushes the sensitive ridge of your ear while he talks. He keeps talking, low and insistent, and your brain abruptly shuts up.

The hand still in your pocket rips out the knife, shakes off the sheath, and plunges the naked blade into whatever is softest behind you.

First, the arm holding you is abruptly gone, and you crumple into a gasping heap onto the floor. Second, the man howls, and there is a disgusting squelching noise between all the din. Third, you scramble to half-face him while your legs recover, and you watch as he tugs the knife fully out of his side. Blood, red and very, very fresh, blooms through the off-white of his shirt just above the hip. It drops to the floor and splatters where it lands.

The man presses a shaking hand to the wound in his side and moans like an animal. His entire body is shuddering, and you think you must have hit something important. He doesn't give you the time needed to wonder if you've just killed him, because when he looks up, zeroes in on you still on the floor, there is nothing but rage there.

"You BITCH!" he bellows, and he advances on you like a rolling thunder. You're already mostly to your feet and you sprint for the door. He never turned back that first lock, if you can just get the others—

He grabs you by the hair this time. Fingers pull painfully at the roots, but it's the fear, not the pain, that makes you cry out as you are thrown to the floor. You're being dragged back again, pulled by the hair like something hunted, and it's all you can do to clench your own fingers down next to his to alleviate some of the pain. The knife is somewhere nearby, it has to be, and you drop a hand to the ground to search for it. The word please repeats through your head like a siren—please let me survive this, please don't let him kill me, he can't hurt the dogs, please, please, please. Your fingers touch the familiar plastic of the knife's grip and you grab for it blindly, your eyes too blurry with tears from the pain to be of any use.

"No you don't—" is all the warning you get before the man slams his shoe down on your hand. Some delicate bone in the wrist dislocates itself and there is nothing but a blazing pain in its wake. Your scream is punctuated by the sound of him picking up the knife, his grunt rightfully strained. Then it's silenced by the feeling of cold steel against your throat.

Through the pain and the tears, you force yourself to look up at this stranger and see the fear in yourself echoed back in him. He's fucking terrified as he holds you to the ground and puts your own weapon, wet with his blood, to your jugular. His other hand is still in your hair, but he's crouched over you now, and his entire body still shakes.

"Don't make me kill you." It sounds like a plea. His eyes are so wide, you can see each individual red vein in the sclera. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. It wasn't—it wasn't supposed to be real. You're all fucking crazy."

You finally find your voice. "Let me go," you rasp, swallowing. "St—stay here, call the police, I don't c—care. Or take—my keys, I have a car. Please." And here the tears start flowing in earnest. You've begged like this before. It didn't make a difference then.

At the mention of keys, you see a plan form in the man's mind, in the way his brows lift. Maybe it's the original plan, the one he had before he saw your front door was slightly open. Get to the truck and drive it to safety. It's a good plan—it worked for you, after all. Maybe you should tell him that.

He's panting again, but you don't think he ever truly caught his breath. "How do I know you wouldn't report me?" He asks it quietly at first, more to himself than anything. But the words have an effect on him, and in an instant, he's furious again. "How do I know, huh? Huh?" Each question is punctuated by his hand clenching in your hair, jostling you painfully. "I know what this fucking looks like, I mean—even if I survive, even if he doesn't kill you, there's evidence all over this place. You'd turn me in in a second."

You try to shake your head and earn another press of the knife's edge against your throat. Much more of that and he'll actually draw blood. "I wouldn't! I won't! I won't say anything, please, please, please, don't do this, please, I—" You're cut off by the back of your head connecting hard with the floor, slammed back by the man. Stars burst into your vision and you groan. It's the last sound you get to make.

The man has both his hands around your throat and he is intent on squeezing the life out of you. He's discarded the knife in favor of doing this more directly, it seems, and all your body can do is convulse. Your hands grab at him, try to push him away, but he has too much leverage. Even when you scrape your nails into his cheek deep enough to make him bleed, all he says is, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it has to be like this, don't fight it. I'll wait until you're gone to use the knife, they'll think he did it, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

You're fading fast, but the apologies make you furious enough to dig your nails into him again, and this time one hooks into the bottom rim of his right eye. He doesn't get to kill you and say sorry for it, like you're something pitiable and small. He's going to have to fight you the entire way down. You pull.

It all happens at once. One of the hands round your throat disengages as the man covers his now-bleeding eye, and the other is so weak that you're able to gasp for breath. Air floods into your lungs and you're dizzy, panting, but alive. The man is curled half on top of you, as distracted as someone with a ripped lower eyelid can be. He's still pinning you, though, and you're screaming wordlessly at him as you try to push him off. Your wrist is a dull roar of pain, but it's unimportant right now. You need to get away, grab your keys, get the dogs, and go. Jesus, you can't hear the dogs anymore, are they okay? There's so much in the forest that can hurt them, and Heracles is clumsy on foot, and Abby was mauled by coyotes, and oh god, you just left them to fend for themselves.

Then your front door explodes.

There's no other word for it. One second it's tall and solid as it's ever been, still mostly locked. The next it's hanging off its top hinge, thrown open wide by the force of the loudest impact you've ever heard. Cool night air floods in, and you should see stars, but they're blocked by the figure already bending to fit through the doorway.

Relief hits you like a downpour. "Jason."

It's him. He heard you, or he felt you, or he felt this stranger in his territory and followed him here, and you don't care because he's here now. He's here, and his mask is filthy with blood, and his sleeves are drenched in it up to the elbow, and the machete gripped in his hand is dripping on your floor, and you have never been so happy to see someone in your entire life.

The man reacts like you stabbed him again, making those wounded animal noises, and he starts to crawl off of you. You hear him chanting "oh shit oh shit oh shit" like it's a prayer that can protect him. He still has one hand over his eye, and the other discards the knife nearby entirely in favor of pounding into the floor, dragging him inch-by-tortured-inch away.

Perhaps he thinks Jason is going to kill you first.

It doesn't matter. Jason crosses the floor in three steps, the force of them enough to make your teeth vibrate, and seizes the man by the back of the head in one massive palm. He raises the man up to waist-level, just holds his body up like it's nothing, then slams him face first into the floor. Then again. And again. And again, until the man stops screaming and there's only the squelch of meat and blood and sinew.

When the man is released, he does not move. Not so much as a twitch.

From where you sit, not even three feet away, you watch as more blood than you've seen in your entire life pools from under his head. You're grateful you can't see whatever is left of his face.

Then you can't see anything, because your vision is full of Jason. He drops to his knees on the floor beside you, his machete makes a jarring clang from where he drops it, and you think he's trying to sign. His hands, brutal and terribly strong, flutter uselessly in the space between you two, and his shoulders hunch forward hard enough to look painful.

"I'm okay," you tell him, a hand flying to your throat when it hurts to speak. "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm—is he? Is..?" And you gesture uselessly to the body that Jason blocks from view. He shakes his head no, hands still apparently uncooperative, but that's all you need. You nod slowly, not sure how you feel about that. You can't really feel anything right now. Maybe you've hit the threshold for emotion and it's just nothing after that. "Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, I—okay. Um. Fuck. I'm trying—really, really hard not to freak out, um. Okay. Th—the dogs? Where are the dogs, I need…I need to find them."

Safe, Jason signs. You make a move to stand and he holds up a hand to stay you, shaking his head. They're outside. Abby is protecting. That hits you strangely at first, but then you think of that sound Abby made, the way she unnerved even you. She won't let anything hurt your boy, you're sure.

What hurts? Jason isn't touching you, which you appreciate. Your body feels like one live nerve right now, frayed and dangerously oversensitive. You'd probably start fighting him, too, if he touched you now. Even still, the weight of his eyes on you, hidden with his back to the only switched on lamp in the room, is almost too much. You have to look away to answer.

"My wrist," you say, flexing it and earning a trillion pinpricks of pain in your arm. Breathe, breathe, breathe, you remind yourself. "I can't tell if it's broken or just…sprained? But it—yeah. Um, my throat. Hurts to talk, but my brain's kind of stalled out and I don't think I can sign, uh. Right. Am I bleeding?" You turn your head to the side and gently prod the back of your skull. It's tender, and you suck in air through your teeth to even graze it, but your fingers come away clean. By some miracle, nothing has actually broken skin. With a myriad of bruises and a maybe-broken wrist, you're coming out of this encounter a sight better than the man that invaded your home. For some reason, that's what makes the dam break, and the tears start to fall.

They don't last long. You're emotionally tapped out, and it's awkward crying while there's a dying man in the room. Because he is dying, there's no doubt about that. You don't think anyone can survive what Jason just did to him.

You're sniffling, but more or less back in control of yourself when your voice returns. "Can you…can you get him out of here?" Another useless gesture—Jason is a very effective wall. His breathing has only gotten more and more intense since you told him your injuries, but it hits a peak when you mention the man. You don't have the energy to examine that reaction. "He can't die in my house, I…this is where I live." Which feels, in the moment, an important thing to emphasize.

Yes. I will take care of it. His hands hover next to your shoulders for a moment, and you despair that he's doing to touch you. Your brain is finally catching on to how close he is to you, and it's starting to send panic signals down to your overworked body. The last thing either of you needs is a panic attack because he's boxing you in. Maybe that shows on your face, because Jason instead returns his hands to where you can see them, and signs, I should not leave you alone.

But leaving you is exactly what he should do right now, because the panic is only continuing to rise at the thought of him staying. You need everyone out of your house right fucking now. There's desperation in your voice when you say, "I'll be fine. I'll have Abby and Heracles with me, we won't be alone. Just…I'm sorry, but please, please get him out of here." You can taste the iron in the air and it sits unpleasantly on your tongue.

He doesn't argue. You think, detachedly, that if you weren't already half enamored with this man, this would do it. No insistence, no attempts to sway or soothe you with words. It's just onto the next thing that needs to be done. Jason takes the man by the back of the head and hefts him easily over his shoulder, angling himself so that you can't see the worst of the carnage. At the threshold of your ruined doorway, he looks over his unburdened shoulder and lifts a finger. The message is clear: one hour. You nod your understanding and, before he can turn back, whisper a quiet thank you to him.

The dogs come barreling in moments after he leaves. white all around the eyes and, in Heracles' case, trembling. You gather them both up to you after checking for injuries, ignoring your aching wrist, and squeeze them tightly. Now you really cry. Great, shaking sobs that make every bruise and sore muscle twinge, but the crying helps calm you. The panic recedes now that it's just you and the dogs, and when Abby starts to lick the tears from your cheek, the need to cry peters out as well.

You sit there, too close to a cooling pool of blood, and stare out into the night. The door swings a bit on its hinge, and now that you can really look at it, that gorgeous solid wood is splintered around the edges. Jason practically tore the thing down to get in here.

A shiver that has nothing to do with the chill outside runs down your back. There was never anything actually stopping him from entering your home. Your sturdy door with its nice, expensive locks that you took so much comfort in, that you trusted to keep you safe, now hangs uselessly between you and the rest of the world. He didn't even have to hit it more than once for it to give in.

He has been letting you live for far longer than you realized.

The option to spiral over this is easily available, as is the option to spiral over the last hour of your life. Neither is particularly appealing. Those are options only for when your emotions even out and there's not an entire gallon of adrenaline trying to work its way through your system. The third option of just getting on with it will have to do.

First, you shoulder your heavy door more or less back into place. Not that it really matters anymore, but it doesn't feel right to just leave it, and the third option is all about restoring a semblance of normalcy. Then, with the harsh, pale light of the bathroom's overhead on you, you strip naked and assess your wounds in the mirror. Your throat already looks bad, and it'll certainly get worse before it starts to heal. You can't look at that one too long before you want to cry again, so you focus on everything else. A roll of elastic bandage wrap goes around your wrist, which seems to help a bit—you hope that means it's not broken. There's nothing you can do about the back of your head right now. The idea of a shower stream hitting it makes your stomach roll.

Under your nails, you find skin from a dead man's cheek. Blood, too. You wash it away dispassionately.

When you exit the bathroom, you head straight for the drawers in your room and pull out the t-shirt you were so looking forward to wearing not even an hour earlier. You slip into it and pretend the worn cotton is comforting. Next is the baggiest pair of sweats you have—you don't want anything constricting you right now, save for the socks you make a grudging concession to. It's noticeably cool inside the house now, and there's still a lot to be done before Jason comes back. You don't want cold toes slowing you down.

Finally, you put your place back together. There's very little to do, considering most of the struggle took place only a dozen feet away from the door. This entire front area is open concept, so the entryway leads naturally into the living room and kitchen, but even still, all that's really out of place is the table by the door. After that, there's only the blood to clean up, and keeping the dogs away from it proves to be the bigger challenge. All it takes is one curious sniff from Heracles for you to briefly quarantine him and Abby to the bedroom so you can bleach the hell out of your floor. You go through an entire roll of paper towel mopping up the pool and the nearby splatters, and you're not entirely sure what to do with it all. You decide to throw the soaked sheets into a cupboard that houses all your cleaning supplies for now—no way are you throwing it out with your normal trash without rousing a lot of unneeded and extremely unwanted suspicion.

It's helpful, watching the blood disappear under your dedicated hand. In the low light, you can almost pretend it was never there at all.

The dogs come out of quarantine after you've scrubbed your hands raw in the kitchen sink, and you spend a lot of time just petting them and telling them how good they are. Tonight can't have been easy on them, either, though you're glad you got the worst of it in that respect. You'd be inconsolable if anything happened to them. Knowing that they're safe and unharmed is one of the only things keeping you from having that panic attack right now.

They act as comforting heaters when you gingerly open your ruined door once more and sit in the threshold. With one on either side, you settle a hand on their respective backs and stare, unflinchingly, into the night.

He failed you.

There is plenty he could be thinking about right now. The six dead ones miles and miles from here. The wound in his thigh where one of the ligaments still does not sit right after being slashed with a knife. The wretched weight upon his shoulder. But what he comes back to, over and over and over as he walks, is that he failed you.

He sensed the intruder. He knew it was too close to your home, bordering on that gentle, familiar presence that is uniquely yours. He could never have guessed it would find its way inside.

It hurt you. This thing—he refuses to think of it as a man—laid its hands on you.

He should have been there. The second he felt that one peel off from the pack, he should have chased after it and pierced its brain with the machete. Straight through, until the skull cracked and the earth swallowed up several inches of the blade. He should have.

Even now, with it gurgling and twitching over his shoulder, Jason thinks that's not enough. He wants to use his teeth to rip this things throat out. He would taste its blood and know that it failed to take you away from him.

Almost, though. One of the blood vessels in your eye was broken. That bruise around your throat. The way you shuddered, teeth bared in a grimace when you touched the back of your head. How close had you come to dying tonight? Too close. That is the only answer. Too close.

Guilt and anger. They have been with him since the beginning, and tonight they burn him more deeply than in years. Past the veins, right into the marrow. All of this thing's friends lay dead for the animals and the police to find. It will soon join them. The knowledge of the thing's imminent death does nothing to quell the inferno.

He failed you. The only thing Jason has to offer you is his protection, and he could not give it when it mattered most. He reaches out with his sense and finds you easily. You are where he left you, only fainter for the distance. The sound of your screaming still echoes in his ears, washing over his silent heart like wave after terrible wave, but the feeling of your presence is a comfort. It always is.

This is far enough. It's closer to your cabin than he likes, but he is anxious to return to you, and that can only happen when this is done. He will guide you away from this area for the next few months. The land will have drunk up all the blood by autumn.

The thing gurgles uselessly when Jason presses it back against a tree. He peers at it, attention sliding off the glistening ruin of its face in favor of the lesser bloom of blood on its side. He rips away the fabric covering the wound and ignores the thing's strangled yelp. A not-yet coagulated gash stares back at him, oozing fluid that the body really should be trying to preserve by now. Behind the mask, Jason's breathing is fierce. You fought. Your talons found their mark, and they went deep. His observant, dangerous hawk—he is proud of you.

He pushes his finger into the wound, curious, and the thing actually manages a scream. A slam backward against the tree silences it, and he refocuses. The edges of the wound are clean, save for a ragged section of skin near the top—your knife is serrated close to the hilt. Did you get it in all the way? Did this thing bleat in pain when you hurt it? He sinks his finger in deeper, probing for the end of the entryway sliced into its viscera. When he finds it, knuckle-deep in the wound, Jason's breathing stops entirely. He wants to drop this creature and find you, to tell you how good you did, but there is still work to be done. This thing is in pain now, but it isn't one tenth, one millionth of the pain it deserves for hurting you.

Another finger pushes into the wound and he does not silence the screams now. Instead he watches the thing's face, the burst eye and smattering of teeth and muscle and vibrant blood, and he readjusts his hold on it. He takes it by the throat now and is vaguely surprised to see its legs still kicking, connecting with nothing but the tree behind it. So much fight in this one—too much.

He isn't the type to draw it out like this, typically. His kills are efficient, singular in nature, just thinning out the herd of trespassers until the number is small enough to manage openly. There are some he has enjoyed killing more than others, of course, but this is different. The pain in him is so, so similar to the one that had him put a spike through the temple of his mother's killer. Too quickly that time, she should have suffered more—

A third finger in the wound, stretching and breaking the skin as he worms another digit into the hot, wet cavity your knife started for him. The thing's breath has long since run out, but Jason wants its last moments to be agony. He hooks his fingers, claws deep into tissue and pulls, and is pleased by the low, airless wail he receives. When its heart gives its final, tremulous beat, he drops it to the forest floor in a heap. Something snaps, and it may be a limb, trapped under its own weight. He is past caring.

Instead, he stares at the blood on his fingers, shiny and black in the moonlight. This is how he begins to avenge someone he loves while they yet live. He knows that now.

Your presence is a soft touch upon his mind, drawing his gaze through miles of forest where he knows your home sits. Has it been long enough now? One hour was all he could give you, all his shaking rage and guilt could manage. Yes, he decides, and starts off toward you. He needs to see you again, needs to see your injuries and know that you survived them. It will calm him, somewhat, to feel your pulse beneath his bare fingers.

(Even in the depths of his shame, Jason cannot help but remember the heat of your skin against his, how you stood there blazing just under the flesh like a star condensed to one body while his will broke almost entirely. He had wanted to press the flat of his palm against your cheek, to better understand the impossible softness of you. And if he had done that, if you had let him—you did let him, you stood so still and so quiet, watching him with those eyes he wants on him always—then the rest of his resolve would have died and he would do something regrettable. Something like press his bare face into your hair and breathe you in, just to envelop himself in the scent he's been chasing for months. And you would scream, and scream, and scream to see his face but he would not be able to stop.)

Jason breaks into a run, uncaring of the ligament that still slips poorly around in his thigh. It should have healed properly by now, and he knows why it has not. It doesn't matter. Nothing else matters more than getting to your side and staying there. Where he should have been all along.

He only hopes you will let him.

You have counted four hundred and eighty-two breaths since sitting. The counting is good. It keeps you from slipping into that just-under-the-surface panic. You started gasping for air at some point, feeling it rush over your senses like being caught in high tide, but the sound disturbed Heracles, and his dissatisfied grumble brought you back to yourself. That's when the counting started, and you haven't stopped yet.

It's four hundred and eighty-eight when Jason makes his entrance. Your spine straightens minutely when you spot his shape in the woods, walking toward you with such slowness that it can only be for your benefit. Maybe he senses how fragile you are right now with some land-given power he hasn't shared yet. Maybe the look on your face is putting the word danger in his mind for once. Or maybe he just understands that you've been through something horrible, and coming at you with any amount of speed is a bad idea. As he takes his careful steps, stride cut neatly in half with the effort, you find you don't actually care. All that matters is that he's here like he said he would be.

Unfortunately for him, you've had four hundred and ninety-four breaths to think.

The dogs are staring at him at your side, and you feel Abby's tail hitting your hip, but neither make a move to go to him. They're such good dogs. Somewhere in the emotional nothing space you're occupying, you spare a warm thought for them. It doesn't reflect in the flat, even surface of your voice when you say, "This has happened before."

Jason stops when he hears you. It's like he hits a wall, a dozen or so feet from where you sit, and it keeps him there. No seeing his eyes in this darkness despite the moon you admired only two hours ago, and it's better that way. Even knowing that they are focused solely on you is like a physical weight, pressing you into the ground, hands around your throat, squeezing, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—no.

You take your hand off of Abby's back to gesture at the wreck of your door, into the dimly lit confines of your house. "Something like it, back in New York. About a year ago, now. It's why I left."

Abby presses more solidly into your side, so you put your hand back into its spot along her spine, and the warmth is nice. It's close to chilly out here now that the sun has been gone for hours. You don't really feel it, which some ultra-rational part of you recognizes as a problem, but you ignore it for the time being. It's much easier to focus on Jason's hands, stripped of their gloves—when did he takes those off?—and the way he signs, What happened?

"Which time?" you answer immediately, and you pause. A mirthless laugh bursts out of you and Heracles flinches at your side. Up until this point, he'd been dozing. "Christ, listen to me. Which time. An offense in the fucking plural, now." But you know what Jason's asking. No sense in torturing him, not when his shoulders are hunching inward. "I was subleasing a bedroom in a shitty apartment. Two beds, one bath, and the rent was awful, but it was the only place I could afford while still in the city. My roommate, the girl I was leasing from, wasn't actually home that often while I lived there. She had a roster of partners, but one was kind of rich, so she spent a lot of time at their place." It's a lot of concepts at once for Jason, whose knowledge of society at large outside of Crystal Lake you're still trying to gauge, but you're in no mood to explain ethical non monogamy to him right now. He's smart, you figure he'll get it through context or ignore it entirely. Either way.

"All of this is to say that she would rent out her room when she wasn't planning on using it for a while. Short-term, not like my situation, it was…temporary. Couch surfing with slightly more regulations." Again, you're working around saying the word Airbnb. "She wasn't great about changing the code on the lock after people had stayed, though. Sometimes people would just walk into the apartment and it wasn't clear if they were supposed to be there, but—whatever, you know. My bedroom door had a lock, and at that point I didn't actually leave my room that much, so it didn't really effect me."

You have to stop for a moment to fight down the panic. The breathing count is abandoned, no hope in keeping it up while you talk. This is the first time you've said any of this out loud and it's hitting you harder than you expected.

Jason is moving again, coming to stand in front of you. Heracles sniffs curiously at him when he drops to his knees in the gravel, tenser than you've ever seen him. He sees where this is going, no doubt.

Another breath, and you're mostly back to yourself. "It was three people. I was there alone, as usual, and they came in right as I was about to leave. I had an interview, my first in months—my hair was still wet from the shower. But they came in, and they weren't expecting me to be there, I think. I didn't recognize them, at least. I tried to leave, but one of them blocked me, and I was already nervous so I…yelped? When he got in front of me? And he—he smiled, and he told the other two to get started."

It's vivid in your mind's eye. The mundane yellow of his teeth, his height barely anything against yours, but built like he'd been lifting since he was old enough to stand. Thick cords of muscle in his arms, and a tattoo of a funeral lily near the wrist. A knockoff calculator watch that seemed so juvenile compared to the rest of him, just a few years older than yourself. The way you bit your tongue halfway through telling him to take whatever he wants, just let you go first, because he lifted his hand and you flinched away from it.

"It was fast. I mean, one second I was standing, and the next I was on the floor, blood all in my mouth. The others didn't care, didn't even look, so they must have been used to it. I…" You're shivering while you catch your breath, and it's as much from the cold as it is saying any of this out loud. "All I could do was just take it. I still don't know if there was a…a sexual element to it. Maybe that would have come after I was dead? But I do know he hit me like he fucking hated me. So. Yeah."

Jason spells out your name, as gentle in the movements as he's ever been, but you can see the stiffness in him. There's a vein in his neck, just visible in the moonlight, that jumps out in a way that you think means he's gritting his teeth. Part of you is gratified to see him upset over this, because you're pretty fucking upset about it, too. Still, you skip over the mess of your roommate coming home and the scuffle between her partner and the man with your blood all over his knuckles. How you blinked back into consciousness to find your roommate crouched next to you, phone to her ear and hissing, "She's hurt really badly." You don't feel particularly up to the task of detailing how many of your teeth had to be professionally tightened after it was all said and done, or how nothing ever came from the report you filed with the police.

There's a knot in your throat when you try talking again, choking you up. "That's why I left. I never felt safe there again. Getting Heracles helped, but I was so scared all the time, just constantly sitting alone in that room and wondering if he would come back, if he wanted to finish what he started. So I came here, and I made this place safe for me, but now—" another humorless laugh, and you feel tears leaking down your cheeks, "Apparently I have victim written all over me in bold and everyone else can see it no matter how far from society I get. I don't know what to do about that, I don't—what else can I do? Where else can I go? I'm so tired of being scared, Jason, I'm so fucking tired." And of course you include him in that. It wasn't long ago at all that you spent your days certain he would kill you as soon as you stepped outside, and that old fear clashes strangely with the door hanging off its hinge at your back. You want to scream at him to explain, finally, why he let you live. The answer, whatever it is, can't make this night any worse.

An argument is forming in the back of your mind while you watch Jason attempt to apologize. His hands are shaking as badly as they were when he knelt before you earlier, and he's exhaling hard through his nose every time they twitch too much. You think it's supposed to be an apology—not much of it is making sense.

As collected tears slide down the bruised surface of your throat, you tell yourself that the man who tried to kill you tonight would never have been anywhere near you if it weren't for Jason. How many others are out there right now, broken and discarded like you almost were? The thought of all that blood, always more blood, makes your stomach turn. And here is their murderer, knelt on the ground before you and all but begging for your forgiveness. Because he didn't kill one quickly enough.

It makes you sick. It makes you feel powerful.

"You don't have to apologize," some tired part of you says while the rest ruminates on the mess that has been made of your life. What were you thinking, getting wrapped up in this? Because you were lonely? Someone is dead because of you. Because of him. "I don't expect anything from you."

Jason's next breath sounds strained and he edges closer, knees leaving tracks in the gravel, until he's almost flush against your crossed legs. The light coming from inside your house is just enough to catch the glint of his eyes inside the mask, but you don't need it to know he's staring at you with an unfathomable intensity. Expect it, he tells you. His hands are in his command again, utterly calm. You still have trouble reading them, but only because you can't quite tear yourself away from the impression of his eyes. You are safe with me. I should have been here.

That does it. Everything comes crashing down over your head—the night, the past, the unfairness of it—and you start to sob in earnest. "Then why weren't you?"

I was tied up, he tells you, and before you can wrap your head around Jason using an idiom, he pulls up his dark sleeves and shows you the clear ligature marks still denting the skin.

He means it literally. For the first time, you have to look at the wreck of his shirt and ask yourself just how much of that blood is his? You assumed it all belonged to everyone else who has died tonight, but if someone was able to get him down long enough to tie him up, then he could have been seriously hurt. Not enough to last, obviously, but enough to rouse concern. You're hit with the impulse to ask, to check that he's okay, but all that comes out of your mouth is a garbled oh that's half-drowned by your own tears.

Jason takes your face between his cool palms. The skin is calloused and dry where it touches yours, and they lack the warmth anyone else's hands might have, but they are steady, and they are gentle, and you need them right now. You need him right now—everything else falls away, just for a second, because there is no one else you want nearby while you cry but him. His long thumbs swipe lightly across your undereyes to brush away the tears that just keep falling while the rest of his fingers rest along the natural space for them along your jaw. The pads of his middle fingers press in, briefly, on both sides, and a semi-lucid part of your brain wonders if he's checking your pulse. It jumps up to meet his touch, kickstarting your heart into a frenzied tempo that crosses the line into frantic. If he has a heartbeat, you can't feel it through the thundering of your own.

You come to pieces right then and there. Abby whines at your side while you shiver and rock with the force of your sobs, but neither of you can offer her any comfort. All you manage to do is reach up and hold Jason's wrists, keeping him right where he is. The indents left by the ropes make your brain stutter and you start rubbing at them without consciously deciding to. He doesn't seem to have much heat, or a pulse, but you know he has blood in those veins, and it's such a natural thing to try and encourage them to flow again. You feel him shudder, a full-body thing that moves you with it, and you're trying to form a sorry through the mess of your weeping, but he mimics the action before you can. In that space under the curve of your jaw, his calloused fingers rub small, soothing circles just over your pulse point.

He lets you cry much, much longer than you could have expected. Not once does he try to pull away, nor does he stop the soft circles that have steadily calmed your racing heart, and that is exactly what you need. He stays there, knelt in the dirt and gravel, and keeps you safe while you cry out every emotion you've ever felt. You think, when your eyes have gone raw and the skin around them starts to burn, that if anyone were to come here now, to see this, they would never believe it. Jason Voorhees, an emotional rock that you've readily tied yourself to. Of course, they wouldn't live long enough for what they've witnessed to matter—you've known almost from the start that you get to see a side of Jason that few, if any, others do.

When the last of the tears fall, you don't so much as relax as you do crumple. All the fight leaves your body and is replaced with an all-consuming, numbing exhaustion. There is nothing left in you but the shreds of consciousness keeping you awake, and you think you could sleep for a thousand years and still wake up tired. But you do, eventually, slide your hands up to cover the back of Jason's and carefully pull them away. You hold his big hands between yours, whatever warmth left in you given over to him, and brush your thumb over a raised scar that spans two of his knuckles. He stops breathing. You only notice because you've been timing your breaths to his, once you both settled down enough for that to work, and you finally look up at him.

The mask is such a hindrance. In that moment, you want to take the edge of it and tip it upwards, to see what expression he's making under there, because you have never seen his eyes so soft. Just the impression of them in the light is enough to make your very, very tired heart thump.

"Thank you," you whisper. "For tonight." Which you mostly mean for letting you cry when you needed to, but also for the fact that you're sure he saved your life.

His hands are warm when you release them, your heat having permeated down enough to make him feel life-like, and he flexes them in mid-air a few times. He only takes his eyes off of you long enough to stare down at them, turning this way and that on the wrist like they've inexplicably changed. It would make you smile if you weren't so tired.

Then, with his gaze returned, he nods. It's all that needs to be said for tonight.

Jason glides his fingers through Abby's fur while you finish drying your face, and the way his eyes widen with clear delight encourages your heart to thump pleasantly again. He's never pet her with his bare hands where you could see—it's all too possible you're witnessing him truly petting his own dog for the first time. It's the most natural thing in the world to then take hold of his free hand and guide it to the top of Heracles' head, the fur there extra soft from a thousand kisses. His breathing goes funny behind the mask and this time you do find it in you to smile. It falters after a second, but it's there, and that helps.

You stand with all the grace your stiff limbs can muster, which isn't much. The groan that works its way up your throat is there entirely of its own volition, just your body's way of communicating how much it has not appreciated this day. Jason rises with you, and he makes to catch you when equilibrium is the last thing to catch up with the motion, but you're able to get upright on your own. A good thing, too—you're certain that if you let Jason touch you again, you'll fall asleep in his arms. It's just too much to consider right now. So you rub your face with your hand, more for the normalcy of the action rather than any need for it, and direct this next part over his right shoulder. "I'm…going to sleep. This…" a gesture to the broken door, "can wait until tomorrow."

I can fix it, Jason signs immediately, sizing up the ruin behind you as if for the first time. I will fix it.

"It's fine," you half-sigh, too tired to argue about wanting to fix it yourself, if possible. "It's a tomorrow problem, it's all a tomorrow problem, for now…I just really, really want to go to bed." And you look up at him with such plain exhaustion that you can physically see him dropping the matter. For now.

Getting the dogs back inside is more trouble than you expected. This night has clearly rattled Heracles, who growls upon getting past the threshold, and Abby's hackles raise within a few steps. It's something of a relief that your nose isn't as sharp as theirs—all you smell is bleach. You sigh as you step in after them. "I know. I know. Just…c'mon, the bedroom's still good. Please." You do feel for them, honestly, and you're over the moon that they're unharmed, but your patience is non-existent. In the end, you have to scoop Heracles' brick-like body into your arms when he refuses to to go any further, nuzzling your chin into the side of his neck so he knows you're not mad at him. Abby takes the cue and bounds down the hallway and into your open bedroom, and you watch her curl up in the middle of the bed with significant gratitude toward her. Heracles will calm down if she's calm, you're sure, and you'll feel better once they're settled.

Even still, you get two steps into the house with your burden before turning back and looking up at Jason. He fills the doorway once again, but he does not cross over, and his arms are firmly at his side. Just seeing him there helps fight away the dully encroaching fear of being inside again, his familiar frame backed by moonlight abating the press of your dark walls. The words are out of your mouth before you consciously decide to say them. "Will you stay? For tonight?" The idea of him leaving, of physically being where you can't get to him, is enough to make you shiver.

Of course, of course, he agrees. I will be here until you want me somewhere else. You and the dogs are safe, I promise. Your shoulders slump with relief to the point where you almost drop Heracles, and even then, you're only saved because he makes a grumpy noise close to your ear. Sleep. I am here.

Maybe you'll fight with him tomorrow. Maybe, when your head is clearer, you'll tell him you never want to see him again. Maybe you'll fall into his arms and cry until he swears upon the land that already binds him to protect you above all else. You don't care right now. He says he will stay and you believe him. It's enough.

You hug Heracles closer to your chest. "Okay. Thank you, Jason. I—thank you."

He does something just before he takes the wreck of the door in both hands and hauls it back into place for the night. He reaches across the threshold into your home and presses his fingertips to your cheek, then spells out the letters of your name with featherlight smoothness. You hold still while he does it, and the touch is so sweet, so gentle, that your lids flutter shut of their own accord. But then it is gone as quickly as it arrived, and when you come back to yourself, the door is mostly in its place.

Your breath flutters out of your chest like a newly living thing, completely unmarred by the terror of this night.

The dogs deign to make space for you when you finally get into bed. You need a shower, but that goes into the tomorrow's problem pile along with everything else, and once you've got the bedroom door locked, you are single-minded in crawling between the covers. The mattress presses against your sore body like a hug, which does prompt you to squeeze out a few more miserable tears. This fucking day.

Your last thought is of Jason standing guard outside, and that final press of his fingers to your cheek, and your body finally lets go. You are asleep within seconds, and if you dream at all, it is only of being carried far, far away by a forgiving current.

#jason voorhees/reader #jason voorhees/female reader #jason voorhees x reader #jason voorhees x you #slasher x reader #hey so that took forever #waffled hard on just scrapping this because it feels too different from everything else #I think I've just been looking at it too long #also I told myself I was going to start making these shorter. lol.

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